In MHA, With A Pirated Version Of Gojo's Limitless {My Hero Academia}

Long Chapter Ahead

Hope You Enjoy

___

**Later that evening, U.A. High School – Principal's Office**

Principal Nezu sat alone at his desk, the soft glow of the desk lamp illuminating the stack of reports in front of him. His normally cheerful face was drawn into a rare, contemplative frown as he paged through Ken Takakura's preliminary assessment.

A knock echoed against the heavy office doors.

"Come in," Nezu called, his voice light but laced with tension.

Dr. Tanaka, a senior operative of the Hero Public Safety Commission, stepped inside. Her coat was crisp, her badge tucked discreetly away, and a sealed black case was carried under one arm.

"Still going over the data?" she asked, her tone unreadable.

"I'm always thorough," Nezu replied, motioning for her to sit. "Especially when someone like you requests my attention with so little notice."

She placed the case on the desk and opened it with practiced precision. "Final copy of Agent Yoshida's field report. Footage, biometric logs, psychological profiles, and environmental reconstructions of the sludge villain incident."

Nezu flipped through the pages in silence. The deeper he read, the more his frown returned.

"Unregistered Quirk usage. Multiple effects layered with precise control. No formal training. High-intensity crisis response…" He looked up. "This isn't just an anomaly. This is design."

"Exactly," Tanaka said. "But we have no known donor, no known mentor, and no reliable origin story. Just a boy with a missing decade and a dangerously optimized ability."

Nezu closed the folder slowly. "You want him placed at U.A."

"We'd prefer it," she corrected, choosing her words carefully. "Your school has the resources, supervision, and structure to properly contain and observe his development. And frankly, if he's the kind of person we hope he is, you're the best chance he has."

Nezu's ears twitched slightly. "You're not issuing orders, then?"

"No," Tanaka said, her tone steady. "We're asking for cooperation. Quietly. No paperwork trails. Just a discreet recommendation slot, off the books."

Nezu gave a small smile—not kind, but knowing. "I see. So the Commission believes this boy could reshape the future... but isn't quite sure how."

"Or why," Tanaka replied. "There are elements of his Quirk that aren't naturally synergistic, yet he exhibits complete mastery. It's like watching a system that was built to function as one—by someone else."

Nezu leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. "And if someone else did engineer it... you're worried it wasn't the boy's choice."

She said nothing, which was answer enough.

After a long pause, Nezu nodded. "Very well. I'll extend a private recommendation. U.A. will observe him, educate him, and if necessary... contain him."

"And if he turns out to be dangerous?" Tanaka asked.

Nezu's smile returned, sharper this time. "Then it's a good thing he'll already be surrounded by heroes."

Tanaka stood and gathered her case. "We'll keep our distance. But we'll be watching."

"As will I," Nezu murmured.

When she left, he remained seated, gazing at the final page of the report.

Ten missing years. No Quirk on record before that. No known incident to explain the shift. Three synchronized powers... almost like they were given.

'It can't be. Can it?'

A possible scenario, one he hoped was wrong popped into his head and couldn't disappear after.

Nezu remained still, the weight of the report heavy in his paws. He stared at the flickering security footage of Ken Takakura projected on his desktop screen—shattering alloy restraints, deflecting energy blasts with adaptive barriers, standing quietly as the chaos subsided around him.

Then he played that of the recordings from civilians doing the sludge villain incident.

After a long moment, Nezu turned to a separate console and tapped in a direct frequency.

The monitor blinked twice, and then the screen lit up with a grainy, low-light video feed.

Toshinori Yagi, hunched over in a hoodie and sweatpants, appeared on-screen. His face was tired, a towel draped around his neck, and behind him, the dim outline of a rooftop training space could be seen.

He blinked, surprised. "Nezu? Calling this late?"

"Apologies for the hour," Nezu said, tone warm. "But I thought you might want to see this."

He tapped another key, and Ken's profile loaded onto the shared screen—stats, stills, biometric logs.

"I assume you've received Agent Yoshida's preliminary report regarding Ken Takakura?"

"I have." All Might settled into a chair, his expression serious. "Impressive doesn't begin to cover it."

"Indeed. However, I'm more interested in your personal assessment of the boy. You encountered him during the villain incident, correct?"

All Might nodded. "He didn't hesitate to put himself at risk to save a young boy. Showed excellent tactical thinking and remarkable composure under pressure. His actions were those of a natural hero."

"And yet, The Hero Commission seems concerned about the extent of his abilities."

"With good reason," All Might admitted. "The boy's power level is... unusual for someone his age. But power alone doesn't make someone dangerous. It's how they choose to use it that matters."

Nezu leaned back in his chair, his paws steepled in front of him. "I've reviewed the assessment footage. His physical capabilities are remarkable, but it's the composite nature of his quirk that interests me most. Three distinct abilities that complement each other perfectly—it's almost as if they were designed to work together."

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'll need further observation to come to a conclusion. Dr. Tanaka will be paying the school a visit to provide a more detailed briefing for the staff. I was calling simply to ask your opinion on the subject."

"I see." All Might frowned. "I had to leave early due to me time limit. I didn't see the rest. Do you think he'll apply to U.A.?"

"I think Agent Yoshida will ensure he applies to U.A.," Nezu corrected. "Earlier, I finished discussing with a Doctor from the HPSC. The Commission wants him somewhere they can monitor his development, and we're the logical choice. "

"That's not necessarily a bad thing. If the boy is as heroic as he seems, we can help him reach his potential. If there are concerns about his background or development, we're better equipped than most to handle them."

Nezu's smile finally returned, though it carried a hint of calculation. "Precisely my thoughts. Which is why I want our faculty prepared. If Ken Takakura is going to be our responsibility, we need to understand exactly what we're taking on. In ten months, he'll be a student here, and your student as well."

"Sounds good. Anything else. "

"Yes in fact. I was thinking. Based on his assessment, he might be better suited for direct mentorship rather than traditional classroom instruction."

All Might paused, understanding the implication. "You're thinking about personal training?"

"I'm thinking about ensuring that a young man with the power to reshape the hero landscape receives the guidance he needs to use that power wisely." Nezu's smile never wavered. "After all, we've seen what happens when exceptional individuals don't receive proper mentorship, haven't we?"

The unspoken reference to All for One hung in the air between them as All Might nodded grimly and the call disconnected.

Alone again, Nezu returned to the assessment reports, his analytical mind already working through scenarios and possibilities.

More than once, his gaze lingered on Ken's missing period of Ten years.

Ten good years. Originally quirkless before it, but suddenly returns out of the blue with no memory and a composite ability of three different natures. Almost as if they had been given directly by someone else.

The thought lingered in Nezu's mind. But it shouldn't be possible. After all, All For One should be dead. Even if he wasn't, two of these powers weren't ever displayed by him.

What was truly going on here?

Tomorrow would bring more concrete information, but tonight, he had planning to do.

The Hero Public Safety Commission wasn't the only organization that needed contingency plans.

---

**Meanwhile, at the Takumi household**

"Mom, you don't need to buy me all this."

The sound of my grumbling echoed alongside the opening of the door.

"You nearly bought everything in the store," I protested, mind moving back to the time she added yet another item to our growing collection.

"I absolutely do," she said walking in after me. Her face carrying a lovely grin.

"I have Ten years of spoiling my son to catch up on. Forgive me for being selfish but a few days aren't going to cut it. You can only blame yourself for going missing so long, because I'm not stopping until I'm satisfied."

It had been nearly a week since My testing at the Hero Commission.

Today was Saturday, and currently, we'd spent the last two hours shopping for everything I'd need to restart my life. Clothes that actually fit, school supplies for when I enrolled at Aldera, toiletries, and what felt like half the electronics section of the department store. It had been like this since the day after the assessment and My mother seemed determined to make up for seven years of missed birthdays and holidays each day as if afraid I would disappear again.

Literally.

I went to the Toilet once, and she suddenly walked in not long after for some reason I can't remember.

"Privacy Please!" I yelled.

The response?

"Young man, you came out of my privacy." I had never been so speechless in my life. Both of them. Well, seeing as I transmigrated whole, does it count as one, or two?

"At this rate, we're going to need a bigger house just to store it all."

"Don't think I haven't considered it," she said with a grin that was probably only half-joking.

'How much money had she saved up in the past nine years to be so wanton?' I thought as I placed the stuff down and went back out to empty more from the car Trunk.

"Rei! Come quickly!"

I heard her call as I carried another electronic into the living room.

"What happened?" I asked quickly. She pulled up a large envelope, one she had gotten from be mail before stepping into the house.

"It's here."

"Oh." My eyes lit up slightly. My Quirk registration details had finally been finalized.

I took the envelope from her hands, feeling the official weight of it. The Hero Public Safety Commission seal was embossed on the front, and my full name was printed in formal lettering: **Takumi Rei (Kenneth Takakura)**.

Inside were several documents bound together with a metal clip. The first was my official Quirk Registration Certificate—a laminated card with my photo, basic information, and a detailed breakdown of my abilities.

**QUIRK REGISTRATION CERTIFICATE**

*Hero Public Safety Commission - Official Document*

**Name:** Takumi Rei (Kenneth Takakura) 

**Age:** 17 

**Registration ID:** QR-2157-ALPHA-947 

**Classification:** Composite Enhancement Type 

**Threat Level:** Significant (Non-Hostile) 

**Monitoring Status:** Special Observation 

**Quirk Designation:** "Perfect Control" 

*Primary Functions:*

- Physical Enhancement (Strength: 3.9+ tons, Speed: 76+ km/h, Enhanced reflexes/durability)

- Selective Spatial Barrier (Impenetrable defensive field with user-controlled permissions) 

- Quirk Suppression (Contact-based paralysis and power negation via manifested constructs)

**Authorized Uses:** Self-defense, Hero Activities (upon licensing), Emergency Response 

**Restrictions:** Requires annual assessment, Commission oversight for major incidents 

**Notes:** Recommended for advanced Hero training. Priority consideration for U.A. High School enrollment.

The second document was a thick packet titled "Quirk Development and Safety Guidelines" with my specific limitations, recommended training protocols, and contact information for Commission oversight.

The third was a letter with the U.A. High School letterhead.

"Mom, there's a letter from U.A.," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Open it," she encouraged, settling beside me on the couch.

I tore open the envelope carefully. Inside was an official letter on high-quality paper:

*Dear Mr. Takumi,*

*Based on your recent Quirk assessment and the recommendation of the Hero Public Safety Commission, U.A. High School would like to extend an invitation for you to attend our upcoming Recommended entrance examination period. Your demonstrated abilities and heroic instincts suggest you would be an excellent candidate for our Hero Course.*

*Please find enclosed the application materials and examination schedule. Given your unique circumstances, we have also arranged for additional support during your transition should you choose to accept.*

*We look forward to seeing what kind of hero you'll become.*

*Sincerely,* 

*Principal Nezu*

I stared at the letter, reading it twice to make sure I understood correctly. U.A. wasn't just allowing me to apply—they were actively inviting me.

"This is incredible, Rei," my mother said, reading over my shoulder. "U.A. High School! Do you know how prestigious this is?"

I nodded absently, still processing everything. My eyes scanned the page quickly. The language was technical, but what it boiled down to was this:

I was now officially legal. And extremely dangerous.

My tongue slipped to the left corner of my mouth as I leaned over the page, brow furrowed.

"Rei," my mom called softly from the couch.

I looked up. "Yeah?"

Her eyes were already glistening. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" I looked up, confused.

She smiled gently. "The way you stick your tongue out when you're thinking. You always did that as a little boy. Same exact expression. Same spot. Left corner." Her voice dipped. "I used to tease you about it all the time."

I blinked.

I hadn't even realized I'd done it.

"You were five when you first did it. When you tried drawing your own manga and kept messing up the panels. You'd do exactly that—lean in, eyes narrowed, tongue at the corner of your lip." Her voice was gentle, almost nostalgic. "Some things never change, do they?"

I swallowed slowly, my body suddenly too aware of itself.

"I... I don't know where I picked that up," I said, trying to deflect. "Just something I've always done, I guess."

"Always?" she asked, tilting her head. "Even before you lost your memory?"

The question hung in the air between us. I could see her watching me carefully, studying my face with the intensity of someone solving a puzzle.

"I can't remember —" I caught myself, but not quickly enough.

"You said it's something you've always done." she stated quietly.

"I meant when I was living on the streets." The lie felt clumsy in my mouth. In sudden situations, humans always tend to lose control and panic. "I must have developed the habit then."

But my mother's expression told me she wasn't buying it. There was something in her eyes—a mixture of hope and certainty that made my chest tighten.

"Rei," she said softly, setting the documents aside. "Can I ask you something?"

I nodded, though every instinct was telling me to be careful.

"Why do you still feel so distant from me? I know you call me Mom, and I know you're trying, but there's still a wall between us. Like you're convinced you don't really belong here."

The question hit like a physical blow. I opened my mouth to deny it, to reassure her that everything was fine, but the words wouldn't come. How could I explain that I was living in someone else's life, wearing someone else's face, accepting love meant for someone else?

She must have seen the struggle on my face because her expression grew sad.

"I can see it, you know. The way you hesitate before you call me Mom. The way you look around this house like you're visiting a museum. The way you keep acting like you're an imposter in your own life."

"I—"

"Wait here," she said suddenly, standing up. "There's something I want to show you."

She disappeared upstairs, leaving me alone with the official documents and the weight of her words. I sat in the silence, my hands trembling slightly as I processed what had just happened. She could see through me so easily, could tell that I didn't feel like I belonged.

Because I didn't. I was a stranger wearing her son's face, accepting her love under false pretenses.

When she returned, she was carrying an old video camera and a small collection of tapes.

"I always kept everything that belonged to you," she said, settling back on the couch. "This is my most precious possession—recordings of all your best childhood moments." She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes. "I never thought it would come in handy like this."

She turned on the camera and began scrolling through files. "Let me show you something."

The first video showed a toddler—maybe two years old—taking his first steps across a living room I recognized as ours. The little boy stumbled and fell, but got back up with determined persistence.

"That's you at two," she said softly. "You were always so stubborn, so determined to do things on your own."

More videos followed. Me as a baby, growing up, school results pinned to the refrigerator, competitions where a young boy proudly held up participation ribbons, graduating kindergarten in a tiny cap and gown, playing outside in the backyard that I now knew so well.

Then she came to one that made my blood run cold.

The video showed a seven-year-old boy sitting at the desk in what was now my room, furiously scribbling in a notebook. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his tongue was poking out slightly at the corner of his mouth—exactly the same way I'd been doing moments ago.

Needless to say, I was stunned, staring at the screen as the little boy in the video looked up and grinned at whoever was recording.

"See?" my mother said, her voice thick with emotion. "Some habits never change."

She closed the camera and turned to face me fully. The tears in her eyes were flowing freely now, but she was smiling.

"You were always the stubborn child who hardly took things at face value. You might not remember it, but I do, and just one look at you lets me know that you truly are my son."

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. The air felt heavy, and my chest was rising and falling slowly as I tried to process what I'd just seen. That little boy in the video—he had my habits, my mannerisms, my stubborn expression.

The silence stretched between us until I finally managed to speak.

"How?" My voice was barely a whisper, and I realized my hand was gripping the documents so tightly they were crumpling. "How can you be so sure?"

I expected her to hesitate, to give me some vague answer about maternal intuition. What she said instead hit me like a thunderbolt.

"Rei, let me tell you one thing you should never doubt. Nothing is more accurate than a mother's intuition," she said, her smile brightening despite her tears. "I knew it was you from the first moment you stepped through that door. When you automatically took off your shoes and placed them on the left side like you always did. When I told you to get some water and you went to the kitchen, found the right cupboard, and took your exact cup without even thinking. When you went upstairs and found your room without my directions."

Each example hit me like a physical blow. I ... Did I actually do all those things? Without thinking?

Acting on what I'd assumed were lucky guesses or subconscious observations. "But most importantly of all..." she said, reaching toward my leg.

I didn't stop her as she gently rolled up my pant leg, revealing a distinct scar that had been on my leg for as long as I could remember. Back on Earth, I'd always assumed it came from the car accident where my supposed parents had died.

"You got this climbing our neighbor's fence to rescue a kite that had gotten stuck," she said, her fingers tracing the old mark gently. "You slipped on a plastic bag and fell onto a garden hook. Bled like a horror movie. I carried you all the way to the clinic." Her hand came up, trembling slightly, and brushed against my cheek. "You screamed the whole time, but you kept asking for the kite."

The world tilted around me.

That explained why she suddenly barged in on me in the toilet. She wanted to see ... See with her own eyes that I was her son.

But I wasn't ... I mean, I can't be. This couldn't be the same wound. I was a Transmigrator, not a native. My alternate self and I probably just got the same wounds in the same spot. That made a hell of a lot more sense.

At least it did to me.

That scar—I'd had it my entire life. On Earth. In the orphanage.

I think.

I mean, I was found at a car crash site, then woke up in a hospital before being taken to an orphanage weeks later.

Even if the scar hadn't come from that, it should have come from a prior accident before that.

"See, didn't I tell you?" she whispered, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. "You really are my son, even if you don't remember it yet. And if that's not enough to satisfy you, then ..."

Her words were interrupted as the phone rang.

"Oh, someone's calling." Hearing this, she got up, wiped he tears and walked to pick up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Mr Akanji."

"Yes. I'd like to register him for the rest of the Semester."

"Yes, I know he's a bit overage and ... Behind but I feel it's necessary."

"No. He was two grades higher than his age group Ten years ago. I'm sure he'll pick up just fine."

"No he's already gotten his quirk registration and everything settled. He's only staying long enough to get back in the system as well as prepare for the coming U.A exams."

"Yes, he's going for the Hero Course. He's recommendation just came in."

"Splendid. Thank you."

"Yes, all the formalities will be settled before Monday."

"Alright. Bye."

The receiver clicked softly as she set the phone back into its cradle.

"...He'll start on Monday," she murmured to herself, smiling gently.

She turned around, wiping away the remnants of her tears and composing herself.

"Rei—" She stopped.

Because the living room was empty.

The previously scattered documents had been arranged and sat neatly on the table. The envelope. The camera. The tapes. Everything.

But I was gone.

She blinked, looking around. "Rei?"

Nothing.

A beat of silence stretched longer than it should have.

---

Meanwhile,

The sound of gravel crunching under my shoes echoed in the narrow alleyway.

'That ...'.

I stood motionless between two old apartment blocks, half in shadow, half illuminated by the soft orange glow of a descending sun. My heart thundered in my chest like a war drum as I gripped the sides of a rusted dumpster for support, breath shaky, eyes wide as if I'd seen a ghost.

I hadn't exerted myself.

Just running out of the house at Superspeed was nowhere near enough to put me in this state. Far from it. But currently, my state looked like I had run a Marathon.

"What... What was that?" I whispered out loud.

My voice sounded foreign in my own ears. Fragile.

I couldn't help it. Currently, my mind was messed up simply because none of it made sense.

The scar. The habit. The room. The cupboard.

It was all coincidence. Is what I would say, if it all wasn't too specific. Too exact. Something was wrong here. Very, very wrong.

"There's no way that's me," he muttered. "I transmigrated. I was from Earth. I had memories. A childhood. I lived in a frigging orphanage!"

But even as the words left my lips, doubt bled through every syllable.

I remembered waking up in the hospital, yes. But before that?

The details were foggy. Blurred. Incomplete.

Headlights whenever I tried to peer further back. The doctors said it was a mental block. My mind shielding me from a painful experience.

Said to give it time.

I did. Then forgot about it all together. I had assumed that was just the trauma of the car crash, the fire, the loss...

"But what the hell was all this, and why was it happening...?"

The thought clawed its way to the surface like something long buried.

"Great. Just Great!"

I sighed as I sat down beside a crate. Was it all too much? Was the situation here of a new life forcing me to react like this?

I needed some time out of that house. Maybe, just maybe, something didn't quite add up.

"First Existential crisis. Truly a Transmigrator."

I laughed derisively.

The sun was setting, casting long shadows between the buildings.

I needed to clear my head, think this through logically. 'Maybe a walk would help.' I stood up, dusted off my jeans, and started making my way toward the main street.

I turned down a side street, quieter and emptier than the others. The city's usual buzz faded here, replaced with the low hum of vending machines and the distant whine of a train. And then—

"Ahhh—Ngh… dammit…!"

I blinked.

There, at the edge of an alley not far ahead, someone collapsed to their knees, panting like they'd just run a marathon with a bear strapped to their back. I paused, instinct pulling me closer, and squinted.

Mop of green curls. Skinny limbs shaking under the weight of whatever hell he'd just gone through. A backpack tossed on the ground beside him, notebook half-hanging out.

Deku?

___

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