MHA REINCARNATION!

 After everything, the battles we fought, and the sacrifices made, I stood shoulder to shoulder with my friends—Bakugo and Todoroki—on a cloud thick and soft as marshmallows.

"Is this really what the afterlife looks like?" Bakugo scoffed, his voice a mix of disbelief and irritation. "It's too… calm."

"It doesn't seem right," I admitted, glancing down at our feet as we drifted slightly above the cottony expanse. Just days ago, we were still grappling with the reality of our situation—our new existence beyond the world we'd known. It was surreal to think we were actually dead—and yet here we were, enveloped in a serenity that felt somehow... hollow.

As we contemplated our odd surroundings, something changed in the air. The golden gates appeared, ethereal and glowing, swinging open as if inviting us into a new chapter. With a shared glance of uncertainty, we crossed the threshold. Instantly, the atmosphere shifted; an audience awaited us on the bright white clouds, the sky above painted in pastel colors that seemed to dance with the gentle breeze.

I barely had time to take in the soft sounds around us when a great cloud formed at the center of our space. It morphed into a screen—a familiar yet ominous shape that made my heart race with anticipation and dread. Bakugo scowled, crossing his arms, while Todoroki's expression was a mix of intrigue and worry.

The video began to play, and I felt my breath hitch as the images unfolded. It showed our funerals, a stark contrast to the peaceful setting I now inhabited. As the camera panned over the familiar faces of our families and friends, I felt a heavy weight settle over me.

"M-my mom…" I stammered, horrified. Inko was there, inconsolable, wailing openly as she clutched a bouquet of flowers—a town of petals wilted by tears, left untouched on a nearby grave. I felt Bakugo's glare digging into the cloud beneath us, but his heart, I knew, was breaking just the same.

"Why are we watching this?" Bakugo grumbled, though I could hear the tremor in his voice. "This is messed up!"

The scene shifted, revealing more faces I'd grown to cherish—Aizawa, All Might, my classmates. They were all there, wrapped in despair, struggling to cope with our absence. I saw Kirishima's face twist in agony and felt the guilt stab through me like a blade. We weren't supposed to be here.

"Deku…," Bakugo said, and the way he spoke my name felt like a call to arms, a grounding force amidst the misery we were about to unravel.

Then the screen shifted once more to focus on Todoroki's family. His parents were there, exhibiting a sadness that came from not just loss but years of buildup—of pain, of strained connections, of words left unsaid. Then it struck me hard—a figure stood just at the fringe of the gathering, framed by shadows.

"Dabi…" Todoroki whispered, shaking his head in disbelief. The revelation hit him like a thunderclap. I swirled my focus back to the screen and saw his long-lost brother step forward, face obscured by the shadow of grief yet unmistakably him. Dabi, who had been lost to the world, was back, mourning his brother's death as if they'd never been apart. I could almost see Todoroki's heart shatter, pieces scattering like glass on the floor.

"Why now?" Todoroki croaked, voice hoarse with a pain that lanced through the air. "Where were you all these years?"

I felt my own chest constrict, the screen capturing every anguished moment we had never wanted to witness. The depths of sorrow we had forsaken were laid bare, too raw for any of us to bear. And then, suddenly—like a flood, the tears poured down my face as I realized the true bittersweet nature of our afterlives. We might be free from our battles, but our loved ones were left to navigate the wreckage we'd unknowingly created.

As the camera continued to chronicle the heartfelt speeches, the laughter mixed with sobs, and the sorrowful reminders of the lives we'd led, a suffocating weight enveloped me, pulling me deeper into despair. I turned, barely able to look at Bakugo and Todoroki; their faces mirrored my turmoil, a messy canvas of guilt and sorrow.

"I didn't want this," I gasped, choking on the emotions swirling within me. "I didn't—"

I stumbled backward, and as the reality of our situation pressed down around us, the clouds beneath us eclipsed with the shadows of our actions. My heart ached with what we could never take back—the futures we had cut short for the sake of a heroic ideal.

But amidst the anguish, a soft voice whispered through the golden gates behind us, "It's not too late." The warmth enveloping us began to pulse with life, and the clouds around us faded into brilliant colors, urging us to look both within ourselves and beyond the confines of our decisions.

In that moment, I understood. Our existence didn't need to be defined solely by our past mistakes. Instead, we had a new purpose. We would take this pain and transform it—help them heal, even from beyond. Together, we could find a way, not just for ourselves but for the loved ones we had left behind.

Bakugo turned to me, steely determination in his gaze. "Let's do this," he said, his voice steady.

Todoroki nodded solemnly. "For them."

With a newfound sense of resolve, I stepped forward, rekindled by our shared fire. Whatever awaited us beyond those golden gates, we would face it together.