Disclamier: It's rated M due to Bakugos' swearing (and we all know he does that a lot), sensitive themes such as violence, abuse, rape and other not pleasant subjects for sensitive people. Also I, obviously, don't own my hero academia, just my OC and her plot line.

Enjoy!

Human lives are ephemeral. No matter what we do, who we are, we'll end up unavoidably dying. It's a simple understatement, the thruth behind our existence. We're born, we grow and then we die. Someone will be remembered and someone forgotten, but in the end we'll end up dying.

Or, at least, was my belief before being reborn.

o0o

I was at work. It was a rainy day at the beginning of October and I was driving to the little supermarket where I was working undercover. Being a CIA agent often led me taking a good amount of fake jobs, in order to complete some missions.

That day was finally the one in which I would finally capture that sex trafficant that as been on the wanted least for to much time, according to my superiors word.

I parked the car in the desert area around the supermarket, cautiosly charging my gun, before putting it in the belt's lining. Taking the case containing my uniform I exited the car.

The rain was hitting hard the ground, making a relaxing sound. Everything seemed to be enveloped in ethereal aura o made by the rain.

Suddenly in the the grayish parking a piercing sound shattered the magic atmosphere.

As soon as the thought "gun!" flashed in my mind, a burst of pain rose from my left arm.

Dropping the useless bag, I hid behind the car door aiming for my gun as soon as possible, looking for whoever shot me. I felt the blood from the wound soaking the ground with red drops.

Another bullet land very close to my head. Gritting my teeth, trying to focus on the trajectory, completely different from the previous one, but my sight became blurry and the rain seemed helping me bleed even faster.

As the third bullet fired I knew that I wasn't going to see the next sunrise. Odd how for over a decade I was taught that my end could come suddenly, without any warning, and yet, I wasn't able to really accept it.

Pain spread through my chest. I was pretty sure that the projectile perfored my lung, as I felt the oxygene didn't reach my lungs anymore. I started coughing, coughing blood, before dropping on the ground, waiting the inevitable end through atrocious sufferings.

Lying on the ground the only thing I could think of was how my life mattered nothing in the big scheme of things. With the exeption of a few lucky ones, for better or for worse, the majority of the human beings will be forgotten in a few decades, after all the people who cared about them will inevitabilly die as well.

My last thought was not directed to my beloved ones, deciding insted that with my last breath I would curse the unfair reality of life. Pathetic, and so tipically human.

And there, under the heavy rain in an anonimous parking in Arizona, my bless – or my curse – happened.

o0o

The first thing I felt next was slimy. A disgusting sensation, accompained with the irritating screams of a baby – or maybe two? - that made the situation unberable. I couldn't see, my eyelids uncooperative, any attempt to move my limbs useless. Every sense blurry, as if underwater.

After slowly becoming aware of the numb state of my body, I finally understood what was going on. Or at least an absurd thought crossed my mind.

One of the annoying crying baby was none other than myself.

That, with the clear memory of my death, was enough to led me to assume one single possible conclusion.

I was reborn.

Now this kind of news can be welcomed in three different ways: total and unconditionate joy. In an extreme situation the predominant side of your caratcher will take over everything else. In this case you'll only see the bright side of the unconventional fact, at least at the beginning. Unconventional being a clear euphemism.

The second possible reaction is a total rejection and/or only being able to think at the worst way in which things could possibly go wrong. A traumatic event which could be starting lofe all over again can lead to a mental breakdown, shown as anxiety and depression.

The last possible reaction is simply fainting. Too much emotional baggage can be too much to be carried and the body decides to cast the exhausted mind in an dreamless sleep in order to be able to accept better what was going on.

Or at least this would be what in normal circumstances I would have thought about a so unlikley situation would stroll. Lacking of actual studies on the subject, that was the only way to think about it.

Now, having just woke up after getting a bullet in a lung, discovering the regress from full-grown adult to baby and the whole heavy baggage of feelings coming with them, my ability of making coherent and smart thoughts was momentally thrown in the toilet for the sake of primal instincts.

Instincts that allowed me to do one sigle thing: freak the shit out.

I was pretty sure that, in a glimpse of calmness, whoever had the role of taking care of me was panicking, trembling and murmuring things that, even if I couldn't hear properly, sounded like not exactly child friendly words.

Slowly, very slowly, I began to calm down, for the joy of that poor soul that was clearly having a hard time with me. Just then I noticed that his – or was it hers? – trembling was him – or her – moving. Moving downwards.

Now, as much as my blurry sight allowed me to see, the ceiling of wherever I was all but white. And that was the first of many incongruent things. Newborn were usually cleaned from the blood – thought that gave me goosebumps – or, if needed, incubated. Neither of these actions happened too far from the room where the mother was. And, if I was right and the trembling was index of motion, we were moving for quite long.

I knew my sense of time was screwed, along with the reste of my body, but I couldn't bring myself to not wandering where the hell I was being brought.

I had even the odd sensation of increasing cold, but then again I wasn't sure if that was the reality or just some phantom sensations.

Frustrated, angry and very confused I felt tiredness quickly taking over me. Whatever was going on I would have plenty of time to figure out how to deal with all that madness later. In that moment the comfortable arms of Morpheus reclaimed me.

And then all went black.

o0o

The next time that I really woke up was several months later the miracle. Or however the fact should be named. I, luckly, slipped throught consciousness to the opposite, being asleep for almost all the time. This state allowed me to avoid any coherent thoughts on the whole situation, giving me a long rest from the events of that not-so-happy day.

In that moment, completely calm and aware of myself, I was pretty sure that my situation wasn't as terrifing as my panicked thoughts had drawn it. Actually, my already developed mind would be a bless in a lot of situations.

What happened was still hard to accept, but at least I welcomed that new awkward reality, even if still a bit skeptical. Lying in that crib I, for the first time, started questioning where I was. The first time around I noticed the growing cold, but I didn't want to really rely on m the questionable reliability of my senses.

But then I could feel the very uneasy cold coming from somewhere near me.

"Oh, you're up Nozomi-chan!" someone was getting closer to the crib and, somehow, was bringing with him the cold.

What the hell?!

A little noise escaped my lips. The coldness was affecting me, and it wasn't a pleasant feeling. The person looked at me, smiling, with white locks all around her face. My vision was returning back to normal but still a bit clouded, so everything was still a bit unclear. Now in my past life I knew quite a few people who enjoyed dying their hair whit the most unlikely color, still, those of the young woman, or at least that was what I assumed from the voice and her face with not even a single wrinkle on it, looked natural.

I didn't want to throw another tantrum, but if she was my mother how in the world she got natural white hairs. And then again this experience – should I call her that? – was showing me how much of a mad world can be hours. Yes I knew albinism could be an explanation, but grey eyes and rather pink – or anyway darker than total white – were clear signals of absence of this particular cirumstance.

The woman's smile disappeared, quickly turned into a concernded look.

"You're not feeling good Nozomi-chan? I know that you're probably missing your mom, but right now it's better for you to stay far away from her. Oh god, why am I even bothering to talk to you? It's not like you can understand what I'm saying right now." Spoke the woman, ending with a light chuckle

Refocusing on the white haired woman a glimpse of worry breached in my mind.

I knew that she was probably just doing an understatement, maybe even to sound reassuring. And probably her friendly tone could have gained the simpathy of an average toddler. But the only thing that I could feel for her was pity.

As much I didn't really been awake during the past four months, I knew that that woman was always there. And even when I wasn't awake I was pretty sure that she was there, watching over me. As a full-grown woman was pretty sure that spending the majority of the days watching over a little brat wasn't the most exiting experience.

I remembered that in my previous life – it was always going to sound this awkward? – people used to say that taking care of children should be a breath of fresh air, but as much as I would have liked to think to see it in that way I highly doubt that interact with none other than a brat all day long would be very healty

However, I had other issues to deal with.

Baby instincts were a pain in the ass. Simple as that. Once my train of thoughts that very awkwardly took all my attention at the words of my caretaker, or whatever the young woman was, I began to cry. Well that was very degrading.

I could really die of embarassment. The girl certainly wasn't aware of the fact that I was an adult, at least mentally, but I really did hate the fact the only way to communicate was through sounds and, well, display of dramatic reactions. Oh god how I hate crying.

The girl picked me up from the crib, leading in the other corner of the cold room. Her touch was unnaturally cold, but for the sake of my mental health I just ignored the fact. Paranoia and over thinking on everything were my worst traits, and right now were very useless.

My thoughts – I should've really started to think less – were aburptly interrupted by something that was trying to enter my mouth. After the first moment of panic I noticed that I was really hungry. So, even though I felt imbarassed, I started to drink the milk.

Screw pride. I wasn't planning on dying another time.

And there began my journey. A though and hard one. But still my life.