By the time Kaito Arisaka turned twelve, the fire of his ambition hadn't just flickered, it had run out of oxygen, fuel, and dignity.
The last two years had been a steady decline into the realization that he was not the center of the universe. He was not a hidden boss, a late-bloomer, or a hero in waiting. He even practiced the Saitama training plan but still didn't work at all.
He was just a reborn kid who was abnormally good at identifying different gauges of wire and remarkably bad at manifesting anything remotely supernatural.
The 'Reality Check' didn't happen all at once. It was a slow, agonizing drip. It was the way his classmates' Quirks began to blossom like vibrant, terrifying flowers while he remained a stubborn, unyielding weed.
He sat on a bench in the school courtyard, watching a group of boys play a modified version of soccer. One of them, a lanky kid named Kimiro, was hovering three feet off the ground, his feet glowing with a soft yellow light.
Another was stretching his arms like rubber bands to block the goal. They were laughing, the easy and unburdened laughter of people who belonged in their own era.
Kaito looked down at his hands. They were calloused from the hardware shop, stained slightly with the persistent scent of rust and turpentine.
"I'm twelve," he thought, his internal voice stripped of its usual dramatic flair.
"In every story I've ever read, this is the part where the protagonist gets pushed to the brink and finally snaps. This is where the 'System' finally realizes I'm here and gives me a pity quest."
He closed his eyes and whispered, almost out of habit.
''System?"
''Status?''
''Properties?''
''Level up?''
Nothing. Just the sound of a distant ambulance and the thud of the soccer ball hitting the fence.
He had spent the morning trying one last ritual. He had gone to the roof of the shop before dawn, facing the rising sun, and held did a meditation for two hours.
He had even tried the falling into a garbage can or jumping from the river from a certain height, hoping that a sudden, traumatic shock to his system would trigger a defensive Quirk.
All it had triggered was a very expensive bill for a new trash bin and a clinic. Added with a lecture from Saki about "looking where he was going and always be safe."
"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results," Kaito muttered, quoting Einstein with a weary sigh.
"I am officially the most insane twelve-year-old in the prefecture."
He stood up and walked toward the school gate. He didn't run. He didn't do the "Naruto run" with his arms behind his back. He just walked like a normal person. A background character. An NPC. A passerby.
When he arrived back at the Arisaka Hardware Shop, Grandma Saki was struggling with a heavy crate of brass fittings. Her breathing was labored, her shoulders hunched. Kaito didn't even think. He dropped his school bag and moved, his hands sliding under the crate with practiced ease.
"I've got it, Grandma," he said, his voice quiet.
"Oh, Kaito. You're back early. I was just trying to move these before the rain started."
Kaito hoisted the crate. It was heavy, real world heavy, not "anime training" heavy. His muscles burned, but it was a familiar, honest pain. He carried it to the back warehouse and set it down precisely where it belonged.
He looked at the shelves he had organized, the tools he had polished, and the shop that relied on his hands to stay upright. For years, he had treated this place as a temporary "starting zone," a place to wait until his real life began.
But looking at Saki's tired, grateful smile, he felt a sudden, sharp pang of shame.
"I've been so busy trying to awaken different powers that I've been a terrible grandson," he realized.
He walked back to his room and shut the door. He didn't lock it. There was no point. He walked over to his closet and pulled out a box hidden in the very back. Inside were the remnants of his delusions: a homemade "cape" made from an old red sheet, a notebook filled with "Secret Techniques" that didn't work, and a collection of drawings of himself as a glowing hero.
He picked up the red sheet. He remembered being six, standing on the examination table, thinking the world was his for the taking. He remembered being eight, shouting "Wryyyy" at the ceiling. He remembered being ten, doing push-ups until his chest hit the dirt. All those delusional moments just hoping for some power or abiliies to appear.
He took the sheet and folded it neatly. He placed it at the very bottom of the trash bin in the corner of his room. Then he took the notebook and the drawings and placed them on top.
"Protagonist Kaito Arisaka is dead," he said to the empty room. There were no tears, just a profound, hollow sense of relief. "Long live Kaito the Hardware Clerk."
He sat at his desk and opened his math textbook. For the first time in years, he wasn't looking for a "Cheat" or a "System." He was just studying. He was going to get good grades. He was going to help Saki run the shop. He was going to be the most reliable, most "Normal" person in the world.
"Reality," he whispered, quoting a line from a movie he'd seen in his past life,
"Is the only thing that's real."
.....
Downstairs, the shop bell chimed.
"Kaito!" Saki called out. "Mrs. Tanaka is here! She needs help with her leaky faucet and she says you're the only one who knows which washer fits the old models!"
Kaito stood up. He didn't strike a pose. He didn't check his power level. He just put on his work apron and headed down the stairs.
"Coming, Grandma!"
As he helped Mrs. Tanaka, explaining the difference between rubber and silicone seals with a patient, practiced tone, he didn't notice the way the old woman looked at him. He didn't notice the way the neighbors whispered about how "the Arisaka boy has really grown up."
He thought he was giving up. He thought he was surrendering to a life of mediocrity. He didn't realize that by throwing away the "Protagonist" delusion label, he was finally becoming the person the people could actually believe in.
He was unintentionally clearing the final hurdle for the power he didn't know he had: he was becoming worthy of their trust.
But Kaito didn't care about being worthy. He just wanted to make sure Mrs. Tanaka's kitchen didn't flood. He was facing reality, and for the first time in his two lives, he was actually winning.