Chapter Text
Being a kid came with an entire list of things Michael already despised. For example: he had basically no privacy. Which, to be fair, was probably a good thing when it came to children, but not when you were the child.
His current situation had plenty of problems. Number one: Michael couldn’t speak a word of Japanese. Okay, he could take that back — in the past few weeks he had at least learned the absolute basics. But that didn’t change the fact that he didn’t talk to anyone, and that he couldn’t understand them either.
And the not-talking thing had turned into a very big problem. Just this week alone, Michael had been dragged to eight different doctors.
To Michael’s credit, he was trying to learn. And at least no one seemed to suspect that he was a reincarnated soul trapped in a toddler’s body. Michael wanted to keep it that way. He might not want to be a kid, but he definitely didn’t want to find out what would happen if he told anyone the truth.
So yes, he had to actually learn the language. Which wasn’t as hard as he thought, considering he was surrounded by picture books, teachers, and caretakers who were all trying to teach him anyway. Once Michael could talk well enough, he could just blame his silence on one of the countless superpowers everyone had. Apparently, they were called quirks.
Speaking of quirks, Michael had already noticed something else: his parents’ quirks fit together awfully well. Maybe that was coincidence. Maybe not. Either way, his parents didn’t seem to get along, and Michael was starting to think his father was a strict, controlling type… but hey, at least not a serial killer. Improvement.
As for quirks in general, at one of his many doctor’s appointments he had seen a walking tree. A literal walking tree. Okay sure, his dad could shoot fire out of his hands — very practical, he guessed — but how did a walking tree even exist? Michael really didn’t want to know how birth worked for that one.
He just hoped that when his own quirk showed up, it wouldn’t be something that hurt him in some horrible way.
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Michael sat in front of yet another doctor, and after only catching a word every few minutes, he was starting to give up.
The trip itself had taken forever, and it wasn’t even worth it. If they wanted him to talk, maybe they should just let him keep the damn books instead of dragging him to an office full of strangers.
The whole room was blinding white and smelled like disinfectant. His father — who, shockingly, was actually present for once — seemed to grow angrier with every word the doctor said. If only Michael could understand what the conversation was about.
He felt like he was missing the punchline to some inside joke that everyone else understood. So he sat on the chair, nodding every now and then, pretending he followed along.
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By the time they were finally home again, Michael had the sinking feeling that he’d missed something important. His teachers were giving him pitying looks, and everyone seemed to treat him like fragile glass.
Whatever the doctor had told his parents, it couldn’t have been good. Especially since the number of specialists he was suddenly being sent to had doubled.
Not for the first time, Michael wished he actually spoke Japanese.