…
"MIDAS!!! WAKE UP! YOU GOTTA GO TO SCHOOL!!"
I surfaced from sleep like breaking through ice, my mother's voice cutting through the golden cocoon I'd built around my bed. Fourteen years of this voice, fourteen years of learning which tones meant business.
"I'm up, I'm up!" The words came out rough, unused. I shook the blanket off—pure gold, woven thin as silk, warm from my body heat—and found my feet on the golden floor before my eyes fully opened.
The bathroom mirror showed me someone I still wasn't used to. Four years in Japan, four years of gravity training and underground fights and pushing a body that refused to find its limits. The result stared back: wild charcoal hair that fell over my eyes no matter how I cut it, sharp planes to my face that hadn't existed at ten, hollow cheeks and a jawline that could cut glass. And the eyes—molten gold, catching light wrong, marking me as other even before anyone saw what I could do.
"Damn… guess the training gave me more than just strength." The grin felt natural now, the confidence earned rather than performed.
I changed fast—school uniform, black and formal, the standard that meant nothing and cost nothing to someone who'd never had to worry about cost. Downstairs, my mother waited with breakfast and judgment.
"You need to hurry before you're late."
"Damn, Mom… no 'good morning' or anything?" I sat down, started on the golden waffles, the eggs that had been transmuted before cooking to add nutritional density only my body needed.
"If you stopped staying up all night messing with your Quirk, I wouldn't have to scream your name every morning."
I finished eating, threw my bag over my shoulder. "Thanks, Mom. I'm heading out."
"YOU SON OF A—"
Click. The door sealed behind me, cutting off the rest. I was already moving, already gone, the sound of her sigh following through the wood.
"What am I going to do with him…"
Outside, I reached into my pocket, found the gold coins I kept there—emergency currency, emergency material, always ready. I threw one into the air, caught it as it expanded, reshaped, became a motorcycle frame, wheels, engine constructed from pure precious metal.
I hopped on, felt the connection between myself and the machine, and shot upward. Six hundred miles per hour, the wind screaming past barriers I'd learned to generate, to shape, to harden into aerodynamic shells.
"I've really come a long way."
The thought wasn't pride so much as inventory. By twelve, I'd been proficient in boxing and Muay Thai—my mother's compromise, her condition for allowing the training she'd eventually discovered. But proficiency wasn't enough. Skill without experience was just choreography.
So I found experience. Underground fight clubs across Japan, the kind that didn't check IDs, didn't ask questions, didn't stop when someone bled. I fought Quirked opponents, mutation-types, people who could do things that shouldn't be possible. I never used my Quirk in those matches. Just technique, just the abnormal strength and durability I'd been born with, just the adaptability that let me learn an opponent's rhythm in seconds and break it in minutes.
They called me Ashura. The name stuck, became legend in circles that didn't ask for real names.
Then there was the gravity chamber. Four years of Tony's engineering, progressively increasing load. My Quirk output depended on physical capacity—more strength meant more gold, more control, more complexity. So I pushed both in parallel, gravity crushing me while I learned to generate under pressure, to manipulate while my bones felt like they were shattering, to transmute while my vision blurred from the weight.
Some of the techniques I'd developed borrowed from fiction—anime, manga, the stories I'd consumed in another life. Domain Expansion from Jujutsu Kaisen, adapted to my capabilities. Kinetic techniques from One Piece, modified for my physiology. I wasn't original; I was effective.
And I wasn't here to struggle. I was here to be the strongest. The gap between those concepts mattered.
School arrived before I'd finished thinking. Autopilot had carried me here, the same way it carried me through every day—girls fawning, guys glaring, teachers droning about equations I'd solved years ago.
"He's so hot!"
"Midas, marry me!"
"Have my children!"
I ignored all of it, found my desk, put my head down. Mental checkout. Complete. The education system had nothing for me, hadn't for years. I was here because my mother insisted, because U.A. required academic records, because the performance of normalcy had value even when the reality was anything but.
The bell rang eventually. I got up, went out the window—third floor, no hesitation—dropped into open air. Below, the gold coins in my pocket responded to my will, became a motorcycle beneath me, caught my weight, carried me upward at a more reasonable speed.
I was thinking about training schedules, about the gravity chamber's next increment, about whether Tony's new repulsor designs could be adapted for my use when—
"Let go of me!! Someone help!!"
The voice cut through my calculations like a blade. My head snapped down, eyes finding the source automatically.
A girl my age, uniform torn, being dragged toward a black van. Three men surrounded her, large, mutation-types—one with rhino features, thick skin and horn protrusion; another with canine characteristics, claws extended; the third watching, directing, some kind of tactical Quirk that let him coordinate.
I didn't hesitate. Didn't calculate odds or assess legality. I jumped.
The fall was forty feet. I landed in a crouch, gold spreading from my feet in a wave that consumed the street, the van, the surrounding buildings—everything except the people. The three kidnappers froze, their eyes going wide with greed at the sudden wealth surrounding them, the distraction of pure gold overwhelming their tactical discipline.
That hesitation cost them everything.
"Domain Expansion: Golden Hell."
Three pillars erupted from the ground beneath me, shaped and accelerated with precision that came from years of gravity-chamber practice. They caught each man center-mass, launched them backward, crushed them against a lamppost with force sufficient to crack bone and end consciousness.
I reverted everything. The gold dissolved back into its original materials—concrete, asphalt, steel—leaving no trace of my intervention except three unconscious bodies and one terrified girl.
I walked toward her, already cataloging injuries, already planning the next move, and froze.
I knew her.
Not personally. Not yet. But I knew that face, that hair, that build—from anime, from manga, from the future I'd been anticipating since realizing where I'd been reborn.
Momo Yaoyorozu.
My eyes flicked over her automatically, the assessment reflex that came from combat training registering curves and posture and the particular way she held herself, aristocratic even in terror. My inner otaku—the part that still remembered watching My Hero Academia on a couch in another life—screamed recognition.
I forced calm. "You okay?"
She didn't respond. Just stared at me, eyes wide, something happening in her expression that I couldn't read.
Then I saw the blood. Dripping from her nose, stark against pale skin.
"…Wait." I stepped closer, concerned now. "Are you hurt? Did they—"
"S-sorry…" She stuttered, pressing a hand to her face, trying to stop the bleeding. "Who are you?"
"Midas." I watched her process the name, find no recognition. "What about you?"
"M-Momo… Momo Yaoyorozu."
I smiled, the expression calculated to be reassuring, the kind I'd practiced for post-fight interactions. "Well, Momo Yaoyorozu, let's get you home."
I pulled a gold coin from my pocket, let it melt, expand, reshape into a car—sleek, comfortable, with seats that formed around passenger anatomy. "Get in. I'll take you."
She didn't hesitate. Climbed in, still pressing her nose, still flushed. The car rose into the air, floating on manipulated gold fields, and I heard her gasp.
"Wait—how?"
"What's your Quirk?" I asked, deflecting.
"Oh? Curious?" Her voice had recovered some composure, the aristocratic tone reasserting. "My Quirk lets me create, manipulate, and transmute gold."
"…That's theoretically insane and overpowered." The words came out excited, analytical, before she caught herself. Blushed. "If you can do it on a large scale, then—"
"Yeah." I kept my eyes on the sky, giving her space to recover. "Training helps."
"Oh—are you going to U.A. too?"
"Yeah." I glanced at her, saw the information processing behind her eyes. "And thanks for the address—I was going to ask anyway."
Her home was exactly what I'd expected: estate, gates, the particular architecture that meant old money in any country. I set the car down gently, let it dissolve back into coin form, caught it.
"Well… this is goodbye for now."
"Actually—wait." She held out her phone, blushing again, the aristocratic composure cracking around something more vulnerable. "Let's exchange contact info… so we can stay in touch."
I took the phone, entered my number, handed it back. "You look cute when you're shy, Yaoyorozu."
Her face burned. I smiled, turned the coin into a motorcycle, hopped on.
"I've gotta go. My mom's gonna kill me if I'm late."
I rose into the sky, looked back once. She was still standing there, phone in hand, watching me ascend.
"Take care, Midas!" she called.
"You too… and I expect a call later, sexy."
I saw her freeze, saw her turn, saw her run inside with her face still burning.
I chuckled, turned toward home, let the wind carry the sound away.
…Yeah.
Today was interesting.
To be continued…
Alright i did the timeskip and AU starts in 11 months.
And also now Midas's appearance is a exact replica of Ohma Tokita from Kengan Ashura but his irises is the same molten gold color.
[Image here]
Also if you want more chapters give powerstones and show support.
Chapters might be random since I've got my own life with boxing and highschool. but i'll try my best.
Thanks for the support guys 😁