MHA REINCARNATION!

The clatter of the ceramic mug against the coaster was the last sound I registered before the world dissolved. One moment, I was sipping lukewarm coffee, Winter, my calico, purring on my lap, the other, I was staring at a ceiling I didn't recognize. The smell was different, not the familiar scent of my lavender-scented apartment, but something… sharper, like old wood and sweat.

Panic clawed at my throat. I shot up, heart hammering against my ribs, and my gaze darted around the room. This wasn't my room; the walls were plastered with posters of what looked like anime characters, the floor was a jumbled mess of clothes I wouldn't be caught dead in. And those cat-like pictures... it was making my head spin.

My reflection in the mirror was the final, sickening lurch of my stomach. Gone were my dark circles, my messy purple hair and the general aura of perpetually tired that defined me. Instead, a boy with pudding-colored hair, wide golden eyes, and a face that looked perpetually confused stared back. This was… I knew this face. I'd seen it on endless forums and fan art. This was Kenma Kozume.

I wasn't just in a strange room, I was in a different world. This was the world of Haikyuu, a manga I'd only casually skimmed through during countless, sleepless nights.

I cautiously moved to the door, the unfamiliar weight of the clothes I was wearing making me feel like I was moving underwater. And then, he was there. Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips, was Kuroo Tetsurou. The real, flesh and blood, Kuroo Tetsurou.

"Morning, Kenma. You're actually up before me for once, huh? Did you check your temperature?"

His voice was as familiar as it had sounded in the anime, booming and teasing. I had to resist the urge to flinch under the intensity of his gaze. "Uh, yeah," I mumbled, mimicking the character's soft voice as best I could. A knot of dread twisted in my gut. I had to play this cool. I had to be Kenma.

The initial days were a blur. Everything was jarringly different, from the taste of their food to the sheer volume of noise on the street. I navigated the foreign landscape by rote, mostly following Kuroo's lead, my actions carefully calculated and as close to the source material as I could recall. But, my own habits were fighting against me. Kenma was notoriously unmotivated, he couldn't be late; It wasn't in my nature to be late. I ate regularly because it had always been a non-negotiable schedule for me. and I made sure I understood the lessons because well… intelligence was useful.

Kuroo was the first to notice. He'd stared at me with an unnerved look when I actually showed up on time for school, and then again when I meticulously cleaned my desk. When I actually ate a full breakfast, the look on his face was downright bewildered. And then came the exams. I wasn't studying hard, but I did go through the material. I couldn't help but do my best, it was part of who I was, even if I was wearing this boy's skin. The results of the exam got a surprised and somewhat bewildered reaction from him.

"Kenma, are you feeling okay?" Kuroo asked one day, his brow furrowed. "You've been... unusually proactive lately. It's freaking me out a little."

I shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. "Just trying to... adapt," I replied, the lie catching in my throat.

The real kicker was volleyball practice. I had never played volleyball in my life, so I did what I always did in a sticky situation, I observed. I watched the way they moved, the way Kenma himself moved in the reference material I'd consumed. I watched Yaku's precise movements, Kuroo's powerful swings, and the way their coach directed everything. It was a puzzle. A challenge I felt compelled to solve.

During one practice, while everyone was taking a water break, I found myself drawn to the court. I started practicing setting – just simple tosses and catches against the wall. It was foreign, yet my mind was mapping out the angles, the momentum, the force required. The quiet intensity with which I practiced was apparently so unusual that soon the entire team was watching me, their water bottles forgotten. Yaku and Kuroo exchanged looks of complete surprise.

"Did Kenma just… start practicing on his own?" Yaku murmured, his voice laced with disbelief.

Coach Nekomata strode over, his eyes narrowed. "Kozume, what do you think you're doing?" he asked, a hint of suspicion in his tone.

I paused, my hands still in the setting position, and swallowed hard. "Trying to... improve," I managed, the words feeling alien on my tongue.

A slow smile spread across the coach's face, a rare sight. "Well, keep at it, then," he said, his tone laced with uncharacteristic approval.

That was the moment I realized something crucial. This wasn't just about mimicking Kenma. It wasn't about being someone I wasn't. It was about taking a new opportunity, adapting to this world, and using my skills in a new way.

This was strange, foreign and unfamiliar, yes. But, it wasn't inherently bad. Maybe, just maybe, I could find myself in this new life, too. Maybe, this wasn't just about being Kenma Kozume, maybe it was about becoming something more, myself... in this new world. And what I knew for sure, is that whoever Kenma was, he wasn't me, and I wouldn't be him either. I was still Hizashi Shinso, even here. And I had a feeling, this new world, was going to see me.