MHA: Animari

Malik stands at the edge of the crowded street, watching the scene unfold in front of him. A villain—twisted, monstrous, and wild—rampages through the city. People scream, scattering in all directions as chaos breaks loose. But Malik isn't scared. Not at all. His eyes are locked on the man who's already preparing to step in.

All Might.

The Symbol of Peace. The hero who's been the strongest in Japan for as long as anyone can remember. The one everyone admires.

The one Malik has always dreamed of being like. His heart races with a mixture of awe and hunger, as he watches All Might charge toward the villain with nothing but a determined grin on his face. It's like time slows down, the air around him crackling with intensity.

With one single move, All Might punches the villain in the chest with such force that the ground beneath him shatters. A shockwave sends debris flying, and the villain is sent hurtling backward, crumpling into the pavement.

The crowd falls silent for a moment, mesmerized by the sheer power radiating off All Might. He stands tall and victorious, chest heaving, a golden light shining from his frame. He's everything Malik has ever wanted to be.

Malik's heart pounds in his chest as he watches the Symbol of Peace stand tall, victorious. There's no hesitation, no doubt. He's already moving on, heading toward another part of the city, leaving destruction in his wake.

He's a hero in the truest sense, unmatched, unstoppable. And Malik admires him for it, like everyone else.

As All Might walk away, Malik can't tear his eyes away. He wants to be like him. No, he will be like him. He'll become the strongest hero in Japan, surpassing even All Might. He'll stand in his place one day.

But something catches his eye just as he's about to turn around and leave. Two boys sit right at the scene on the sidewalk, many heroes are hovering around them looking concerned.

When did they even get there...?

Malik thinks as he studies the two for a second. They're both dressed in the same uniform Malik wears. 

Malik just shrugs it off. There's nothing about them that seems out of the ordinary. He turns his attention back to the ice cream in his hand and continues walking home.

The cool sweetness of the ice cream is comforting as he walks down the familiar streets, heading toward his house. He knows the routine by now.

He always walks home alone, and always comes back to an empty house. It's been like this for as long as he can remember.

"I'm home," he says, the words hollow as they leave his lips.

But there's no answer. There never is. His parents have been gone for a while. They were trash human beings, abusive, and as soon as they couldn't control him.

They abandoned him. and then, not long after, they were gone. Malik had heard the news. They died in a car accident.

No more parents. No more family. Just him.

He sets his school bag down on the counter and walks to the living room, pulling out the homework he hadn't done earlier. 

He sits down at the small table, as he focuses on finishing the work. It doesn't take long. He doesn't mind it. The distraction helps him keep his mind off the emptiness that's always there.

Once it's done, he decides it's time to head out again.

Without a word, he slips out of the house, his feet carrying him toward his usual destination—the forest.

Where he can push himself harder than anyone else. The only place where he truly feels alive.

The air in the forest is always thick, and humid, like a constant weight pressing down on him. The trees are tall and thick, their canopies casting shadows on the ground.

Malik finds his usual spot, a large patch of open land where he's created his little training ground. He eyes the trees around him, all bearing marks of his determination.

Scratch marks, punch marks, craters in the ground—all signs of the violence he's unleashed. The forest is his canvas, and his fists are the paintbrush. Every tree bears the marks of his desire to become stronger.

Malik cracks his knuckles, ready for more. He holds out his hands and concentrates, focusing his mind on his secondary ability.

It's not as powerful as his main ability, but it's still something. His hands start to glow faintly with a red light as he channels his energy into them.

His fingers tense as he steps forward, aiming for a large tree nearby.

Punch

The moment his fist connects with the bark, a burst of smoke erupts from the impact. He watches as the tree's trunk dents inward slightly, the force of the punch leaving a small indent in the wood. Malik steps back, inspecting the damage with a frown.

"Is that it?" he mutters to himself.

He clenches his fists again, frustration building. He'd expected more. He always expects more. It's never enough.

He looks at the dent, his eyes narrowing. His secondary ability is supposed to be about amplifying his strength. It's supposed to allow him to punch harder, move faster, and maybe even break through things.

But it never works the way he wants it to. No matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to make the punch stronger than this.

The frustration continues to gnaw at him. He slams his fist into the tree again.

Punch.

A little more smoke rises. The dent deepens slightly. But it's still not enough.

"I need to practice this part of my quirk more…" he mutters, frustration seeping into his voice. He's been focused so much on his main ability

that he's neglected this side of his power.

The thought of becoming the strongest hero means nothing if he can't master every aspect of his quirk. He needs more. He needs to be stronger.

He sighs deeply, wiping his brow. It's late, and the sun is beginning to set. But he can't stop now. Not when he's so close. He tries again, his hands glowing with even more intensity this time. He strikes the tree once more. Bang.

The tree shakes, but it still stands. It's not enough.

"Damn it," Malik growls under his breath.