MHA - HARDCOIL

The next morning, Dante was woken up by his stomach twisting in pain.

Dante looked down at the city below while standing at the edge of the rooftop while his mind was coming up with possibilities.

"Hmm… no food, no energy… but also no choice."

Dante exhaled slowly. The last of his food was gone and his quirk had drained his body more than he'd expected. If he didn't find something to eat soon, he'd probably collapse again.

Dante pulled his hood over his head, gripping the straps of his nearly empty bag. He looked at the streets below, people were walking, talking, moving through their lives like normal.

"I should probably be careful."

A hungry kid wandering alone? That would probably raise questions. And the last thing he needed was a strange person paying attention to him.

Taking a deep breath, he hopped down to the nearest fire escape and climbed down into the city.

The streets smelled of fresh food—grilled meat from stalls, the fresh scent of break from bakeries. It all made his stomach twist even more!

His eyes flicked to the vendors. No money. Stealing was an option, but probably not smart. If he was caught, he couldn't run.

He needed to find another way.

Dante turned his head and looked towards a narrow alleyway between two convenience stores. Dimly lit, filled with stacked crates and trash bags. But most importantly—there were no people.

Dante stepped inside.

The alley was damp, the smell of rot and piss was thick in the air. Dante crouched down next to a dumpster, lifting the lid.

Flies. Rotten vegetables. A half eaten sandwich covered in mold.

Dante swallowed down the bile in his throat.

"I'm not that desperate. Not yet."

He moved further in, checking behind the crates. Empty food wrappers. An old cup with dried soup at the bottom.

His stomach clenched painfully.

Then—voices.

Dante froze.

Further down the alley, past the shadows, he saw two guys. Older teens, maybe seventeen or eighteen? Worn-out hoodies, cheap sneakers, the kind of people who lurked where they shouldn't.

One of them was even crouched near an open bag of groceries.

"Jackpot." Dante whispered beneath his breath.

But… there was no way they'd just hand it over.

Dante exhaled. His mind got to work, trying to analyse the situation. Two opponents, both way older than him. Unknown quirks, his own quirk unstable and he'd never even fought before.

Could he win? Probably not.

Steal and run? Maybe.

Could he risk it?

But before he could decide, one of them turned and met eyes with Dante.

"Shit."

Dante's body tensed as they locked eyes.

For a moment, neither moved.

Then the guy nudged his friend, "Hey, We got a little rat over here."

His friend looked up, his eyes narrowing. "Hm? Some lost kid?"

Dante's mind raced. Run? Fight? Talk?

His stomach growled again, reminding him why he was here. He needed food. Now.

The first teen stood up and cracked his knuckles, "What you lookin for, kid?"

Dante exhaled slowly. 'Think…' he wasn't strong enough to face them head on. His quirk was too unstable and it would burn through what little energy he had left.

'Talk first. If that fails, then maybe I can fight.'

"I… just needed some food." Dante kept his voice even, steady. "I'm not looking for any trouble."

The second guy snorted. "Oh yeah? Too bad. We found it first."

Dante's hands clenched into fists. He could tell from the way they stood, from the way they smirked, that they weren't going to just let him walk off Scot free.

The first guy stepped closer. "Tell you what, kid. Maybe I'll give you some… if you beg."

Dante's jaw tightened.

"Beg?"

The amount of begging he'd done in his first life. He knew what it was like to be helpless. To be at the mercy of others. To be forced to lower himself just to survive.

Never again.

Dante's body twisted, his left arm shook and twisted—dark red sludge erupted out of his hand in the shape of a blade, lunging at the first teens face.

Too slow.

The guy dodged, stumbling back. "W-what the hell—?!"

Dante couldn't even react before the second teen lunged at him. A fist swung for his gut—he tried to harden his body, but—

Too weak.

The punch landed.

Pain exploded in his stomach, his body folding from the impact. He hit the ground, gasping for air.

His mind blurred. His limbs felt heavy.

Not enough energy. Not enough strength.

The first teen kicked his ribs, locking him onto his back. "Stupid fucking kid."

Dante coughed, forcing himself to move.

But his body wouldn't listen.

The second guy crouched behind him, grabbing his hoodie. "You've pretty scary quirk eh?" He sneered. "Very shit in actual combat, though."

Dante glared at him, his red eyes glowing in rage.

Dante heared a voice in his head for a moment, he heard…

"Pathetic."

He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't ready.

Not yet.

The teen raised a fist—

A noise.

A voice.

"Hey! What the hell is going on here?!"

The two guys froze.

Dante turned his head, his vision was blurry. Someone stood at the entrance of the alley, a store clerk, holding a phone.

"Get lost before I call the police!"

The teens cursed, shoving Dante aside before grabbing the grocery bag and bolting.

Dante lay there, staring into the sky.

He was weak.

He was pathetic.

He curled his fingers into the dirt.

"I won't let this happen ever again." Dante felt tears welling up.

Dante turned his head slightly, looking towards the store clerk, he was still there. He was standing at the alley's entrance, phone in hand.

"You alright kid?"

Dante didn't answer. His mind was occupied.

He had lost, badly.

Not just because he was weak, but also because he wasn't ready. Not just his quirk, but his whole body was still foreign to him. He wasn't like other children who had grown with their quirks. He was a foreigner in his own skin.

But more than that…

He hated the feeling of lying there, helpless.

The clerk sighed. "Look, I don't know what's going on with you, but—"

Dante forced himself to sit up. His ribs cried in protest but he gritted his teeth and firmed it.

"I'm… okay."

The man frowned. "You sure? I can—"

"I said im fine."

Dante pushed himself to his feet, his vision swaying for a moment. The clerk watched him cautiously, but Dante ignored him. He turned and started walking.

He wanted Food.

He needed Training.

He needed to make sure this never happened again.

Instead of going back to the main streets, he stuck to the alleys. He moved around carefully and kept his hood low.

Dante passed another convenience store, the bright lights shining onto the pavement. Inside, a cashier stood behind the counter on his phone , barely paying attention. A few customers walked around, grabbing snacks.

Dante scanned the store. No cameras at the entrance. One at the back. And a blind spot near the side aisle.

Dante didn't really want to do this, but he really didn't have a choice either.

He walked inside.

Moving quickly, he grabbed a few things—bread, rice balls, bottles of water and a small book titled 'An introduction to combat.' Dante thought there might've been something like that, combat being the main focus of this world and all. All items were easy to hide nonetheless.

Then, just as smoothly, he slipped out of sight near the aisle blind spot. his hands moved fast, stuffing the food into his hoodie pocket.

Then he casually and steadily walked to the exit.

The cashier barely even glanced at him.

Then—he was outside!

His shoulders relaxed slightly. He had some food, but it would only last him one day if he wanted to train his quirk.

Dante slowly made his way back up to the rooftop about an hour later.

He sat on the cold concrete, looking at the food he had obtained.

It certainly wasn't right. He knew it.

But life wasn't fair.

He was just… permanently borrowing it!

Dante tore straight into the bread, scarfing it down like an animal. Every bite sent a rush of energy through his body, dulling the ache in his limbs.

"I need more calories! It's what my quirk wants."

He needed to eat even more If he wanted to get stronger. If he wanted to control his powers.

Dante glanced at his notebook, flipping to an empty page. He grabbed his pen, his mind already whirling.

Todays lesson : I am weak

Solution : Get stronger

He underlined the words, then write even more. notes on his failure, on his mistakes. What worked and what didn't.

and at the bottom, he wrote.

New goal : Learn how to fight.

…

…

The next day…

The rooftop was quiet, except for the sound of pages flipping.

Dante sat cross legged, his eyes were scanning the book in his hands—"An introduction to combat." Surely, this could help him… maybe…

[ Strength isn't just about power. It's about control, movement and precision. ]

Dante's grip toughened around the edges of the book. He had learnt that that hard way yesterday.

Quirks were a crutch. That's what he had realised. He had relied on his quirk way to soon, thinking it would immediately give him the advantage. But strength wasn't just about having power—it was about knowing how to use it.

And right now, Dante hadn't even thrown a proper punch in his life.

He snapped the book shut and stood up.

Dante stretched his shoulders for a moment and muttered, "I'll just practice without my quirk, that way I can progress without having to waste any food."

He started with the very basics.

The book described stances first.

[ Footwork is a foundation. A strong stance keeps you balanced, lets you move quickly, and prevents you from being knocked over easily. ]

Dante planted his feet, shifting his weight like the book described. He tried moving forwards, backwards, side to side—at first it was kind of awkward and his balance was definitely off.

Nonetheless, he kept going. Again. And again. Until it started to feel… Right.

Then came striking.

Dante clenched his fists. He had swung his arms in defence against his father before, but they were wild and did absolutely nothing. He never thought about technique.

He studied the books diagrams, tracing the motions in the air before throwing real punches.

[ Step forward. Pivot. Drive the five from your legs through your whole body, not just your arms.]

Again.

Again.

Again.

Every strike burned his muscles, but he didn't stop. This wasn't nearly as bad as training his quirk.

When his arms ached, he switched to kicks. The book taught him simple front kicks first.

[ Lift the knee, extend the leg, snap it back. ]

Then roundhouse kicks.

[ Twist the hips, turn the supporting foot, drive through the target. ]

His body screamed and begged for food, but he knew that he needed to save whatever he had until it became desperate.

Because he knew weakness wasn't an option.

By midday, Dante's body was really heavy and sweat drenched hoodie. His legs shook every time he moved.

But he could definitely feel the movements becoming more fluid, more natural.

His stance was firmer. His punches were sharper and his kicks had more balance.

He wasn't strong yet. Not even close.

But Dante wasn't the same person he was yesterday. Dante's memory was almost photographic, he had memorised everything from the first three sections of the book by midday and could preform the moves with practiced ease. Some would even call this rate of learning genius-like.

Dante collapsed onto the concrete with a smile, breathing hard.

He stared at the sky, watching the clouds shift.

His hunger gnawed at him, but again, he ignored it. He was saving his food.

Because this was only the first step.