The sound tore through the quiet streets — high, raw, and filled with terror.
Malik's foot hit the ground with a soft pulse of air. Then again. Then again.
He didn't need to think. His instincts had already taken over.
The headphones had long since been ripped from his neck.
His sketchpad and guitar picks left in his bag.
Now, only his senses led him — a growing heat bubbling behind his chest.
He rounded the corner.
There they were — a group of kids, about his age or younger, some bloodied, others crouched behind a half-destroyed vending machine. Two limped, supporting a third. But Malik's eyes locked onto her.
A girl, maybe thirteen, sat frozen against a wall. Her shirt torn at the shoulder, eyes brimming with panic. Her scream had gone silent — too terrified to make another sound.
And standing over them — was a monster.
Easily seven feet tall, muscles like steel cables wrapped in cracked, bluish skin.
Two gnarled horns protruded from each side of his head, twisting like broken rebar. His right eye glowed dull yellow, the left eye socket sealed shut. Black sleeveless gear stretched over his bulk, and his hands were as large as shovels — one stained red.
He turned his head at Malik's arrival.
"...Who the hell are—?"
Malik didn't answer.
He saw the tears. The bruises.
He felt the heat in his limbs, the shiver under his skin.
His palm pads tensed like snapping wires.
I wasn't fast enough.
I didn't stop it before it started.
The pressure within him surged, and everything else became distant.
Time slowed.
His muscles flexed without thought. The air snapped under his feet as he launched forward — not running, detonating himself toward the villain.
-----
"—GHRAKK!"
Minotaurus barely had time to brace as Malik's foot crashed into his gut, air bursting out in a thunderclap. The villain skidded back across the concrete, smashing through a parking sign and into a storefront wall with a bone-shaking crack.
Malik landed, breathing slow and heavy.
He turned to the kids. "If you can move, get out of here. Now. Fast."
They stared.
He didn't raise his voice — but something in his tone made them obey.
Then he heard the roar.
-----
Minotaurus staggered from the rubble, blood on his lip, eyes crazed.
"You little SHIT—!"
He charged like a freight train. A horn caught the corner of a parked car, sending it flying.
Malik didn't flinch.
He bent low, a repulsion burst firing from both feet — and met the villain mid-charge. His fist rocketed forward with a palm blast that cracked the pavement beneath them, stopping Minotaurus in his tracks.
Malik flipped backward, landed, and launched again — his foot slamming into the villain's chest with a shockwave that blasted dust and glass outward.
He moved like a rhythm. Fast. Clean. Furious.
Shock Spiral to the jaw.
Phase Kick to the ribs.
Blink Vault to sidestep a counter.
Minotaurus was strong — but Malik was relentless.
-----
Minotaurus dropped to one knee, coughing blood.
But Malik wasn't done. His heart was screaming, his hands burning.
He thrust his arms outward — palms facing each other.
Air warped between them.
A sphere began to form. Trembling. Shimmering. Compressing.
His teeth clenched. The pads on his palms hissed with energy.
The bubble shrank, drawn tighter and tighter.
It pulsed once — the ground beneath him cracked.
He took a step forward.
This filth— this trash— doesn't get to walk away. I'll end it.
The sphere glowed in his hands, and his arms began to shake.
-----
Suddenly — whip-like metal cloth wrapped around his body, locking his arms to his sides. The shock bubble collapsed in his palms, evaporating harmlessly into steam.
"What—?!"
Malik struggled for a second before recognizing the material.
Then he heard the footsteps.
Slow. Purposeful.
-----
From the shadows of the alley stepped a tall, narrow figure in black-on-black, a tired face framed by wild, shoulder-length hair and yellow goggles resting on his forehead.
Aizawa Shota. Eraser Head.
The Pro Hero stood without a word at first, his scarf trailing loosely.
Malik, still restrained, turned his head slowly, sweat dripping down his temple.
"...Eraser Head?"
The man's gaze was unreadable. He glanced at Minotaurus — unconscious and half-buried in the wreckage — then at the wall, the damage, the fleeing kids, and finally at Malik.
"You okay?" he asked flatly.
Malik blinked. "...What?"
"You're not hurt?"
"No. But they were—he was—!"
"I know." Aizawa took a few steps closer, eyes sharp. "I saw the aftermath. You protected them."
His voice didn't rise. But it carried weight.
"...And you were about to do something you'd regret."
Malik looked down, fists still shaking in the metal cloth.
"...He deserved worse."
"Probably," Aizawa said, his voice grim. "But this isn't about what villains deserve. It's about what heroes can live with."
Malik didn't respond. His teeth were clenched.
Aizawa finally sighed. The scarf loosened, then unwrapped, retracting from Malik's torso.
He stumbled slightly as it released him.
"You've got control," Aizawa said. "But you don't have restraint. Not yet."
Malik stood, chest still rising and falling.
"...Are you gonna arrest me?"
"No. But I'll remember your face."
He turned, walking past the fallen Minotaurus, already pulling out his phone to call the authorities.
Just before he vanished from view, he said one final thing:
"If you want to be a real hero… learn the difference between ending a threat — and ending a life."
-----
The light in the interrogation room was too bright.
Malik sat at the center of a cold, metallic table, his hoodie zipped halfway and wrinkled. The adrenaline had long worn off, but the echo of that earlier rage still pulsed in his knuckles. His forearms were bandaged — from minor microfractures. A bruise darkened his jawline where Minotaurus had landed one good hit.
He leaned back in the chair, silent.
Then the door opened with a soft click.
In walked a tall man — tan trench coat, matching fedora, black suit beneath. Sharp black eyes that somehow weren't unkind, and a tie that didn't look like it had ever been loosened.
Detective Naomasa Tsukauchi.
-----
"Malik Kurosawa," Naomasa said calmly, flipping open a manila folder. "Fourteen years old. Registered Quirk: Repulsion Pads. MMA-trained. Son of pro hero Atlas Pulse, a pro-hero from abroad."
He sat across from Malik, glancing once at the two-way mirror.
"I'm not here to punish you," he said, resting his hands flat on the folder. "But there are protocols. Questions I have to ask. For the record."
Malik said nothing, but his eyes were clear — no flinching, no evading.
Naomasa continued. "Before we begin, you should know something about me. My Quirk — Lie Detector. If someone lies in front of me, I'll know. I can't read thoughts. Just intent."
Malik nodded. "Got it."
"Good," the detective said, voice even. "Let's begin."
-----
"How did you come across the scene?"
"I heard a scream. I was about two blocks away."
"And your first action was to…?"
"Engage. The villain was standing over one of the victims. I didn't hesitate."
The detective nodded slightly. "You didn't consider calling the police first?"
Malik's jaw tensed. "There wasn't time. Someone was going to get hurt. Worse."
"…Understood."
He flipped a page.
"What's the nature of the technique you attempted at the end? The compression sphere?
"It's... unfinished. I've never used it in combat. It compresses air into a point of high pressure. Releases it as a blast."
"You attempted to use it on a downed opponent?"
Malik's eyes darkened.
"Yes."
Naomasa stared at him a moment longer. The room was quiet.
Then the detective leaned forward.
"Why didn't you follow through?"
Malik hesitated.
"...Because I wasn't the only one there," he said. "The others — the kids. The civilians. If I missed or lost control..."
"Not what I asked," Naomasa said quietly. "You'd already aimed. The shot was charged."
Malik took a breath.
His voice came lower this time.
"Because in that moment… I didn't care what happened to him."
The silence that followed was thick, but Naomasa didn't interrupt.
"I wanted to erase him," Malik continued. "That was... instinct. Rage. Not judgment. And when the scarf grabbed me — it snapped me out of it."
Naomasa's eyes softened slightly.
"Thank you," he said.
-----
In the adjacent office, Yuriko Kurosawa stood at the window, arms crossed but composed. Her dark hair was tied back in a bun, and she wore a long coat over a work blouse — having rushed over from the design studio.
The officer beside her lowered the phone. "He's nearly finished with questioning, ma'am."
"Thank you," she said, her tone calm. "Is he hurt?"
"Minor injuries. He's being careful not to show it, but he's shaken."
Yuriko sighed. "He's my son. I'd be more worried if he wasn't."
She turned slightly toward the officer.
"As the wife of a Pro Hero, I understand the process. But… he's still a child."
The officer nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She gave a small nod. "Good. Then let's treat him like one, with fairness. Not suspicion."
-----
Later that evening, Malik stepped out into the chilly hallway, backpack over his shoulder. He looked up and saw his mom standing there.
She didn't speak right away. Just walked over and hugged him — not too tight, but firm. He let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"Are you angry?" he asked quietly.
"No," she said into his hair. "But you scared me."
"...Me too."
She pulled back, brushing dust from his jacket.
"You're grounded," she added.
He blinked.
"But I saved people."
"You nearly blew a hole in the block."
"…Fair."
She smiled.
-----
They stepped out of the station. It was just after 9 p.m. The city had quieted into twilight stillness.
And there, leaning against a lamppost across the street, arms folded, scarf coiled loosely around his neck — stood Aizawa Shota.
"...That's Eraser Head," Malik muttered.
Yuriko raised a brow. "He stuck around?"
Aizawa stepped forward, silent until he stood in front of Malik again.
"You're lucky," he said plainly. "I've seen kids with power lose themselves. Some never come back from it."
Malik nodded. "I'm trying."
"I know," Aizawa replied. "That's why I'm going to say this once."
He looked him straight in the eyes.
"Train. Hone your control. Understand what you're capable of. And when you're ready… I'll be waiting for you at U.A."
Malik blinked.
His heart beat a little faster.
"You serious?"
"As serious as the lives you protected tonight."
And with that, Aizawa turned and vanished into the quiet streets.
Malik stood frozen in place, the words echoing.
Train. And when you're ready... I'll be waiting at U.A.
A slow smile spread across his face. His mother watched him, a bit amused.
"...So," she said casually. "You think you're ready to balance that with your music, your sketchbooks, and MMA?"
Malik nodded, eyes shining.
"I was born ready," he said.