MHA: Absolute Telekinesis

Liam awoke to nothingness.

Not the dim glow of a hospital room. Not the harsh buzz of fluorescent lights. Just pure, endless darkness.

He tried to move, but there was no weight to his limbs. No sensation. His breath hitched—except, there was no breath. No lungs to fill, no air to take in.

Then, he saw them—his hands, his legs. They shimmered, faint and translucent, glowing with an ethereal light. He reached out, but his fingers simply passed through the void.

Panic clawed at his mind, even as his body refused to respond. 'What is this? Where am I?'!

A voice cut through the silence, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"Ah, you're awake."

Liam turned toward the sound, eyes widening.

A figure stood before him—a man, or at least the idea of one. Their form flickered, shifting like a swarm of luminescent fireflies, a living silhouette of light. Despite the lack of distinct features, the being radiated an air of majesty, as if simply existing commanded reverence.

(Liam POV)

The man locked eyes with me—or at least, that's what it felt like. He had no eyes, no mouth, no real face at all. And yet, his form shifted, glowing slightly brighter. Somehow, I knew he was smiling.

That realization unsettled me more than anything else.

Then he spoke, his voice resonating from everywhere at once, as if the space around us itself was carrying his words.

"You're in Limbo. That's the closest word to describe this place. Simply put—as I'm sure you're aware—you died. And now you're just a soul awaiting processing. I'm the one who will decide what happens to you next."

His glow pulsed slightly, and without understanding how, I knew that meant amusement.

'Oh… So I really am dead.'

I should have felt something—shock, despair, terror. Instead, my thoughts moved mechanically, as if I were simply reading a script. 'What happens next? Do I go to heaven? Hell? Do I just disappear?'

A hollow feeling settled in my chest—or at least, where my chest should have been. I tried to panic, but it was like grasping at smoke. The fear wouldn't come. The more I reached for it, the more it slipped away, draining from me like water from a leaky pipe.

'What's wrong with me?'

I turned toward the glowing entity, seeking answers.

I stared at him blankly, suspicion creeping in—only to fade just as quickly, slipping away before I could grasp it. His form brightened slightly, and somehow, I knew he was smiling again.

This time, it felt different. Condescending. Mocking.

A spark of irritation flickered within me—only to die before it could fully ignite.

His "grin" seemed to widen as his glow pulsed with amusement. "Well, I'm feeling quite generous today, so I'll grant you the opportunity to be born again!" He exclaimed with what I presumed was mock excitement.

I continued to stare at him, unamused. 'I thought that was reserved for the living.'

The entity mimicked a cough, going through all the motions a human would despite having no throat or lungs. Somehow, he pulled it off flawlessly.

"Tough crowd." He let out a theatrical sigh before continuing. "But no, I mean it literally. You get three wishes, and afterward, you'll be sent to a random universe—fictional or otherwise—to live again. As for your earlier concern, mortal souls can't exist here for long, so you should make your wishes soon before you really do disappear."

Then, with a dramatic poof, he vanished.

A second later, he reappeared behind me, his glow pulsating expectantly, as if waiting for applause.

I ignored his antics and focused on what truly mattered—my wishes.

For the first time, I felt emotions that were slightly more permanent—stubbornly refusing to melt into the void like all the others before them. Desire. Hope. A flicker of excitement. But even those began to fade as reality set in.

'What are the limitations?' I asked, wary.

The entity gazed at me in silence, the intensity of his stare stirring a discomfort that, for once, lingered. Finally, he spoke.

"There are no limits, but…" His words trailed off, his glow shifting ever so slightly—something I could only interpret as a malevolent smirk. "There is no greater disaster than greed. Be careful what you wish for, as humans always say."

I considered his words carefully.

'I assume my wishes could backfire if I aim too high—like wishing for omniscience and having my brain explode.' I stated plainly.

He dimmed slightly, the glow of his form pulsing in irritation, as if I had just taken away his favorite game. A small smile formed on my ethereal lips—only for the void to steal it away just as quickly.

There was no time to waste. My existence in this space was limited, and I wasn't about to squander it.

'For my first wish, I want to be born into the world of My Hero Academia.' The manga brought me so much joy whenever I read it. I could escape into that world whenever I flipped the pages, and now I can go there and meet the characters.

The entity's glow dulled as his frown deepened, but he begrudgingly nodded in approval.

'Second, I wish to retain the memories of my… previous life.' I hesitated, uncertainty creeping in. Had I lived before even that life? Wording was crucial in moments like these.

As if reading my thoughts, the entity's irritation spiked. Flickers of annoyance crackled through his form, his glow darkening at the edges. The space around me felt heavier, suffocating. But I pressed on.

'For my last wish…'

His form stiffened, his glow sharpening into something almost predatory, as if daring me to make a mistake.

'I want my quirk to be telekinesis—specifically, the ability to move, manipulate, and interact with matter and energy without physical means. I want the potential to reach absolute mastery and power over it.'

The void around us seemed to shudder.

The entity didn't respond immediately. Unlike before, he hesitated, his form darkening—glitches of crimson flickering through his light. I could feel the anger simmering beneath his silence, thick and suffocating. Then, just as suddenly, it vanished.

The tension drained, replaced with something worse: delight. A sharp, almost manic satisfaction radiated from him as he finally spoke, breaking the unbearable silence.

"Granted." The word resonated and vibrated with the void around us. His voice dripping with something sinister.

"Since that will be all, I wish you a pleasant second life."

Before I could react, my soul-body began to dissolve. The last thing I saw was his pulsing glow, vibrating with twisted amusement—then everything faded to black.

(3rd Person POV)

The sterile scent of medicine and disinfectants filled the hospital room, clinging to the air like a constant reminder of life's fragility. On the hospital bed, a woman lay exhausted, sweat glistening on her pale skin, strands of her straight, snow-white hair sticking to her forehead. Her light red eyes, filled with both hope and desperation, fixed on the doctor standing beside her.

The doctor, a tall man with neatly combed black hair and dark eyes, met her gaze with a reassuring smile.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Okada. It's a boy."

With gentle hands, he passed the newborn into her waiting arms. The baby had sparse patches of snow-white hair atop his tiny head, and when he barely managed to open his eyes, they gleamed—a striking ruby red, almost glowing under the fluorescent lights.

Suko Okada let out a relieved sigh, her lips curving into an awkward but relieved smile. Cradling the infant carefully, she murmured, "Thank you, doctor." Her voice was soft, slightly hoarse from exhaustion, yet filled with warmth. She studied the tiny face nestled against her chest. "I'm glad he's a boy… we always wanted a boy."

The doctor observed the moment quietly before breaking the silence. "One last thing before I leave you to rest—have you decided on a name?"

Suko smiled tiredly. "His name will be Kata."

The doctor nodded approvingly. Then, after a brief pause, he hesitated before asking, "His father… wasn't able to make it?"

A shadow flickered across Suko's expression. Her smile turned bittersweet as she shook her head, a faint yawn escaping her lips. Fatigue was already pulling her under. "No… He's probably busy with hero work again," she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy.

With one last lingering glance at her son, she surrendered to sleep.

The doctor watched her for a moment, then, deciding not to disturb her further, gently took the baby back into his arms. He turned and exited the room, leaving the nurses behind to tend to the resting mother.

(Kata's POV – Age 1)

I'm one year old now, and for the first time in what feels like forever, my mom is holding me. We're walking through the park, the sun casting a warm glow over everything. A small smile tugs at my lips. This is… strange. She usually avoids holding me unless absolutely necessary.

She never smiles when she looks at me. In fact, she always seems unhappy when I'm around.

She's always arguing with Dad, but I don't understand most of it. I'm still learning the language—Japanese, I think? I'm not sure how I know that, but somehow, I do.

Even though she doesn't seem happy, I can't help but enjoy being in her arms again. I giggle softly, looking up at her expectantly.

Her face immediately twists into a frown, and she clicks her tongue in annoyance.

"Damn it… why that… with this… shit," she mutters under her breath. Most of it is gibberish to me, but I can tell—she's upset about something.

I don't know why, but deep down, I feel like this reaction should've been expected. Before I can think too much about it, my eyelids grow heavy, and I drift off to sleep.

(Kata's POV – Age 2)

I'm two years old now, and I think I've finally got a solid grasp of the language.

And I've come to realize something…

I don't think I'm wanted.

It's not like I can explain why—I just know.

Mom feeds me once a day, leaving me with a bottle before walking away. She doesn't talk to me much. I've learned to walk now, and I can babble some simple words, but no one really listens.

Most of the time, I'm alone.

Unless guests come over or we go outside to meet people, I spend my days in silence. It's lonely.

Tonight is no different. I can hear shouting from outside my room—Mom and Dad arguing again. Their voices pierce through the walls, their anger seeping into the air like a heavy fog.

I've met Dad a few times before. He's strong. I overheard someone say he has a powerful strength quirk. But he never holds me, never plays with me. He just looks at me. Maybe he's afraid of hurting me?

The yelling gets louder. My little hands grip the blanket tightly. I try to shut my eyes, willing myself to sleep, but their words cut through the quiet.

"Do your job and take care of him properly, Suko! Don't make me repeat myself again."

My dad—Juro Okada—his voice is sharp, seething with frustration.

"Or else what, huh?!" Mom snaps back, her tone just as vicious. "You'll hit me again? I never wanted this marriage! I never wanted that child! Don't you dare think you can get whatever you want with those threats!"

Her words sting, even though I don't fully understand why.

Silence.

Then Dad speaks again, his voice low and dangerous. "I'm warning you. Don't make me force you."

Mom laughs bitterly. "Oh please, Mr. Hero. You care too much about your goddamn reputation to do anything to me. You're nothing but a fake, and don't think for a—"

SLAP.

The sound echoes through the house like a gunshot.

I flinch under my blanket, squeezing my eyes shut as tears well up. It's nothing new. They always fight. But… something about this feels too familiar, like a déjà vu I don't want to understand.

A heavy silence follows. Then, Dad's footsteps—slow, deliberate—fade away down the hall.

I hear Mom's choked sobs, muffled and shaky.

I don't want to be awake anymore.

So I let sleep take me.

(Kata's POV – Age 3)

I turned three a few weeks ago, and I'm sure I'm a nuisance now.

I can walk on my own, even open doors with some effort. That means I see my parents more often—though I doubt they see me. Dad ignores me completely. Mom, on the other hand, doesn't bother hiding her irritation.

She looks at me like I'm something unpleasant she stepped in.

It hurts. But for some reason, I feel numb to it. Maybe they just need more time to get used to me. Maybe if I try harder, they'll change.

I take a deep breath and step toward Mom, wrapping my little arms around her leg. "Mom?" I say softly, voice laced with childlike innocence. But the word feels foreign, wrong—like it doesn't belong to me.

A sudden wave of dread washes over me. A sharp, phantom pain stings my cheek, as if I've just been struck. The sensation vanishes almost instantly, leaving only confusion behind.

I look up at her, searching for warmth, for kindness…

But all I see is revulsion.

Her lip curls in disgust as she violently shakes me off. I stumble backward, barely catching myself before I fall completely.

"Ugh, just stay away from me, you pest!" she snaps, her voice dripping with barely restrained aggression.

She pats the spot where I touched her like she's dusting off filth, her expression twisted with hate. Then she turns on her heel and storms away, leaving me on the floor.

My abdomen aches from the kick, my heart aches from her words.

But my mind? My mind is clear, eerily calm. As if whispering to me, What else did you expect?

I press my lips together and slowly, shakily, rise to my feet. I walk back to my room in silence, close the door behind me, and curl up in the corner.

Tears well in my eyes.

But no one is there to see them.

(Kata's POV – Age 4)

I turned four a few weeks ago. Things were… manageable, I guess. Until my quirk didn't manifest.

Now everything's worse.

Dad has started getting angrier, arguing with Mom more. When he yells, things break. When he looks at me, his expression is filled with something I can't quite name—but it's not love.

Mom has changed too. She's always been cold, but now she hits me. She curses at me. I don't think she sees me as a child anymore. Just a mistake.

They took me to a doctor. He told them to wait a few more weeks, that sometimes quirks take longer to appear. But patience isn't something my parents have.

Every day that passes without a quirk, they get worse.

"Useless."

"Pathetic."

"You better not be quirkless."

That last one is said with such venom it makes my stomach twist. The word quirkless is spoken like a death sentence.

A few days ago, I got a fever. For a moment, they thought it might be my quirk awakening. When nothing happened, they hit me. A lot. I think I let them down.

Since then, something hasn't been right.

My head hurts all the time. I'm always hungry. My body feels weaker than before. But worst of all—I see things. Hear things.

Crying. Screaming. The sound of fists colliding with flesh.

Sometimes I see hands reaching for me, large and violent, but they vanish before touching me.

And the dreams…

They don't feel like dreams.

They feel like memories.

I'm locked in a small room, starving. I'm being beaten in the streets, trying to get home—but where is home? The pain, the desperation, it's all real. Too real.

I tell my mom about the dreams, about the things I see. She stares at me like I'm crazy, then ignores me. When I try again, she screams at me, calls me a burden, a curse, and hits me harder.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I'll do better," I tell her, even though I don't know what I did wrong.

She only gets angrier.

"What will your apology do?! Just get away from me and stay out of my sight!"

So I do.

I stay out of sight. I don't eat during the day anymore. I wait until nighttime, when they're asleep. But… for some reason, I hesitate before taking food.

Something in me whispers, You shouldn't eat. You don't deserve it.

The hallucinations get worse when I think that way. The shadows linger longer. The hands feel closer.

And in my dreams, I'm left to suffer. Over and over again.

Where are the heroes who smile and save people?

Where are the police who protect the innocent?

…Do adults protect children?

They should.

I feel like they should.

But I've never seen it happen.

What's happening to me?