UA High School, Ground Beta, Adam's Estate – 1:00 PM
Adam Al Hantakour was currently face-down on his bed, his mouth a leaky faucet of drool that was slowly claiming territory on the expensive pillowcase. His hips, governed by the treacherous, instinctual autopilot of a teenage boy in deep sleep, were rhythmically drilling into the mattress. This was a high-end, bouncy, state-of-the-art bed, the kind of furniture engineered for maximum comfort, and its responsive springs were making the cinematic masterpiece playing in Adam's mind feel far more 4K than anything he had ever experienced...In Previous wet dreams. :(
In the dark, dusty corners of his subconscious, the Jinn Al Ashiq, aka the lustful demon that had been camping out in his soul, was cackling like a shonen villain. It saw Adam's sincere attempts to return to Allah and decided to launch a tactical strike. Its goal? To sabotage Adam's Tahara (Ritual Purity) and trap him in a state of Janaba (Ritual Impurity). It was a classic spiritual ambush, old but gold trick that it's efficiency never failed to succeed.
if even one "drop of life" escaped the fountain of life, Adam would be legally barred from his prayers until he performed a full, head-to-toe ritual bath.
Creak... creak... snap.
The sound of the freshly minted, "virgin" bed protesting under the sudden, frantic rhythm was the only sound echoing through the halls of the Adam Estate.
Suddenly, Adam's body gave a final, violent twitch. The movement ceased instantly. A blissful, glazed-over smile spread across his face as trillions of his suicidal descendants were launched into the fabric below his crotch, marking the cotton battlefield with their very lives.
The bed had officially lost its innocence.
"Mmmm... Meryem... come here... don't go... I didn't even enter yet... let me in... Meryem... NO! DON'T GO AWAY!!!!"
"MERYEM'TI!" (My Meryem!)
Adam jolted upright with a scream of pure, unadulterated agony and remorse. The cry was so loud it probably vibrated the windows of Ground Beta.
"Huh? Meryem'ti?" He blinked rapidly, his chest heaving. "No way... that was a dream? Bro, that was too real. That elastic bouncy feeling... the textures... damn it! I almost realized my ultimate wish! I was moments away from entering the Sacred Valley, the legendary, mythical place where life itself forms and grows!"
Adam's face distorted into a mask of Shakespearean grief. He clenched his fists, slamming them into the pillow with a sound of muffled frustration. As his brain fully rebooted, the cold, damp reality of his situation started to seep through his pants.
"TFOOOOOO!" He mimed a dry, aggressive spit at the mess on his sheets. His disgust was palpable.
"I have to shower. I have to wash the sheets. These are the only sleeping pants I have! That damned Lustful Demon seduced me using my own crush as bait... just you wait, I'm going to roast your soul with Surah Al-Baqara! Wait, what time is it?"
He fumbled for his phone. 1:11 PM. He swiped frantically to the Muslim Pro app. The Dhuhr Adhan in Japan was scheduled for 1:32 PM.
"..."
Adam sat in a stunned, exhausted silence. Because he had slept through the morning, he now faced the spiritual "Double Feature", praying both Fajr and Dhuhr back-to-back. But before he could even touch his prayer mat, he needed to tackle the Ghusl (Ritual Bath).
Fortunately, he wasn't in his old world anymore. Back home, a "hot shower" was a logistical nightmare involving a fire, a soot-stained kettle, and a plastic barrel.
Heating the water, pouring it into a plastic barrel, and praying you didn't freeze to death, that kind of torture made him dislike showering everyday, so he only do it when necessary.
Using the actual showerhead back then was considered a "suicide move", if his mother caught him wasting the water like that, he'd be disowned and removed from the family tree before he could even dry off. Here, he just had to turn a handle.
"Alright, it's fine," Adam muttered, dragging himself toward the bathroom. "I need this anyway. I didn't realize it, but I stink so bad my nose has adapted to the stink like Mahoraga... wait, Mahoraga doesn't have a nose. Yo-ho-ho-ho! Whatever. This place has a bathtub. I only saw it in movies and anime, this is a real one! I'm going to fill it with hot water and bubbles and just... exist. Alhamdulillah, life is life-ing! I'm upgrading my brain today. No more village-boy poverty thinking!"
Adam didn't waste another second. He stripped the bed and pants, stuffed them into the high-tech automatic washing machine, which he only knew how to operate thanks to a frantic HeroTube deep-dive, and headed for the water.
The experience was nothing short of heavenly. It took a heroic, Herculean amount of self-restraint to keep himself from "slaying the flood dragon" in such a relaxing setting, but he remained steadfast.
After emerging, he hung the washed sheets on the balcony railing. Under the blazing Japanese sun, he hoped the rays would purify the fabric from the remnants of his "resentful descendants" who were currently cursing him for being shot into a cotton blend instead of the Sacred Valley.
Finally, he stood for prayer. First, the two Rakaat of Fajr. Then, the four of Dhuhr.
But because his stomach was currently attempting to digest his own spine, Adam's pace was... like that of a speedster. He was speed-running the Quran, picking the shortest possible chapters just to reach the finish line. He felt a deep, stinging shame. He knew prayer was supposed to be a moment of Khushu(focus), a slow, meditative expansion of the heart. Instead, he was vibrating with tension, his heart was racing, and "pop-up ads" of his dream about Meryem kept flashing across his vision.
"Astaghfir Allah... Ya Rab, I know this is a disaster," he whispered after finishing. "Please forgive me. I know that when we talk to someone we love, we give them time and focus. You gave me a literal mansion, and here I am, rushing you like I've got a bus to catch. I'm an ungrateful brat."
SMACK!
Adam slapped his own face with the force of a thunderclap.
"Alright! Next time! Next time, I am bringing 100% Khushu energy! But now... I must feed the beast."
Dragging his starving carcass to the kitchen, Adam prepared the "Single Dog's Special": Scrambled Eggs.
But Adam added the Hantakour Touch. He took a block of Luncheon meat and grated it over the pan until the eggs were buried under a pink, salty mountain. He added a lake of olive oil, a handful of cheese, and a heavy-handed dusting of salt and cumin.
The smell was heavenly. The calorie count was lethal.
He paired the meal with a glass of jet-black tea. Tea was the literal lifeblood of a Moroccan, without it, Adam's biological functions would simply shut down like an unplugged computer.
He devoured the food. Then, without even waiting for the "danger" signal from his gut, he marched straight to the toilet with his phone. He knew the biological tax for that meal was going to be heavy. It would be at least a thirty-minute session. Fearing that Nezu or All Might might stop by for a surprise inspection, Adam decided to conduct a "preventive purification ritual" of his bowels immediately.
He opened QuirkTok and began scrolling through reels. Then, the symphony began.
Prrrrrrttttttttt!
PRPPRPPRPPRPRRRRRRRRRR—
TOzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!
Toz. Totz. Toztoz. Prrt.
Toz-Toz... Brrrrp.
Pffff… (A dramatic, three-second pause for tension)
TOZ!
The "Moz-Fart Symphony" erupted, the acoustics of the expensive tiles magnifying the sound until it felt like a stadium concert. Adam sat there, his eyes glued to his phone, but his free hand began to rise. He started waving his finger in the air like a world-class maestro leading a frantic orchestra, conducting the very bowels that were currently fighting a civil war inside him.
...
The silence of the living room felt deadly boring, Pressing Adam into the cushions of the couch, like a lazy koala who doesn't want to even lift a finger.
He had promised All Might he would save his energy, and he is someone who keep his words, and he knows very well, this rest time is a luxury that would be stripped away once the "hellish" training truly began.
He had seen Midoriya's Training arc, he knew the storm was coming.
So He did what every lonely teenager in a quiet house does. He reached for... his phone, Entered QuirkyGram App, and started scrolling.
He stared at the glowing screen of his phone, his thumb moving in a rhythmic, mindless flick.
"Man... this algorithm knows my weakness way too well," Adam muttered, his thumb moving rhythmically.
"It's programmed by devils."
Each reel was a Beauty trap, Every scroll was a calculated strike against his willpower. Because he had just prayed, and because he was still stinging from his lack of khushu, he had a sliver of resolve left.
But the feed was relentless. Beautiful faces of every variety flickered by, Snake girls with waists that seemed to defy physics, cow girls with Mass Destructions Milkear weapons, cat and rabbit mutants, the most common sights in a world where animal traits were a dominant genetic lottery.
"Stop it... just stop," he hissed at the screen.
His heart was hammering. He felt like he was walking a tightrope over a pit of fire.
"This is the last one," Adam whispered, his voice trembling. "I swear to God, if the next reel is another half-naked girl, I'm deleting this filthy app. Just give me one funny video. One meme. Don't make things hard for me..."
The frustration was real, but so was the curiosity, the primal, itching need for one more hit of dopamine.
As if the demon behind the screen heard his challenge and decided to play its final card, the next scroll didn't bring a meme. It brought an ultimate weapon.
with the last scroll, with a firm heart, if another half naked chick appeared, he will exit the app and delete it, Adam scrolled down, with a serious face.
His breath hitched, It Was another Hot Chick, not Hot Rabbit!
The girl on the screen was cosplaying Mirko, one of Adam's crushes in the anime, not because of her beauty alone, but because of her powerful, brave unyielding personality which he admires and really wants to have it.
The skin tone was a perfect match, and though the ears and tail were clearly synthetic, the way her body moved... it was "bodying" in every sense of the word.
Adam's finger Froze in the air, His eyes were glued to the charming movement performed by the girl.
She was dancing, a lawless, shameful rhythm that seemed to pulse through the screen and into his very veins.
"Damn it...Don't ...make ..my.. thing.. hard...gulp"
The reel played again And again in loop for at least five minutes. The music was a hypnotic hum, like Shinso's quirk taking hold of his brain, numbing his reason. His finger, seemingly acting on a will of its own, drifted toward her profile picture.
"I... I should advise her," he muttered, the words tasting like ash and lies.
"This is haram... yes. I'll see if she does this often. I'll tell her to stop for her own sake. Hellfire is real... I'm a hero, aren't I? The system will punish me if I let this poor girl fall into hell... I have to... save her."
It was a pathetic shield, a paper-thin excuse to dive deeper, but It worked, so he clicked.
The profile was a monument to vanity and desire, millions of followers, a gallery of high-definition, 18+ cosplays of every female hero in Japan and overseas.
Adam felt like a brainwashed Nomu.
Hundreds of videos. Each one was a "plus ultra" version of the last, erotic cosplays designed to feast on the desires of men. Adam watched. One reel. Two. Ten. With every second, the tiny spark of lust in his chest grew into a roaring, suffocating inferno.
FEED ME MORE, FEED ME MORE, the voice of the lustful demon in his head screamed.
His willpower didn't just bend, it buckled under the weight of a thousand pixels, shattering like glass beneath a heavy boot. A fiery glow ignited in his pupils, a primal heat surging through his veins.
Deep within its "sheath," the legendary one-inch dragon-slaying, heaven-sealing knife began to stir, its edge demanding release. It wasn't a roar of battle that echoed in his clouded mind, but a deep reverbing rhythmic, mocking whisper that pulsed in time with his heartbeat:
"Oh... you touch my tra la la... my ding ding dong..."
He was alone. The house, no the entire city was a fortress of privacy. He wanted to see what lay beneath the costumes. He wanted to vent three months of suppressed tension. He was bored, he was relaxed, and the temptation was a clicking distance away.
He scrolled to the top of her profile, His eyes lit up as he saw a link.
'QuirkyFans!!'
Adam's finger shook as it reached for the screen. He was seconds away from a point of no return.
The moment he was about to click on it, like a bolt of lightning, a memory struck him.
"Adam-kun, please refrain from visiting shady websites." Nezu's polite, warning voice echoed in his mind.
The flashback was like someone pouring an entire barrel of cold water on him, snapping the "brainwashing" of the demon.
Adam's finger froze an inch from the glass. His vision cleared. The "fire" in his eyes died out, replaced by a cold, numbing horror.
"AWILIIII!!!"
"AAAAWILIIII!!!"
(Literally Adam (start from 1:31) : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BMUst_NjalA&t=105s)
"W-What the... what was I doing?"
Adam's hand dropped to his lap.
"No... Ya Rab... that wasn't me...The algorithm... it's a trap... I was just bored..."
He stared at the phone in his hand as if it were a poisonous viper. He truly didn't recognize the person he had been few minutes ago. It felt like his body had been hijacked by a monster.
But He knows, those are just excuses.
He looked at his thumb, the same thumb that had hovered over the 'QuirkyFans' link, and felt a wave of genuine loathing. He wanted to blame the "lustful demon," to blame the modern world, to blame the boredom of the faux-city. But as he looked at his reflection in the black glass of the phone, the truth stared back.
It was me. I chose to stay. I chose to click.
He squeezed his eyes shut and grabbed his hair, his fingers digging into his scalp. His face twisted into a mask of pure, unrefined self-loathing.
The weight of his hypocrisy was crushing. Just yesterday, He had begged Allah and promised to not look at haram things again, Just yesterday he had repented and thought he had started a new page, a new life, and he had been blessed beyond measure. A home. Power. A place at U.A. The very things he had dreamed of were handed to him by the grace of his Creator, and here he was, at the very first moment of boredom, throwing that gratitude into the dirt for a few pixels of filth.
The self-blame began to spiral, a dark, heavy vortex threatening to pull him into a pit of "what's the point?" If he could fail this easily after being given so much, what kind of hero, what kind of Muslim, was he? He felt like a fraud.
"I shouldn't have opened it. I shouldn't have even looked," he hissed, his face contorting. "Ya Rab... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The weight of his ungratefulness felt like it was crushing his lungs. He remembered the thrill he had felt just moments ago, the way he had been ready to dive into the filth.
The realization that hurt the most wasn't the act itself, but the catalyst for stopping.
"Ya Rab... look at me... I didn't even stop because of Your gaze. I stopped because of a warning from a mouse. I feared the school's boss more than I feared Your disappointment."
He let out a dry, mocking laugh at his own expense.
"I'm a hypocrite. I deserve an eternal place in the fire for this."
He pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging his knees as he curled into a ball on the expensive sofa.
Desperation washed over him like a tide. He couldn't use the excuse of his father's death anymore. He couldn't use his depression. He had been given a new life, a heaven on earth, and he had used it to look for filth.
His heart ached, a genuine, physical pain. He knew that if he had a wife, he would never dared to look at another woman out of love and loyalty. So why was it so easy to betray the One who had created his very heart?
the guilt was eating him, some people will say he is over reacting, that's because their heart is already dead.
when the heart is alive, when the heart loves someone, it feels heartache after doing bad things behind their backs and betraying them.
Allah, the one who gave him life, who brought him into existence, the one who gave him family, house, food, had blessed him, gave him too many favors to counts, is this how he should repay kindness? is this how to be grateful?
"I'm Worse than Shaytan...I Deserve the lowest place in Hell..."
"Ya rab...I give up...I can't control myself, no matter how many blessings you gave me, I'll keep sinning, I'll keep repaying kindness with my ugly deeds, I'll keep betraying you...I'm not worthy to call myself Muslim...I'm just praying for my selfish desires, i don't love you my god, if loved you i won't have done this...I'm unworthy for your blessings..."
He felt hollow. This wasn't a new feeling, it was a ghost from his past. Since elementary school, since the third grade, this cycle had been his shadow. Repent, return, repeat. He felt like a "lost cause," a broken vessel that couldn't hold water.
"La hawla wa la quwwata illa billah..." The phrase left his lips in a tired numb mutter. For the first time, he didn't say it as a ritual, he said it as a surrender. There is no power nor might except with Allah. He truly had zero power. He couldn't change himself. He was utterly dependent. He went limp, submitting to the fact that if Allah didn't change him, he was doomed to stay in this pit forever.
But then, through the fog of his self-loathing, a name echoed in his mind. Similar to His own name, Adam, the Father of Humanity.
He remembered the story not as a dry lecture, but as a living, breathing blueprint of the human soul. The first Adam had been in Paradise, the ultimate "blessing", and he, too, had slipped. He had tasted what was forbidden.
But it wasn't the slip that defined the first Adam. It was what happened after the fall.
The Prophet Adam didn't hide in excuses or drown in eternal despair. He turned. He stood up. He uttered the words that had echoed through the generations, the very DNA of repentance that now vibrated in the modern Adam's chest:
"Rabbana zalamna anfusana wa-in lam taghfir lana wa-tarhamna la-nakunanna mina-l-khasirin..."
(Our Lord, we have wronged ourselves, and if You do not forgive us and have mercy upon us, we will surely be among the losers.)
As the words left his lips, the crushing weight on his chest didn't vanish, but it shifted. It changed from a leaden weight into a firm hand, pulling him upward.
He realized then the subtle trap he had almost fallen into: the trap of thinking he had to be perfect to be loved by his Creator. He saw the "lustful demon" for what it truly was, not just the urge to watch something haram, but the subsequent voice telling him that because he failed, he was now "trash" and should just keep sinking.
No, Adam thought, his eyes regained vitality and hope.
True worship isn't never falling. It's the act of coming back. It's the humility to admit: 'I messed up, I have no excuse, but Your mercy is bigger than my sin.'
The guilt remained, but the hopelessness evaporated. Allah's mercy wasn't a license to sin, it was a safety net for the soul. He had been tested. He had failed miserably. But the test wasn't over until he decided what to do with that failure, the game called life won't end until he die, so before his last breath, he must keep repenting, returning to Allah, even if he failed trillions of times during the process.
He looked at the phone again. The "root" wasn't just the app. It was the access. It was the idle time he had filled with poison instead of purpose.
"I'm not going back to that pit," he muttered, his jaw setting with a shonen-like intensity. The "dragon-slaying, Heaven-Sealing knife" was sheathed, but a different kind of fire was lighting up in his soul, the fire of a man who had looked at his own darkness and decided to strike a match.
"I asked for strength to be a hero. This is where it starts. Not against a villain in the streets, but against the one in my pocket."
With a firm, decisive swipe, he didn't just exit the app. He held the icon until it trembled, then pressed the "X" with the force of a finishing move.
"The first root of problems is down, remain the last boss..."
The weight of his resolve was a cold, sharp thing. Adam didn't just stand up, he rose like a martyr approaching the gallows. His face was a tragic map of tears and snot, but his eyes... his eyes were burning with a terrifying, Usopp-level conviction. The kind of bravery that only comes from a coward who has finally run out of places to hide.
"To show my sincerity... to end this cycle..." he whispered, his voice trembling. "I will sacrifice the very thing that keeps me chained to this earth."
He marched to the kitchen. His movements were mechanical, drained of hesitation. He reached for the block and pulled out the chef's knife, a gleaming, high-carbon steel blade. To test its edge, he grabbed a cucumber from the counter. With a single, effortless shink, the green vegetable fell in two. It felt like cutting through room-temperature butter.
"Perfect. I won't even feel it. A clean strike for salvation." Adam grinned, a manic, jagged expression.
this is it, this is the time for salvation, this is the end of his sufferings, the root of darkness that destroyed his life, he will end it, before it ends him!
He turned and walked toward the bathroom. Each step echoed in the quiet house like a funeral drum. He entered the sanctuary of tile and porcelain, and with a heavy thud, he slammed the door shut.
BAM.
The click of the lock sounded like the closing of a coffin.
Adam stood in the sterile light of the bathroom, He didn't turn on the main light, only the small vanity bulb flickered, casting long, dramatic shadows across the tiles.
Outside, the house was silent. Inside, Adam's mind was a symphony of cinematic sorrow.
As he reached for his waistband, a melody began to swell in the back of his consciousness, low, melancholic strings, a haunting piano, the Arcane OST was playing in his soul.
"It's time to say goodbye… goodbye… goodbye…goodbye… goodbye…"
A single, crystal-clear tear escaped his eye, tracing a slow path through the dried snot on his cheek. He looked down. The perspective was blurred by his tears, but he could see him. His oldest companion. His most troublesome friend.
"Frikholito," he whispered, his voice thick with the gravity of a Shonen protagonist standing over a fallen rival. "So... it has come to this."
He leaned against the cold sink, his head bowed. The "one-eyed black dragon" seemed to sense the shift in the atmosphere, retreating into its "sheath" as if trying to hide from the destiny Adam had prepared.
"You're scared. I can feel it," Adam muttered, nodding solemnly. "I don't blame you. We've been through everything together. From the lonely nights in the old house to the dawn of our arrival in this new world. You were my silent partner. My 'Beasto Friendo'."
He reached out, his hand trembling as it hovered near the area. The music in his head reached a crescendo, the vocals becoming a ghostly wail. He closed his eyes, imagining a field of cherry blossoms falling in slow motion around them.
"But you've grown too greedy, Frikholito. Your hunger... it's a black hole. It's devouring my soul, my prayers, my very connection to the Divine. If I let you live as you are, you will lead us both into the abyss."
Adam straightened his back, his expression hardening into a mask of samurai-like resolve. He reached for the chef's knife resting on the porcelain. The steel reflected the dim light, a cold, silver promise of liberation.
"Don't hate me," Adam choked out, a fresh wave of tears blurring his vision. "In another life... in a world without the 'temptations', without the eternal risk of hell, perhaps we could have been happy. But in this world... I must choose between my pride and my Paradise."
He raised the knife. His shadow on the wall looked like an ancient executioner.
"Sayonara... Aibou (Partner)," he whispered in a deep, gravelly Japanese baritone, the words vibrating with a decade's worth of love and hate weight.
"This is for our own good."
He took a deep, shuddering breath. The "Goodbye" lyrics reached their final, soul-crushing note.
"OSHU!!!!"
He lunged.
"GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HAAAAAAA!!!"
A blood-curdling scream ripped through the bathroom door, high-pitched and jagged, echoing down the hallway of the empty house and resounding through the entire ground beta.
...
The silence that followed was heavy. Then, the sound of the faucet turning on. Drip. Drip. Splash.
Adam stood frozen. The knife had clattered into the sink. He wasn't clutching his crotch, he was clutching his left index finger, which has a tiny wound, oozing with little droplets of blood. In his tear-blinded frenzy, he had completely missed the "target" and injured his finger instead.
"Ouch... damn it," he hissed, "That hurt more than I thought...
The sharp, stinging pain of the tiny cut hit him like a bucket of ice water. He stared at the bead of blood on his finger, then at the terrifyingly sharp knife, then back at his Frikholito.
"what was I doing? I was really going to... with a kitchen knife?"
The reality of the situation crashed down on him. The pain of a mere finger-cut was already making his eyes water. The idea of "slaying the one eyed black dragon" with a knife suddenly seemed less like a heroic sacrifice and more like a one-way ticket to a very awkward emergency room visit.
He stood there, shivering in the cold bathroom air, the "high" of his religious frenzy cooling into a logical chill. He looked at Frikholito, who seemed to be breathing a sigh of relief.
But the resolve didn't leave him. It just... evolved.
"Wait," Adam whispered, his eyes widening as a new, far more efficient realization dawned on him. "I'm an idiot. Why am I trying to be a butcher... when I can simply.... Negate it?"
He looked at his hand. The ominous, black energy of his Niggation power began to shimmer around his fingertips. He didn't need the knife. He didn't need the blood. He didn't need the physical trauma that would surely lead to an infection and a very difficult conversation with Recovery Girl.
He had the ultimate "Delete" button.
With his Niggation power, he could practice the "Sunflower Manual" without a single drop of blood. He could simply... negate the dragon and the dragon balls, temporary. No pain. No wound. Just a clean, removal that he could undo whenever he actually got married. It was the perfect, high-IQ play.
"Ha... haha..." The manic grin returned, but this time it was fueled by cold, calculated logic.
"I'm a genius!"
...
The bathroom remained silent for several minutes as Adam concentrated.
When he finally finished, He stood there, fully naked.
He didn't look like a man anymore. He didn't look like a boy. He looked like an unfinished masterpiece of ivory and bone.
a man who had literally dropped the weight of his worldly desires in the bathroom sink. He was "Invincible." He was unchained by mortal desires. And most importantly, he was as smooth as a polished marble statue.
"damn, it's smother than a plastic figure!"
It was gone. Not 'cut' gone. Not 'bleeding' gone. Just... gone. The entire crotch area was a smooth, unbroken expanse of skin. It looked like someone had taken a high-end 3D editing tool and used the 'Smooth' brush until the geometry disappeared. It was the ultimate "Ken Doll" physique.
Adam ran a hand over the area. It felt like touching his forearm. No hair, no bumps, no "dragon."
yep, Adam Al-Hantakour had negated the One-Eyed Black Dragon. The "Immortal-Slaying, Heaven-Sealing Knife" had been banished to the void.
The effect was instantaneous. A profound, chilling calmness settled over his mind, a mental quietude he hadn't known since childhood.
"The fire... it's really gone," Adam breathed, a beatific, almost saintly smile spreading across his snot-streaked face. "I feel so calm. I feel like even if you placed the hottest woman in all of history in front of me right now—in all her glory—nothing would move. Because there is nothing to move! Yo-ho-ho-ho! I'm a genius!"
He looked up at the ceiling, his naked, skeletal arms raised in a gesture of pure triumph.
"Ya Rab! Do You see my sincerity now? I've locked the door to the fitna! I've thrown away the key!" He giggled, the sound echoing off the tiles with a new, airy lightness. "And the best part... I didn't lose it permanently! I'm just a temporary eunuch! When I finally marry, I'll just lift the Negation and my old comrade will return from the abyss! This is the peak usage of superpowers!"
He struck a dramatic, wide-stanced pose in front of the mirror, his thin ribs heaving with a sense of newfound power.
"HA! HA! HA! HA! I AM FREE! UNCHAINED FROM THE SLAVERY OF LUST!"
His laughter grew louder, more manic, the sound of a man who had successfully hacked his own soul.
"I have no weakness! I am Adam Al-Hantakour, the Invincible of the East—Arabic Version! The Sunflower Manual is truly the road to invincibility! Dongfang Bubai, look at your successor!"
Standing there, naked and smooth, he felt a terrifying surge of focus. His mind was a sharpened blade, and for the first time in his life, he felt truly light.
light like a fairy...
He was free. But as he left the bathroom, he didn't realize that the "Sunflower" was already starting to bloom, and its roots were much deeper than he ever imagined.
...
Sheikh SaikiKusu Notes :
If you didn't catch the reference, I'm talking about Dongfang Bubai, a character from Jin Yong's wuxia novel The Smiling, Proud Wanderer.
He's the most famous eunuch martial artist in wuxia. His legendary technique, the Sunflower Manual, requires self-castration to master, which is why it's associated with eunuchs.
In return, the art grants terrifying speed, precision, and near-invincibility, but at the cost of deep physical and psychological transformation.
Dongfang Bubai became iconic because he was practically untouchable in combat, and because he boldly blurred gender norms, something rare and striking in classic wuxia.
Don't think this plot is just something randomly made on the spot. In fact, it is very random!!!, but it also shows how serious Adam is about changing. In the next chapter, insha'Allah, Adam will meet Midoriya and All Might. I'm honestly curious how they'll interact.
Sometimes it feels like I'm not writing this story at all, but receiving it. Nothing goes the way I plan, subhanAllah, but alhamdulillah, it's moving in a good direction.
The part where Adam feels guilt is very personal to me. I hope it resonated with my Muslim brothers, and with others too, because it's drawn from my own experience. I've felt that guilt many times. All I can say is: trust the mercy of Allah. Never give up, He will never give up on you.
There's something honest I want to share. Sometimes I feel empty, and I feel the urge to stop writing. Not feeling seen is hard. I don't like needing validation, but… I'm human too. I feel invisible in real life, and I don't want to feel invisible here as well.
So I leave it in the hands of Allah. I prayed that this novel would bring me brothers and sisters from around the world, not just readers. Seeing over 40 people giving power stones and leaving comments is enough for me to continue. For them, I'll keep going, insha'Allah.