How Did Maki Get Her Scars

Love Yamcha's iconic look with his scars? Me too! His facial scars were actually acquired during a fight against bandits. Back when he was just a desert bandit himself, he often had to fend off rivals. It is suggested during the 22nd World Martial Arts Tournament match between Yamcha and Tien that he got those distinctive scars in one such fight. What's more intriguing is how the scars have now become a defining part of his character design in the Dragon Ball series.

Dabi, the intense character from 'My Hero Academia', got his scars through self-immolation. They are essentially burns, revealing his tendency to play with fire, literally and metaphorically. It's kind of sad, showing the dark side of his quirk where its extreme usage can physically harm himself. Really adds depth to the character, doesn't it?

I've always paused on character design details when watching movies, and Quaritch's scars are the kind of thing that make me rewind and zoom in. In 'Avatar' he dies in the climactic battle—Neytiri impales him and his human body is left behind—so the original wounds and scars we saw on his face and body in that film were from years of military campaigns and brutal encounters on Pandora. Those battlefield marks read like a veteran’s resume: healed cuts, old burns, and the weathering of someone who’s spent a long time fighting in harsh conditions. When I first saw 'Avatar: The Way of Water' I did a double-take: Quaritch is back as a Recombinant, basically a human consciousness loaded into a Na'vi-like body, and the scars are more pronounced and oddly placed. Canonically, he's been resurrected by RDA technology—memory imprinting and biotechnical reconstruction—so the scars serve two jobs. Some are deliberate echoes of his human injuries (psychological continuity, if you will), while others are surgical seams, implant sites, or fresh wounds from the new fights he gets into. The filmmakers haven't spelled out the origin of every line and groove on his face, so it's fair to say the look is a mix of original trauma carried over, purposeful modifications to make him scarier and more intimidating, and new combat damage he accumulates after his return. I love that ambiguity. On a practical level the scars also tell a story: a man who literally couldn't let go of his mission, rebuilt and marked by both past and present violence. If you’re rewatching, pause on the close-ups during his confrontations and you can almost read them like chapters—old grudges, surgical work, and fresh fights all layered together. It’s a neat piece of visual storytelling, and it made me want to comb through the concept art and behind-the-scenes stills for more clues.

My brain always does a little happy spin whenever someone asks about Erik's face — there's so much revisionist storytelling around him. If you go back to Gaston Leroux's original novel 'The Phantom of the Opera', Erik's deformity is presented more like a congenital horror than the aftermath of a single violent event. Leroux describes him with a skull-like visage and grotesque features; it's not framed as a burn or an acid attack, but as an innate monstrosity that made him an outcast from childhood. There's this bleak, almost gothic vibe: he wasn't disfigured by a one-off incident, he simply existed differently, and people reacted with cruelty. That said, adaptations love to tinker. Over the years filmmakers and playwrights have given Erik different origin stories to suit modern tastes for trauma-based sympathy. The classic 1925 Lon Chaney version leans into makeup and shock value; Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical keeps the mystery and focuses on his emotional scars as much as the physical ones. Some modern retellings will invent burns, mob attacks, or deliberate maiming to explain why he hides under a mask — those choices say more about our appetite for a cause-and-effect backstory than about Leroux himself. So, when someone asks how Erik got his scars, I usually shrug and say: depends on which Erik you mean. Read a few versions — the book, a couple of films, the musical — and you'll see how each creator either preserves the enigma or makes a specific event the root of his face. It makes watching or reading him feel fresh each time.

Maki, known as Maki Nishikino, is a third-year student in the Otonokizaka High School in 'Love Live!'. So in U.S. grading system, she would be around grade 11 to 12.

The protagonist in 'Under Your Scars' is a deeply complex character named Adrian Cross. He's not your typical hero; in fact, he's more of an antihero wrapped in layers of emotional scars and raw intensity. Adrian is a former special forces operative who got dragged into the shadowy underworld after a mission went horribly wrong. What makes him fascinating is how he balances brutality with unexpected tenderness, especially when it comes to protecting those he cares about. His past haunts him, but it also fuels his relentless drive. The story dives into his psyche, showing how his military training clashes with his growing moral dilemmas in the criminal world. Adrian's relationships are just as compelling as his backstory. His dynamic with Elena, a sharp-witted surgeon who patches him up after his violent escapades, adds a layer of vulnerability to his hardened exterior. Their chemistry is electric, but it's far from smooth—trust issues, past traumas, and their conflicting worlds create constant tension. The author does a brilliant job of making Adrian relatable despite his flaws. You find yourself rooting for him even when he makes questionable choices, because his motivations are painfully human: redemption, love, and a desperate need to outrun his demons.

As someone who dove deep into 'Under Your Scars', I can confidently say there's no direct sequel as of now. The story wraps up in a way that feels complete yet leaves just enough room for imagination. The author hasn’t announced any follow-up, but fans keep hoping. The novel’s emotional depth and unresolved side character arcs make it ripe for expansion. I’ve scoured forums and author interviews—nothing concrete. Some speculate spin-offs could explore secondary characters like Mia or delve into the darker factions hinted at in the finale. Until then, fan theories and discussions keep the world alive. The lack of a sequel hasn’t dampened its popularity; if anything, it fuels more creative discussions about what *could* be. What’s interesting is how the author’s newer works subtly reference 'Under Your Scars', teasing connections without confirming a shared universe. The protagonist’s journey feels so personal that a sequel might risk diluting its impact. The book’s open-ended epilogue lets readers imagine their own futures for the characters, which is part of its charm. If a sequel ever emerges, it’ll need to match the original’s raw emotional stakes—no easy feat.

I just finished 'Under Your Scars' and the ending hit me like a truck. The protagonist, after struggling with his inner demons and past traumas, finally confronts his abuser in a brutal, cathartic showdown. The fight isn’t just physical—it’s a battle of wills, with every punch carrying years of pent-up rage. In the end, he doesn’t kill the abuser but leaves him broken and powerless, symbolizing his own liberation. The final scene shows him walking away, scars still visible but no longer bleeding, with a faint smile. It’s raw, ambiguous, and perfect. If you love gritty redemption arcs, check out 'The Weight of Our Sky'—it nails similar themes.