Archive of Our Own ^beta

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“… zai…!”

“… lan… ight!”

‘… What’s that voice…? My eyes… feel strangely heavy…’

Blearily, the boy with the dual-colored hair tried to pry open his eyelids. It was a difficult task for him, a slit at first, which felt like they were being glued shut with invisible weights. Eventually, a sliver of light managed to pierce through, followed by another and another, until he opened them completely.

His blurry sight gradually sharpened as he opened his heterochromatic eyes wider. The first thing he saw was the ceiling. It wasn’t the pristine, wooden ceiling of his room, the one he was so familiar with staring at every morning he woke, but a dusty, dingy brown one that was quite ugly to his eyes; eyes that were accustomed to a more traditional yet refined environment.

Despite its neglected appearance though, everything seemed surprisingly sturdy, as if it had been abandoned just recently. It looked like it hadn’t seen a proper cleaning—at least the ceiling and the wall—in ages, a stark contrast to his own room due to the diligent efforts of the professional servant the old man hired. That servant—whose name he didn’t really remember—meticulously cleaned his room multiple times a week, leaving it spotless.

For a fleeting moment, facing a ceiling he’d never seen in his entire live, he suspected his mind had conjured this scene as a new kind of coping mechanism, starved for escape from the gilded cage of Endeavor’s mansion.

But then, the voices he thought was only the ghostly whispers of his dreams pierced the haze of his disorientation. They coalesced into palpable sounds, heavy with presence.

“Ugh… Why didn’t you just tell me this before?” Came the first voice, a gruff and weary one, echoing with the frustration of a long, fruitless argument.

“Hmm, like I said, it was a nice surprise, wasn’t it, Chuuya~ ❤️“ The voice, laced with playful lilt, came after, seeming dismissive of the other’s annoyance.

When he heard the second voice, Shouto felt a strange sense of recognition. It resonated deeply within him even though he believed he’d never heard it before, at least not clearly.

The teasing inflection yet that fake cheerful feeling underneath… where had he heard it before? He felt like he should know, like it was a recent memory that came with a fleeting impression of something he couldn’t quite grasp.

“Seriously, ditch the act. Get to the point. This is your ‘genius’ plan, right? Kidnap the kid and hope his dad doesn’t sue us?” The second voice spat sarcastically, clearly not amused.

“Ah!” From the tone alone, he could almost picture the man dramatically placing his arm on his forehead, despite not being able to see them clearly from his spot. He was able to catch a glimpse of their backs though when he shifted his gaze slightly to their way. “As always, Chuuya, you know me too well! Still hoping for that prize kiss from this charming face?” The dramatic voice retorted, deftly sidestepping the more serious questions with his trademark bravado.

The second voice let out a sound of disgust at the idea. “I’d rather kiss a frog.”

They seemed poised for more heated arguments, as if it was their usual dynamic to fight but still remained… civil. Shouto couldn’t quite decipher their relationship; were they bitter enemies, playful rivals, or old married couple? His sheltered existence within the confines of the mansion had left him ill-equipped to navigate the nuances of human interaction.

He slightly moved his arm, triggering a sharp twinge of pain that made him wince. The faint rustle of the futon beneath him echoed through the place. The sudden sound instantly silenced the not-so-hushed conversation between the two voices, prompting Shouto to freeze.

A few seconds of lacking reaction from them piqued Shouto’s curiosity, making him turn his head to the side, his gaze locking with the figures who’d been the source of the heated exchange. There were two young adult men in their early 20s who were standing a short distance before him.

What he expected wasn’t much: two men locked in a petty squabble, one raising his voice in frustration while another riled him up. He’d expected them to look mundane and ordinary, probably one having mutated limbs that reminded him to some kind of animal or object.

But as their eyes met, a jolt of something akin to confusion surged through him. Their features, while undeniably too normal for this quirk world, was combined with fashion that was too strange for him to comprehend, as if they came from another foreign place entirely.

Their attire was a jarring anachronism in this modern age. It seemed to belong to a bygone era, perhaps even with a blend of fashion from one outside of Japan.

The shorter man, a picture of understated elegance, wore a white button-up shirt layered beneath a grey vest and a black slacks, a black choker adorning his neck while a pair of the same black-colored gloves enveloping his hands, a long black coat draping around his shoulders like a cape some heroes wore on a mission, topped off with a fedora hat gluing atop his head despite the man was currently indoor….

In contrast, the taller man exuded a rugged charm. He was engulfed in a long beige trench coat as well as beige pants that complemented it, a black vest layered over a light blue striped shirt, and a bolo tie which was held by a brown ribbon and a turquoise pendant. Though, the extensive bandages wrapped around the majority part of his body was what truly commanded his attention.

He’d never seen a modern Japanese man wearing a bolo tie or fedora hat before, and the sight of them with their distinctly old-fashioned accessories felt strangely out of place.

Unless he was hallucinating or imagining things, they were certainly Japanese.

There could be another explanation like a popular fashion these days he didn’t know about that blended the fashion of early 20th century era of Japan with Western influences—he knew the fashion was from early 20th century based on a useless book his private tutor forced him to read in his spare time to ‘add to his knowledge’—Yet yesterday, not a single soul ventured out in such an unconventional ensemble.

Perhaps, these people were recent immigrants who had Japanese blood in them, their heritage a vibrant tapestry woven from the threads of both Japanese and a Western country. Or it might just a kind of fashion that was popular from whichever country they came from.

That last theory seemed more plausible than any other theories he had, though it still didn’t feel like the right answer either.

“He’s up, Chuuya!” The taller man excitedly announced, cutting through Shouto’s lingering haze. He shook the ginger’s shoulders, making him irritated, but he seemed to hold back and continue to respond with a roll of his eyes. “I know, Mackerel. I have eyes.”

The ginger started to approach him, moving with an air of effortless confidence that could only make Shouto stare at him in silence. Perhaps his mind was still swirling with this unexpected situation or still struggling to process the bizarre turn of events.

Again, Shouto’s never woken up anywhere but his room; his icy, tatami-mat room that was a stark reflection of his own controlled existence. That was why this new experience felt… odd, like waking up in a foreign land for the first time in his life.

They weren’t in a room, not really. It was too vast to simply be called a room. Dust motes danced in the shafts of light that shown down from the windows near the high ceiling even while the floor was surprisingly clean. The air hung heavy, thick with the scent of forgotten things. He found himself drawn to a chipped window, peering through it at the distant, indifferent city.

This place was…

‘… Is this used to be an abandoned warehouse?’

Shouto’s train of thought then screeched to a halt as a hand, warm and surprisingly gentle, rested on the side of his head. He flinched at first, not expecting the sudden touch. At his reaction, the hand retreated instantly and Shouto felt a flicker of regret. He wasn’t sure why he’d reacted so sharply.

He looked up at the ginger-haired man, who seemed unfazed by Shouto’s initial reaction. Shouto relaxed his posture, allowing the man to place his hand back, probably to check the condition of a scar or a bruise that Shouto hadn’t noticed it was there, which ironically felt too close to the old scar on the left side of his face. Shouto didn’t flinch this time, instead he felt a strange sense of calm washing over him.

… He didn’t know why he let the stranger touch him like this. He knew it was a stupid idea. Any normal person should be wary and maintain some distance between them. But, the moment he felt it… a forgotten yearning stirred within him. He hadn’t experienced this kind of gentle touch since… his mother.

The hand withdrew, leaving a lingering warmth on his skin. The ginger took a step back, allowing Shouto a better view of him.

He realized he was a little too short for an adult man’s standard and people could mistake him for a teenager if not for his face that bore the lines of a young adult. Despite his lean frame, an aura of strength and warmth emanated from him. A vibrant energy which was full of life seemed to crackle around him.

The ginger started to fuss over him like a worried grandmother, “Hey kid, you okay? You almost died and those bruises aren’t pretty. If we hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have made it. Those heroes, they’re all talk and no action. More worried about the villain than the people they’re supposed to be saving. Those victims are gonna be six feet under before those guys could lift all that rubble.”

He looked around the warehouse, a little sheepish, “Sorry about the place though; this is where we stay. I’ll try to clean things up, even though it seems like someone here thinks lifting a finger is too much effort,” he said, giving the brunette beside him—who was currently feigning innocence—a side eye.

Shouto ignored the duo and immediately paused after hearing the ginger speak. Ginger’s words suddenly triggered a surge of repressed memories within him. It was as if a jolt of electricity had shaken him to the core, bringing to the surface fragments of memory that had been previously obscured by the fog of unconsciousness. They slowly formed a clearer picture of what had happened.

The intense training.

The grueling patrol.

The terrified faces of the civilians.

Heroes battling a big villain.

The sickening crunch of a collapsing building.

Blood and…

Death.

Shouto shuddered at the last chilling word that came to his mind. Vivid images of the victims from his near-death experience flashed before his eyes like a horrific, fast-forwarded film.

A wave of nausea washed over him, but he quickly shook his head to banish the haunting visions.

He exhaled, a ragged one that mirrored the storm inside him, then forced his gaze back to the present. After all, he didn’t know anyone who died there and he didn’t feel that much guilt of not being able to save them. He’d admitted to himself that he didn’t even want to be a hero, didn’t really want to save everyone.

… Well, actually he might lie a bit about not having any remorse. However, the feeling didn’t really gnaw at him. It was a distant ache compared to the overwhelming relief of escaping the clutches of death.

He was alive and that was the important thing for now. Call him a little selfish, but he truly only cared about surviving to protect his mother.

Speaking of that…

“I feel better… But I didn’t die…? How…?” His voice was a hoarse croak, a rusty hinge that protested its first use in what felt like days. The ginger quickly grabbed a glass of water, his hand guiding it to Shouto’s lips. The liquid was a balm to his parched throat, easing the burning sensation.

This time, it was the brunet who responded. The brunet drawled, a hint of disappointment in his tone, “Let’s just say we might’ve bent a few rules to get you back on your feet. About time Mori-san was actually useful for something. I learned a thing or two from the old geezer about how to illegally patching up someone who’s practically dead.”

The ginger frowned at his answer, his voice sharp. “Don’t talk about the boss like that, Dazai.”

“You mean your ex-boss?” The brunet smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement, delighting in seeing the expression on the ginger’s face as the brunet mockingly derided the mention of his ‘ex-boss’.

Whoever this ex-boss was, the brunet clearly hated him.

The ginger’s annoyance simmered beneath the surface, but he seemed to mask it with a barely audible ‘tch’ escaping his lips. Averting his gaze, the muscles in his jaw tightened as he focused on anything but the brunet’s amused face.

Shouto blinked, the bizarre exchange leaving him momentarily disoriented. His gaze darted between the ginger, whose simmering irritation was barely contained, and the brunet, who seemed to be enjoying himself a little too much.

The scene unfolded with an unfamiliar, almost surreal quality, as if his mind was still grappling with dynamics he’d never encountered before. All of sudden, clarity dawned on him.

‘They’re taking good care of me, but… am I a hostage? Though… this doesn’t feel like kidnapping. It’s oddly… soothing.’

Shouto’s gaze lingered on them, captivated by the silent conversation that seemed to pass between them. Their eyes locked, carrying the weight of an unspoken dialogue. The ginger cast Shouto a fleeting glance before turning back at the brunet, his gaze seemingly posing a question Shouto wasn’t privy to.

Whatever unspoken understanding passed between them, Shouto felt out of loop. Not that it truly mattered. Shouto wasn’t the type to care about being the subject of idle gossip or the scrutiny of others. He was already immune to them.

Following a moment of contemplation, Shouto decided to end the unusual interaction by bluntly stating what was on his mind. His expression remained serious and inscrutable.

“This feels strangely nice… Feel free to kidnap me anytime.”

The warehouse was plunged back into silence once more, the kind of heavy, stunned quiet that hung thick in the air. Shouto could feel the weight of their stares, the expressions frozen in a mixture of disbelief and confusion. They looked at Shouto, then back to one another, seemingly trying to decipher whether they’d actually heard what they thought they had despite Shouto’s serious demeanor.

Was he not being convincing? Did he not sound sincere and that’s why they doubted him?

“See, Chuuya? The kid likes us!” The brunet’s voice suddenly rang out, cheerful and loud, cutting through the shock like a sharp knife. He then jabbed his finger playfully at the ginger’s cheek, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

Chuuya’s reaction was less than amused. He swatted the brunet’s hand away with a sharp flick, his eyes narrowing. “Cut it out, Dazai,” he muttered, his tone half exasperation and half warning.

The brunet, undeterred, recoiled dramatically, clutching his hand as though he’d been mortally wounded. “Ow! Chuuya is a rabid dog!” He whined, though it was clear his antics were purely for show.

Ignoring the theatrics, the ginger turned his attention back to Shouto. His sharp blue eyes softened slightly, almost imperceptibly, if Shouto wasn’t currently right in front of him.

“Did you hit your head?” He inquired, his eyes drawn to the bruise on Shouto’s head. A flicker of skepticism crossed over his features. “Actually, you must have hit it pretty hard to say something… like that.”

Shouto wasn’t entirely sure why they were suddenly asking about his head hurting, ‘Why was he concerned about a headache?’ The confusion lingered like a fog in his mind. His thought churned over the connection between his headache and this kidnapping. Was there even one?

Still, he racked his brain, the memory of the day’s events a hazy blur. The bruise though, he was almost certain, was a souvenir from the rigorous training rather than the incident, ironically.

After a moment of hesitation, he answered, his voice tinged with uncertainty, “Judging by the headache and everything else hurting… yes, I think I did.”

… Shouto needed to get better at interacting with strangers to understand people better. For now, he would pretend to understand them.

The ginger grimaced at his answer, turning toward the brunet beside him. “Should we take him to the hospital? I mean, he’s been gone for three days and without any ID to provide, it’s going to get complicated for us to—“

Before the brunet could even respond, Shouto quickly interjected, brushing aside the mention of their supposed lack of identity. Though, it stirred a small wave of curiosity in his chest. It sounded… suspicious, but they had saved him, undeniably. They’d pulled him from the brink of death, and that was enough for him to extend a measure of trust.

“Please, no hospital,” he said firmly, his mismatched gaze steady, “I don’t want to be picked up by the old man. Not that he’d come himself… Fuyumi might, though. But I don’t want to see anyone I know right now…”

“Fuyumi?”

“My elder sister,” Shouto said, offering no further details about her as his gaze dipped towards the stark white blanket enveloping his bandaged body. He mumbled, the words trailing off. “I think being here… it’s the most relaxed I’ve ever felt… I don’t even understand why.”

The ginger was still staring at him as if he was trying to decipher an ancient hieroglyph. The brunet, however, was beaming at his response, his grin so wide it looked like it might split his face in two as he began to shake the ginger by the shoulders.

“Chuuya, Chuuya! He’s happy with us! We’re going to have a kid!”

A vein throbbed visibly in the ginger’s temple. Shouto noticed how drastically the man’s expression shifted whenever the brunet spoke, which demonstrated their volatile dynamic. Were they truly enemies? Why were they together then? “What the hell are you talking about, Dazai?! Are you out of your mind?! He’s not our kid!”

Despite the ginger’s quick denial—which didn’t quite sound convincing—Shouto’s eyes widened in surprise as his mind caught up with what they’d just said. ‘... Our… kid?’

It felt as though the ground shifted beneath him. A sudden clarity washed over him, like a flood, and everything clicked into place. The scattered, confusing pieces of the puzzle finally aligned.

“Are you two… my real parents…?” He asked, his voice was a mixture of disbelief and a strange sense of hope. “Did you kidnap me to… get your real son back?”

The thought wasn’t far-fetched. Being the number two hero in Japan, Endeavor was capable of practically anything. He could easily orchestrate a cover-up and erase any trace of Shouto’s true origins. The possibility of not being Endeavor’s son was oddly freeing. If he wasn’t truly his son, if he belonged somewhere else, maybe the crushing weight of Endeavor’s expectations and his legacy would finally fade away.

Now that he was here, he hoped to remain with his true parents. In fact, being with them made him feel less empty somehow. Perhaps it was because their interactions, while strange at times, felt effortless and natural. He wished nothing would ever drive them away from him again, not even Endeavor, believing that their shared blood connection would likely strengthen their resolve to stay.

The ginger and the brunet widened their eyes just as Shouto had, especially after noticing the sudden spark of hope on his face. Without warning, the brunet erupted in laughter, a joyous sound that filled the room. Meanwhile, the ginger remained stoic, a single eyebrow raised in amusement. He sighed, then elbowed the brunet sharply in his stomach, eliciting a series of indignant coughs.

“Sorry to crush your hopes, but we’re not your parents, kid.”

“We can adopt him anytime—“

“Shut up, Dazai! We’re not adopting anyone!”

The usual bickering started up again, and a wave of disappointment settled in Shouto's chest as he heard his theory dismissed. Deep down, he couldn't help but wish that anyone else could be his parent instead of Endeavor. Honestly, he’d even trade Endeavor for a homeless man in a heartbeat.

“Alright, kid.” The ginger spoke to him again. “Rest up. I'm honestly surprised you're still conscious, let alone talking. You've got some serious pain tolerance. We don’t have any healing ab- quirks here, so you’ll have to tough it out. We’re going out to find some food and then force this mackerel to take a shower. If you need anything, contact us on this.”

The ginger gently placed an object beside his body. Shouto reached out, his fingers closing around a cold, metallic device. It was a burner phone, unlike the sleek, touchscreen models he was accustomed to. He’d never seen one in real life, nevertheless using it. In all his 15 years of life, he’d only used a touchscreen phone.

“How do you use this?” He looked up, asking the ginger.

The ginger hummed, seemingly expecting the question as he explained, demonstrating the phone’s basic functions. When he was finally done telling him, Shouto told him thank you before he and the brunette started to leave.

Then a question occurred to him.

“Wait. What are your names…?”

Both of them halted their steps, turning back toward him.

“Chuuya Nakahara. Just call me Chuuya.”

“Osamu Dazai. Call me Papa and Chuuya Mama, Shouto-kun!”

Out of nowhere, a cardboard box flew across the room, hitting Dazai squarely on the head with a loud thud.

——

Shouto, despite appearing clueless at times, wasn’t an idiot. He recognized that his isolated upbringing, characterized by limited social interaction beyond his family for 15 years—except on special occasions—had hindered his social skills. This made it difficult for him to fully understand the nuances and implied meanings in people’s words.

Dazai and Chuuya—the nice kidnappers’ name—insisted that Shouto remain with them for several days until he was completely recovered. They never explicitly inquired his desire to return home, and Shouto, unsure of his feelings, didn’t press the issue. He knew he eventually had to go back, even though a part of him yearned to stay longer.

He realized that if they weren't his parents—which he was starting to doubt, considering their kindness that reminded him of his mother—then they were basically his kidnappers. Or, as he had initially suspected, there was a possibility they were villains who had abducted him to demand a ransom later from Endeavor.

But their genuine concern, the way the fussed over him like worried parents, quickly dispelled the thoughts about them being villains. Villains, he reasoned, wouldn’t be this invested in their captive. They’d be more interested in securing a hefty reward, tying him up, or worse, served his corpse to Endeavor on a platter.

He viewed them more as well-meaning civilians who’d been providing him with care for a significant duration, even though his gut strongly suggested they were anything but ordinary.

Maybe they were vigilantes?

No matter who they truly were, Shouto still wanted to trust them. Because for the first time in his life, fear, the insidious poison that had seeped into every part of his existence, had finally begun to fade.

Shouto had spent the last fifteen minutes staring at that dusty ceiling, and now his gaze began to wander aimlessly around the space.

The warehouse was cluttered with stacks of crates along one wall, while the corner where he lay seemed to have been turned into a makeshift living area. Two rolled-up futons, a hodgepodge of appliances that looked surprisingly new for such a run-down place, a cupboard, a small round table with mismatched cushions, plus a quirky cat-and-dog lamp that he realized must run on batteries.

The place lacked even the basics: no shower, no kitchen, and the dim light filtering through the single grimy window was a far cry from the brightness of his own home.

Yet, despite all its flaws, a strange sense of belonging had taken root within him. This abandoned warehouse felt more like home than the opulent mansion he’d grown up in.

Shouto’s thought then drifted to the two people who’d saved him. After being alone for a long time, he was now able to distinctly recall the voice from the previous day, which eerily reminiscent of Dazai’s. Even the silhouettes of the stars mirrored their figures as well.

Why did they saved him though? Was it because he was Endeavor’s son? No, Chuuya’s annoyed reaction at the mention of Endeavor suggested a personal grudge on him. It made sense. Everyone who wasn’t blind would have a grudge against that bastard.

Still, why?

Despite the confusion, so far his initial instinct to trust them had proven correct. With each passing moment, his intrigue deepened, fueling the desire to observe them with a newfound curiosity, eager to unravel the mysteries that shrouded the enigmatic pair.

“We’re back!!” The door suddenly burst open with a deafening bang, yet somehow it remained intact.

“Shh, shut up! What if he’s still asleep!” Chuuya hissed, his voice low despite the aggressive tone.

Shouto, though still stiff with pain, shifted his head towards the source of the noise. His heterochromatic eyes scanned the doorway before greeting them, his voice devoid of emotion, “Welcome back.”

Chuuya turned to where Shouto lay, spotting him awake. He strode over, depositing a brown paper bag on the small table. He then dragged one of the mismatched cushions closer to Shouto, placing a second bag beside his head.

Chuuya chided, “Why didn’t you rest? I told you to take it easy.”

"I did," Shouto replied, a little sheepish. "I just woke up, like, fifteen minutes ago? But now I’m starving."

“Oh, right,” Chuuya reached into the paper bag, rummaging through its contents. “I brought food. Here I got—“

“Hey, Shouto-kun!” Dazai exclaimed cheerily while shoving Chuuya’s head aside with a grin, earning a startled yelp and a low growl from the shorter man. “You must be getting bored out of your mind, stuck here for days, even if most of it is spent sleeping. So, I brought you something to lift your spirits!”

Shouto tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “… What is it?”

Dazai’s smile grew wider, a mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. He crouched beside the grumbling Chuuya, hiding something behind his back. He counted three to one to build the suspense while Shouto watched patiently. His gaze fixed on Dazai’s back, as if trying to pierce through the skin and catch a glimpse of whatever was coming. 

“Tada!”

With a flourish, Dazai presented his ‘gift’ towards Shouto, letting it plop onto the top of his blanket. Slightly startled, Shouto immediately looked down at the gift.

“Meow,” it mewed softly, a tiny sound that filled the warehouse with unexpected warmth.

It was… a kitten.

“This little guy is one of several strays we found in an alley. There were like, quite a few of them, none from the same litter, just a bunch of random kittens and cats hanging around. And of course, Dazai insisted on bringing most of them home, like we have the time or resources to take care of a whole bunch of kittens when we’re barely managing ourselves.” Chuuya explained while shooting Dazai a pointed look.

“Chuuyaaa!” Dazai whined, giving him puppy-dog eyes. “But look! They are so cute. That black kitten totally adores you, Chuuya! He meows at you every time you walk by!”

Chuuya scoffed. “Shut up! He’s noisy and just like you. I prefer that orange tabby. At least he has some sense. Remember how he tried to claw your face off and bite your fingers every time you got too close?”

“Aww… so cruel,” Dazai pouted dramatically.

Shouto, however, had tuned out their playful banter. His attention was completely captivated by the small orange tabby kitten curled up on his left chest, purring contentedly. The kitten was surprisingly a comforting weight against his chest.

Another kitten, this one a sleek black one, boldly jumped onto Shouto’s left chest as well, joining the orange tabby. It quickly found a comfortable spot next to the other kitten, curling up into a tiny ball and promptly falling asleep.

The sight was undeniably adorable. Two tiny, fluffy creatures, completely at ease and fast asleep on his chest. Shouto had never experienced anything like it, growing up in an environment that was devoid of such innocent affection.

Shouto wanted to reach out and touch them, but he hesitated, afraid of startling them awake, or worse, hurting them. He’d never even touch a cat in real life before, only usually admiring them from afar.

But as Shouto watched the two adorable kittens sleep, a slow, gentle smile spread across his face, a genuine smile that hadn’t touched his lips after he last saw his mother, a smile that reached his eyes and softened the usual icy coldness of his gaze.

It was a small, almost imperceptible smile, but it was there, a clear sign to the unexpected warmth that had crept into his heart.

——

“Look, Chuuya! He’s smiling!” Dazai leaned closer to Chuuya and whispered, his voice a low, excited murmur as he mirrored Shouto’s rare smile.

Chuuya’s eyes softened as he watched the dual-haired boy. A small smile also played on his lips. Chuuya knew that for someone like Shouto, who rarely allowed emotions to touch the surface, a genuine smile was a precious thing. It was a smile born from true happiness, a rare and beautiful bloom in the desolate landscape of his past.

Dazai was smiling inwardly, his eyes twinkling. “Doesn’t he remind you of Kyouka-chan? All icy on the outside, but underneath it all, a truly kind soul. Someone who has been through hell and back, but still retains the capacity for goodness.”

Chuuya snorted, amused at his description of the boy, “Heh, don’t tell me you’ve already developed a soft spot for the kid, just like you did with that weretiger.”

Dazai, instead of denying it as he usually would, closed his eyes and teased him back, “Hm~ don’t you, Chuuya?”

A slight blush crept up Chuuya’s neck at the accusation. He then clicked his tongue and looked away.

As they continued watching the boy with the kittens, Dazai spoke up again, finally explaining why he'd chosen the kid. “He’s a good kid. All he needs is the right kind of help. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as it’s genuine. With the right training and some affection, he could become a powerful ally. You know I rarely misjudge potential.”

Chuuya hummed skeptically, crossing his arms over his chest. “If he’s that nice, why bring him into this? We want to rebuild the Port Mafia, right? Someone raised as a hero would never willingly join something that sounds… well, villainous.”

Dazai chuckled softly. “True, but just because he’s a good kid doesn’t mean I’m a good enough person to want to push him down the ‘righteous’ path. Honestly, I don’t think it’s the right path for him. He could stay a hero, or live a normal life as a civilian, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t ever feel like himself. He wouldn’t find his meaning of life within those confines.”

Dazai settled himself on the floor next to Chuuya, leaning back slightly as he found a comfortable position.

“He’s already been scarred by the harsh realities of the world, just like us ability users. He’s seen the extremes—the black and white. But what he really needs to understand now are the grey areas, the ones that go beyond that simple, binary morality. He needs the freedom to choose his own path, to define himself without society’s rules holding him back. To decide for himself whether he wants to be good or evil without anyone telling him what he should be.”

He paused, his tone softening. “I’m not pretending to be some kind of savior, but I’ll show him a new way, one he hasn’t seen before that might be the best choice for him. If he rejects it, then that’s the end of it. But, I have a feeling he’ll accept the offer. People who’ve suffered, who’ve stared the darkness within themselves and others in the face and confronted it, usually have a more nuanced understanding of the world.”

Dazai grinned slyly as he added, “Besides, It’s just an offer. He doesn’t have to take it. But I have a feeling he will.”

“Asshole,” Chuuya sneered. But even as he spoke, there was a slight curve to his lips, betraying the amusement he was trying to hide.

Dazai, unfazed, simply raised an eyebrow. “You know you agree with me, Chuuya.”

Chuuya didn’t answer because he didn’t really need to articulate his thoughts. Dazai, with his uncanny ability to read people, would know exactly what Chuuya was thinking.

After all, just like them, Shouto needed a new direction, a path that wouldn’t lead him down the same desolate road, a road paved with loneliness and self-destruction.

Ironically, the very path society deemed heroic, the path of unwavering justice, threatened to break him entirely. And so, they’d like to steer Shouto away from that.

——

“You’ve been here for a week.”

Shouto stopped petting Mackerel, the black kitten they’d brought a few days ago as a gift—The name had come from Chuuya, who immediately suggested it after noticing how noisy the kitten was, especially around Chuuya, and how his fur was as dark as night. The kitten had been injured, with bandages wrapped around his chest that reminded them of a certain bandage-loving individual. Shouto found the name fitting, so he agreed—and looked up at Dazai, who was standing a few meters away with a smile.

“Yes,” Shouto gave a slight nod, his voice a bit stiff. “Is that… a problem?”

“Not at all,” Dazai assured him lightly before closing the distance between them. He sank to the floor in a cross-legged position, his eyes immediately fell upon the kitten. “I’m just curious,” he said while gently stroking Mackerel’s head. The kitten purred and let out a small mew, enjoying the attention. “Don't you miss your home? You've recovered enough to move around fairly easily. And despite the lack of a TV here, I'm sure Endeavor has been frantically looking for you. I catch glimpses of him now and then in the newspapers and on the news broadcasts outside. Your family must be worried."

“Yes… I know,” Shouto admitted while looking down at the floor, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll have to go home later, but… I want to stay here a little longer, at least until I’m truly ready to face that place again. My mother is still in the hospital, and Endeavor wouldn’t want to lose his masterpiece, would he?”

Dazai arched an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “Masterpiece?”

Shouto began to tell him everything about what he’d experienced from Endeavor. He recounted the brutal reality of his childhood, the icy indifference of his father, searing flames of trainings, the chilling fear and loneliness that permeated every corner of their home, as well as the stark contrast between Endeavor the Japan idolized and the monster he truly was behind closed doors.

In the eyes of most, confiding in a near-stranger, a man he’d known for barely a week, would be a bad idea. But Shouto didn’t care. He didn’t care if everyone told him he was stupid. He craved an outlet, a listener who wouldn’t judge and dismiss his pain as mere teenage angst, especially when that person was one of his saviors, someone he felt at ease with.

He knew Dazai was an enigma, a man shrouded in an air of mystery and falsehood. Shouto wasn’t oblivious to the unsettling darkness that lurked beneath the surface. Yet, he felt that this person would understand and not brush aside his issues. He was sure that he would believe him, just like how they could see the truth behind the facade of heroism.

And even if Dazai chose to betray his trust and spill his secrets to the world, he also truly wouldn’t care. After all, the public would dismiss the accusations as the desperate ramblings of a villain seeking to tarnish Endeavor’s reputation. No one would believe that such a high-ranking hero as he could be capable of such monstrous acts.

The silence that followed Shouto’s story was heavy. Shouto started to examine Dazai’s expression and saw how the playful light in his eyes had gradually faded, replaced by a somber stillness. Curiosity that had been apparent on his face had also vanished, leaving behind a frown that was as empty as an extinguished candle in the dark.

“I see. So that’s what really happened to you,” Dazai said at last, his voice carrying a chill that could send a shiver through anyone’s spine.

Shouto swallowed, trying to push down the small pang of fear rising in him (because, surely, he wouldn’t hurt him, right?). Hesitantly, he asked, “You… believe me?”

“Of course. I can always tell when someone’s lying to me,” Dazai replied, his tone calm and confident. Slowly, the tense atmosphere between them lifted, and Shouto felt a wave of relief wash over him. There was something oddly reassuring about the straightforwardness in his voice.

Dazai leaned forward, resting his elbow on his knee as he fixed a steady, calculating gaze on Shouto. “Shouto-kun,” he began, “You’re a bright kid. You must know we’re not your average people. Why then, do you choose to remain here? Most would’ve run the second they recovered, eager to return to the safety of their own homes. We don’t exactly give off the best vibes after all. If you go, I promise we won’t stop you. You’re free to do anything you want.”

Shouto, avoiding Dazai’s intense stare, began to continue stroking the black kitten in his lap. “… I know you two are kind of… shady. You mentioned not having identities, which, to put it mildly, is rather suspicious. And what kind of normal people live in a warehouse? I know you two aren’t normal at all… I just, to be honest, I don’t really know.”

Shouto clenched the fabric of his borrowed pants with his other free hand. “The thing is… this is the first time I’ve felt this relaxed… I don’t feel suffocating weight of Endeavor’s expectations. When I’m around you, I can just be myself, without the constant pressure of living up to that old man. You treat me like I’m my own person, not as a mere extension of his legacy. And It’s refreshing.”

He halted, his eyes locking with Dazai’s, as if searching for some kind of answer. “But I still want to know. Why did you help me? What’s your motive?”

“Ah, what a perceptive boy. You know that saving you isn’t our only motive, right?” Shouto nodded, his expression unchanged.

He understood that Dazai and Chuuya weren’t saints. Their help wasn’t born of pure benevolence. But they had saved him nonetheless. And somewhere deep down, he sense a genuine concern for his well-being beneath their cynical facade.

“Shouto-kun.” He leaned closer to him until his face was inches from Shouto’s. It wasn’t too close, but it wasn’t too far either. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Would you consider joining us on our purpose? I think it’ll be a great way to find a new meaning of your life in this mundane world.”

Shouto blinked, taken aback. “Purpose? Meaning of life?” He echoed the words, his voice filled with confusion.

Dazai smiled, a chillingly beautiful smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “People like Chuuya and myself could understand a little what you’re going through, though no one can completely know your inner world like you do. But people like us would feel lost if we have no purpose. Just like me. So, find a purpose for yourself. It gives you a reason to keep going, a reason to face each day.”

Dazai’s gaze hardened, his face turning serious. “Remember, Shouto-kun. Don’t pity yourself. Pity yourself and life becomes an endless nightmare. Focus on the present, on the path ahead. Let the past remain the past. Only then can you begin to break the chains that hold you down. Not completely, but enough for you to move forward,” he finished by patting Shouto’s shoulder, a surprising warmth in his touch despite the intensity of his gaze.

Shouto stared at Dazai’s hand that was resting on his shoulder, then the bandages that seemed to perpetually engulf Dazai’s body. He always wore them, as if the white cloth had become an extension of his skin. A week had passed since he’d arrived here, and Shouto still couldn’t figure him out.

Why the constant bandages, why that unsettling aura beneath his smiles, why the uncanny ability to shift expressions in a blink of eye, and most importantly, why he’d saved Shouto in the first place. Dazai was the most complex person he’d ever met, even more so than Chuuya, who shared a similarly mysterious air.

Yet, Shouto understood Dazai’s message. He might never fully comprehend Dazai or Chuuya, because ultimately, who could understand yourself was only yourself. And that, for now, his focus had to be on finding his own reason to keep moving forward.

Shouto stared at his own empty hand, the phantom image of his father’s icy glare momentarily flickering across his mind. He then clenched his fist, a surge of resolve coursing through him.

‘Don’t pity yourself… huh?’ Dazai’s words repeated once again in his mind. That sentence resonated deeply within him.

"Okay!" Dazai's loud clap broke the tense atmosphere, as if shattering the seriousness between them. Shouto startled, his gaze snapping back to Dazai's face, where his casual smile had returned. "Now, let me tell you the real reason we helped you.”

He stopped talking to give a dramatic pause, relishing the anticipation he’d created. When he was satisfied with being Shouto’s main attention, he eventually declared, “I want to recruit you to join our Port Mafia.”

Shouto stared at him, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Port… mafia?” He repeated, he couldn’t tell if Dazai was serious or just telling some elaborate joke to him.

Dazai nodded enthusiastically, clearly ignoring Shouto’s obvious skepticism. “Yes. I think you possess the potential to become a valuable member. Maybe even one of our key members.”

Shouto frowned, his unease growing. “Is it… a villain group?” He asked cautiously, his voice tinged with apprehension and uncertainty of where this conversation was headed.

Dazai laughed like Shouto was the one who was telling him a joke. He waved a dismissive hand. “No no. We’re not like those petty criminals who wreak havoc for the sake of destruction. That’s beneath us, and frankly, it’s insulting. Their motives are shallow, driven by a childish desire to defy the hero society. We are beyond the hero-villain divide, with far more ambitious goals.”

Shouto let out a low hum, processing the information. “A vigilante group, then?” He suggested, still trying to categorize this ‘Port Mafia’ to fully understand it.

This time, Dazai actually considered, a thoughtful expression gracing his features. “Hmm, I guess vigilante is kind of inbetween. But not really~ Vigilantes still focus too much on the established order, on the hero and villain society. We’re not bound by those constraints. We operate outside of that rigid framework.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” he pressed. The idea of an organization functioning beyond the hero-villain dichotomy was foreign to him. Alien, yet strangely… liberating.

Dazai’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “First, let me explain what this organization really is. Then you can decide if it’s something you want to be part of.”

Shouto straightened his posture, signaling his full attention. His mind buzzed with a mixture of caution and a growing interest he couldn’t entirely suppress.

He couldn’t help it. After all, there was something undeniably intriguing about being offered a perspective outside the usual confines he’d known all his life. It felt almost like stumbling upon an invention—a completely new way of seeing the world.

“This Port Mafia,” he began, as if he was about to spin a fascinating tale, “will be an organization unlike other. While operating outside the law, we aim to provide refuge for those lost in this rigid, black and white society. We offer them a new purpose, a sense of belonging, and the freedom to be themselves. We provide a home, a place where they’re truly accepted.”

His tone was still firm and unwavering as he continued, “We don’t shy away from violence or murder, but it’s not mandatory. You have the freedom not to do it. While you’re bound to this group, we won’t force you to become a mindless robot that must follow orders. We want to make a tight-knit group, where members genuinely care for each other, where they can find solace and support.”

”This Port Mafia will be seen as a criminal group by the public, perhaps even labeled as villains by the hero society. But those labels don’t define us. You can be kind, you can help those in need, you can be gentle and compassionate at times. While we may engage in illegal activities to ensure our survival, our ultimate goal is to create a new kind of family.”

“I—“

Sensing that Shouto was about to speak, Dazai cut him off again with another question. He wasn’t entirely sure why he asked it, but it might be the kind of question that might help him understand. In a way, Dazai was starting to feel less like a conversation partner and more like a teacher guiding his student to a new lesson.

Then he asked this question he didn’t quite expect, “Before you give me an answer, Shouto-kun, tell me, what defines a villain in your eyes?”

Shouto abruptly shut his mouth, the words he’d been about to say dying on his tongue. The question caught him off guard, seemingly unrelated to their earlier conversation. But knowing Dazai, there was always a purpose behind his words.

At first, the question seemed straightforward, something anyone in their world should be able to answer. Yet, coming from Dazai, it made Shouto hesitate. The usual textbook definition felt… inadequate. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the answer, but suddenly, he wasn’t so sure it was the right one.

‘A villain in my eyes…?’ He pondered quietly, recalling the book definition he’d encountered in most of his textbooks, ‘A villain is someone who hurts people, who breaks the law and inflicts violence upon others for their own gain.’

Dazai regarded Shouto intently, as if reading the answer directly from his mind. “Whatever you think. We’re not fit into that category. The term itself is quite flawed. What about a desperate mother stealing food to feed her starving children? What about homeless children resorting to theft to survive on the streets? What about a grieving father driven to desperate measures to protect his lost daughter in this unforgiving society? Are they villains in your eyes? In the eyes of society?”

Shouto was speechless, his head reeling from Dazai’s challenging questions. He’d never considered those scenarios. The once simple divide between heroes and villains, so clear in his mind, now seemed irreparably fractured, giving way to a blur of gray. His words had flung open a door to a new perspective.

Dazai’s steady gaze lingered on Shouto, his eyes glinting with a knowing, almost intrusive sharpness. While Shouto remained mute, grappling with the questions that had somehow pierced through his constructed worldview.

Abruptly, Dazai shifted on his spot, his fingers snapping together like a brilliant idea had just sparked within him. The intensity of the moment lifted again, replaced by a mischievous spark that danced in his expression.

It always amazed Shouto how quickly Dazai could switch moods. It was almost like dealing with two completely different people.

“Oh, I’ve got it!” Dazai exclaimed, leaning forward with an almost childlike excitement. “You hate Endeavor, don’t you? You think his existence only drags you deeper into misery?”

His directness was quite perplexing to him. “I… guess?”

Dazai’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with calculated intent. “Then let me offer you a deal. Join us, and we’ll help you rid yourself of Endeavor for good. Not just push him aside, we’ll obliterate his reputation, drag it lower than any villain’s. You will free yourself and your mother from his grip. More hands make lighter work, don’t you think?”

Shouto’s expression remained unreadable, but inside he was conflicted. Deep down, he knew Dazai was right and the allure of joining the Port Mafia became tempting and relentless.

Nevertheless, doubt still gnawed at him, refusing to release its grip. Morality still rooted itself in his heart, and while the promise of a new ‘family’ that thrived on a mutual survival and purpose was enticing, the shadow of what the Port Mafia represented was undeniable.

It wasn’t just a group—it was a criminal organization. A life of violence and moral compromise. He didn’t want blood on his hands and he didn’t want to become a killer.

The memory of lives lost last week replayed in his mind like a haunting refrain, their faces etched into his thoughts. The horror he had felt then was still raw and vivid. How could someone so deeply disturbed by death align himself with those who dealt it daily?

Still, the offer of making Endeavor disappear was almost too tempting to resist.

The choice loomed over him, almost suffocating him. Was it worth sacrificing his morality to rescue his mother and finally give her a life of peace? Could he bear the weight of what his decision would demand of him?

“Shouto-kun.”

Dazai's voice pulled Shouto from his spiraling thoughts. His eyes met Dazai's again, and he realized he'd been caught in a loop of panic and fear, dwelling on the possible consequences.

But as he truly focused on Dazai again, he noticed a rare flicker of softness in his gaze. Somehow, it eased the tension in Shouto's chest, letting his emotions settle.

“You need to understand something,” Dazai said, his tone measured, “We don’t involve civilians in our business. And remember, you don’t have to kill if you don’t want to. There’s someone I knew in the mafia who refused to take lives, yet he thrived in his work and even saved some orphans. No one will force you into anything because we want to be better than the Port Mafia itself. We want to build loyalty based on trust and respect, not on coercion. That’s the stronger kind of loyalty.”

Shouto’s thoughts began to settle, like ripples smoothing out on a calm surface, as he listened to the explanation. The notion that he wouldn’t have to harm or endanger innocent civilians brought him a measure of relief, solidifying his resolve to consider the offer.

Joining will be a step closer to aligning with the promise he’d silently made to himself, that his mother’s happiness and well-being would be his ultimate purpose. She was the reason he endured and pushed forward, no matter how dark the path ahead seemed. If this choice could lead to her reclaiming peace and joy, and maybe even help him discover his own purpose beyond survival, then… perhaps it was worth it.

But Shouto needed more time to think. A choice like this, one that could reshape his entire future, couldn’t be made hastily. If he chose the wrong decision, regret would forever stay within him like a shadow.

Shouto exhaled slowly. “I understand. Give me more time to think.”

“Alright,” Dazai offered him an understanding smile then raised to his feet, dusting off his coat with a theatrical flourish. “Take all the time you need~ Just let me know when you’ve made up your mind,” he said, his voice carrying its usual sing-song tone.

With that, Dazai turned, his steps light and carefree as he left Shouto thinking by himself.

Three days had passed since the offer, and Shouto had slowly settled into a rhythm, carving out his own daily routine in this strange new environment.

Each day began with the simplicity of waking up, followed by a chaotic breakfast with the two adults who somehow made more mess than himself. Afterward, he would spend time playing with Chibi and Mackerel, their small antics providing a sense of companionship as he fed and cared for them. Lunch then would come and go, which marked the midpoint of his day.

After finishing his meal, he would leisurely walk around the warehouse and find himself deep in conversation with Chuuya, their discussions ranging from light-hearted to surprisingly profound topics. Other times, Dazai would stop by to check in on him, his sharp wit and teasing remarks often aimed at Chuuya, earning him exaggerated groans or half-serious threats in return.

The lively atmosphere that characterized their breakfast often carried over into dinner, and soon after, the day would end with Shouto retreating to his futon, where sleep would claim him once again.

It was… strangely peaceful. Not at all what one would expect from a group plotting to establish a criminal organization.

Yet, in the solitude of his nights as the warehouse hushed into stillness, Shouto’s thoughts inevitably returned to the offer. He meticulously weighed the pros and cons, tracing the implications of his decisions. What he would gain and lose, what would change and remain; everything.

When he couldn’t find the answers alone, he sought out Dazai. Each question he posed was met with a cryptic yet strangely interesting response, one that only deepened his curiosity. There was a growing excitement stirring within him, a spark he couldn’t quite name made the idea of this criminal group oddly fascinating.

(When Shouto truly thought about it again, he realized that the concepts of legality were distant, abstract things to him. Having spent so much of his life isolated, the rules of the outside world never applied. Why would he care about being lawful then?)

The morning sunlight streamed through the cracks in the wooden blinds. Outside, the melody of birds filled the air, their chirping weaving into the warm hum of the day. Chuuya had already left, casually announcing a trip of to ‘grab groceries’.

Shouto, having spent a week observing the peculiar duo, now understood what that phrase really meant. Chuuya wasn’t shopping in the conventional sense; he was stealing. But Shouto wasn’t one to snitch on the people who’d taken him in.

Seated across him was Dazai, who seemed to be losing in a world of his own. In his hands was a well-worn book with the title ‘The Complete Suicide’ emblazoned on the cover.

Shouto had long since stopped trying to make sense of Dazai’s morbid fascinations, his odd obsession with suicide and doing a romantic one with a beautiful partner. He’d decided not to judge him just because he couldn’t understand him.

Shouto stared at the man, his thoughts tumbling over one another until they finally coalesced into a single, short sentence.

“I have my answer.”

Dazai’s gaze flicked upward. With deliberate slowness, he closed the book and set it aside, his expression unreadable. “Oh?”

“But before I give you my answer,” Shouto continued, his tone steady and deliberate, as if each word were weighed before release, “I want to ask something.”

“Go ahead,” Dazai replied smoothly, his hands clasped together on his thighs as he waited. His attention was now fully on him.

Shouto hesitated for a brief moment, carefully choosing his words. “Do you want to build this organization because you’re one of the lost people too?”

The question lingered in the air, heavy and unyielding. Something shifted in Dazai’s demeanor, subtly, but enough for Shouto to notice. The expression on his face softened into something gentler, one that felt far more real than the masks he so often wore. It wasn’t the usual grin that taunted and teased; it was a quieter expression, one that almost felt like an answer in itself.

And yet, as Shouto studied that fleeting expression, something didn’t sit right. It felt like an answer, but not the one he’d been seeking. It was as if Dazai had given him half of a puzzle, leaving the rest obscured in shadows.

Was he wrong? Or was Dazai only showing him the piece he wanted him to see?

What was his real reason behind creating this Port Mafia?

“So, what’s your answer, Shouto-kun?” Dazai inquired, his gaze expectant, as though Shouto hadn’t asked anything at all.

… At this moment, it didn’t really matter. Maybe, as he spent more time with Dazai and Chuuya, getting to know them better and becoming more immersed in their world, the pieces would begin to fall into place. With time and his personal growth, their complexities might start to unravel, and he’d eventually find the answers he was searching for.

For now, what mattered most was the response he was about to give. It was the first crucial step toward understanding both them and himself.

“I—“

——

A few days had passed since the fateful decision to rebuild the Port Mafia, the first step he’d been planning was slowly but surely beginning to take shape. Dazai sat with a content smile on his face, his fingers lightly tapping against the table in rhythm as he hummed a familiar tune—the song about suicide that had, over the years, cemented itself as his only favorite.

Beside him, a college student sat with an expression twisted in frustration, his eyes burning with irritation. Dazai’s carefree humming might have grated on his nerves, making him nearly impossible to focus. He glanced at the student’s papers that were in disarray, scattered across the desk just right next to the computer he was using.

This was a public library, one of the largest in Musutafu, which meant it offered access to newer computers and resources that seemed almost out of place in such a traditionally bookish environment.

Dazai mused to himself. ‘If only Yokohama had something like this… This model seems more advanced than anything we had back home, even with the world’s obsession with quirks and heroes slowing down technological progress. Still, it’s not that sophisticated; I’m already getting the hang of it after just a few clicks.’

Dazai still didn’t keep back his humming, ignoring the glances being shot at him from the same college student. Out of the corner of his eye, Dazai couldn’t help but notice the student’s face. He looked absolutely hilarious, his expression a mix of irritation and barely contained frustration, fingers twitching as if he were about to throw something at Dazai’s head.

It was his problem, really. The student didn't have the courage to say anything, and Dazai couldn’t care less when the student stayed silent. If he had an issue with him, he should’ve just used his own campus library. Why even come here in the first place?

For the entire time, Dazai’s eyes never truly left the screen, his fingers dancing effortlessly over the keys as he continued his exploration of the HPSC database. His attention was fully absorbed in some of the files that had piqued his interest.

‘I didn’t expect hacking into the HPSC database to be this easy. It’s almost funny that I’m doing it on a library computer. They seriously need to improve their security.’

The rhythmic tapping of his fingers stopped as he came across a section that caught his attention. What had started as a bit of idle mischief, just poking around in the HPSC database to learn more about Endeavor, was turning out to be surprisingly entertaining.

After all, Endeavor had been a slight thorn in their side (even if he didn’t realize it). He was one of the reasons they were stuck in this mess.

The idea of pranking him or blackmailing him had amused Dazai. And before he could really dive into those petty schemes, he needed to know everything about the man.

Dazai was dedicated when it came to his targets. He could give up paperwork and mundane tasks in a heartbeat, but when it came to uncovering secrets, he would immerse himself with enthusiasm.

But then, as he dug deeper into the files, he stumbled across something far more compelling than Endeavor himself.

His son, Shouto Todoroki.

He began to devour every detail about him, absorbing the information like a sponge. When he reached this particular file, a spark had ignited within him. He sensed something deeper; something intricate. The game had changed and Dazai was utterly hooked.

After finishing his reading, Dazai went back to humming. The student’s patience seemed to be wearing thin and Dazai could sense the tension building on his face. The young man’s arm shifted as though preparing to slam the thick book he was clutching onto Dazai’s head in one swift motion.

Dazai, ever the observant (ex)detective, read his movements easily. The second the student’s arm tensed, he darted to the side, narrowly avoiding the impending object. The book slammed into the wall behind the computer with a heavy thud, a close call that could’ve easily left him with a headache.

With a smirk curling at the edges of his lips, Dazai wasted no time in making his exit. He slipped away before the student could muster the courage for another confrontation, leaving behind a trail of unresolved chaos.

The librarian, who’d been silently eyeing the scene, had stepped in and was about to deal with the situation. Dazai didn’t stick around long enough to find out what the consequences awaited the frustrated student.

As long as he was out of sight before any drama unfolded, everything would be fine.

As Dazai walked down the street, hands casually tucked into his coat pockets, his mind wandered to something far more exciting than the brief chaos he'd just left behind.

‘Shouto Todoroki, huh? He would make an excellent first recruit… I can only imagine how Endeavor will react when I steal his 'masterpiece' from him.’

Dazai chuckled to himself, his voice barely audible to anyone nearby.

“It’ll be funny keeping this from Chuuya, at least until after it happens.”

——

He slammed his hand down on the table in front of Dazai, a hairline crack tracing the line of impact. Chuuya, face a mask of thunder, glared at his partner. “Dazai! Why did you let him go! After everything, after you heard about his past, about that garbage fire of a father, you let him return to that hellhole! You said he’d accept your offer, didn’t you?!”

Dazai, ever the enigma, merely waved a dismissive hand. “Chuuya is misunderstanding the situation.”

“Misunderstanding?” Chuuya repeated, disbelief and anger heavy in his tone. “What part of this am I misunderstanding, Mackerel?”

A sly grin touched Dazai’s lips, unfazed by the edge in Chuuya’s tone. Calmly, he told him, “Shouto has accepted our offer. He’ll be the first member of our organization.”

Chuuya’s anger immediately gave way to confusion. His expression shifted, trying to process the unexpected turn of events. Blinking in bewilderment, he finally asked, "Then why the hell did he go back to him?"

Dazai settled into the plush seat, casually leaning his side against the table. His posture was relaxed, almost too much so, as he spoke with his usual air of indifference.

“Now that’s where your understanding falters. Shouto-kun… he’s loyal, fiercely so. To his mother. You see, she’s the only good thing he’s ever known. So he made a deal with me to reside in that mansion for the time being. But only until he can ensure his mother’s complete escape from Endeavor’s clutches. And, of course, until we complete our end of the bargain to help him set her free.”

“Oh,” a wave of relief washed over Chuuya, easing the tension that had gripped him. He hadn’t realized that the boy was playing a long game, a dangerous game nonetheless. But frankly, as he thought more about what it implied, it was a brilliant move. “He’s a smart one,” Chuuya admitted, a note of pride creeping into his voice.

Dazai nodded, easily agreeing with him. “Indeed. A diamond in the rough. He’ll truly shine with our guidance.”

Chuuya couldn’t help but smile. The kid had grown on him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. With every passing moment, he found himself growing fonder in the boy’s presence. He was a nice kid, and like Dazai said, he reminded him of Kyouka. Back in the Port Mafia, he’d looked after her ever since Kouyou took her under her wing.

He might have a soft spot for kids like them. Probably because he saw a reflection of himself in their struggles, a reminder of those early years when he ran with a gang of homeless children before the mafia claimed him.

Still, the thought of Shouto enduring more of Endeavor’s abuse left an uneasy feeling in his chest.

“Don’t fret, Chuuya. I’ve got a little plan to get Endeavor to ease up on Shouto’s training,” he assured him with an air of confidence. “And Shouto told me himself that he’s gonna endure it, every last bit, and asked me not to intervene between him and Endeavor. He’s set on pretending everything is normal. Because I gave him my word, I won’t break my promise. We can’t risk Shouto losing faith in us, can’t we?” He stated calmly.

“Still—“ Chuuya began to argue, but Dazai interrupted him.

“You do remember we’re not heroes, don’t you? We don’t go around saving people who don’t want to be saved, especially when the timing’s off,” Dazai mused, his gaze distant. “We just need to wait. Patience will make everything fall perfectly into place. Rushing in now will only ruin everything.”

He turned his head to look at something out of Chuuya's line of sight, his face falling into that familiar contemplative expression, like the gears of his mind were spinning with hidden schemes.

“Even if the path takes longer, as long as we achieve our goal completely, it’ll all be worth it. And besides…” His voice trailed off, lowering into a near-whisper as it laced with scheming. “I’ve got something even bigger planned for him.”

Chuuya followed Dazai’s gaze to the snow globe, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and begrudging trust. He knew better than to question Dazai’s plan outright. The man had a way of weaving chaos into triumph.

Just when Chuuya thought Dazai had finished talking, Dazai continued, his tone casual but loaded. “And as a symbol of our agreement, we’ve decided to exchange something we consider important. A promise to seal our deal and as well as my welcome to our organization.”

Meanwhile, across the city, Shouto sat quietly in his room, stroking the soft fur of two kittens nestled on his lap—a sleek black one named Mackerel and a fluffy orange tabby one named Chibi. His heterochromatic eyes softened as he watched the kittens, blissfully unaware of the secretive conversation unfolding miles away.

——

OMAKE

“Dazai, Where are we going?!”

“You’ll see. It’s a surprise, Chuuya!”

-

“Oi, you bandage idiot! Just tell me where we’re headed!”

“Chuuyaa, if I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it? A secret is a secret.”

-

“Are you seriously dragging me to some villain attack now? What’s your plan, huh?!”

“Chuuya is so impatient~”

-

“Enough with this, Mackerel! Why are we climbing this mountain of rubble? And why the hell are we just standing here?! They’re probably dead by now!”

“Just trust me, Chuuya. Stand right there. Yes, stop! Good boy. Ow, Chuuya, stop throwing rocks at me! Fine, fine, stop glaring. Just move those over there, and… tada!”

“… What the actual hell.”

“Surprise~ Meet our first potential recruit!”

Dazai sauntered casually to the edge of the rubble pile, bending down to peer into the gap. Inside, a bloodied boy with striking red and white hair lay barely clinging to life, though Dazai figured he wouldn’t die just yet, at least not if they intervened in time.

Wearing his signature smirk, Dazai mentally checked off the boy’s distinguishing features to confirm his identity. Once everything lined up, Dazai called out cheerfully.

“Oya? Who is this boy?”

Chapter Text

The sight of Shouto stepping back into his family home, looking ironically healthier and in way better condition than before he went missing, sent a commotion surging through his family.

Fuyumi was the first to react. Relief washed over her as she quickly rushed toward him, engulfing him in a tearful embrace. Shouto stood stiffly in her hold, his body tense and unsure of how to respond to her touch. He felt awkward and out of place, but for now, he was willing to stay silent and not voicing his discomfort.

Natsuo, who had apparently stayed behind at the house during Shouto’s absence to comfort Fuyumi, stood a few steps away. His gruff exterior softened slightly, as though he was relieved of his return as well. Shouto, however, couldn’t help but feel puzzled by his reaction. He and Natsuo had never been particularly close; their interactions sparse and distant, usually just leaving him alone.

Looking back at Fuyumi, who was now crying and alarmingly pale, it was then that Shouto understood that Natsuo must have been there for Fuyumi’s pillar of support. She seemed like she could pass out at any moment considering how sickly she looked.

Endeavor watched the reunion unfold with his arms crossed. For once, he said nothing about his older sister showing affection toward Shouto. His face was a mask of strained relief at first when he found out his ‘masterpiece’ had returned in one piece.

A few minutes later though, he immediately got back to his usual harshness. He launched into an interrogation, firing off questions about the kidnapping, the villains, and the details of his escape.

Shouto decided to meet his father’s relentless questioning with carefully constructed lies just to appease his father.

After finding Shouto’s answers satisfactory, his father chastised him for his weakness, berating him for failing to protect himself against mere villains. Without further delay, he resumed his training and pushed him harder than before, as if to compensate for the brief period of vulnerability.

For Shouto, it was a return to routine. Another normal day for him. Yet, for a moment, he found himself missing the moments he’d shared with Dazai and Chuuya, but he knew he had to push himself through when he still needed to remain here.

Extending far beyond his family, the mystery surrounding Shouto’s return quickly captured the nation’s attention. Somehow, the media was able to find out about the news of his return, which then erupted across Japan like wildfire. He became the talk of the nation, making him the dominant topic of conversation.

It was inevitable to happen. He’d already guessed that his kidnapping and return were bound to cause a sensation, especially since he was the son of the Number Two Hero. For this reason, it was easy for the internet to get drawn into his story.

Knowing how popular the topic of his kidnapping had become even before his return, Shouto started to wonder. Dazai and Chuuya must have been aware of the chatter surrounding Shouto, yet they showed no signs of concern every time they ventured outside.

It was remarkable, almost baffling, because any ordinary villains would have been on edge after knowing their actions were fueling the most talked-about story in all of Japan. With how they remained unfazed all the time he was with Shouto, it felt as if they treated it like it was just another day for them.

Endeavor, in his own twisted way, had unwittingly played the part of a concerned father almost too convincingly with how much he’d publicized about Shouto’s missing. It left a sour taste in Shouto’s mouth.

Later, when Endeavor appeared on TV to ‘express gratitude’ for the public’s support and concern, his words rang hollow and rigid. There was this forced stiffness in his demeanor that was painfully obvious to anyone who wasn’t blind, like he was grudgingly reciting lines scripted by his PR team to maintain his reputation rather than being truly grateful about his son’s return.

The media predictably wanted to demand further details about where Shouto had been. A press conference was quickly arranged, that seemed only to make the problem way too exaggerated than the reality. It was more than just irritating; it was exhausting, because his presence was necessary to satisfy the public.

There, Shouto crafted a narrative that was both believable and evasive; one constructed of half-truths and convenient omissions. He spoke of being kidnapped by a shadowy group of ‘villains’, of a mysterious doctor who kept him alive for reasons unclear, and of endless days spent in solitary confinement, guarded by two masked villains who never revealed their true identities.

Shouto claimed that the villains sought to use him against his father, to get their revenge on Endeavor. When he was asked of the reason, he said he didn’t know the detail because they never told him. After that, he painted an opportune moment seized when his captors were distracted, managing to escape to freedom.

It was a chilling story that fueled public outrage.

At the end, the ‘why’ of the kidnapping remained a tantalizing detail that left unanswered. After all, as far as the public was concerned, villains were villains, so their motives were irrelevant. They were all enemies that had to be eradicated, not understood. His story was the kind of tale that seemed interesting enough for the public, who was always eager for a good story, making them not question him any further.

The fabricated tale had served its purpose and satisfied the public’s thirst for drama, deflecting further scrutiny. It was a story that had ended on the best possible note; Shouto was home, safe and sound, and reunited with his family again.

(He hoped this story wouldn’t come back to bite him later because he knew he’d just lied and created an entirely fictitious group of villains as scapegoats. At least, this group didn’t really exist, so Shouto knew this wouldn’t leave a trail leading anywhere at all.

He just spouted out something that came to his mind after all, something that was inspired by a cartoon he used to watch as a kid, thinking that a villain group that had a mysterious doctor and masked people as their leaders sounded like something ripped straight from cheesy hero-versus-villain cartoon. It would be too absurd to be real so he thought it was a good idea to use this story.

Somewhere far away, in a dimly lit laboratory, a bald man with bush mustache was adjusting his equipment when a faint sneeze suddenly escaped him. In another shady bar, a man with hands covering his face and almost all over his body sneezed as well, startling a figure shrouded in fog, who nearly dropped the glass he was polishing.

Meanwhile, in an isolated chamber bathed in sterile, dim light, another man sat motionless. His face was hidden behind a black mask and his body was hooked up to a web of medical tubes pulsating faintly with unknown fluids. He suddenly sneezed before he stirred. The powers inside him pulsed once more, disrupted him from his thoughts for a second before grinning evilly to himself).

Shouto sighed as the lingering images of the flashback slowly faded from his mind. His feet hit the pavement with urgency as he sprinted down the street, already memorizing how to navigate the familiar route to the warehouse. He knew it by heart now, each turn and alleyway an intimate detail of his secret passage.

Pulling the hood of his sweatshirt low over his head, Shouto slipped his hands into the warm, welcoming pockets. Chibi and Mackerel poked their small heads out from within, their soft fur brushing against his hands in a fleeting moment of comfort.

These past few weeks, their presence had helped grounding him when everything felt uncertain, particularly when the public and media were still obsessed with him.

The warehouse had become his escape; his place of refuge. He’d become a regular visitor, visiting multiple times a week whenever he could.

His visits were carefully orchestrated around his father’s predictable schedule. Endeavor, like many of his generation, still relied on an old-fashioned handwritten method. The handwritten schedule papers in his office—which he made sure to sneak inside once every week—allowed Shouto to plan when he should sneak out unnoticed.

After passing the complex path that had become second nature to him, Shouto halted in front of the door, his chest heaving with the exertion of his sprint. His eyes then lingered on the familiar structure for a moment before he exhaled a breath, tired of running all the way here.

Not bothering with the formalities most guests might do while visiting their friends’ house, Shouto pushed open the door without knocking. The creak of the hinges welcomed him inside as he slipped in without hesitation.

“You’re late!”

The voice belonged to a certain fiery ginger. His hair was a blazing beacon against the faint natural lighting coming from the only window in the warehouse. He was there, standing a few meters ahead while his ocean blue eyes locked on Shouto.

Behind him, sprawled across the floor in exaggerated misery, was Dazai. Limbs lifted awkwardly in a comical display, Dazai flopped around as though auditioning for the role of a poorly strung puppet. Chuuya, his begrudging handler by apparent default, had a firm grip on Dazai’s legs. With no trace of gentleness, he was dragging his companion across the floor like a scavenger’s cart hauling its daily load.

Shouto stood in silence, observing the spectacle. He had long since decided not to question their antics. Still, their bizarre dynamic were a constant source of amusement. There was an absurdity in their interactions, a strange charm that kept him captivated despite himself.

For that reason, he would usually just pretend to never say anything and point them out. They were quite funny, though he wasn’t entirely sure how to express it since it was still hard for him to manage a smile. So, as always, he kept quiet, content to watch the chaos unfold.

Dazai’s legs finally met the ground with a dull thud, eliciting a groan of protest. Chuuya, the expert in everything about Dazai, continued his advance, leaving Dazai to sprawl on the floor like a discarded marionette.

Chuuya flicked his thumb toward the door behind Shouto. “Let’s head outside. I’ll teach you some combat techniques, and yes, it’s still quirkless training. You need the right basics first. You can’t rely on your quirk all the time. What happens when you can’t use it? You’ll freeze like an idiot. Trust me, that’s not the look you want in a fight.”

He paused to jab a thumb in Dazai’s direction and added, “Training is only half as long today though. Because afterward, you’re learning from this idiot, who I practically had to drag out of my futon.”

“But Chuuyaaaaa!” Dazai whined dramatically from the floor, still sprawled out like he had no intention of moving.

“Shut it, idiot,” Chuuya snapped.

Shouto, paying Dazai no mind, simply gathered Mackerel and Chibi in his hands. The kittens meowed eagerly, their tiny bodies squirming as they somehow fought to cling to his left hand. They were acting like his left arm was the prime real estate for kitties.

With a resigned sigh, Shouto let them settle there. Only then did he turn his attention back to Chuuya. “Sorry I’m late. I wanted to leave earlier, but that old man was hanging around the house longer than usual. I waited until I was sure he’d locked himself in his office for the say before heading out.”

“… Heh, so my little plan is working,” Dazai muttered something under his breath when a smirk crept into his lips. Shouto didn’t really hear his words because his voice was so low it was almost inaudible. He still caught some though, but it wasn’t too clear, almost like he’d only imagined him talking those words.

Shouto’s gaze narrowed suspiciously at him then asked, “What?”

Dazai simply looked at him back with a picture of innocence, offering him a mischievous grin in response. “It’s nothing!”

… Somehow, he didn’t buy it.

He knew better than to push though, because rule number one when dealing with Dazai if you weren’t Chuuya: just ignore him.

Chuuya lifted Dazai’s legs again when it was clear Dazai was too lazy to move on his own. With a sharp grunt of effort, he started to pull and drag Dazai out, his lanky frame almost resisting every tug.

When Dazai’s head collided with the doorway, a dull thud echoed through the warehouse. “Ow! Chuuya, you brute!” Dazai complained, clutching his head as if mortally wounded. “Do you have any idea how delicate I am? Release me this instant!”

Chuuya didn’t dignify him with a response as the duo passed Shouto, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like, “This is what you get for running your mouth.”

Shouto watched the scene with a mix of bewilderment and faint amusement. His sharp ears caught Chuuya’s words, further fueling his suspicions.

It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed their odd behavior whenever the subject of Endeavor came up. Their reactions made it clear they knew something about the current situation with Endeavor. However, they’d keep changing the topic whenever Shouto asked, so for now, he decided to press the matter when he’d gained their trust more.

Still, the mystery gnawed at Shouto. Something had been off with Endeavor ever since a few days after he returned home and he was curious. At first, training sessions began as usual, then suddenly, Endeavor started to behave very strangely.

Some days, he was furious, his face turning so red it resembled an overripe strawberry. But one day, after his anger escalated in five stages (from irritated to downright volcanic), his expression was replaced with something he hadn’t ever seen on his face before; fear.

Shouto had no idea what could make a man like Endeavor afraid, and it wasn’t just him who noticed. Even Fuyumi had been watching the old man with growing concern. Her anxious glances made it clear she was on edge, half-expecting Endeavor to combust and potentially burn down their house to ashes.

Shouto of course was curious about what made Endeavor act like that, so he chose to investigate. He pored over news reports and scanned for TV broadcasts, looking for a clue. That was when he saw it, the headline that answered his question.

The Endeavor Agency building had been vandalized, its proud exterior defaced in bold, mocking colors: red, yellow, and blue; the unmistakable colors of All Might.

Graffiti stretched across the building in spray-painted letters that read, ‘The Number One Hero: All Might’. Just beneath the words was an awful drawing of All Might standing victoriously, one arm raised high as he shouted, ‘Plus Ultra!’. He towered over a defeated Endeavor, who held up a white flag in surrender, his expression etched with defeat.

That day, Endeavor had returned home that evening with a look that could have melted steel. The sheer fury radiating from him was almost tangible, and Shouto could tell he was barely restraining himself from killing someone.

The next few days unfolded in much the same way, each one punctuated by a new, meticulously planned prank. Shouto couldn’t help but admire the sheer dedication of whoever was behind them. The pranks, while harmless, were undeniably effective at chipping away at Endeavor’s reputation.

Actually, they became a source of endless amusement for the public and even villains, who seemed to find the humor in the pranks. No one really seemed to mind them, aside from Endeavor himself, his increasingly frazzled agency staff, and his loyal fans.

When the incident of painted agency building happened, he vividly recalled Dazai laughing uncontrollably. He scrolled through his phone (not the burner one of course, and he wouldn’t ask where he’d gotten it, since from what he knew, they were broke), showing Shouto these things called ‘memes’.

These ‘memes’ had taken over a social media platform that he couldn’t even remember its exact name—it called Tweet or something. Shouto didn’t even understand the endless stream of chaotic images and captions. Meanwhile, Chuuya rolled his eyes, muttering something about ‘the idiot wasting time.’

(Curiously, he’d noticed a pile of dirty clothes shoved into the corner, each piece splattered with dried paint in a kaleidoscope of colors. Were they learning to paint as a new hobby or something?

Shouto would ask to join in sometimes. It seemed fun).

Well, Shouto enjoyed the daily pranks. Honestly, he would gladly pay the prankster to keep the antics going every day. That time when Endeavor returned with rainbow glitter clinging to every strand of his hair after a glitter bomb exploded in his office was entertaining. It left him sparkling like a disco ball.

The dazzling colors were so blindingly bright that people shielded their eyes whenever he passed. Once, a villain was even defeated because they accidentally looked straight at Endeavor when the sunlight hit his hair. For days, Endeavor’s stoic demeanor contrasted hilariously with the trail of shimmer he left behind.

Though, the moment Shouto saw Endeavor passed him in the dining room, pale-faced and disheveled, was one he was mostly curious about. He looked shaken, almost haunted. His usually commanding presence was nowhere to be found. For a fleeting moment, Shouto thought he might’ve actually seen a ghost.

Curiosity tugged at him, but Shouto knew better than to pry. Asking Endeavor about it would only remind the man of his existence, and that was the last thing Shouto wanted. The fear of being dragged to the training room for another grueling session quickly snuffed out any questions lingering on his tongue.

If nothing else, the mysterious pranks that had been plaguing Endeavor lately had one silver lining—fewer training sessions. Endeavor’s mind, usually laser-focused on pushing Shouto beyond his limits, was now consumed by single obsession; ‘revenge’.

Whoever was behind the mischief had completely overtaken Endeavor’s thoughts, leaving little room for anything else. For the moment, Shouto was quietly relieved to no longer be the center of the old man’s attention.

The trio made their way to the area behind the warehouse. Chuuya began teaching Shouto the basics of quirkless combat, a blend of martial arts techniques and street-fighting skills honed through years of experience.

During the hour full of training and fighting him (trainings that felt way less painful than with the old man), Shouto quickly realized that Chuuya’s punches carried an almost unnatural force. They were heavy and powerful, leaving him wondering if Chuuya could even take down someone like Endeavor in a fight with one full force hit.

It was then Dazai’s turn to teach. Dazai’s approach to teaching felt like a private tutor unraveling the secrets of a hidden world. His lessons delved into the intricacies of the underworld; the inner workings of the mafia, strategies for negotiation, how to use a gun safely, etc. The information was steeped in illegality, but Shouto had long since accepted what he had to deal after joining their group.

A month passed in a relentless cycle of training and lectures. He had already begun to settle into rhythm, until one day, the routine they’d built suddenly changed.

“We’re going to… what?”

“Creating new identities, Shouto-kun! Don’t you want to join us? Real-world experience is so much more valuable than boring theories,” Dazai announced excitedly, as if he hadn’t just casually invited Shouto to engage in blatantly illegal activity like it were a mere weekend hangout.

Chuuya beside him shot Dazai an exasperated look that spoke of long-suffering familiarity with his antics. Yet, tellingly, he didn’t object to Shouto’s inclusion, as though the plan had been decided before he was even informed.

“Yes… But now?” Shouto asked, his tone hesitant.

“Of course! Unless Endeavor happens to come back early today?”

“No, he’s been obsessively hunting down the prankster since the first prank happened. At this rate, I think he’s forgotten I exist,” Shouto answered. In truth, he found this a welcome change.

Dazai chuckled, his voice smooth yet cheerful. “Perfect then! You can join us, right? It won’t take too long. I’ve already found a connection who can help us.” Dazai exhaled his breath, pretending to be tired. “Such hard work deserves a reward, don’t you think? Maybe a nice, relaxing massage from a super tiny chibi with little hands can help?”

Chuuya’s patience almost snapped. “I’m gonna massage you so hard you’ll fold like a paper.”

Feigning offense, Dazai dramatically grabbed Shouto’s sleeve, fake tears brimming in his eyes. “Look, Shouto-kun! Your Mama is bullying me. This is domestic abuse!”

“For the last time,” Chuuya growled, “I’m not his Mama! And I’m definitely not your wife!”

… Yeah, this was usual.

Shouto coughed, cutting through their banter to regain their attention. “Why didn’t you tell me about this the other day? What if I wasn’t here today?” He wasn’t exactly opposed to observing them, but he needed time to mentally prepare himself before diving into a very illegal activity.

Dazai simply shrugged, completely unfazed. “I forgot.” Chuuya facepalmed beside him, groaning, “Don’t mind him, Shouto. He also just told me about this thirty minutes ago. If I’d known sooner, I would’ve let you know.”

Shouto sighed. It was just like Dazai to leave everyone in the dark until the last possible moment. He suspected that even Chuuya didn’t have the full picture, especially when it came to this ‘mysterious’ connection.

“Well, then,” Dazai declared, spinning on his heel with theatrical flair. He raised an arm high, as if leading a parade of preschoolers. “Let’s go meet this new connection I’ve discovered!”

——

Giran was a villain, but more than that, he was an information broker.

At present, he remained unaffiliated with any specific group. He worked solely for those who could meet his steep price, provided they belonged to villains’ side.

That meant he didn’t sell information to just anyone who flashed a hefty sum of money. Because he understood that the shadows of the underground were often infiltrated by underground pro heroes or vigilantes in disguise, eager to dismantle criminal networks and bring operatives like him to justice.  

A single misstep couldn’t only ruin everything he’d built for himself but also destroy the intricate web of connections and trust he’d spent years building. Everything he’d worked tirelessly to create would crumble into nothing if he let the wrong client slip through the cracks.

Therefore, Giran was exceptionally cautious when choosing whom to trust. Unlike the naive rookie brokers who blindly prioritized payment over discretion, Giran wasn’t that much of an idiot. He knew the value of vetting his clients.

This was why he’d survived as an information broker for so long. His reputation for reliability and discretion had cemented his standing within the villain community, earning him not only their respect but also a steady flow of money. Survival in the dangerous underworld demanded both cunning and the foresight to anticipate danger.

He found himself once again in the bar he frequented, nestled deep within the city’s seediest district. To get here, one had to brave a twisted maze of narrow alleyways, choked with a stench of decay and strewn with piles of garbage. Rough, unfriendly faces lingered at every corner, their cold stares daring anyone to pass. It was clear this district was a labyrinth of danger, enough to deter anyone with a shred of common sense.

Nevertheless, the bar, though barely scraping by, attracted a dedicated group of patrons. Its shady and secretive atmosphere drew a crowd of unsavory characters—villains, outcasts, and those seeking to remain unnoticed. Given the perilous nature of the journey to this part of the city, no sane civilian would venture here unless they were foolish or wanted to be robbed.

But it seemed like he was wrong.

“Ne, ne, Giran-san~ Would you like some candy?”

Currently, he was bothered by a voice that could only belong to someone unhinged.

He turned to face the source of irritation; a crazy man (because what kind of normal people wrapped in so many bandages?) that resembled a walking mummy, exuding an air of chaotic energy that somehow made him want to yank his own hair. The man’s antics had been testing him for a week now, not bothering to hide his stalking and trailing him with the audacity of someone who wanted to be noticed.

And now, as if to annoy him further, he actually decided to talk to him while bringing some company.

Two others flanked him; a short ginger guy who could easily be mistaken for a teenager and a real teenager whose face was obscured by a hoodie. Giran couldn’t decide which was stranger, the bandaged lunatic who’d been dogged his every step, or the fact that he’d dragged a kid into a bar like this. What kind of people brought a teenager to such a dangerous district?

More importantly, how the hell did this guy know his name?

*poke*

*poke*

“Giran-san~ Don’t ignore me!”

*poke*

*poke*

Giran’s patience was hanging by a thread as the bandaged man beside him continued to prod his cheek, relentless and annoyingly playful, like a child trying to provoke a reaction.

The sheer audacity of this immature behavior made Giran’s eye twitch, drawing an unwelcome comparison to another eccentric personality, the blue-haired villain with the name Shigaraki, whose newly-formed organization had approached him just a few days ago.

He’d been extended an enticing offer of affiliation from that ‘man’s organization after he disappeared five years ago. Giran was still mulling over it and leaning toward accepting. Tomorrow, he would likely give his answer.

That ‘man’ was no ordinary villain. He was a powerful figure whose subordinates and influence stretched across Japan, pulling strings from the darkest corners of society. He manipulated quirks and quirkless with equal ease, distributing powers and stealing them like a game of chess where every piece served his purpose. Stories swirled around him, whispers of a man who’d walked the earth for around two centuries, a legend among villains whose cunning and ruthlessness made him the undisputed king of villains.

Joining an organization led by such a man was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, one Giran wouldn’t let slip away, not even if the bandaged man beside him disturbed his routine with his presence.

Giran was a man of patience, honed through years of dealing with many kinds of villains; ranging the annoyingly immature to the utterly bloodthirsty. It was this hard-earned composure that kept him from punching the man beside him, unlike the short man who openly threatened the same individual with violence.

And so, Giran exhaled, eventually choosing to respond to him if only to get rid of the man before tomorrow’s secret meeting with that ‘man’s group.

“What do you want?” He asked, his voice low and measured.

“Oh, now you’re talking!” The man exclaimed, his face lighting up in a mockery of cheerfulness and his tone teetering on the edge of sarcasm. He clasped his hands together, his fake smile so exaggerated that it would fail to fool even the most gullible onlooker. Without missing a beat, he added, “I’m here to request your services of course!”

“… What do you mean?” Did this guy know who he was? He’d initially pegged him as just another crazy person, someone who acted like they’d known him forever despite the fact they were strangers. He’d also been stalking him for days and now he brought two equally suspicious company…

Giran was starting to rethink his first impression. Maybe this lunatic wasn’t as clueless as he seemed.

Still, Giran remained cautious. The crazy act could very well be a facade to lower his guard. For example, he might want to ask for directions to the nearest mental hospital way to the nearest mental hospital, only to reveal themselves as an underground pro hero or vigilante hoping to blindside him. He’d never known a villain in bandages before after all.

“Don’t think you can fool me, Giran-san! I know you’re just pretending!” The man chirped, his closed-eyed smile giving him an unnerving air of confidence. Resting his elbow on the counter and propping his chin in his hand, he tilted his head then said,

“You’re the famous broker, right? At least among villains.”

So, this guy did know who he was.

Giran dropped his facade of feigned relaxation, his shoulders tensing as his wariness finally surfaced. He had to be on guard since he prided himself on his vast network, yet no one thread of his connections had prepared him for this stranger. He might’ve been new to this game, but after taking him seriously, he realized that beneath the veneer of childishness, he had this chilling undercurrent that became apparent.

A seasoned player lurked, his movements calculated, his eyes holding an unsettling intensity. There was an aura about him, a disturbingly familiar scent of danger, like a predator sizing up his prey.

How had he missed it? The energy was subtle, yet deeply unsettling, a quiet pressure that clung to him like the icy stare of a demon.

“Who are you?” Giran’s voice was steady but laced with caution, betraying the tension thrumming through him.

He discreetly reached into his pocket, his fingers closing around his phone. He gripped it tightly, a lifeline in case things went south. This gesture was concealed from the three guys on his side.

He wasn’t a fighter type, so he knew he could be easily overpowered if he lacked backup or encountered trouble. So, he usually relied on past clients as his safety net; a form of insurance against the risks inherent in his profession. So far, this had proven effective in navigating difficult situations, especially those involving physical confrontation.

Now, he needed at least a little information, something to tip the scales in his favor. He studied their postures, their movements, anything that might give him a clue about their capabilities. If this spiraled out of control, he would need to know exactly who to call.

As if sensing his internal calculations, the short man behind the bandaged man finally spoke up, “You can’t escape, man. Not until this Mackerel gets what he wants from you.”

Giran flinched as the man’s piercing eyes seemed to bore straight through his pocket, through his clenched hand, as if he knew exactly what Giran was planning. “Unless, of course, you’re okay with being crushed and buried alive, your limbs twisted one by one until you can’t even crawl.”

The brutal imagery made Giran’s stomach churn, but before he could respond, the man wrapped in bandages interrupted with an air of casual amusement, like the threat was nothing for him. “Now now, Chuuya, let’s not scare the poor man to death.” His tone was light, almost jovial, but his eyes carried a weight that pinned Giran to the spot. “We come here in peace after all. No need for violence… unless it becomes absolutely necessary.”

He smiled knowingly before he let himself continue, “We simply have a job for you. Care to listen?”

Faced with the imminent threat of being killed by the violent ginger, the mysterious boy who had remained silent but still seemed unpredictable, and the unsettlingly cheerful bandaged man, he felt compelled to comply with their request. At least for now.

He reasoned that listening to their request wouldn’t hurt. It would give him a chance to assess their intentions and determine the legitimacy of their request.

Forcing himself to remain calm, he closed his eyes briefly and took a steadying breath. When he opened them again, his decision was made. He stood up and said, “Alright, follow me. I know the owner here, so we can use the small room in the back. It’s private and usually empty. That’s where I usually discuss deals with potential clients.”

The bandaged man’s grin widened, and he motioned Giran to lead the way. “By all means, after you~“

——

“So? I’ll ask again, what do you want?”

The bandaged man lounged casually in the velvet armchair, flanked by two other guys. His posture was relaxed, but there was an air of quiet menace about him. His dark eyes locked onto Giran, unblinking, as though he was studying him. With a voice that was calm yet carried an undertone of sharpness, he spoke up,

“My request is pretty simple,” he drawled lazily, “We want new identities. For me and my vertically challenged partner here.”

“Hey!” The short man shot back, glaring up at the clearly taller guy. The bandaged man ignored the protest entirely, his smirk deepening.

“So, you want to disappear?” Giran questioned, suspicion flickering across his face.

“Hmm, not quite.” The man’s smile never wavered, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You see, we have already disappeared. In this world, we’re nothing but ghosts. Try to dig up information on us, and you will find nothing. No records, no history, no connections. For all intents and purposes, we don’t exist. But now…” he leaned forward slightly, the shadows in the dimly lit room pooling around his face. “We want to do the opposite. A new name, a fabricated past, an identity so convincing it could fool even your most resourceful associates.”

“And what makes you think I’m the man for the job?” Giran asked, testing him. Sure, he had the connections to pull something like this off despite his reputation as villains recruiter. He’d done it before for those willing to pay the price.

However, something about the man’s demeanor set him on edge. If he had the skills to erase themselves so completely, why not craft their own identities? What was it they truly needed from him?

Dazai, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, leaned back in his seat. “Oh, I’ve done my homework about you, Giran-san. You have been in the criminal underworld for a long time. Your reputation precedes you. Whether it’s weapons, people, or even identites, you have the network to make it happen. And don’t bother denying it.”

For a moment, Giran’s expression tightened. Not many knew the extent of his influence, at least those who weren’t villains, which meant… “Are you a villain? I’ve never heard of anyone like you before, bandages and all. Are you new?”

Dazai chuckled, the sound low and condescending, as though Giran had told him a particularly dull joke. “Villain? No, no, don’t insult me. We’re something far better than ‘villains’. Way ‘smarter’ than them.”

The man was basically insulting him now, considering Giran was a villain himself. The casual dismissal of his entire world grated at him. Irritated, he clenched his fists on his lap, but he kept his voice steady. “And if you’re not a villain, what, pray tell, makes you think I’d be willing to help you?”

The bandaged man smirked again, but this time, he rose to his feet without warning, startling everyone present. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he walked closer to him. His movements were smooth, almost predatory. Each step echoed faintly, a steady rhythm that made Giran’s grip tighten instinctively around the phone hidden in his pocket once more.

Stopping mere inches away, the man loomed over Giran. His presence was suffocating and calculated, like he was trying to intimidate him. Then he bent down, close enough that Giran could feel the faint warmth of his breath. His voice, low and edged with malice, sliced through the tension like a blade.

“I have something you might find… interesting.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and ominous, before the man leaned even closer, his tone dropping further, sending an icy chill down Giran’s  spine as he continued,

“Information about you.”

The gravity of the statement hit Giran like a punch, and without hesitation, his thumb pressed firmly on the button of his phone.

——

For the first time, Shouto found himself witnessing something entirely foreign to him, and despite the tension hanging thick in the air, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of fascination.

Dazai was in the midst of negotiating (if it could even be called that) with a broker named Giran, whose demeanor clearly screamed calculated wariness. Shouto observed the exchange between them with keen interest, taking in the subtlety of Dazai’s methods.

Dazai’s approach was slippery, cunning, and alarmingly precise, unlike Endeavor who relied on brute strength to get his way. Every move he made seemed meticulously calculated, every word chosen to strike exactly where it mattered the most.

It was a stark contrast to the direct, forceful strategies Shouto was used to, and he couldn’t deny the allure of this alternative.

Dazai’s way of gathering information, plotting out steps, and ensuring results with minimal collateral damage struck him as ingenious. It was cleaner, smarter, and undeniably more effective in getting what he wanted. Shouto found himself learning far more than he’d expected from observing Dazai.

He’d come along to learn how someone dealt with a broker, and it quickly became obvious that Dazai was no stranger to these dealings. The ease with which he maneuvered Giran into a corner, his confidence radiating from every gesture… It spoke volumes of his experience.

It was almost effortless, like he’d done this countless times before.

At the moment, everything seemed under control. However, when Dazai leaned in, whispering something into Giran’s ear, he could feel the atmosphere shifted in an instant.

Before Shouto could even process what was happening, the door behind him and Chuuya burst open with a force that shattered the fragile balance of the room.

Shouto and Chuuya snapped his head around quickly, finding three figures blocking the doorway.

The first man stood tall and imposing, his muscular frame accentuated by the way he casually rested a metal bat on his shoulder. His ears and lips were adorned with glinting piercings, and his smirk only added to his cockiness.

Beside him was a hedgehog mutant, his back bristling with sharp, metallic spikes that shimmered under the dim light. Shouto could easily guess what his quirk might be capable of from that.

The last figure was a gaunt, skeletal man whose protruding ribs hinted at malnourishment. His arms, however, were anything but ordinary. They’d been replaced by long, double-edged blades, glinting ominously as he flexed his wiry frame.

Shouto wondered where they came from, and then, Shouto caught a glimpse of Giran, whose hand was subtly holding something in his pocket. It didn’t take much to put the pieces together.

Giran had called them.

The muscular man grinned, breaking the silence. “You in trouble, man? Been waiting for a chance to cut loose!”

Another one snickered. The hedgehog mutant let out a snort and eyed them up and down with almost pitying look. “Seriously? This is what we’re up against? Bro, they look like a gust of wind would take ‘em out. I mean, c’mon, did ya drag us all the way out here just to stare at these twigs?”

The bladed man joined in with a cruel laugh, his voice cutting like his weapons. “No kidding. And look at the little guy over there! What is he, three feet tall? Dude’s practically bite-sized! Like a snack!”

A twitch of irritation crossed Chuuya’s face as a vein visibly throbbed on his temple. Clearly offended, he stood up then stepped toward them, fixing them with a deadly glare. “Who the hell are you calling short!”

The hedgehog mutant’s grin widened as he jabbed back, “Whoa, whoa, chill out there, shorty! Didn’t say it was you, did I?” Though his sarcastic tone said otherwise.

Chuuya’s eyes darkened the moment someone dared call him short, a taunt that had always proven to be his most effective trigger (given what happened when Dazai teased him about his height).

Without hesitation, he lunged forward like a coiled spring. The three man he faced stiffened, immediately shifting into defensive stances, their readiness to retaliate palpable.

Chuuya moved like a storm, fast and unrelenting. He spun low to sweep the legs of the hedgehog mutant, his boots skimming the floor in a blur of motion. The thug had crouched in an attempt to launch the sharp metal spikes bristling from his back, but Chuuya’s speed outpaced his attack. He stumbled with a startled grunt, barely managing to release and control a handful of metal spikes.

The jagged projectiles shot toward Chuuya’s face, but Chuuya just flicked them with his hand with the precision of someone who’d done this thousand of times before. The red glow of his quirk activated then it deflected them, making them veer off course harmlessly. It looked as if the metal spikes were nothing more than pesky insects to Chuuya.

The mutant barely had time to recover before Chuuya landed a devastating punch to his stomach. The force behind the blow was monstrous, a perfect blend of raw strength and calculated power.

The mutant’s breath left him in a choking gasp as he was hurled across the room like a ragdoll, slamming into the far wall with a bone-rattling crash, the impact so violent that there were spider-webbed cracks across the surface. The resounding thud echoed through the room, causing everyone present to recoil instinctively.

For a brief moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. If this were a staged fight, the audience would’ve been frozen in awe, their jaws slack in disbelief at the sheer strength.

But this was no performance, and the remaining enemies knew better than stand idle. The message was clear; hesitation meant becoming the next casualty of Chuuya’s fury.

The muscular man and double swordman moved next, stepping into the fray with grim determination. The former flexed his massive arms, wielding his bat like a weapon, while the latter assumed a fighting stance, the twin blades (as his own arms) had polished edges that gleamed ominously.

Chuuya smirked, a dangerous glint sparking in his eyes. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles, the sharp sound breaking once again the tense silence like a predator’s growl.

Confident from countless battles, Chuuya then met them in the middle of the fray.

Shouto, not knowing what to do, turned his gaze back toward where Dazai and Giran was. Dazai had already stepped away from Giran, but he was still maintaining a quite close distance from him. Meanwhile, Giran remained seated, watching Dazai intently as though waiting for him to strike.

Shouto decided to help Dazai.

“Da—“

“Kid, duck!” Chuuya’s command cut through the din.

Instinctively, Shouto dove to the right, narrowly avoiding the swing of a blade aimed for his neck. The glint of the double swordman’s steel flashed in his peripheral vision as Shouto twisted to face him. Each swing came faster than the last, forcing Shouto to dodge and dodge again, his mind racing.

“Hey, hey! Be a man and fight back, coward!”

Shouto didn’t know if he could use his quirk. It wasn’t because he cared about the law, but because it would blow his cover as the Number Two Hero’s son. So for now, he relied on the hand-to-hand combat Chuuya had drilled into him.

Shouto sidestepped another swing and began thinking about his opponent’s most likely weaknesses. His gaze then fell upon the man’s protruding ribs. He knew now what he could use.

As an opening presented itself, Shouto began to counter with a jab aimed directly at the man’s exposed ribs. It earned him a grunt of both surprise and pain.

“Nice!” Chuuya exclaimed from across the room, his voice tinged with genuine approval before delivering a solid kick to Shouto’s opponent’s back.

The swordsman’s body skid across the floor until he was partially buried inside. The ground beneath him splintered from the sheer force of Chuuya’s assault, mirroring the fate of his first victim. Chuuya planted his boots on the man’s back, and Shouto felt a slight quake as the man’s body sank further into the fissure. His pleas for mercy echoed through the air.

Despite knowing Chuuya wasn’t a hero, Shouto still flinched a little at the brutality of the display.

“Pay attention, shrimp!” Another voice roared.

Shouto turned in time to see the bat-wielding thug charging towards Chuuya, swinging his weapon high and ready to strike. Shouto couldn’t help but think that announcing his surprise attack was a rather foolish move on the villain’s part. Chuuya, however, remained unfazed, seemingly bored and making no move to dodge.

Shouto’s body reacted before his mind could fully comprehend the situation. His feet pounded against the floor as he sprinted towards Chuuya. Driven by instinct, he reflexively reached out, ready to unleash his ice quirk to freeze the charging thug, even as the chilling realization of his identity being exposed started to wash over him.

But before the familiar icy sensation could begin to rise in his right hand, a voice, low and laced with malice, pierced the air.

“Stop.”

In an instant, everything froze. The air itself seemed to grow heavier, oppressive, as if even time feared to move under the weight of the command.

Simultaneously, there was an absurd, almost surreal sound of a metal bat crumpling like paper. As it hit the ground, a faint click echoed through the air.

It was the sound of a gun being cocked into position.

——

The room fell silence as all eyes turned toward the source of voice. The bandaged man stood nearby, his gun pressed against Giran’s temple, its cold metal biting into his skin.

Giran’s face was drained of color, his body trembling as if ice water had replaced his veins. Yet, the man didn’t even glance at him. His focus remained locked on the metal bat-wielding guy across the room. His expression was unnervingly void of humanity, more like a demon’s mask than human face.

Giran dared a glance from the corner of his eye. His breath hitched in his throat and he regretted his decision instantly as soon as he glimpsed at him.

(How could he have guessed this man even had a gun?! Everyone used their quirk these days! And where the hell did he even pull it from??)

The sight of bandaged man’s face sent a jolt of terror straight through him. His eyes—once childish and full of mocking—were now voids of pure darkness, like black holes sucking in all life and light. There was no spark of emotion, no flicker of thought behind them. Just emptiness. A blank, hollow stare that seemed to peer straight through people and into something deeper, darker.

His entire expression was devoid of care, as if nothing in the world matter; not the hostage at his mercy, not the lives of his enemies in the room, not even his own existence. The sheer absence of emotion was a void so profound it made Giran’s skin crawl.

He realized he wasn’t staring at a man, but he was staring at a demon. For the first time in his life, he felt true, unrelenting fear.

This wasn’t just any killer. This wasn’t someone bargaining for survival or power. This was something else entirely.

‘Is he even a human…?’

“If you move,” the bandaged man said, his voice unhurried, as though he were discussing something mundane, “I’ll kill this man first, then you. He’s valuable to you villains, isn’t he? He’s a great resource and you wouldn’t want to lose him. As for you, no one will miss you or your unconscious friends over there. Whether you live or die is insignificant.”

He tilted his head slightly, the gesture almost playful, but the deadness in his eyes turned it into something grotesque.

“You’ve already lost. Your weapon is broken and your companions are down. If you surrender now, I’ll have my dear dog stand down. No one in this room will die.”

He paused, letting the threat hang heavy in the air. “Obey me now, and no one here will be killed.”

Giran swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. His fight-or-flight instincts screamed at him, while the man’s presence was like a guillotine blade ready to drop.

From across the room, the bat-wielding man opened his mouth, anger—and probably fear—igniting in his voice.

“Y-You—!”

*BAM!*

The gunshot exploded like thunder, and a bullet struck the ground inches from the bat man’s feet. Dust and shards of debris across the floor. The bandaged man’s aim hadn’t wavered for a second.

“This is my last warning,” he said again, his voice steady and unnervingly calm.

No one dared to move. The weight of death lingered in the air.

Giran chose to surrender, his voice a little shaky as he eventually relented. “… Fine. I’ll do what you want. Just let us go.”

The man gave a curt nod and slipped the gun back into his pocket, while the short ginger man wasted no time in gripping the trembling bat-wielding guy and escorting him out of the room. As soon as the guy was out of sight, the sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the hall. The man was probably fleeing in panic, similar to a headless chicken.

Turning his attention back to Giran, the bandaged man’s expression shifted in an instant. The cold detachment melted away, replaced by disarmingly childish smile. The change was so abrupt that it almost made Giran falter.

“It’s a deal, right?” The man asked with a playful lilt in his voice.

“… Yeah,” he replied hesitantly, his guarded demeanor now tinged with suspicion. He started to think twice about his impression on the clearly two-faced man.

He couldn’t stop the thought that crept into his mind. ‘This man is insane… but not in the way I originally thought…’

“Great!” He clapped his hands suddenly, jolting Giran out of his thoughts. “Now, let’s get this out of the way. I lied about two things—“

Giran stiffened. “… What?”

The man raised a single finger, clearly ignoring Giran’s reaction. “First, I don’t actually have any dirt on your personal life, Giran-san!” Before Giran could say something, he immediately raised a second finger. “Second, that was my last bullet, so I couldn’t have shot you even if I wanted to!”

There was a pause as the words sunk in. Giran blinked, his shock giving way to a slow-burning anger. His jaw clenched as realization hit him.

He’d been played.

“You—“

“Ah, ah!” The man cut him off smoothly, raising a hand to stop his outburst. His playful grin darkened into something more dangerous. “Before you lose your temper, let me sweeten the deal. I do have information, real information. The kind that could rewrite the rules of this city. The kind that could put you ‘on top’.”

Hearing that, Giran’s anger quickly replaced by cautious curiosity. He didn’t interrupt, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Information about Endeavor,” the man finished, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

Giran’s eyes widened, disbelief painted across his face. “No way.”

“Yes way!” he chirped jokingly, his grin returning to its childish demeanor again. The shift only added to Giran’s unease.

Still reeling, Giran stared at the bandaged man, unsure whether to trust him since he’d been toying with him (empty threats and the like) all along. “And what guarantees do I have that this information is real?”

The man chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made Giran’s skin crawl. “Oh, Giran-san, you wound me. I wouldn’t risk jeopardizing such valuable information. Consider this an investment… in your future.”

Giran’s suspicion gave way to contemplation. Despite the lingering doubt, the promise of such valuable knowledge was too tempting to ignore. There was much potential that the information could bring him.

His eyes narrowed, and he let out a slow breath. “Very well,” he said at last. A flicker of respect crossed his face, though mistrust still lingered beneath the surface.

No matter, whether he lied to him or not, he could admire someone who could easily outmaneuver him (his aura was so intimidating that it was simply impossible to face him head-on anyway, at least when he was in that… mode). Besides, he could always verify the information later. “Tell me what you need.”

After wrapping up their discussion, the man, with his usual unpredictable demeanor, said something that caught Giran off guard once again. “Thank you, Giran-san. I have two more requests. First, don’t attend that meeting tomorrow with that ‘group’.”

Giran let out a sarcastic chuckle. “Of course you know about that meeting. You must’ve been stalking me for a while without my noticing. Impressive.”

“That’s a cruel accusation! I’m not a stalker!” The bandaged man exclaimed, feigning indignation, his lips curling into a pout. Meanwhile, the short ginger—who’d been lounging against the wall near the doorway—just scoffed and muttered something about the man being a liar, loud enough for everyone to hear. However, no one paid him any attention.

Giran crossed his arms. “I can’t just comply without an explanation. What’s your reason?”

The man’s expression contorted into one of mock thoughtfulness. “Let’s just say I have a feeling we won’t get along with them,” he declared. “If you align with that group, we’re destined to become enemies soon. So, here’s the deal. You need to choose, support them and we will leave. But the next time we cross paths, it will likely be on opposing sides. Or, you can side with us. I won’t pressure you. Consider what’s best for you, Giran-san. After all, you’re not my only option. I can always find someone else.”

The weight of the ultimatum settled over him. Giran started thinking, his mind drifting to the ‘man’ secretly leading that newly established organization. A man shrouded in infamy, a legend whispered of in the shadows, and the sworn nemesis of the number one hero—All Might.

An alliance with ‘this individual’ promised access to immense power and influence. The ‘man’ boasted an extensive network of connections and a reputation that chilled the blood of even hardened villains.

To oppose someone who’d lived for two centuries, someone who had so many experiences in dealing with villains and heroes alike, would be an act of folly bordering on suicide. It would soon be his opportunity to reap substantial benefits by aligning himself with this formidable ‘man’.

Even so…

Somehow, there was something about the man standing before him. Something far more terrifying than the ‘legend’ itself.

He recalled how the man’s gaze was unnervingly cold, like looking deep into an abyss. He remembered his stare wasn’t just empty; it was consuming, as if it could strip him down to nothingness. He’d sensed the true fear creep into his bones, and despite his ordinary appearance, the man radiated an aura of danger that no amount of eccentricity could mask.

He admitted that this guy was scarier than the infamous legend.

He could compare because he’d met that ‘man’ before, even though it was briefly. While ‘his’ power was overwhelming, tangible, and rooted in strength and countless quirks, the guy in front of him was… different.

His danger wasn’t even physical. He was manipulative; a predator who could turn his prey into dust before they even realized they were being hunted. Giran had met various people in his life, so he was able to read people more easily than others.

His instincts screamed at him to choose this man’s group, even as logic pushed him toward the safer, more predictable option. Joining the other ‘man’ was the logical path.

After all, who didn’t know of ‘him’ in the underground world? A living legend, a Symbol of Evil that was entirely opposite of All Might, someone who was feared and respected in secrecy. Any lesser person would’ve chosen him without hesitation.

But Giran wasn’t a fool. He glanced at the bandaged man again, still smiling that eerie, unreadable smile. Then, his eyes shifted to the duo behind him.

The short guy was undeniably powerful. Giran had witnessed his earlier fight. So brutal, precise, and devastating. Despite using only one quirk like everybody else in the world, his movements had been fluid and direct. He hadn’t even looked like he was trying, exuding a terrifying strength that hadn’t even been fully unleashed yet. A powerhouse like him was an asset anyone would kill for.

As for the teenager… Giran didn’t know much about him yet, but he had potential. Though weaker than the ginger guy, he’d proven himself somewhat capable in battle, showing raw talent and adaptability that hinted at room for growth.

Giran’s gaze lingered on the bandaged man again, who looked like he could see right through what he was thinking despite this was the first time they directly met with each other. He knew his decision here would shape his future, and because of that, he hesitated.

… He hoped he didn’t make the wrong choice.

“Very well,” Giran finally responded, surprisingly convinced despite the wariness he’d shown toward the man earlier. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m not usually reckless enough to accept offers from just anyone, especially some random group offering me affiliation.”

He looked at the man, a bead of sweat running down his temple despite the forced steadiness in his tone. “But I think I’m sharp enough to know you’re not ordinary. There’s something about you, this unsettling feeling, like you could kill me with a single glance if you wanted to. I’ve felt it since the moment I met you. And honestly, I have this gut instinct that if I join you, I’ll end up on the winning side.”

Giran’s eyes shifted subtly to the short ginger-haired man on the other side of the room. “And that ginger over there… he radiates raw strength. If I ever end up on your bad side, I have no doubt he’d crush me just as effortlessly as he did to those guys before.”

After a brief pause, his attention returned to the bandaged man. “And if what you’re said about Endeavor’s information is true, there’s undeniable value in aligning with someone who willingly offers me tangible intel, something far more useful than vague assurances.”

He let out a quiet sigh before closing his eyes. “It’s almost hard to believe I’ve found someone more terrifying than that ‘person’,” he mumbled, his voice trailing off at the end.

He opened his eyes again and lifted his head. “Ah, before I forget—in all this madness, I never even asked, what’s your name? If I’m going to work with you, I need to know who I’m dealing with.”

The man’s lips curled into a small, almost amused smile. “Osamu Dazai. And the short man there is Chuuya Nakahara.” There was a noise of someone rubbing his teeth loudly from the said ‘short man’ (which was the fact anyway). “As for the other person, I’ll introduce you when you’ve proven yourself trustworthy.”

Dazai’s expression turned serious, a glint of darkness in his eyes as he kept the thin smile on his face. “Now, for my final request—“

——

The next evening, in the shadows of a dimly lit bar—a bar that was different from the incident that happened just the day before—a man cloaked in a swirling fog stood before a flickering TV screen. Static crackled briefly before the image stabilized, revealing a voice on the other end; a presence exuding authority even without a visible face.

They were likely discussing something important, since the room was empty save for the fog-shrouded figure and the man behind the TV.

“… He didn’t accept our offer?” The voice from the TV inquired.

“No, Sensei,” the fog-covered man reported. “He said he intended to align himself with another group.” As Kurogiri spoke, he recalled the fallout after the clandestine meeting with the reputable broker, Giran. Shigaraki, volatile as ever, had flown into a rage at the rejection, only to be mollified later with the purchase of a much-desired FPS game.

Sensei, the one behind the screen, seemed to be deep in thought. Finally, he spoke again, his voice deliberate. “Interesting. I wonder what this group provides that I couldn’t achieve on my own.” There was a pause, then a command. “Kurogiri. Investigate this group Giran has affiliated himself with. I want to know if they pose a threat for us. Or if they could be a useful ally.”

The said fog-man, Kurogiri, inclined his head respectfully as though Sensei could see the gesture. His voice carried unwavering loyalty as he responded,

“Yes, Sensei.”

——

While a certain bandaged man casually browsed through Endeavor’s—Shouto’s—information in the library, a disturbance was happening at the Hero Public Safety Commission, or commonly known as HPSC.

Deep within one of the HPSC’s secured rooms, illuminated only by the cold glow of countless monitors which could blind people who weren’t used to such many computers in a space so dark as it was, there was a tension. The space was filled with a cacophony of frantic keystrokes and hurried voices. Rows of screens cast flickering light across the anxious faces of the personnel, their eyes darting between lines of code and flashing warning alerts.

“There’s a breach! Someone hacked into our database! They’re inside!”

“How is that possible?! This is one of the most secure networks in the country!”

“Damn it! Don’t just stand there! Reinstate the firewalls now!”

Heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed down the hallway, each step sharp and unwavering, reflecting the commanding presence of the individual approaching. Yet, despite their intensity, the sound went unnoticed, drown out by the heated arguments erupting inside the room.

Without warning, the door was thrown open. The sudden intrusion snapped everyone’s attention toward the entrance, their conversations dying mid-sentence.

A woman stepped inside, her sharp, authoritative gaze sweeping across the room. Her features were set in an unyielding expression, and the weight of her presence suffocating. By her side stood her secretary, silent and composed.

“Report. Now.” Her voice was low, edged with unmistakable threat.

The room fell into an uneasy silence. No one dared to speak, paralyzed by the authority radiating from the woman—the president of the Hero Public Safety Commission. Her expression darkened at the lack of immediate response. Impatience flashed in her eyes as she turned to the nearest person.

“You. I’ll ask again. What is happening?”

The man she addressed flinched violently, his breath hitching as he scrambled for words. “S-Someone—“ He swallowed hard, struggling to steady his voice. “Someone has managed to hack into our database, President.”

The woman’s frown deepened. If someone had successfully hacked into their database, the situation was far more dangerous than she wanted to admit. Their security system was among the most advanced—on par with, if not superior to that of UA High School. Until now, no one had ever managed to breach it.

Whoever was behind this intrusion had a motive, and she highly doubted it was anything good.

“Then why are you stopping? Find out what they accessed and what they took! Immediately!”

“Yes, President!”

The room, once in chaos, shifted into a more focused silence. Fingers clacked against keyboards with renewed urgency, and screens displayed a flurry of information. The President entered further, her secretary following behind as she surveyed the room with a keen eye.

Minutes crawled by before a hesitant voice finally spoke up, “… President. The intruder hasn’t taken anything.”

Another person, just as puzzled, added, “No files have been damaged and there is no permanent corruption or deletions…”

The President narrowed her eyes. ‘What?’

She stepped forward, watching as one of her top technicians stared at his monitor, face twisted in confusion. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes,” the man confirmed. “However… it appears that a large portion of our files were accessed; classified records, personnel logs, sensitive reports, even files on most heroes and villains in this country. It’s as if they weren’t trying to steal or destroy anything… just observing.”

“Observing?” The word left a bad taste in her mouth. It was one thing to deal with cybercriminals looking to erase or ransom data. But someone digging through their files out of curiosity? That was dangerous in different way. If any HPSC information ended up in the wrong hands, the consequences could be catastrophic.

“Trace the source!” The president ordered. They had to apprehend the culprit quickly before it was too late. “Yes, President!” The specialists responded in unison.

The room crackled with energy as they immediately returned to their work, working to pinpoint the hacker’s location. Within moments, someone called out, their voice laced with disbelief.

“We found it! The breach originated from… the Musutafu Library.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room. For a long moment, no one spoke, their minds struggling to process the absurdity of that statement.

“‘A library?’”

Then, in a sudden burst of fury, the President scoffed. “You are telling me that our top-of-the-line security system was breached… by a library computer?!” Her glare swept across the room, and the air grew thick with tension. “What have you all been doing? If a ‘public library’ computer can get past our defenses, then why am I even paying you?”

The lead officer swallowed hard. “Apologies, President. We will reinforce the system immediately.”

“You’d better. This is your first and ‘only’ warning. Understand?”

“Yes…”

The frantic clicking had stopped once again. News of a breakthrough arrived. The source of the intrusion had been traced to a single computer inside the Musutafu Library.

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the room, a brief moment of triumph. They had a lead and a tangible location. The culprit was within the reach.

But then, their relief quickly soured, twisting into something cold and uneasy.

“The security footage,” one of the technicians stammered, “It’s… It’s been tampered with.”

The screens flickered uselessly, their recordings warped and unreadable. What should have been clear evidence had been reduced to digital static—corrupted beyond recovery. They had a location but no face. No way to identity the hacker.

And worse still, the trail went cold shortly after. The hacker had severed the connection with a chilling efficiency, slipping away as if they’d known exactly when and how to disappear. It was as if they’d anticipated the pursuit and simply severed the link, leaving them grasping at shadows.

Murmurs spread through like a low tide, unease continued to rise with every whispered speculation. At the center of it all, the President of the HPSC stood motionless, lost in thought, her sharp gaze unfocused yet razor-sharp in its intensity.

Not destroying the files, huh?

That was what unsettled her the most. The hacker hadn’t wiped anything, just looking and searching. From that alone, she could conclude they were after something specific. But what? And why make themselves detectable when they were that skilled, only to erase their tracks in the most crucial way?

Unless…

Unless they had wanted to be seen. Wanted to be pursued. And had erased the footage just to taunt them.

Her fingers curled into a tight fist. Even if she dispatched agents to the library immediately, the culprit would likely be long gone. Ordering agents to question the staff there offered little hope. Identifying the hacker based solely on memory was a long shot, especially considering the library usually had many visitors and the hacker could easily have been wearing a disguise to further obfuscate their identity.

And another troubling thought gnawed at her.

How had they managed to hack from a public place without anyone noticing anyway?

After giving the order to tighten security and implement stronger safeguards, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room with her secretary trailing behind. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she walked the long corridor to her office. A few passing agents instinctively bowed their heads as she passed, quickening their pace as they noticed the storm still brewing on her face.

Even if no files had been stolen or altered, this hacker was still a threat. They had seen things they shouldn’t have—things that normal civilians, most heroes, and even high-ranking officials remained ignorant of. This included practices that, while ethically questionable, were necessary for the functioning of hero society and public safety.

The HPSC had built its influence on control and maintaining the delicate balance between order and chaos. Their reputation had to remain unshaken because these secrets could erode public trust in the HPSC if leaked. It would undermine their authority and jeopardize their ability to effectively protect the public.

Whoever this hacker was, they couldn’t be allowed to walk free.

For now, she would start with the usual methods. She would deploy trusted heroes to hunt them down, capture them, then interrogate them. If persuasion was needed, they could offer money. If intimidation worked, they would threaten and blackmail them.

They would do whatever it took to silence them, to ensure the HPSC’s continued success and maintain their position within society. The consequences of exposure were too grave to risk.

But if they continued to elude them and became a lasting problem, a thorn too deep to remove with simple force because the leaked information had spread too far to be contained, she’d have to take extreme measures.

She hoped it wouldn’t reach that point, because unlike what people believed, she preferred to focus on other important projects and disliked unnecessary complications.

If it came to it, she would send ‘him’.

One of her most loyal and lethal puppets. A weapon sculpted by her own hand, trained to obey without question.

And when the order was given, the hacker would cease to exist.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Are you okay?”

A gentle breeze swept through the air, carrying with it the delicate petals of aster flowers. They twirled and danced weightlessly before scattering in different directions. One petal fluttered downward and landed softly on Shion’s arm.

At the exact same moment, another petal came to rest on the hand of someone nearby.

She hadn’t even noticed their presence. Not until, amidst the quiet rustling of the wind, an unfamiliar voice reached her ears. Startled, she turned toward the sound that had cut through her despair.

Tears were still streaming down her face and blurring her vision. Her body also shook with ragged coughs as she tried to blink the tears away. It was futile though, because she couldn’t forget the power that had just erupted from her before she ran.

Her eyes that were still glistening with unshed tears met the steady emerald green gaze of a brown-haired boy. The boy’s expression held no fear, no disgust, unlike the terrified faces she’d seen moments before, when every witness had called her a ‘monster’—a ‘curse’.  

‘Did he see what I did?’, she wondered, her heart pounding. ‘Is he here to take me away?’

The word ‘monster’ still echoed in her ears, making her stomach churn. Her quirk—so powerful, so uncontrollable, so villainous—felt like a curse. She was sure this boy standing before her had come to drag her to the police…

She was only ten, she didn’t understand the laws, but old enough to know she’d done something terrible. If unleashing her quirk like that while nearly killing everyone here meant she would be thrown into prison, then…

“Are you going to take me to the police?” she asked with a resigned tone, her voice barely a whisper.

Instead of the harsh words she expected and a rough hand grabbing her arm while calling her a ‘monster’ that needed to be caged unless she wished to bring misfortune to those around her, the boy simply looked at her with curiosity.

Then, with a soft voice and a blink of his eyes, he asked, “Why would I?”

‘What?’ Shion’s turbulent mind instantly went blank, as if a brilliant light had shattered the fragile glass barrier clouding her thoughts.

She looked at him again, with newfound clarity this time. Her face wavered between confusion and another feeling she was unfamiliar with. She felt like she was the one meant to be asking questions, not him.

However, the boy only responded with a small, crooked grin, like the answer was so simple. “Why would I?” he repeated slowly, his voice deliberate. “When you have such a beautiful and amazing quirk?”

Shion stared at him, mouth agape, now seeing him in a completely new light as her tears slowly came to a stop. The glass walls around her heart shattered and disappeared into nothing, replaced by a warmth that spread through her chest like the first rays of sunlight after a long, cold night.

She wiped her eyes with her arms, brushing away the useless tears in her eyes. At that moment, nothing else mattered, nothing except the boy standing before her.

Even if she had no idea where she was, even if she didn’t know how to find her way home, it didn’t seem so scary anymore.

“R-Really?” she asked, fragile hope beginning to fill inside her.

“Yes!” The boy beamed. “Ah, I need to know your name! I wanna be friends with a cool girl like you!” His excitement dimmed for a brief second when he seemed to remember something. Whatever he recalled, it made him hesitate. “That is… If you don’t mind being friends with a quirkless person like me…”

“I don’t mind!” Shion blurted out quickly with uncontained excitement.

She was about to have her first friend ever. It didn’t matter if they were quirkless, had weak quirks, or anything else. She would definitely accept everyone who approached her sincerely. She’d welcome them all, anything to finally chase away the loneliness that had filled her life for so long.

Even though the question had come from the boy’s lips, a flicker of surprise danced in his eyes when her answer tumbled out so quickly. He murmured to himself, “This… is the first time someone said yes to being my friend, even knowing who I am…”

Then, a wide, genuine smile bloomed on his face, chasing away the lingering doubt.

“What’s your name?” he asked, extending a hand to her, offering both help and a newfound connection.

She gently placed her smaller hand in his. “Shion!” she replied with a light tone.

“Shion,” the boy repeated, his smile widening as he helped her stand up completely. “It really suits you. An Aster Flower, just like the color of your hair and your amazing quirk.”

That day, she returned home with a hope spreading through her chest, her hand clasped tightly in the hand of her very first friend.

From that day onward, their bond grew even stronger. They became close friends. And despite her parents’ puzzling decision to keep her confined within their house—a reason that only recently she understood—she and Akira found ways to connect.

He would often sneak into her room, a finger raised to his lips to indicate their silent promise of companionship. They would spend hours playing, whispering about their worries, and discovering the surprising number of ways their lives mirrored each other.

Whether it was the pain of being quirkless or the weight of possessing a so-called villainous quirk, they found solace in sharing their experiences, poring over online forums, and recognizing the prejudices in their daily lives.

Until at the age of 14, a spark of determination ignited in Akira’s eyes. He had an idea, a digital haven they would call ‘Unseen Nulls’. He asked Shion to be his co-admin, and without hesitation, she agreed.

Unseen Nulls became their shared world, a precious space they would fiercely defend.

They were its leaders, its protectors. Within its digital walls resided their friends, genuine connections forged in the fires of similar struggles. True bonds blossomed, nurtured by understanding and acceptance.

And before they realized, a bright star of protectiveness began to shine within them.

Whether this burning star would ultimately guide them towards strength or become a vulnerable point, only their future actions and choices would reveal.

——

Unseen Nulls

#general

FrozenSoba🍜 joined the server.

TotallyNotBatman

yo new kid!

EvilButCute💕

Hi!

FrozenSoba🍜

Hello.

JustHere4Chaos

dude, welcome! but like, the username? r u obsessed w/ noodles or smth?

FrozenSoba🍜

I like soba.

JustHere4Chaos

ok... simple answer. but why frozen soba?

FrozenSoba🍜

It is cold. I like cold soba the most.

TotallyNotBatman

bro, u said that like it's common sense lol

EvilButCute💕

I respect the passion, but are you good?

HenchmenNeeded

question tho, warm soba? or is that like a crime in ur book?

FrozenSoba🍜

It is edible. But cold soba is better. And I don’t have a book about soba.

EdgelordEnergy

Heh… A man with conviction. I admire that.

TaxEvasionQuirk

... Right. Anyway, why did you join this server?

JustHere4Chaos

yeah, what made u wanna hang w/ us, Mr. Frozen Soba?

FrozenSoba🍜

Someone gave me a paper with the server link.

TotallyNotBatman

wait, WHAT?? WHO JUST HANDS OUT OUR SERVER LINK LIKE IT WAS A FLYER FOR HALF-OFF SUSHI??

FrozenSoba🍜

A guy at the grocery store.

EvilButCute💕

EXCUSE ME???

JustHere4Chaos

WHAT.

HenchmenNeeded

nah he got recruited between the frozen food aisle

TaxEvasionQuirk

That's... sketchy.

FrozenSoba🍜

I was buying soba. He saw. He said I seemed like the type and gave me the paper.

TotallyNotBatman

what type. what the hell does that MEAN

FrozenSoba🍜

I don’t know. But now I’m here.

EvilButCute💕

Okay, they totally flirted. The type is code for hot. Drop a selfie pls, for scientific research

TaxEvasionQuirk

We aren’t a dating app. Who flirts with a server invite?

JustHere4Chaos

dude just joined a random shady invite cuz a guy saw him vibing w/ soba

EvilButCute💕

Honestly, mood

EdgelordEnergy

It was fate.

TaxEvasionQuirk

It was dumb

FrozenSoba🍜

Thank you for accepting me. Also, cold soba is delicious. You must try it.

TotallyNotBatman

BRO STOP TRYING TO CONVERT US, THIS AIN’T A CULT 😭😭  

Akira’s shoulders shook with silent laughter as he scrolled through the latest chat logs.

The new member, FrozenSoba, was certainly… unique. He’d done a quick background check, not in a creepy, privacy-invading way, but just to make sure they weren’t a troll and whether they fit the server’s criteria. He needed to make sure that the new member was either quirkless or someone who owned a villainous quirk.

The guy’s quirk was definitely classified as ‘villainous’ by the official records, so he let him in. Akira had learned to trust his gut when vetting someone and this guy seemed legit, but it never hurt to be sure.

FrozenSoba’s way of typing was stiff, almost robotic. Every sentence was perfectly formed, polite, and completely devoid of any casual slang. It was like reading a textbook written by a very confused robot who really liked cold noodles.

It made him chuckle, knowing that this guy was going to be a great addition to their online family.

Akira began typing on his computer.

Unseen Nulls

#general

Null

welcome, Soba. if you got questions, you can ask me or Asteria. we’re the admins and we’re here to help!

FrozenSoba🍜

I appreciate the help.

EvilButCute💕

He’s so polite. Kinda hot

TotallyNotBatman

girl, CHILL. let him breathe before u start planning the wedding

FrozenSoba🍜

I am breathing. But thank you for your concern.

Null

… you’re definitely one of a kind, Soba.

HenchmenNeeded

HELP— I’m dead 😭

JustHere4Chaos

lmao bro thinks we were talkin’ bout his actual breathing

EvilButCute💕

Ok, but what if I was trying to crush on him literally

FrozenSoba🍜

I would survive.  

TotallyNotBatman

nahhh he thinks he’s the main character

HenchmenNeeded

mans treating flirting like a shonen battle

EdgelordEnergy

A warrior’s resolve… I admire it.

JustHere4Chaos

STOP making everything sound like a tragic anime backstory

EvilButCute💕

Anyway, I approve of Soba

TotallyNotBatman

cool, now let’s see if Soba approves of us

FrozenSoba🍜

I approve.  

JustHere4Chaos

DUDE we weren’t expecting a real answer 😭  

FrozenSoba🍜

You asked.  

Null

… yeah, you’ll fit right in.

Akira leaned back in his worn-out chair, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. He was going to ask everyone, figuring out which of his chaotic friends had decided to hand out server invites to random attractive people.

He wasn’t against recruiting new members, but he wished they’d focus more on whether someone fit the server’s purpose rather than just their good looks. This was supposed to be a server to support quirkless and those with villainous quirks, not a dating pool.

Imagine someone getting a random invite, joining out of curiosity, then finding themselves in a support group for people with ‘dangerous and villainous’ quirks. They’d either freak out, or worse, decide to mess with them just for fun.

Akira’s eyes drifted to his screen, lingering on a certain name that had been stubbornly offline since yesterday.

Asteria. Shion.

A tiny knot of worry tightened in his stomach. It was probably nothing, just school keeping her busy. He told himself that over and over, that he was just being paranoid.

… Anyway, he couldn’t wait for Shion to see FrozenSoba’s antics though. The new guy was ‘comedy gold’. He could picture her giggling at his deadpan responses, her eyes lighting up with amusement.

And so, Akira waited. He waited for her to come online, for her to react to the new member, for her to simply ‘appear’.

And waited.

Until the next day, no one still had heard from her—no messages, no online presence, no updates.

That was when he knew, something was wrong.

——

“Pfft—“

Dazai clapped his hands over his face, trying to muffle his laughter—and failing—after he reread the chat log on Shouto’s phone.

The way Shouto talked over chat was absolutely hilarious. He was so formal, like a super polite grandma trying to figure out how to type on a smartphone, and his literal responses were incredibly funny.

He’d been holding back giggles for a while now, even after scrolling through the latest messages, but he couldn’t contain it any longer.

“Pfft, HAHAH— OUCH!”

“Shut up, you waste of bandages!” Chuuya snapped as he jabbed Dazai in the ribs. Dazai coughed and Chuuya turned to Shouto, who was watching them with a confused expression.

“Is something wrong?” Shouto asked, sounding perplexed.

Chuuya smiled. “No, you’re doing great, Shouto. You got into their server. Good job,” he praised while ruffling Shouto’s hair.

Dazai pouted. “Chuuya’s spoiling him so much. He’ll never learn to be independent if you keep babying him, Slug,” he complained, but he didn’t receive any answer from Chuuya, making Dazai’s pout deepened. He then dramatically threw himself onto Chuuya’s back to wrap his hands around Chuuya’s waist and tickle his sides.

“STOP IT, MACKEREL! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!”

“This is my revenge for Chuuya ignoring me!” Dazai declared, continuing his tickle attack until Chuuya finally swatted him away, a move Dazai easily dodged.

After a few minutes of the tickle war between the two people who were supposed to be the adults among them, Dazai stopped in front of Shouto.

“Anyway,” Dazai said, straightening up as if nothing had happened, even though Chuuya was definitely grumbling behind him.

“Shouto got in because I ‘may’ have tempered with their background checks a little. I have my ways, faked some details about Shouto and his quirk, made it sound just villainous enough. They have super easy requirements for joining, honestly. It’s almost like they assume no quirkless or villainous quirk user would dare mess a server meant to help them.”

He leaned back, looking pleased with himself as he stared at Chuuya again with stars in his eyes. “Anyway! The point is, Chuuya should be praising me too! I refuse to shut up until he does!”

Chuuya grumbled again, annoyed and tired of Dazai’s antics. Not to mention, he had to live with Dazai now, which only served to make his life even more of a hell. “Fine! You did a good job, happy?!”

“… Not sincere enough.”

“I’ll kill you someday.”

“I’m looking forward to it!”

Shouto decided to steer back their banter on track before it got out of hand. “Dazai, you chose this group out of all the groups in Japan… Why?”

Dazai and Chuuya stopped bickering. Dazai then glanced at Chuuya, who was pointedly looking away after hearing Shouto’s question. What was that about?

“I think their way of thinking is interesting. They see the world as it is, and we can work with people like that. We’re kind of aligned. Even though they’re mostly teenagers, they have potential. They’re not afraid to get their hands dirty either, so they don’t have that goody-two-shoes morality that’d make them hesitate when they need to protect their own.”

“Besides,” Dazai went on, a hint of something else in his tone, “They remind us of a group back home. A bunch of kids just trying to survive in their own way in this world, even if they have to resort to some rough stuff. They are similar, yet different. I’d say this group is the better choice. Certainly than those idiotic kids we used to know.”

Shouto noticed Chuuya’s eyes narrow, a dark look flashing across his face as Dazai finished his sentence. It was like Dazai had said something insulting, and Shouto couldn’t figure out why. He filed the odd reaction away for later.

“Home?” Shouto tilted his head slightly. “That reminds me… Where is your home, exactly? Dazai, Chuuya?”

Upon hearing the question, they initially looked surprised, like they hadn’t expected him to ask that.

Then, their expressions shifted into slight smiles, but there was something strange about them. A mix of warmth and something else, like a longing for a place they could never go back to.

Eventually, they answered, though their voices were quiet.

“… Yokohama.”

——

Akira was really worried.

There was a gnawing anxiety that had taken root and refused to let go. He was so preoccupied that sleep had become a distant memory.

He was sure big, dark circles marred the skin beneath his eyes, indicating the sleepless hours he’d spent tossing and turning since Shion’s silence began. He was still wide awake even after three hours had passed since he last tried to sleep.

And still, Shion hadn’t responded at all.

Finally, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Akira decided he couldn’t just stay put. He gathered the resolve he’d been mulling over, threw on a familiar hoodie from his dresser, and set out into the night to check on her.

The streets were quiet and still as he walked, the route to Shion’s house already etched into his memory. When he arrived, he stopped a short distance from the building. A light flickered behind the curtains, and he could hear a faint noise coming from inside.

Driven by a need to know, Akira approached the house. He found a way to climb, agilely hoisting himself up and hopping onto the ledge beneath Shion’s window. He carefully slid it open and slipped inside. His heart pounded in his chest.

He’d expected to find Shion in her room, perhaps asleep or engrossed in something, but the room was empty.

‘Where is she?’ He asked himself, a knot of unease tightening in his stomach.

Then, he heard it. Muffled sobs came from the other side of the room, along with the low murmur of voices. The sounds seem to be coming from behind the closed bedroom door. He moved closer, pressing his ear against the wood, and listened.

“… she hasn’t been back at all… three days. Where did you go, Shion?” A woman’s voice choked out, thick with tears. It was Shion’s mother.

“The police are useless!” A man’s voice, rough with anger, boomed, “Three days and they have no leads? What are they even doing?!” It was her father’s voice.

Shion’s mother dissolved into another fit of sobs, her grief echoing in the small space. “We’ve put up posters… shared it online… no one has seen her. We’ve made a terrible mistake! W-We shouldn’t have let her go out at all. She’s safer at home!”

Her voice broke again, consumed by tears. “Her quirk is… and her health is so fragile. I always feared she’d collapse somewhere, and we wouldn’t even know because she was out of our sight! There are those tracking apps… the ones that could connect to her phones… but she always refused. So stubborn. We’ve spoiled her too much… I should’ve been firmer, pulled her from that school, and kept her at home…”

The father listened to her ramble, a weary sadness in his silence. He slowly nodded his head. “I know, dear. As soon as we find her, we won’t let her out of our sight again. I promise you,” the father said, his voice softer as he tried to soothe her, though his own grief was just as evident. His wife continued to cry, unable to stop.

Akira recoiled from the door, a complicated mix of emotions swirling within him. Even though he was frustrated by her parents’ plan to confine Shion again, it wasn’t the time for that. For now…

‘Shion?? Missing??’

His heart raced with a growing fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Akira turned and fled from the room, scrambling back out the window and dropping to the ground.

He sprinted through the empty streets, desperately trying to think, to search the places she frequented. ‘Where?? Where could she have gone??’

With a wave of panic washing over him, Akira fumbled for his phone, an old, outdated model that could still access the server. He’d never cared about having the latest model as long as he could use it, especially since he lacked the money to buy it.

So, he quickly began typing a message, tagging everyone.

Unseen Nulls

#help

Null

@everyone EMERGENCY! Asteria’s been missing for 3 days now! Help me find her please!!

All at once, some of the hundreds of members in the server woke up and flooded the chat with messages. The screen exploded with a chaotic flurry of text, overlapping notifications ringing out in rapid succession. Conversations and words disappeared into the endless scroll before they could even be fully read.

Even so, despite the overwhelming wave of activity, he managed to catch a few messages. His fingers flew across the screen as he immediately began typing back.

JustHere4Chaos

wait, FR?? u sure this ain’t just one of ur usual nightmares, Null?

Null

shut up! i’m being serious right now!

TaxEvasionQuirk

Any info on where she was last seen or anything?

Null

no clue at all! she just vanished 3 days ago, and there’s been zero news

EvilButCute💕

Nobody’s seen her at all for the past 3 days. I’m down to help look for her tho

TotallyNotBatman

same here. ig i’ll hit up our usual cafe. EvilButCute💕, u wanna check the park? and u Null… where r u headed?

Null

I’m gonna head over to her school

100%human

I’m still up so I’ll help out

QuirklessAndProudAF

me too!

Akira abruptly closed his phone after giving them their instruction: find Asteria and report back immediately.

The hours that followed were agonizing. One hour bled into two, then three, four… five. Still no update. The server, now fully awake, buzzed with a desperate energy as its members scoured the cities for their missing admin.

It was as if she’d vanished from Japan entirely. Even with almost one hundred people searching (because he knew not everyone could join in, as they had their own lives), the chances of finding her in such a vast country was slim.

He understood this still wasn’t effective, because even that many searchers couldn’t cover every possible place. There were countless places she could be, where she might be hidden.

With the lack of sightings, the complete absence of any contact from her, coupled with the fact that none of his anonymous missing-person posts on social media had yielded any results, he began to deduce that this wasn’t a simple disappearance. This also wasn’t someone who’d simply fallen unconscious on the road, because someone would definitely call an ambulance.

In other words, she’d been taken, kidnapped. But by whom?

The answer, when it came, was a jolt of ice to the heart. A single name echoed in the silence of his thoughts.

That bully girl. Akemi Tachibana.

Once he had a suspect in his mind, figuring out where she lived wasn’t impossible. He knew her school, and schools usually kept student addresses on record.

After going to the school and slipping inside, he navigated the silent hallways and rooms until he found the student records in one of them. He quickly copied the address of the bully girl into his phone’s GPS, and set off.

The GPS led him to a wealthy, heavily guarded part of the city. He had to carefully slip past the gate and securities, weaving through the exclusive neighborhood.

When he arrived, the house was unsurprisingly enormous. The house was a picture of modern Japanese style, with simple lines, lots of glass, and a smooth flow into the perfectly kept yard. A sleek wall of polished concrete and dark wood surrounded the property, and the house had a gently sloped roof and glass walls that looked out onto the carefully arranged land.

It looked peaceful and classy.

But still, something was off. He knew houses this size could be quiet, but this was… unsettlingly still. And the lighting in the house… somehow it was completely dark. Even during the day, a house usually had lights on, a sign that people were inside, a subtle deterrent to would-be thieves.

A dark house, especially in broad daylight, practically screamed empty, an invitation for anyone looking to break in. Because it was easier to ransack the place when no one was there after all. Though, this was a secure neighborhood, so unless the thieves were experienced, he doubted it would happen.

But… a cold feeling settled in his gut. Something about this felt deeply wrong.

He crept towards the front door, his senses on high alert. Usually, CCTV cameras were always placed there, even if he didn’t see one, he wasn’t about to risk it.

From the shadows, he picked up a rock and hurled it at the spot where a camera could be seen. After a quick, sharp crack sounded, he turned the doorknob, and as he expected, it was locked.

Akira cursed under his breath. He decided to move along the side of the house, his footsteps silent on the manicured lawn. He scanned for another way in, his eyes constantly sweeping for more cameras. To his surprise, he found an open window.

Akira squinted his eyes at it. Only one open window on the entire ground floor? It felt wrong… and too easy.

‘Is this a trap?’

He quickly typed a message on his phone to request backup. He needed someone else here, just in case, before he went inside through the window.

The house was eerily silent, the stillness pressing in on him. After walking around the house and carefully searching the downstairs rooms, he suspected there was no one inside. He found no clues, even after looking for suspicious things.

‘Where are they? Don’t tell me… they’ve already moved?’

If so, then that meant they really were the kidnappers. It was obvious. They moved so fast to avoid being detected by the people searching for her.

Or maybe they had planned this as soon as that incident happened. That meant he was too late.

He gritted his teeth, his frustration boiling over. He slammed his fist against the wall of the last room he hadn’t checked, the sound echoing in the oppressive quiet.

Refusing to give up, his gaze swept what seemed like the master bedroom in the house and finally settled on a piece of paper on the king-sized bed. He snatched it up and read.

‘You’re too late. And she was never here to begin with.’

Akira crumpled the paper in his hand, his knuckles white.

“Damn it!!”

——

“Asteria was kidnapped, they say. One of the admins,” Shouto reported as his sharp gaze remained glued to the screen. The glow of the phone highlighted the contrast between his rigid face and Dazai’s languid posture beside him.

Dazai tapped his chin thoughtfully, frowning a little. “Hmm… How peculiar. This isn’t how it should be. Which means… there’s some unexpected element at play here, a variable I haven’t accounted for, something that slipped just beyond my grasp.”

His gaze sharpened, all traces of playfulness vanishing as he straightened just a little. “What is it then? I’m not as well-versed in this world yet, not enough to predict how every thread connects. At least, not for now. But given time—“

A slow, knowing smile crept onto Dazai’s lips. “—I’ll have them wrapped neatly around my fingers. For now, all we can do is watch and wait for the right moment to step in.”

He turned slightly towards Shouto, a slight smile curving his lips. “Shouto-kun, keep your eyes on the server.”

“Understood,” Shouto didn’t so much as blink when he replied. His voice carried the same steady monotone and an almost unnerving level of focus on the task at hand. The screen before him flickered again when a new chat message appeared.

Unseen Nulls

#general

TaxEvasionQuirk

So this is their way of saying they want to mess with us, right? And that message was just them confirming it?

Null

yeah, I think so... damn it! I knew we messed the girl up, but her parents? I didn't think they'd actually kidnap someone! I figured they'd just lawyer up. and we told her not to say anything unless she wanted to *censored sentence*, but still...

TaxEvasionQuirk

We gotta be more careful. We've gotten cocky lately, forgetting some people really have powerful families that’ll do anything for them. You forgot those kinds of people are one of the reasons you made this server in the first place

100%human

Yeah, people like them hide behind a good rep while their real selves stay buried. Not all of them, but some. And no one ever notices unless they dig deep enough.

EvilButCute💕

Aren't they, like... supposed to be the good guys? I thought they just spoiled their kid too much, but... I don't see the girl doing this, even if she was the school queen or whatever. She used her parents' power, so they were the ones pulling the strings, I thought they'd just cover stuff up for her, not, like, straight-up kidnap someone. Plus, we messed her up pretty bad, she hasn't even shown up to school

QuirklessAndProudAF

Even if we had proof and went to the cops or heroes, you know they wouldn’t believe us. Everyone thinks these people can do no wrong. They’re all about justice and helping people, and they've got this squeaky-clean public image and personality that everyone loves. It’s unbelievable, we’d be the bad guys before we even opened our mouths. Hell, the cops would probably help them cover this up before they’d ever help us. Money talks.

Null

fuck! fuck!!

100%human

Also we don't have the resources to track anyone. We might have strong quirks, but they're villain quirks. Tracking quirks are hero quirks. Those guys get recruited, not thrown away…

Null

so what the hell do we do???

TaxEvasionQuirk

Calm down, Null. We need to ask everyone if they have any ideas about how to track someone. We've got zero clue who we're dealing with. We clearly know their identities, but their good guy image might just be a front. We don't know what they look like behind the public image and their connections they use to be able to do this without their actions getting outed in the public

EvilButCute💕

Y'all think the Hero Commission is, like, covering up their bad stuff?

TaxEvasionQuirk

I don’t know... something feels weird about this though. Like, I know the HPSC is corrupt and they'd do anything to keep people trusting heroes, but I don't think they're behind this...

Null

there's gotta be clues... something...

“Shouto-kun,” Dazai suddenly spoke up, pulling Shouto sharply from his intense focus on his phone.

Shouto lifted his gaze to meet Dazai’s contemplating face when Dazai spoke, “Tell them you have a way to find her.”

Shouto’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his usually stoic expression. “You want to… help them?”

Beside him, Chuuya’s expression was even more pronounced. His current face was replaced with a look of disbelief, as if he were seeing a completely different person in front of him. Someone who wasn’t Dazai.

“Mackerel,” he growled, the nickname laced with a mix of exasperation and suspicion. “You wanted to test their potential, I get that. But from what we’ve seen? They’re reckless. They’re brave enough to use violence, sure, and I’ll admit, that could be useful sometimes. But they’re also impulsive, charging in without thinking when one of their own is threatened. Do we really want to get tangled up with a group like that?”

Dazai’s expression remained unreadable as he spoke. “Even with their recklessness, remember, Chuuya, they’re still just kids. You, of all people, should understand that. Remember what happened to you and the Sheep?”

Chuuya’s gaze flickered away, his jaw tightening, but Dazai continued, unfazed. “But unlike the Sheep, who were torn apart by distrust, this group... they’re a valuable resource. These villainous quirk users… they're dangerous, yes, but powerful. And it’s not fair to say people without abilities are useless. They have potential. Raw, untamed potential. Just like Atsushi-kun, Kyouka-chan, even Akutagawa-kun and Gin-chan.”

He paused, voice calm but firm. “What they lack is experience. The kind needed to fight against something bigger than themselves. The instinct to anticipate enemies lurking in the shadows. That’s why they failed. They were outmaneuvered.”

Chuuya remained silent even as the absence of any response or objection only deepened Shouto’s worry. Their conversation left him confused and conflicted, especially after seeing Chuuya—someone usually so quick to react—reduced to quiet tension.

Still, despite the storm of questions brewing in his mind, Shouto forced himself to refocus on the server, carrying out Dazai’s instructions without missing a beat.

Unseen Nulls

#general

FrozenSoba🍜

I might have a way to track them.

Null

what?

JustHere4Chaos

how?? we finally got a hacker up in here?!

FrozenSoba🍜

No. I know some friends who might be able to help. But they want to meet in person to discuss about how to get her back. Is that something you would be willing to do?

Null

… normally, I wouldn’t. meeting people I don’t know, especially in a dangerous situation like this. and you’re still new, so we don’t really know you yet. but if your contacts can actually find her… I can’t risk waiting around. I’ll meet with them myself. make sure they’re legit.

TaxEvasionQuirk

Wait, Null—

Null

I'm the admin, the one who started this whole thing. it’s my responsibility to protect you guys. I can't let anyone else disappear or get grabbed

Null

please

JustHere4Chaos

... ok, fine. but u better come back in 1 piece

TaxEvasionQuirk

Yeah, stay safe, Null. And FrozenSoba🍜, don't mess with our trust in you, okay? Our admins are important. We won't be happy if anything bad happens to him.

FrozenSoba🍜

Okay. You can trust us.

FrozenSoba🍜

Meet us here: attached location

——

Shion had lost all sense of time. Hours, days, weeks, she couldn’t tell anymore. Every breath felt like dragging glass through her lungs as another coughing fit wracked her body, leaving her trembling in the cold, stale air.

Hunger gnawed at her, thirst burned in her throat, and exhaustion made her eyes stung every time she blinked. Pain continued to cling to her like a second skin. There were these dull aches and bruises blooming across her body like wilted flowers.

While she was here, her consciousness often flickered in and out, and the dark room seemed to shift and distort around her. Her quirk, the very thing that made her even sicker, was her personal torment. The combination of all this caused bile to rise in her throat with sickening regularity.

Sometimes, she would vomit without warning. Her body lurched forward, wracked with violent convulsions as she emptied what little remained in her stomach. The acidic burn in her throat only deepened her suffering, reminding her of her helplessness.

Every inch of her body throbbed with pain. Her captors hadn’t held back even though she was a teenager, their fists and quirks leaving bruises and wounds that pulsed with agony.

She was just currently lucky (if such a thing could be said in her situation) since she could still think and focus, if only because her kidnappers had been gone for a while since she last regained consciousness.

Even though Shion was used to pain—whether from bullies, the effects of her quirk, or the people around her—she still desperately longed for an escape from this hell.

The whole ordeal felt so vile that she thought she’d throw herself into the nearest body of water and scrub until her skin was raw as soon as she got out, as if it would cleanse her inside and out.

She was currently bound to a chair. The restraints had chafed her skin to the point of bleeding, and the stiffness in her muscles made her feel like her body didn’t belong to her anymore.

Days of doing nothing had begun to erode her sanity, even in her moments of near-unconsciousness. And there was only a single, unreachable window high on the wall, which only served to mock her with glimpses of freedom, given the room was almost bare.

‘And because I’m the only one stressed here, I can’t even force-fill my quirk, which I hope will be full when they come back…’

Shion was still in the dark about who’d ordered her kidnapping, even though deep down, a suspicion was forming in her mind. If she was right, it made everything… even more twisted, though.

A knot of disbelief tightened in her chest, like she couldn’t fully accept the truth of her own guess. Because, no matter what, ’her’ parents were still… pro heroes…? Or had the pro heroes become so corrupt that they’d stood to kidnapping now…?

She knew some heroes were hypocrites, turning a blind eye to the suffering of those they deemed ‘other’. But this? Kidnapping? Torture? This wasn’t how heroes operated.

Even someone like Endeavor, with his brutal methods, wouldn’t directly harm civilians he knew weren’t villains (unless, in his twisted logic, he’d convinced himself they were).

Even with all that, she knew that her group had tortured their only child. But this kidnapping… it still didn’t fit the pattern.

Since pro heroes who knew their identities as violent teenagers, rather than actual villains, would usually just report them to the authorities for arrest or catch them themselves.

This would have been the typical response if Akemi had told them, despite the threat. They would have been freed later anyway, since there were no witnesses and the members could account for their activities by providing their decoy phones to the police (since their entire operation was conducted on the server, which most members accessed via phones).

They wouldn’t have dragged her off to some hidden place to… kidnap her and do whatever else they were planning.

… Something was deeply wrong here. Like these people… they weren’t like any pro heroes she knew.

For what felt like eternity, she strained her eyes in the dark room, trying to decipher the dark shape she’d noticed a while ago.

It was the cover of a book, dropped from a captor’s pocket after they punched her face. She was curious, and thought it could be a clue to her kidnappers’ identity.

They were sloppy, these people, leaving behind evidence about their identities without even checking the room again, despite beating her and demanded information about… her group.

(She was confused about why they wanted to know about her group, but she suspected that whoever had ordered to kidnap her, if her guess was correct, wanted retribution for what her group had done to their precious daughter. She would do the same if someone did that to her friends).

However, even with their sloppiness giving her a chance, she hadn’t been able make any progress. The room remained shrouded in shadows. The meager light filtering through the high window was swallowed by the gloom, making it impossible to discern the title on the book cover.

It was dark enough that every time they opened the door, the blinding flash would leave her vision swimming for a moment before her eyes could refocus.

Shion’s body then tensed as she heard footsteps approaching again. Heavy, rough stomps, like the people making them were full of themselves—arrogant, and thuggish. She then would hear slow, mocking laughter that began to drift closer and clo—

‘… Wait, that’s not them.’

Their voices sounded different. They were definitely talking, but with a calmer, darker tone. Their footsteps also sounded different. They were lighter than her kidnappers’, yet unlike normal people’s, they were also more controlled.

They spoke of skill, of someone who knew how to fight. She herself didn’t have experience learning how to combat, but she’d watched heroes in real life and her friends practice fighting, so she recognized the difference in the sounds.

The door that trapped her like a prison—a room with solid door, not bars, but a prison to her nonetheless—creaked open. As she expected, light quickly flooded in, blinding her for a moment. She squeezed her eyes shut, then slowly opened them.

As her vision cleared, she looked back at the book on the floor. Her eyes widened in surprise as she was finally able to read the title.

Meta Liberation War

‘What— That book—‘

Fortunately, Shion was able to recognize the title. She’d heard about it before, though only in passing, as part of historical events. After all, before she was able to go outside, she’d always been at home, so sometimes she spent her time reading books or browsing whatever she could find on the internet.

The book was some old political book written by a man—whose name she couldn’t recall—who believed quirk restrictions were unfair. If she remembered correctly, it was about giving people the freedom to use their quirks how they wanted without government interference.

But there was something else about it, something more extreme.

The ideology within those pages didn’t just advocate for freedom. It argued that powerful quirks should reign supreme. The strong were meant to rise above the weak, unrestrained by laws or ethics. Those with superior quirks had a natural right to use them however they pleased, shaping society as they saw fit.

But wasn’t that just some outdated philosophy that had died out long ago? From a time that quirk laws were stricter?

From what she knew, the leader who founded the organization had been arrested ages ago, and his movement was supposed to be long gone that she thought most people had forgotten them.

Yet now, those kidnappers… had that book. And that meant Akemi’s parents—who were indeed the ones standing across from her—also…

Her throat went dry. ‘Don’t tell me—‘

“You see it, don’t you?” A voice startled her, and she jerked her head up to see two figures standing in the doorway.

The woman stepped forward, bending down to retrieve the book from the dusty floor. With a sharp exhale, she brush the dust off the cover with a delicate, almost reverent touch. Her face twisted with disdain.

“How could they treat our manifesto like this? Such reckless disrespect. If they aren’t one of us, I’ll inform our leader to take care of them,” the woman murmured before turning to the only man in the room. “Right, darling?”

“Yes, my love,” the man replied, his gaze settling on his wife with a tenderness that should’ve been comforting to anyone who saw them. Yet to Shion, watching from her bound position, the display of affection felt disturbingly out of place—warped and unnatural.

Shion clenched her fists. She had expected her captors to be pro heroes, Akemi’s parents, but… Akemi’s parents, the good pro heroes, secretly being remnants of a defeated army, still clinging to the ashes of their ideology?

She’d thought the Meta Liberation Army was destroyed, reduced to nothing when their leader fell. And yet…

Slowly, she met the woman’s eyes. The conviction burning in them sent a chill down her spine.

“Destro’s book is our foundation, our truth. The ideology that will lead us to victory in the end…”

The woman straightened, gripping the book tightly as her lips curled into a knowing smile as she once again continued.

“The Meta Liberation Army will rise once more—”

She then paused, as if to add weight to her words. Her piercing gaze then bore into Shion, unwavering and absolute.

"And you… you will be the key to deciding your group’s fate. Whether you stand with us or fall beneath us is up to you.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

A lone boy walked along the sidewalk under the cloak of night. He continued to amble, each step carrying further into the unfamiliar urban sprawl with flat-rise and mid high houses. The street was too still and the windows were all dark.

It was as if the entire population had collectively vanished or moved somewhere else entirely. Nevertheless, the boy’s gaze kept scanning for any sign of life.

Eventually, he spotted a man, an adult whose silhouette illuminated by the faint glow of a nearby streetlamp. In one hand, the boy clutched a well-worn copy of ‘Meta Liberation War’, while the other hand instinctively tugging his black hoodie to deepen the shadows that covered half of his face.

The man he was approaching seemed busy with something. His posture was rigid and he was engrossed in a phone call.

“—yes, that’s correct. I’ll expect the compiled data on my desk by morning. Don’t disappoint me.” The click of his phone echoed as he ended the call and turned to leave.

Just as he began to move, a small tug on his sleeve stopped him short. He pivoted and his eyes narrowed as he took in the hoodied figure of the boy. 

“What’s this? A boy with poor judgement wandering the streets after curfew?” He said, his cold tone laced with suspicion. Then, his gaze fell upon the book in the boy’s hand, and recognition flickered in his eyes. 

“Ah…” A thin smile spread across his face, more forced than warm. “That book and that outfit… Of course, you’re the new recruit assigned to this sector.”

The boy offered a curt nod, his face still hidden beneath the deep shadow of his hood. 

He studied the boy for a moment longer, as if gauging his usefulness. “You’re awfully quiet today, huh? I remember you being more talkative. Got cold feet? Or is it that you’ve finally realized this war isn’t some childish fantasy?” 

A smirk played on the man’s lips. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still wet behind the ears, but if you’ve got the guts to prove yourself, you might just earn a real spot in the fight for the Meta Liberation Army’s glorious victory.”

His tone then dropped to a low, dangerous whisper.

“I don’t tolerate bugs. Make sure you aren’t one.”

Another nod from the boy. The man’s eyebrows furrowed slightly. Impatience flashed across his features as his fingers tapped rhythmically against his laptop bag.

“Follow me. I’ll contact Curious to—“

As they neared an isolated gang, the boy suddenly surged forward without warning and snatched the comm device from his hand. At the same time, he spun his body and slammed his elbow to his gut before the man could even gasp.

“—Guh!” 

The man staggered backward, clutching his stomach as the air was driven from his lungs. Instinct took over as he sprang several steps away, whipping out his laptop from its case and flipping it open. The screen lit up instantly and his fingers quickly flew across the keyboard. 

He launched the visual interface and scanned for a nearby object of similar size to himself. His eyes immediately locked onto the industrial-sized trash can just a few meters away. 

The cold metal instantly responded to his quirk. It rippled, warped, and twisted into a shape of a man in seconds.

A satisfied grin spread across his face, but it quickly turned into disbelief and outrage. “You!” he rasped, “You dare lay a hand on me? I am Skeptic, one of the Meta Liberation Army’s top commanders!” 

The puppet beside him reacted instantly, its body moving with eerie precision. It grabbed a lead pipe and charged at the boy, its face blank and emotionless.

The boy stood still, looking unbothered. He didn’t flinch even as the threat closed in on him, as if he knew something Skeptic didn’t.

A prickle of unease crept up Skeptic’s spine. He immediately sensed that something was off and he was about to stop his human puppet before it advanced any further.

However, a sudden presence loomed behind Skeptic. He froze as cold fingers brushing the back of his neck. 

“Wha—“

His vision snapped into darkness. But It wasn’t just black, it was emptiness. Everything around him vanished and he couldn’t sense the world at all. It was worse than blindness, like his very eyes had been erased by the void in an instant. 

The sensation was disorienting.

Immediately, panic gripped him. He stumbled back, voice rising in alarm. “I can’t see! What is this?!”

*BAM!*

A sharp blow struck the side of his head. His body crumpled to the concrete, and his laptop slipped from his hands mid-fall.

Before it hit the ground, the boy with glasses—who’d ambushed Skeptic with his quirk—caught it. Meanwhile, the other boy in the black hoodie stood over Skeptic’s unconscious form, then quietly turned toward their teammates, still hidden from view and from the security cameras across the street. 

Beside Skeptic, the industrial trash can crashed to the ground with a loud clang, making everyone wince. The human puppet had reverted back to its original form.

The boy in the hoodie then stretched his arms above his head and grinned down at the unconscious MLA commander. Eventually, he opened his mouth.

“Yo! This dude’s seriously weak~” he said in a sing-song tone. “This guy’s supposed to be an elite? Man, if they’re all like him, we could wipe the floor with their whole army in an hour!”

The bespectacled boy—the one with the sensory-disabling quirk—sighed and calmly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You’re underestimating them. He’s not a fighter. Skeptic’s in charge of information. Taking him down was easy once we caught him off guard.” 

The rest of their team started making their way over, still checking for any signs of surveillance, even with Skeptic down.

“They really went all in on quirk training, huh?” one of them muttered, “Good thing you baited him into that alley. If he’d had more human-sized stuff around, he could’ve overwhelmed us in seconds and raised alarms.”

The boy adjusted his glasses with a light push. “I told him to do that earlier. He knows some basic combat, nothing fancy, but it’s enough. So we worked with what we had. He acted as the decoy, and as long as he stayed quiet, no one questioned him.”

“That’s so cruel!” The hoodie boy burst out, throwing his hands up. “You know I can’t act! And come on, I do know the basics! All I could do was stand there and keep my mouth shut. I was losing it, man! Felt like I was TaxEvasionQuirk or something!”

“You wanna say that again? You and JustHere4Chaos act the same. Are you siblings or something?” the glasses boy shot him a sharp glare after the other boy stuck out his tongue to mock him.

“Alright, alright,” a girl cut in, trying to keep the peace. “We’ve still got a job.”

Just then, a boy dressed entirely in black, from his boots to the long fringe obscuring his eyes, took a small step forward. Without a word, he touched Skeptic’s body, then laid a hand on the glasses boy’s shoulder. 

As soon as he did that, something rippled through the air. To the team, he looked the same, but to anyone who hadn't seen the transformation, his appearance shimmered and shifted until he perfectly mirrored Skeptic's features.

Therefore, everyone made sure to really register what they saw, just to avoid falling for the side effect of the quirk that made it easy to forget he wasn’t actually Skeptic.

“We must hurry,” the teen in all black informed, “If we don’t, they will all be devoured by the encroaching darkness and the abyss festering within me will awaken once more.”

The two teens behind him leaned in and whispered. “I still don’t get this guy.”

“Same. Is he okay?”

Their muttering was cut off by a sudden smack to the hoodie boy’s head. 

“Ow!”

A girl stood behind the hoodie boy, one hand still hovering above his head. “Quit messing around! We’re here to rescue that admin of yours, right?! I agreed to help, but if this drags into daylight, my parents are gonna kill me!”

“R-Rii-chan! That hurt!” the hoodie boy whined.

“She’s right,” said the glasses boy while rubbing his temple. He turned to face her. “But… you’re not even a part of the server. Are you sure you want to do this?”

Rii-chan huffed and planted a hand on her hip. “Of course I’m sure! He’s my best friend,” she said, jerking her thumb at the hoodie boy, who quickly looked away with slightly red ears.

“And I did proclaim myself an honorary member weeks ago. Quirkless or not, villain or not, I’m in! I choose to stand with you guys! Nobody gets to shove my best friend’s head in a closet like he’s a trash. Not those jerks a month ago, and definitely not some ancient organization attempting to snatch his friends away. Not on my watch!”

The glasses boy let out a quiet breath and stepped forward, eyes scanning her and the rest of the small group with sharp focus. “Alright, if you’re really sure… let’s get serious.”

His gaze moved over the team, all now disguised to look like specific MLA members—including himself, now posing as the non-combatant commander. 

“Like Dazai-san said, Skeptic built their whole communication system. If anyone knows how it works from the inside, it’s him. But from what we’ve gathered, he’s obsessively loyal. Torture won’t work. He’d probably bite off his own tongue before saying anything. He’s a dead end. And we don’t have time to waste.”

He turned to the teen clad in full black, already mimicking someone they’d taken out earlier. “That quirk that’s replacing our identities? It won’t last more than three hours. Any longer, and it could mess with both the targets and the user, so we’ve got to move fast.”

Everyone in the team gave a nod of understanding. After dragging Skeptic’s unconscious body deeper into the forest, they hid him alongside others they’d already subdued outside the city limits. With Skeptic down, no one was left to monitor the satellite surveillance system.

The glasses boy hurried back to the narrow gang and crouched down. He opened the laptop as a soft glow lit up the screen. He then tapped the earpiece hidden beneath his hair.

“Dazai-san,” he greeted, “target secured. Skeptic’s neutralized.”

“Good.” Dazai responded as a quiet rustle came through the line. “Chuuya, Shouto-kun, Akira-kun. Let’s move.”

The glasses boy ended the call then slipped into the shadows behind a seven-story building. His eyes fixed on the confusing data scrolling across his screen. And when he clicked on it, nothing happened, as if something was blocking his access.

‘Just as Dazai-san predicted, the laptop is already infused with Skeptic’s quirk…’ 

Elsewhere, his teammates moved through the city streets with the ease of locals, confident in the identities they were impersonating. At least, that was how they looked on the outside. No one could tell what was going through their heads.

Nevertheless, they were definitely more focused now than during their more playful act earlier.

The plan was already in motion.

——

“We’ll start with this,” Dazai said, his gaze fixed on the camera of his phone. His voice was measured, like he already knew how things would play out.

On the screen, the rest of the Unseen Nulls listened in, and surprisingly, almost every member near Musutafu and Deika city had joined the call. 

“We’ll divide into teams.” He held up one finger. “First up, the Sabotage Team. Their job is to infiltrate the city disguised as MLA operatives and spread misinformation from the inside. The goal? Confuse their chain of command and misdirect their fighters. They strike first tonight. Hit them before they realize it’s begun.”

Someone on the call raised their hand. “But, isn’t the satellite already locked onto the four of you? He said it himself during his speech, didn’t he?”

Dazai smirked with a glint of mischief in his eyes, then winked at them. “The solution’s delightfully simple, really. Which is why I won’t be entering with the team right away.” 

He leaned back slightly, the glow of the screen flickering across his face. “You’ll all move in ahead of me, slipping past their surveillance while it’s focused on us. Once inside, catch them off guard, disguise yourself, then scatter. Get the misinformation circulating. I’ll join you later and I’m trusting you can handle things until then. It’s easy to spot the cameras when you already know it’s there.”

He paused, observing the members as everyone took in the plan. Then, his voice hardened just slightly.

“That said… don’t expect this to go down easy. I believe they’ve got countermeasures, quirks, tech, maybe even things none of you have seen before, especially with Detnerat as their front. So while most of you focus on spreading misinformation and muddying their chain of command, one of you needs to stay back and wait for me—someone experienced in handling those kinds of threats. The rest? Gather intel and confuse their communications. And for how you’re getting in… we’ve got just the right quirk for that.”

He reached out and pulled forward a boy dressed in solid black, his long bangs covering half his face. “EdgelordEnergy!”

“That’s me,” the boy replied, completely deadpan.

The reaction was instant.

“What?! Since when were you there?!” Several voices shouted at once through the screen. The members gawked at the boy, who’d somehow remained completely unnoticed until now.

“Null called him before this meeting. His quirk allows him to become undetectable by temporarily ripping someone’s identity and taking their place. But it doesn’t work on anyone who witnesses the process directly and it also has time limit. That’s how he got here without tipping anyone off,” Dazai explained casually, then he went on.

“No one else could risk coming. If any of you’d been seen entering this place, we’d be compromised before the mission even started. Our position’s already at risk, and if we all come bursting out of the same spot later, the element of surprise is gone.”

He glanced at each face on the screen, their faces also dimly lit by their own screen. “Besides, from what I’ve gathered, one of their commanders is the one surveilling us through their satellite feeds, Skeptic. We have to assume he’s watching now. Eliminating him early is our top priority.”

Dazai’s fingers hovered above his phone screen and he tapped it lightly. “We’re now using my phone for this video call. Unseen Nulls’ usual server is off-limit because the enemy has likely infiltrated them. Good thing most of you already have each other’s contact info. That way, we stay off the grid and move fast.”

He let that hang in the air for a moment. “That last photo sent to your group chat wasn’t just a threat. It was confirmation. Proof that they’ve found a way in. We’re using Gugel Meet for a reason. Right now, they don’t know we’re meeting remotely. They don’t even know they have to trace this call. And when the enemy’s in the dark, that’s when we move. That’s our edge, we use what they don’t know.”

His gaze then slid toward the emo boy, now that his explanation was over. “You told me your quirk can strip someone’s identity for up to 3 hours… unless either of you breaks mentally. Is that right?”

“Indeed,” the boy answered quietly.

“It used to last just an hour, a pitiful threshold. But through endless trials upon my rat volunteers, I pushed beyond. My power is the darkness itself. Once it coils around a soul and pulls them beneath, they forget the warmth of light. They forget who they are. One poor fool, stripped of name, self, and memory, now rots in a place where even the mad are afraid to whisper. Of course, there’s the cost. The darkness I command has begun to command me in return.”

“… Rats?” Someone on the call muttered, sounding both disturbed and confused.

“Darkness?” echoed another skeptical voice.

“I still don’t get that guy,” one of the teens chimed in.

“Same,” another replied with a shrug.

“Question!” One of the teens suddenly blurted out, snapping the group out of the lingering weirdness from their resident chuunibyou. “Why can’t you just hack into Skeptic’s satellite feed? I mean, you hacked the HPSC database once, didn’t you?”

Dazai let out a dramatic sigh and dragged a hand across the back of his neck like the question physically pained him. “Ah… I hate to admit it, but I can’t.”

“What?” They all echoed in unison, more than a little stunned, especially considering how brilliant the man had seemed up to this point.

He glanced at the screen with a half-apologetic, half-troubled smile.

“You all remember Skeptic’s quirk, right? Let me jog your memory. He’s the guy who built the MLA’s entire communication and surveillance system, which means, he’s also the one watching through the satellite feeds under ReDestro’s order.”

“So, here’s the twist,” Dazai added, shifting into a more lecturing tone, “even though his quirk is technically limited to controlling puppets via his laptop, I’m willing to bet that laptop has become more than just a tool. It’s practically an extension of him. And do you know what that means?”

He halted for a moment, watching their expressions shift as the smarter ones start to piece it together. Internally, Dazai noted who they were.

“For those still not following, here’s the simple version. Even though the device isn’t the main aspect of his quirk, it’s still the medium and it’s been saturated with his power for so long that breaking in from the outside is near impossible. No simple hack’s going to cut it.”

“So…” someone asked hesitantly through the video call, “what should we do?”

Dazai brightened instantly, his voice chipper. “Why, we steal his laptop, of course!” Dazai declared as if he hadn’t just casually suggested a criminal act in front of hundreds of impressionable teens. 

“Once I get my hands on it, I can nullify the quirk embedded in the laptop, peel apart his system from the inside, and figure out exactly how he’s tracking us. Then I’ll hijack their comms and surveillance. But it’ll take time and focus. That’s why I’ll be assigning the rest of you to spread misinformation while I work, for efficiency’s sake. We need half of their forces chasing ghosts while we act in reality.”

“I know this might be unrelated…” another voice cut in, sounding curious. “How did you even manage to hack HPSC database back then? Don’t they also have quirk specialists for that kind of thing?”

Dazai’s smile faltered, just barely. “Not anymore. Hacking quirks are rare. Most quirks are physical, flashy, or combat-based. Tech-based one is hard to come by. And in a place like HPSC, people like that are walking targets. The smarter villains know whoever holds the most information holds the real power.”

A few seconds of silence enveloped them. “That means…”

Dazai gave a slow nod. “She’s dead. A month ago. HPSC’s still scrambling for a replacement. It’s all about  timing.” 

Dazai laughed, the sound warm and maddening, as he casually swung his leg up onto Chuuya’s lap like it belonged there. “Aw, I’m flattered! Let’s just say my IQ’s taller than Chibi is on his tiptoes!”

Chuuya’s voice dropped to a dangerous low, lethal simmer. He hadn’t shoved the leg off. Yet. “Dazai…”

Dazai, unbothered and utterly amused, wore a grin that could only be described as asking for it.

“Don’t pout, Chuuya~ You’ll get wrinkles,” Dazai cooed after he reached out and playfully tapped the corner of Chuuya’s lips with a teasing smile, right before Chuuya lunged and grabbed him by the throat.

“Ah!” Dazai choked out, more laughing than gasping. “Still the affectionate type, I see—!”

Shouto, Null, and the emo teen stayed silent, completely unfazed. They were already deep in thought, already focused on the mass infiltration strategy and treated the squabble like it was simply background noise. 

Meanwhile, the teens on the call were collectively staring in horror as the two grown men fluidly alternated between attempted murder and something that looked suspiciously like foreplay.

“Really? Right in front of my fucking salad?” One girl deadpanned, pushing her plate away like it’d personally betrayed her.

“… Is this what being divorced but still emotionally entangled looks like?” another commented, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Hush!” everyone else hissed at once, because acknowledging it somehow made it worse.

Someone dared to whisper, though it sounded loud since they were literally on a video call. “Uh… I dunno… he looks way too into being chok—”

“STOP. Stop right there,” someone else snapped, “for the love of all that is holy, stop before I need brain bleach.”

——

“Good job,” Dazai said with an easy grin, ruffling the hair of the boy in glasses (now disguised as Skeptic). 

The boy frowned, clearly not thrilled by the gesture. He quickly patted down his now disheveled hair, muttering something under his breath while trying to smooth it back into place. 

Dazai, of course, didn’t notice. Or maybe he did and just really didn’t care.

Dazai stretched with an exaggerated groan, putting on a show about being crushed under the unbearable workload awaiting him, before finally flopping down in front of Skeptic’s laptop that had just been passed to him. 

Dazai dropped into a crouch in front of the device, fingers poised above the keys. “Alright! Let’s take control of the comms and surveillance systems linked to this laptop, both digital and quirk-based. And first—!”

The moment his fingers touched the surface, a faint blue light pulsed between him and the machine. Glowing kanji shimmered into existence and danced briefly in the air before fading away. 

The laptop itself showed no visible change, but Dazai looked confident like that subtle display was all the confirmation he needed.

Near the mouth of the alley where the street lay almost empty, the boy stood watch. This stillness in part of the city was likely due to most citizens having gathered elsewhere for tomorrow’s war briefing. Just as they had a few hours ago. 

He still couldn’t believe how many people in this city were MLA members and now he knew that their leader hadn’t been bluffing. This city wasn’t just occupied, it belonged to MLA.

He glanced back, momentarily mesmerized by the glow that had bloomed from the guy’s quirk. There was something oddly beautiful about the way the blue light shimmered. The kanji that had appeared lingered in his mind. It didn’t seem like it was just an activation phrase, but more like a line of poetry.

If he had to put it into words, it felt otherworldly. Not like a typical quirk with its usual blunt, immediate activation. But something entirely different.

“Done,” Dazai said simply then looked up from his apparently successful work. His eyes flicked toward the boy. “Keep watch. Let me know the moment someone gets too close.”

Snapping out of his trance, the boy straightened slightly. “Got it.” He shifted his stance, moving to lean against the wall near the alley entrance, watching him and the half-deserted street with renewed vigilance. 

He could see Dazai studying him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he returned to tapping away the keys. The usual smile was gone now, replaced by an uncommon, silent focus.

Meanwhile, the other disguised members of the sabotage team moved among the enemy ranks. Impersonating as patrol units and squad members under Skeptic’s command, they began to blend in—gathering information, monitoring their movements, and making sure the plan was unfolding exactly as intended. 

But one had taken on a far riskier role—his username: TotallyNotBatman. He was the same boy who’d managed to bring down Skeptic, albeit luckily, catching the man off guard at just the right moment.

Now, wearing the stolen identity of one of Skeptic’s hoodie-wearing subordinates, he pushed open the creaking door of what looked like a pub.

Inside, the air was thick with smoke and cheap alcohol. Laughter echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and old tables. Dim lights flickered overhead, casting unsteady shadows across the warped wooden floor.

Casually, he stepped in like he belonged there and lifted a hand in greeting. “Yo, you’ve been waiting for me?”

A man at the nearest occupied table squinted over his drink. “Huh? Didn’t you finish your patrol shift like half an hour ago?”

“Ah… yeah. Sorry, man,” the boy scratched the back of his head sheepishly, “Took a massive shit. Thought I was gonna die in there.”

“Eugh! Nasty little brat, why would you announce that?!” Another man gagged, nearly spilling his drink.

A gruff, older man narrowed his eyes, studying him. “Aren’t you a little young to be hanging around here this late, kid? Shouldn’t you be at home or back in training or something?”

The boy’s heart jumped, but he forced a cocky shrug and rolled his shoulders like he didn’t really care. “Pfft. Ran into Skeptic-sama earlier. He told me I’m getting assigned for real tomorrow. Frontline test. No more kiddie patrols.”

That shut them up. The table went quiet for a moment, then a low whistle and murmurs of surprise came around them. 

“Seriously?” said one. “Damn… that’s huge. He doesn’t promote rookies like that unless they’re useful.”

Another chimed in, nodding slowly. “Well, you’ve been kissing up to him forever… clinging to him like he’s your savior.” He squinted, suspicion in his voice. “Though… you’re acting kinda different today. You look… I dunno, happier. More alive or something.”

He swallowed hard, panic flaring in his gut. ‘Shit. Did they see through me already? Was my voice off? Are they testing me? I mean, I know I suck at acting, but I’m not that bad, am I?! Crap, if Tax or Null find out I blew my cover, I’m toast! Null’s already quieter than usual and pissed since Asteria got taken. I’m dead. I’m so—‘

A woman at the far end of the table suddenly cut through the rising storm in his head with a loud laugh. “Oh, come on! Of course he looks different, he’s hyped! Kid’s finally getting into Skeptic-sama’s unit. Tomorrow he gets to fight. Let him enjoy the moment.”

Reluctantly, the man who’d been scrutinizing him grunted. “Tch. Fair point.”

The boy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, forcing a crooked smile as he relaxed just enough to pass. 

‘Safe… for now.’

He slid into the last empty chair at the table, trying not to look too eager. “Um… What were you guys talking about?”

The adults barely glanced at him before resuming their discussion, picking up a conversation they’d just hit paused on. 

“Tomorrow’s the day we wipe out that little playtime organization,” one of them said before taking a slow sip from his drink. 

None of them seemed drunk yet. They were all staying sober, likely unwilling to risk being unconscious before a big operation tomorrow. 

“I get that they’re a nuisance,” someone interjected, frowning slightly, “but why’s everyone acting like they’re a real threat? They’re just a bunch of inexperienced brats. How dangerous could they be?”

“Don’t question Re-Destro-sama!” a third snapped without hesitation. “If he’s taking them seriously, then he knows something we don’t.”

“Maybe,” replied the second man while lighting a cigarette and blowing smoke in lazy spirals.

“Still, I doubt it’s that serious. We’ve got a hundred thousand warriors ready. No way those brats can stand a chance. Besides…” He grinned darkly. “We’ve got leverage now. Let ‘em make a move. They do and their precious girl dies.”

The boy kept his expression neutral, nodding along as if he were just another grunt in the room. “Yeah, I was wondering where they’re keeping her though…”

The cigarette guy snorted. “Are you stupid? Use your head. Where do you think the safest place in the whole city is?”

The boy’s heart skipped a beat as the implication sank in. “… The tower in the center.”

“Bingo,” the man said like it was obvious. “The control tower. That’s where Skeptic-sama’s running the show. Surveillance, comms, tech, internal data, everything’s funneled through that place and his laptop. And the basement is where we tossed our ‘guests’, especially the ones we need alive.” 

He gave the boy a sidelong glance. “You’re new, so I’ll let it slide. But seriously, you should’ve known that.”

The boy forced a sheepish laugh. “Yeah, my bad. Still figuring things out.”

But inside, his pulse was racing. ‘Shit. They are holding her there.’

“Speaking of Skeptic-sama,” a woman spoke up while swirling the drink in her glass, “I heard he’s not even in the tower tonight. Supposedly got pulled to a nearby sector. Re-Destro-sama probably wants him here to personally supervise the final prep.” 

Curiously, she turned to face the boy. “You finished your shift, didn’t you? Said earlier you ran into him. So? What’d he say?”

“O-Oh yeah! I did,” the boy replied a little too fast, scrambling for something convincing. “He mentioned he’d be… uh, sending out a message soon! Yeah. Told me to remind everyone to check their phones.”

“A message? At this hour?” a man scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “You sure you weren’t hallucinating from your little bathroom ordeal?“

*ting*

Everyone froze. A unified ping echoed across the room as every device buzzed at once.

The boy smirked smugly. “Check your device.”

They all muttered and grumbled, setting their drinks down with the familiar clatter of glass against wood. One by one, they pulled out their MLA-issued devices—custom gear modified by Skeptic to avoid external detection. The boy mirrored their movements and pretended to scroll.

“A mass directive,” announced one of them after checking his own device. “Sent to both Hanabata-sama’s and Skeptic-sama’s unit. That includes us. Looks like there’s a group of pro heroes moving in from the west. Orders are to go out and create a diversion.”

Someone cursed under their breath, clearly displeased. “Pro heroes?? I thought we already misled them with that fake broadcast! This is bad. We can’t have them interfering tomorrow!” 

“That’s exactly why we’re being deployed,” the man with the cigarette cut in firmly, then he stood up and cracked his knuckles. “Disorient them again and make sure they don’t even sniff tomorrow coming. Let’s move. We’ve got chaos to cause.”

Chairs scraped back all at once as everyone stood, some determined, others annoyed. The pub around them stirred into motion. At the nearby tables, more patrons checked their devices, murmuring in response to the message.

Within seconds, people were pouring into the street. The once quiet road now alive with footsteps, shouts, and movement in every direction.

The boy rose with them to keep up the act. But then, he halted, clutching his stomach as if he was in pain. “Ah wait! I think I ate something bad… my stomach’s killing me.”

“You idiot!” one man snapped, already halfway to the door. Yeah, the boy couldn’t tell which one it was. Not that it mattered. “Fine, just catch up later. Don’t take too long!”

The boy gave a half-hearted salute, grinning through the fake pain. “Yessir!”

Once he confirmed everyone was gone, including the pub workers, his smile dropped from his face. From inside, he observed as the once near-empty street turned into a flood of movement, all heading west. 

Slipping quietly toward the back, he ducked into the restroom. He crouched just behind the door and swept back the hair covering his ear. 

“Dazai,” he whispered into the concealed earpiece, glancing over his shoulder like someone might materialize from the shadows.

“The fake message worked. You’re a genius. You used Skeptic’s laptop for that, right? I didn’t even have to lie! I just told them to check their phones and boom! They bought it!”

“Hm.” On the other end, Dazai’s voice hummed through the earpiece. There was a faint sound of typing in the background.

“It took me a few more minutes to crack how his system was wired, but I got in. The message only hit Skeptic’s and Hanabata’s subordinates, plus a few of the outer sectors. Exactly as planned. The others are untouched.”

“So… that clears this entire zone?” The boy asked, then he peeked through the restroom door, through a window overlooking the street. “They’re all heading west.”

“Good,” Dazai answered, “This area is the farthest from the control tower and closest to the city border. Ideal for us. If we’d spread the fake alert too close to the tower, their base of operations, Re-Destro might’ve caught on early, and we’d be swarmed before making a dent. We can’t fight everyone at once. Not yet.”

The boy rubbed his chin, still reeling from how smoothly it had gone. “So… I should head back to the meeting point?”

“Yup! Quietly though,” Dazai added. However, all of sudden, his voice shifted into something cold and sharper. “Look around you.”

“Wha— Ghk!”

The boy barely had time to react. Something sharp pressed against his neck and his body immediately locked up. A hand grabbed his right wrist from behind and yanked it back hard.

The voice behind him was low and venomous. He clicked his tongue. “I knew it. You’ve been off all night. Trying too hard to sound casual. Your posture’s also wrong. You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

The pressure at his throat increased, just enough to pierce his skin. A single drop of blood slid down his collarbone.

“I heard everything. You’re not him. The real brat barely talks to us, and when he does, it’s about our book and Skeptic-sama’s approval. That freak would never smile like that. And Skeptic sure as hell wouldn’t promote him so fast. So…”

He could feel the man’s breath on his ear now. “… who are you?”

His heart thundered and his whole body shook, breath trembling. Damn it, he should’ve listened to Tax when he said he was terrible at acting.

But he’d faced threats before. Bullies, beatings, death threats, people grabbing him and hurting him just because they could. He’d survived worse… right? He just had to remember what to do.

Then, he recalled something Dazai had said earlier that day. 

“If things go sideways, don’t panic. Use this.”

His left hand twitched, still free. So, he would use that.

Moving purely on instinct, he slipped his fingers into the side pocket of his hoodie and wrapped them around the cool metal handle of the switchblade. He’d received it from Dazai, one of the few things given to everyone for self-defense.

He jammed it backward, blindly.

“GAHH!”

The scream behind him was deafening. The grip on his wrist slackened instantly as the blade plunged somewhere near the attacker’s face. The boy turned in time to see blood gushing from the man's face. The assailant stumbled, clutching at the blade embedded in his cheek.

The boy’s breath hitched at the sight. His stomach twisted, feeling disturbed, though oddly not that guilty.

Then he noticed something sharp clatter to the floor. It looked eerily like one of the glasses they’d been drinking from earlier… only warped, reshaped into a jagged weapon. 

‘What the hell? Is that the man’s quirk?’

“Get away from him!” A high-pitched voice suddenly rang out.

He looked behind him, finding a girl standing at the entrance of the pub. Her stance was battle-ready as she locked her eyes on the attacker.

From her skins, chains erupted like living metal, slicing through the air and wrapping around the man’s throat before he could even react.

Without looking back, the boy heard a sickening crack behind him. He winced.

“Rii-chan!” He shouted the nickname he’d given to his childhood friend in panic. “Did you just—“

“Don’t think about it!” she snapped, already crossing the room. “Dazai-san told me to help! Let’s just go!” She grabbed his hand, and together, they bolted from the pub.

Carefully, they glanced around and weaved through alley shadows while avoiding those running in the opposite direction, hoping no one would discover the body they’d left behind. 

They vanished into the night, heading for the rendezvous point.

——

After the close call earlier, the glasses boy gave the hoodie boy a thorough scolding, warning him to be more careful.

From now on, he was banned from interacting with any more MLA members. His reckless acting had nearly gotten him killed, and for once, he didn’t argue, just nodded and kept quiet.

The girl who’d saved him, of course, was still fussing over him. She pressed a cloth to the shallow cut on his neck, grumbling under her breath about ‘idiots’. Only after double-checking that he wasn’t going to bleed further did she finally relax.

After making sure the kid was okay, Dazai finally got down to business.

“What did you find?” Dazai asked.

The girl spoke first, still glancing at her childhood friend with concern. “They said the tall tower over there is where Re-Destro is staying. They’ve got heavy defense systems, traps, and custom-built tech to stop intruders.”

Dazai glanced at her, closing the laptop with a soft click before sliding it back into Skeptic’s stolen bag. “Hmm. Thought so. They’d be fools not to expect someone trying to sneak in, even for a secret organization.” 

Smiling faintly at the girl, he praised, “Not bad, little lady.”

Just then, the boy in the hoodie spoke up, right as the girl finished pressing a bandage to the front of his neck. The cheerful facade from earlier was gone. He knew that the information he was about to share mattered.

“Uh… well, I heard something else. Not confirmed or anything, but… I think Asteria is being held in the tower’s basement.” 

Gasps quickly broke out around the team, surprise and excitement mingling in a rush of emotion.

“Really?!” 

“Nice info!”

He nodded slowly to confirm it. “Yeah… one of them sounded pretty damn sure. Said she’s inside the tower and kept close to Re-Destro. Makes sense, right? If she’s locked up right beneath him, it’s easier to keep an eye on her for constant surveillance.”

After gathering all the other, smaller bits of intel, Dazai’s expression turned sharp. His tone left no room for argument, not that anyone would argue with his genius plans.

“We’re going to the tower. The distraction from earlier, the fake pro hero sighting in the west worked. The warriors in this zone are already moving out.”

He walked toward the front of the group, eyes sweeping across their faces like a teacher about to drop a final exam. “I mapped out the security blind spots because apparently this Skeptic guy had full access to the infrastructure, and lucky for us, we got to him first. Stick close. If we’re careful, we’ll stay invisible.”

With a subtle brush through his hair, Dazai activated the earpiece in his ear. It was just like the ones the rest of them wore now.

“Don’t lose these,” he added. “Giran gave us his best gear. Stay connected. You go off the grid, you either get caught… or die.”

While some of them gulped nervously at the warning, they still looked determined. Not one of them backed down and a chorus of “yes, sir!” quickly rang out, their arms all saluting in unison. 

It was, honestly, a pretty funny sight. Dazai almost laughed. They’d done that a few times now, saluting him like he was some kind of military commander. And at this point? He was starting to believe they meant it.

The group began moving as one in disciplined silence. It was their first covert mission, and Dazai thought they were surprisingly well-behaved.

Still, Dazai caught the stiffness in their shoulders, the way some of them tried too hard to walk quietly, to control their breathing. But that only meant they were trying their hardest not to screw this up.

If he could, Dazai would’ve chuckled. He imagined how Kunikida would have an aneurysm if he saw this. 

Not just because Dazai dared to claim himself a better teacher than him, but because he was guiding teenagers into an infiltration mission… and worse, teaching them to salute him like soldiers. 

Kunikida would be bald by now. He’d also probably throw Dazai through the nearest window.

After all, Kunikida and him weren’t alike at all. 

Kunikida believed in protecting kids, rven if he never admitted it out loud. Dazai, on the other hand, believed protection alone wasn’t enough. Not for children who’d grown up in a world this cruel. They didn’t need to be babied. They needed an adult who understood their pain and still chose to guide them through life. 

Just like Kouyou did for Chuuya. Just like the President did for Ranpo. Just like Odasaku once did… for him.

Dazai had never called himself a hero. He never would. He wasn’t here to save them. He was just here to give them a better choice.

“You’re Skeptic now. Head west.” Dazai instructed, “Remember what I said, okay? Mimic him as best you can.”

The boy adjusted his collar, pushing up his glasses. Everyone besides him and the rest of the team saw him as Skeptic. “Yes, better me than that idiot,” he said flatly while glancing sideways at the hoodie boy at the front, though his tone was more exasperated than cruel. 

Right on cue, the hoodie boy sneezed, sensing someone was talking bad about him behind his back. “I’ll go ahead. Please watch over the others, Dazai-san.”

Dazai gave him a wry smile, “Naturally.” As the boy melted into the night, Dazai rolled his shoulders and sighed.

“Ahh… what I wouldn’t give for a foot massage right now. Chibi’s tiny hands would be perfect! If only he’d agree to it~ Maybe I’ll trap him in a bet later.”

Dazai trailed behind the group at a casual pace, however, his gaze never stopped moving, watching the teens ahead who were trying so hard to act normal, to hide their nervousness. 

Dazai could see through their masks easily. It was their first dangerous mission after all and they were up against an entire old organization.

Of course they were scared. But they had the guts to push it down and keep walking. 

How admirable. They were lucky he found them when he did.

Dazai let out a quiet chuckle. “Let’s see what you’re made of. I chose your group for a reason, so I hope none of you disappoint me.”

His voice turned quieter, almost thoughtful. “Still… Chibi’s too soft. He’ll kill me if even one of you gets hurt badly. Or worse, he’ll yell at me with those loud barks of his for weeks.” 

He sighed again, his gaze drifting to the tower looming in the distance, its dark silhouette jutting into the night.

“I’ve got to keep injuries to a minimum while testing if they’re truly cut out for our new organization. If they’re, they’ll bleed eventually. They’ve got useful quirks most people tend to overlook because of fear, as well as goals that align with us. With the right guidance, that potential can burn brighter than most. We can’t let MLA get to them first.”

Almost wistfully, Dazai added, “Hmm, though dying here would be pretty poetic. Too bad I’m curse to live, unless a certain walking slug decides to leave his disgusting wet trail all over me.” 

And with that, he walked on into the dark, smiling like a man who knew the chaos ahead would be worth watching.

——

“The second stage begins once we’ve confirmed Shion’s location,” Dazai continued to explain, “We need to assess how secure the area is. I heard Re-Destro is the president of Detnerat, Japan’s largest support gear company. That means we’re not just dealing with brute force. Their tech is cutting-edge and better than anything normally find on the market.”

He glanced around, noting how intently the group was listening. They were finally understanding the scale of what they were facing.

“If we can get Skeptic first, I’ll dig into his files and shut down as much as I can, sensors, security protocols, maybe even internal comms. But let’s not be naive. There are definitely things we can’t touch from Skeptic’s laptop. Hidden redundancies, localized traps, manual overrides, or something else.”

Dazai finished with a sharp smile. “Which is why we’re going to sabotage from the inside.”

One of the older Nulls members decided to ask hesitantly, “But how? We can’t just walk in and shut everything down. We don’t even understand half the tech they’re probably using.”

“That’s why I’ll be leading your team.” Dazai’s voice was calm and unwavering. “By then, I’ll have memorized all the security blind spots Skeptic had access to and made a solid guess about where the main control room is. Your job is to search for any sign of where Shion might be held, and a few other tasks I’ll explain once we get through this part. Once I reach the control room, I’ll take it from there.”

His gaze darkened slightly. “Once I give the signal, you move inside, and find where exactly she’s located. We’ll probably have to rely on partial info or educated guesses, they won’t leave her somewhere obvious, not if they’re even half as smart as they think they are.”

He slumped forward with a dramatic groan, elbows on his knees. “Ugh. What a drag. Wouldn’t it be nice if Re-Destro was just an idiot who forgot to lock the door?”

Chuuya scoffed, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “You really think the high-tech security’s the biggest problem here? They’ve got a hundred thousand fighters, Dazai. We could shut off every damn camera in that place and there’d still be a small army waiting for us.”

He shot Dazai a long, pointed look. “That said, you’re not wrong. If we can split their forces, pull half of them west or south, we won’t have to deal with the full weight of their numbers. Smaller squads are easier to take down. Stealth gives us a better shot, especially with a hostage on the line.”

He narrowed his eyes at him. “But you’re leaving something out. I know that smug look on your face, Mackerel. There are holes in your plan. Distracting the border fighters only gets us so far. There’ll still be plenty of enemies inside and around that tower. So, what’s your plan?”

His frown deepened. “Let me guess. That’s where I come in, isn’t it?”

Dazai’s grin stretched wider, mischievous and taunting.

——

Dazai slipped into the now-empty main control room, the door clicking softly shut behind him.

It was just as he predicted. 

Using data pulled from Skeptic’s stolen laptop and the scattered intel gathered by the teens, he’d pinpointed the location of the tower’s central nerve: this main control room. This was the very place where every camera feed, every sensor ping, and every kill-switch command was tethered.

And, of course, he hadn’t come alone. Standing beside him was the emo boy, EdgelordEnergy, who’d played his part beautifully.

Earlier, the boy had stormed down the main hallway, yelling with urgency through the comms, sounding utterly convincing that even Dazai was impressed.

His usual edgy tone had suddenly sounded normal. He was probably just that used to using his quirk by now.

“I-It’s moving, whatever it is, it’s triggering the floor sensors in B-1 and spiking the internal quirk filters! I think it’s some kind of breach, but it’s reading like a hybrid, mechanical and quirk! Looks like manual overrides are required on-site. All tech staff are to report to B-1 for protocol assist. Now!”

It was, of course, a lie. One Dazai had scripted to sound just believable enough to clear the room.

And it worked instantly. Technicians and security scattered to their stations, comms crackling, all rushing toward B-1 near the outer tower, leaving the control center completely unattended.

And just like that, the control room was theirs.

Dazai tapped his earpiece again. “Slug,” he called, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Initiate Rainstorm Sonata in Screaming Minor.”

As soon as he said that, a deep, ground-shaking boom split the air from outside the tower. Screams echoed from the streets below, followed by the frantic pounding of feet. Even from here, Dazai could hear the chaos.

Shouts, barking orders, and panicked movements. They were most likely heading toward the disaster his ginger partner had just unleashed outside.

Perfect.

He switched the channel. “Elegy for the Sleepwalkers.”

That was the cue for the sabotage team. They would enter now, under the cover of the mayhem outside. 

Dazai’s eyes flicked to the surveillance feeds, catching their figures creeping past confused guards and quiet corridors. 

Most of the enemy had rushed toward the uproar outside, but not all, so they still needed to be cautious. 

Their faces looked tense but focused, and they seemed to move carefully. Through the split screens, Dazai tracked their progress, hands flying over the console.

He disabled cameras, unlocked firedoors, and shut down automated trap systems with swift movements, guiding the team as they began to split off in different directions.

Meanwhile, high atop the tower, Re-Destro sat with a half-finished glass of wine in hand. He recalled how he’d sent Skeptic to the sector nearest the border of the city. Not a single report had come through. 

His device buzzed once again. Predictably, the screen read ‘Connection to Skeptic: Failed’.

His brow twitched. “Something is wrong with the comms. Skeptic should have reported by now,” he muttered, grip tightening around his glass. “He was assigned to monitor their movements. Where is he?”

“Re-Destro-sama!” 

Hanabata, one of his commanders, suddenly burst into the room, his face pale with urgency. “There’s a full skirmish outside, Unseen Nulls! Dozens of them! They’re drawing our forces out into the streets! All signs point to a full-scale offensive, sir!”

Re-Destro’s glass cracked between his fingers. He turned toward the towering windows and saw it, the moonlit cityscape flashes with movement and his warriors clashed with intruders below. And at the heart of it all, a blazing-haired man stood defiantly like he was a stormbringer.

Re-Destro’s gaze sharpened. “Deploy the remaining forces. Immediately.”

“Yes, Re-Destro-sama!” Hanabata barked, “What about the units we stationed to the west?”

Re-Destro turned his head slowly. “The west?”

“Yes! Skeptic sent mass directives to both my division and his own. He said pro heroes had been sighted returning to the city and we sent our forces to intercept.”

“They returned?” Re-Destro frowned. “Strange. Skeptic would have confirmed with me before issuing that order.”

“He said it came directly from you…”

Re-Destro’s expression darkened even further. “I gave no such command.”

Hanabata stiffened. “But it was encoded with Skeptic’s signature cipher. It shouldn’t have been forgeable—“

Re-Destro cut him off, fury seeping into his voice. “If Skeptic’s compromised, so are our communications. We’ve been outmaneuvered.”

Below, the battle roared on. Re-Destro leaned in closer to the glass, observing the ginger-haired man with a flicker of rage, and stress.

“They have brought in outside support. This isn’t just the Nulls anymore. There is someone older, smarter. I didn’t expect them to strike before the day of our supposed meeting.”

“… Orders, Re-Destro-sama?” Hanabata asked cautiously.

Re-Destro didn’t even hesitate. “Summon Asteria, Insight, and Ironhold to me. Redirect the Curious unit west and brief everyone there on the situation. Deploy all available squads to reinforce Geten.”

Hanabata bowed sharply and sprinted out of the room.

Only two silent bodyguards remained with him. The quiet was however broken by the crunch of glass as his wine shattered in his grip, red liquid dripping from his fingers like blood.

Black stress marks began creeping up his skin, crawling from fingertips to forearms.

“They think they are clever,” he muttered to himself. “Null… I will break you. I will erase everything you’ve dared to protect.”

He turned toward the exit, heavy footsteps echoing as his voice dropped to a hiss.

“And it begins with Asteria.”

Chapter Text

Chuuya grunted before pivoting sharply as another barrage of attacks came flying his way. With a flick of his hand, he deflected them effortlessly using his gravity manipulation.

His eyes then swept across the battlefield, scanning for any sign of injury among the teens.

Of course, this mess was Dazai’s idea.

The bastard had dumped all of this on him without a second thought. Leading the Strike team, charging headfirst into enemy lines, keeping the kids alive, and holding off the MLA fighters all at once.

In other words, it was the most annoying set of jobs possible, exactly the kind of responsibility Dazai loved to throw his way.

Sure, Chuuya could handle it. He’d been dealing with this kind of thing since becoming one of the youngest executives in the Port Mafia. After all, unlike a certain mackerel executive, he was actually responsible and cared about the people under him. So, he was used to it by now.

Still, Dazai’s reasoning pissed him off.

“Well, Chuuya’s the one who doesn’t want any of them getting hurt! Even though that’s literally impossible in a fight! People bleed, people get hurt, that’s just how it goes, Chuuya~ We can’t do this alone since we’re not Nulls, and technically, this isn’t our war. We’ve got our own organization to worry about… We can only help! Unless…” Dazai leaned in with that insufferable smirk, “you’d rather ditch the plan and commit double suicide with me, hmm, Chu-Chu?”

Of course, Chuuya’s fist met the asshole’s smug face a second later. 

And yet, here he was, doing exactly what Dazai expected of him, protecting every last one of them.

At first, Chuuya hadn’t even been sure if the kids knew how to fight a real war between organizations—war that left blood on both sides. But this was their fight, and as much as he hated to admit it, Dazai had been right about that much. 

‘They’ had to join the fight. He and Dazai couldn’t just swoop in, clean up the mess, and walk away. Not without consequences.

Because in the future, after they officially built their own organization, what would people say? That the Port Mafia had gone soft? That they were handing out favors like some kind of charity just because a bunch of pitiful kids needed help?

It would kill their reputation before it even had a chance to exist.

The most they could do was act as temporary allies—at least until Akira and Shion agreed to an alliance, or maybe even recruitment.

Only then could they justify their involvement and twist the narrative into something believable.

After all, no one could exactly know what Akira and Shion would decide later, though he and Dazai were hoping that helping them now would earn enough goodwill to sway them, especially toward whatever Dazai was planning to offer.

Because when it came to Dazai, he obviously only agreed to help them because he saw potential recruits. This was a test, and a chance to observe their powers, their teamwork, and how they handled an organization war. 

It didn’t matter to him that most of them were just teenagers. If they had what he was looking for, that was all that counted. 

That was how Dazai had always been. 

(Of course, he’d mellowed a little since his earlier Port Mafia days. He didn’t go around shooting his subordinates with bullets anymore just because they failed to meet his expectations.

And he definitely had a soft spot now for the good kids. At least, it showed in how he trained that weretiger of his, and in the way he looked out for the younger detectives at the detective agency).

Speaking of the teens, Akira had done a decent job convincing Chuuya that his members weren’t completely useless in a fight. 

Apparently, they’d all been practicing, not just with their quirks, but in hand-to-hand combat as well.

Their reason was simple; they needed to be able to defend themselves against anyone, especially in a world where quirk discrimination could turn violent fast.

They weren’t flawless at it, but Akira’s explanation was enough to somewhat put Chuuya at ease. 

On top of that, Giran had been a huge help as well, slipping them intel on the MLA, supplying weapons, and providing those high-grade earpieces for communications. All in exchange for  some useful information about Endeavor…

Well, that, and maybe because Dazai had pestered him one too many times at Giran’s usual bar, annoying the hell out of him to the point where he just handed everything over to get rid of him faster.

Sometimes, he actually felt a little bad for the guy. He really should invite him out for drinks sometime. Not that he’d been to any bars here, mostly because he was broke, but maybe he could work something out so that Giran ended up paying instead. 

He should be grateful anyway. Chuuya was offering his delightful company to trash-talk Dazai behind his back.

Back to the mess around him, Chuuya caught glimpses of the battlefield out the corner of his eye as he fought. 

He was starting to believe what Akira had said. He’d been skeptical at first, half-expecting these kids to fold the second things got ugly. But now?

Chuuya’s eyes briefly landed on the kids. As an executive, multitasking came naturally. Years in the mafia had taught him how to fight while keeping track of his subordinates. 

It wasn’t because he didn’t trust his own subordinates, it was simply because old habits died hard. He’d spent too long making sure everyone under him, whether it was the Sheep or his mafia subordinates, were still breathing by the end of a mission.

Probably, that was why Dazai had shoved the leadership of the Strike Team onto him in the first place, to make sure they didn’t get themselves killed while he was busy fighting.

And to be fair, the kids weren’t entirely at a disadvantage. If anything, they held a slight edge over the enemy, who relied more on sheer numbers. 

Sure, he couldn’t deny that the MLA fighters were more polished and professionally trained, but those quirks the kids had…

No wonder both Dazai and Re-Destro were after them. Their quirks could wipe out a crowd if used properly. They were powerful, dangerous, even with the negative drawbacks of their quirks that made them ‘villainous’.

They could be a tempting asset for his ex-boss if he was even here.

A girl, EvilButCute—if Chuuya remembered her username right—weaved through the chaos while ribbons trailed behind her like extensions of her own hair. They snapped out and lengthened unnaturally under her control, and before the enemies even realized it, she’d already snagged half a dozen of them by their arms and legs. 

Once caught, she took control and forced them to turn against their own allies. Her movements still carried that self-taught edge, but her control and confidence more than made up for it.

“Hey! What the fuck are you doing?!”

“I-I can’t move! These damn ribbons! Get them off me!”

“I can’t if you keep twitching like tha— Ack!”

A wicked grin spread across the girl’s face as one of her ‘puppets’ stumbled forward. The man’s body jerked awkwardly and his quirk—probably some kind of poison mist—blasted sideways, hitting an ally square in the ribs. The man shrieked as his skin bubbled into an ugly, purpling mess.

“Yes! Eleven!” She whooped with glee. 

The boy beside her clicked his tongue. Arrows that had been flying toward him froze midair and suddenly reversed course. The archer barely had time to yelp before the projectiles tore into her from all sides.

“Don’t get cocky, you only got eleven!” He yelled with a smug grin. “Twenty!”

Chuuya’s lip curled in amusement, eyes following them for just a second longer. Their fighting style wasn’t clean, but they definitely knew their quirks. 

The control was there, rough but refined enough to be dangerous. Clearly, it wasn’t the kind of skill that came from professional training.

It was the kind you got from figuring it out the hard way. Pushing back against bullies and discrimination, late-night practice sessions, as well as screwing it up a dozen times before getting it right. 

They might’ve been doing this behind their families’ backs since they were young, or maybe since joining the server.

Chuuya let out an intrigued sigh. Out of all the teens, those two stood out. Not because they were the strongest, but because they weren’t frozen or panicking. They were actually enjoying themselves, turning the battlefield into some kind of game.

The girl’s quirk was pretty self-explanatory, but that one, HenchmenNeeded, had something a lot more interesting.

His quirk was called Consequence. Within a ten meter radius, he could twist the outcome of any physical action into something negative for the person who initiated it. 

For example, if someone tried to punch him, their fist might slam into the ground instead and fracture their own wrist. If they threw a weapon, it could ricochet and stab them in the back. If a hero rushed in to save someone, they might accidentally knock over a support beam and bury them instead. 

It didn’t stop the action itself, it just made the aftermath a living nightmare.

Most of the teens with him had villainous quirks, while the quirkless ones had gone with Dazai. Well, except for JustHere4Chaos, a quirkless boy with a fun personality who cackled like a maniac as he hurled everything Dazai had handed him straight at the enemy. 

Honestly, he seemed to have the most fun out of all of them. He almost reminded him of Kaji.

Chuuya drove a hook punch into the bald, muscular guy’s jaw, then grabbed his head and slammed it into the wall several times until the concrete cracked and the man crumpled. Blood began to pool beneath the fractured stone.

Chuuya might’ve been worried it was too much for the teens if they weren’t already used to violence, and if they weren’t killing anyone right now as well.

Then, his attention turned to the one who’d shouted, pointing at something else and drawing enemy attention along with it.

A sudden burst of ice exploded from the ground, jagged spikes shooting up and locking the enemies in place. The ice wrapped around half their bodies, freezing even their weapons.

None of them could move.

One of the MLA members, who’d been clashing with a teen wielding a knife, gasped in shock. Everyone around them halted, trembling from both the cold and the sudden surprise. Eyes widened as they all turned toward the source of the freezing power.

“Wait… is that… Shouto Todoroki?!”

“What?! Endeavor’s kid?! What the hell is he doing here?!”

“Shit, is Endeavor here too?!”

Shouto let out a sharp tsk, clearly annoyed that people always identified him first by his connection to that flaming trash can of a man. “I’m not ‘Endeavor’s son’,” he said cooly. “I’m Shouto Todoroki.” 

His breath came out in a puff of cold mist, frost curling around his shoulders as he leveled an icy glare at his enemies.

——

As soon as he approached the tower and saw the Nulls and Chuuya fighting nearby, instinct took over and he released his quirk without hesitation.

He’d decided it didn’t matter if the MLA found out who he was. First, he trusted Dazai and Chuuya to bring this organization down tonight. Second, there was no way they could prove anything with the chaos, wreckage, and destroyed surveillance equipment everywhere.

The EvilButCute girl—if Shouto remembered correctly—was perched on a toppled slab of concrete and lit up at the sight of him. “Ah! He’s so cool! And handsome too!” 

“I swear I just saw hearts in your eyes…” the Consequence quirk user let out a long sigh, sweat beading at his temple.

Another MLA fighter, one who hadn’t been frozen by Shouto’s ice, took the opportunity to lunge at the villainous quirk user. The boy quickly reactivated his quirk and redirected the punch harmlessly into the ground.

Across the battlefield, Shouto turned toward the girl. His mother had taught him to always be polite, so even in the middle of the fight, he was about to nod and thank her.

But, he froze.

“Get down!”

The ice around them suddenly shifted, but not by his command anymore. A low rumble echoed across the battlefield as a deep crack split the frozen ground. Thick spears of ice burst from beneath the surface, breaking apart and reshaping the traps Shouto had set. 

His control was gone. The ice twisted and spiraled upward in a storm of frost and mist. Shards collided and fused, forming a towering structure that forced out everyone who’d been trapped inside.

Then, a figure landed smoothly atop the newly formed structure. 

The moment their feet touched the ice, it reacted. The towering construct splintered, breaking into three long jagged masses. Two of them shot straight toward nearby fighters like frozen missiles.

JustHere4Chaos, who’d just stabbed someone and driven his knee into a villain’s gut with a grin, suddenly stopped when he caught the glint of moving ice streaking toward him.

His expression shifted in an instant. Widening his eyes, he staggered back and forced to abandon his current victim.

Wasting no time, the quirkless boy’s current opponent recovered quickly and hurled a massive, quirk-enhanced rock at him.

Two attacks now came at the boy from different angles.

Chuuya’s instincts kicked in. He moved to intervene, but a woman lunged at him from the side. He parried her strike and gritted his teeth in frustration. Still, his eyes flicked toward the boy, just in time to see him squeeze his eyes shut, bracing for impact.

But the Consequence kid came through. 

He dove in at the last second before redirecting the incoming ice back towards its source. Unfazed, the ice manipulator dodged it with ease like it was nothing. 

Meanwhile, the rock attack missed its mark and slammed into the rubble behind the other guy, sending debris crashing down on him and pinning the guy under.

The second ice launched toward the ribbon girl. The girl seemed to react quickly and start to fling out ribbons, only to freeze.

Shouto understood why instantly, because from what Shouto knew, her quirk didn’t work on objects and that probably made her hesitate. 

Shouto decided to dash toward her and shove her out of the way, switching places with her so suddenly that she let out a startled gasp as she hit the ground.

Shouto stood in her place now, chest rising and falling, a shaky breath leaving his lips as the ice came closer and closer. 

He knew trying to fight it with ice was useless. The enemy had full control over it, considering how he’d already turned his own power against it.

He wasn’t stupid. If he tried to counter it with more, he’d only be handing over more ammunition. That much was clear.

So, the only answer was…

‘It’s  okay for you, to become who you want to be.’

His mother’s voice echoed gently in his mind, like warmth lingering from a distant memory. His hand trembled since doubt clawed at him again. There was this shadow that had haunted him for years.

Nevertheless, he tried to push past it and shoot out his arm, thinking about the people he loved instead.

His mother. And maybe… he was beginning to care about the new figures in his life too: Chibi, Mackerel, Dazai, and Chuuya.

And then, another voice—more real this time—followed his mother’s.

“Shouto-kun… you can spend your whole life pretending that half of you doesn’t exist. Many people do. They lie to themselves, chain up the fire, call it healing, call it peace… But it’s actually fear. It’s the fear that if they touch it again, they’ll lose control, that they’ll become the very thing they’re running from.

But this horrible life doesn’t care about your fear. When someone you care about is about to be ripped away, your body moves. Not because you’re brave, but because instincts don’t wait for permission. Pain becomes irrelevant and fear gets pushed aside. What’s left is the part of you that refuses to lose.

You think your fire is the problem, but it’s not. The problem is that you were taught to hate it. You were told that surviving meant choosing one half and killing the other. But that’s not survival, Shouto. That’s slow death.

You don’t have to be whole to fight. But remember this. Even the broken parts of you can burn brighter than anything ‘he’ ever gave you.”

Dazai had said that once during training, when Chuuya had finally asked him to use his quirk, to use his ice and fire. However, that time, he could only manage half. 

Because every time he tried, all he could see was Endeavor standing before him like an unbreakable wall.

The memories came rushing back. Harsh commands, the stinging pain, and the phantom heat of forced training.

But now, in the middle of a battlefield… there was no time to think. His body moved before his mind did. 

And maybe, that was why the fire answered him, just this once. 

It burst out of him, albeit in a moment of mental blankness. He just didn’t think and didn’t remember, and maybe that’s why he was able to release it, even if just for now.

Shouto didn’t know if using his fire would ever stop haunting him.

But he let it burn. He persevered.

The ice hurtling at him melted in an instant, vanishing into harmless steam. Noticing the fire, the ice manipulator immediately pulled the remaining ice back toward himself just as Shouto’s flames flickered out.

For a split second, a flash of Endeavor’s angry face surfaced in his mind, but when he blinked again, it was gone and the battlefield came back into view. 

Shouto decided to turn to the girl, who was now staring up at him with a visible sparkle in her eyes.

Extending his hand, he asked quietly, “Are you alright?”

The girl continued to gawk at him, cheeks flushed. “If you keep acting like some prince charming. I swear I’m gonna develop a crush on you…”

Shouto blinked again, this time in confusion. “Crush? Are you trying to attack me?” 

He was genuinely perplexed. After all, hadn’t he just saved her?

She giggled and gave him a playful wink. “So dense, but you’re adorable like that.”

Before anyone could say another word, Chuuya’s voice rang out sharply from a distance, snapping the two teens out of their moment. “Kids, focus! That guy’s no joke! He’s one of the commanders, Geten!”

Hovering above them, balanced effortlessly on a pillar of swirling ice, Geten’s sharp gaze swept over the group. He’d been watching them silently for a moment before finally speaking, “Ah… so you do know who I am.”

His tone was calm and cold, like the very ice he commanded. “This disorder… wasn’t accounted for. I’ll concede that much. And your meta abilities… far more troublesome than Re-Destro-sama projected. Bringing external reinforcements too…”

”It was clever for mere adolescents. Even Re-Destro-sama didn’t foresee you involving adults from beyond your server. Hmph, surprising. If nothing else, you’ve earned that much.” 

The temperature plummeted as ice surged upward, twisting and expanding with growing intensity. It pulled ice and water from the buildings around them, freezing it instantly.

This was still a lived-in city, so ice and water were bound to be everywhere. 

All of it coiled and condensed beneath him, forming the shape of a massive, dragon-like beast. He stood atop it as if riding a frozen dragon through the sky. 

“But even your villainous meta abilities pale in comparison to years of disciplined refinement. I’ve spent my life mastering my own because true strength determines one’s place in society. I carry the will of Re-Destro-sama, and I am its embodiment.”

The ice dragon launched sharp projectiles in every direction, each one connected to the platform where Geten stood, high above on his glacial throne. 

Shouto braced himself, ready to unleash his fire again to melt the incoming ice. But the moment he accidentally caught the faint orange flicker in his palm, everything stopped.

A ghost he didn’t want to see scorched its way into his mind. 

He started to think again, and Endeavor appeared. 

A shudder ran through him and the fire died instantly. His body tensed, causing the momentum to slip from his grasp. His heart skipped and stuttered like it didn’t know whether to run or freeze.

‘Not now. Don’t fall apart now!’ Shouto bit his lips, eyes wide with panic. ‘You have to move. Don’t think, just act! Was that fire even real? Or just another mistake? Just a fluke?’

Above him, the ice projectiles tore through the air like spears of death, but before they all could hit, a short figure shot forward in a blur.

There was an orange figure glowing red in the night. Chuuya.

The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched himself forward, a crimson aura pulsing around him. Using his gravity, he tore through the oncoming ice as if the idea of being pierced didn’t even register. 

Instead of dodging, he let the shards brush his skin and crushed them effortlessly with only speed and force. Some of the shards even began to glow, suspended around him for a moment before hurtling back toward Geten like missiles.

It was the kind of move only a pro hero could pull off. He was precise, powerful, and terrifyingly efficient. The display made jaws drop, both from the MLA and Nulls’ side, as well as Shouto himself.

‘I knew he was strong… But not like this. He’s never fought seriously in front of me. But now…’ Shouto thought as he stared at the ginger-haired man in awe. ‘I think his power level might actually rival the top pro heroes, maybe even Endeavor.’

“Shouto!” Chuuya’s voice rang out through the chaos, quickly snapping him out of his mind and yanking him back into the present again. “Go! Stick to the plan! I’ve got this!” 

The urgency in his words jolted Shouto. Right. The plan. He was supposed to be elsewhere now.

Shouto’s gaze lingered on Chuuya for a breath too long before before turning and sprinting in the other direction.

Geten’s cold gaze tracked him. “You won’t escape,” he said coldly. “I’ve always wondered how my ice would fare against another wielder. Let’s see whose meta ability was forged stronger.” 

Before his next strike could land, Chuuya moved again. His hand lashed out, grabbing a nearby MLA fighter by the collar.

Without a second of hesitation, he spun and threw him straight into the path of another barrage of ice spikes aimed directly at Shouto’s retreating form. 

The fighter didn’t even have time to scream. The ice shattered on impact, its jagged shards tearing through the fighter’s body like he were nothing more than a ragdoll strung up for slaughter.

Chuuya straightened, his eyes now locked on Geten. “You manipulate ice,” Chuuya grinned, dusting frost off his gloved hand. “But I manipulate gravity,” Chuuya finished as a crimson glow began to pulse around him again.

The earth beneath him cracked and exploded under the weight of his power. Debris glowed red and hovered midair. Even the remnants of ice he’d touched earlier now whirled in chaotic spirals.

It looked like a storm of wreckage caught in his gravitational pull.

He began to rise into the air slowly. His coat rippled around him. Then, with a dangerous glint in his eye, he flew toward the ice dragon.

The night sky trembled as no one on the ground dared to intervene, paralyzed by the pressure radiating from above. 

This was a clash between monsters. Ice versus gravity. Who would win?

No one had an answer yet.

Chuuya continued to rocket upward, his red aura spiraling like a cyclone around him. The destruction below faded into a blur, vanishing from view as he focused solely on the figure above.

Meanwhile, Geten raised a hand. The ice dragon shifted, and parts of it broke away, reforming into a suit of massive ice armor that wrapped around his body like a second skin. 

“You’re strong,” Geten said evenly. “Fast too. But it’s wasted. You’ve chosen the wrong side.”

Chuuya scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from Re-Destro’s pet icicle.” Then, he struck.

Colorless ice met a blazing red fist.

Ice cracked and gravity rippled.

The impact detonated like a cannon blast. Shockwaves broke nearby windows, sending frost and shards of debris tumbling across the rooftops.

Chuuya had to trust that the kids would be fine down below. He’d heard them shouting orders to each other the moment the fight broke out. Clearly, no one wanted to get caught in the crossfire of a clash this big.

Geten didn’t falter even as the ice shielding him began to crack. With a wave of his hand, ice surged from his platform, rebuilding the dragon beneath him as he slid back.

At the same time, he raised his other hand to create a dozen frozen spears that spiraled through the air toward Chuuya. 

Chuuya reacted instantly by clenching his fists and diverting the spears off course, slamming them into each other midair. The remnants spun around him before crashing harmlessly to the ground far below.

He dashed forward again, trading blows with Geten in close quarters. Fist against ice. Gravity pushed against the cold barrier.

Every time Chuuya landed a blow, Geten matched it with precise control. His ice kept coming back again and again.

Neither seemed to give in.

They pulled back once more, creating space to gather momentum before crashing into each other again with full force. A shockwave blasted between them, forming a ripple in the sky.

Both were still suspended in the sky while the moon casted its light over them. Chuuya was breathing hard, but a grin still tugged at his lips. Geten stood firm atop a platform of condensed frost, his breath also visible in the cold air.

For a moment, neither moved, tension thick between them.

“I’ll admit you’re not like others. You fight like someone with purpose,” Geten commented, regarding Chuuya seriously.

Chuuya let out a dry, mocking laugh. “And you fight like someone with way too much ice shoved up their ass.”

The two powerful figures stared each other down before meeting in the middle once more.

On the other side, Shouto ran, not sliding with his ice because he knew better than to give that Geten guy more material to work with. Instead, he veered right and circled toward the tower’s perimeter. 

The sounds of battle echoed behind him, or maybe above him, but he didn’t look back because he had a job to do. He had to stick to the plan.

“Null, you there?” Shouto called out, glancing toward a dense patch of bushes. At first, it looked like nothing special was there.

But then, a rustle sounded and Akira’s head popped up from the bush. There were leaves sticking out of his hair, but he casually patted them away. “Yeah, I just got a signal from Dazai.”

He stood fully, now brushing off his sleeves before looking up at the looming tower. “Dazai’s code says the sabotage team’s already inside. We still have smaller teams clearing out threats and securing the extraction route. Dazai’s coordinating everything remotely. Also…”

He turned toward Shouto and dropped his voice. “She’s in the basement.”

Shouto’s eyes narrowed. “Basement… classic villain move.” From what he knew, hostages were almost always kept in basements. It happened both in real life and movies. He huffed, “Should’ve guessed that earlier.”

Akira gave a short, grim nod. “Yeah, let’s go, Soba. We can get in now.”

Shouto nodded back, and without another word, the two of them slipped into the tower.

——

“Hey… Where is Skeptic-sama?” 

One of the warriors asked his comrade as he glanced around with sweat forming on his eyebrow.

The last time they saw Skeptic, he’d been leading his own unit and Hanabata’s—meaning them—toward the west. Hanabata had been needed near the tower, just in case, so Skeptic had taken full command.

However, minutes after they’d arrived, Skeptic had suddenly disappeared, leaving his subordinates confused and on edge.

“He was just here,” another said while scanning the rooftops. “Did he vanish or something?”

“Don’t tell me the heroes got him,” someone speculated nervously.

“Are you freakin’ stupid?!” another snapped. “We haven’t even seen a single damn hero! And as far as they know, we’re just civvies. The HPSC doesn’t even have a clue the Meta Liberation Army’s back yet.”

“Still… where’d he go?” someone else added, voice uneasy.

Everyone started muttering among themselves, confusion slowly giving way to panic. A few exchanged nervous glances until one guy finally pulled out his comm device and tried to reach someone inside the tower.

‘Connection Failed.’

“What?” The man frowned at the screen. “It’s not working… I can’t get through.”

Another quickly pulled out their own, fingers tapping fast. “Yo, same here. Dead as hell. Did the line get cut or what?”

“Signal’s probably jammed…” a boy muttered, shifting from foot to foot. “That, or… something’s blocking us.”

“We need to tell Skeptic-sama fast, once we find him,” someone said urgently.

“If we ‘find’ him…” someone else mumbled under their breath, clearly frustrated.

“But seriously, where the hell did Skeptic-sama go?!”

“Don’t swear when you say his name!” a man snapped, swatting the guy on the arm.

The tension thickened, and for a moment, no one said a word. The silence was so heavy people could practically hear someone swallow hard before they finally spoke, “You… don’t think something happened at the tower, do you?”

“Don’t start with that,” one of the older ones scoffed, though he didn’t sound too sure. “The tower’s the most secure spot in the whole city. No one’s getting in. And if there was something going on, we’d have seen the pro heroes already.”

“Exactly,” a girl chimed in. “So where are the heroes?!”

“That’s what I’ve been sayin’,” another added, “It’s too quiet, man. Way too quiet.”

“Maybe… we just wait…?” one piped up hesitantly, though their voice lacked any real confidence.

Even after thirty minutes of waiting, no one showed up, and without their commander to lead, no one knew what to do.

They didn’t dare move on their own, since acting without orders could ruin the operation. Also, punishment under the MLA wasn’t known for its mercy.

Restlessness clawed at them. Some shifted uncomfortably, others paced. One guy kept tapping their comm repeatedly, as if willing it to work this time.

Until, a distant blast split the air.

Heads snapped upward as they spotted massive ice formations twisting through the sky. Accompanying them were flashes of red, lit by flickers of combat.

“That’s Geten-sama!” someone shouted, pointing. “He’s fighting someone!”

“What the hell’s going on?!”

Before their murmurs could spiral further, Curious burst through the clearing, gasping for breath.

She was one of the MLA’s commanders. The woman had striking features; blue skin, long hair, and dark eyes that gave her a feminine yet distinct appearance. However, her usually pristine outfit was rumpled and streaked with dirt this time.

Her eyes darted wildly, voice breathless but still commanding. “Back to the tower!” she cried, her usual singsong tone edged with panic. “Now! The Unseen Nulls are here. We’ve been compromised!”

“Curious-sama?!” one of the warriors blurted. “Why are you—“

“There’s no time, my warriors!” she snapped, then took a shaky breath to collect herself.

Forcing a fractured version of the media-perfect smile she once wore, she continued, “Communications are jammed, the tower’s under threat, and if we don’t act fast, they’ll get to Re-Destro-sama!”

Her voice was shaky, but her eyes burned with manic energy. She muttered to herself through clenched teeth.

“This isn’t how it was supposed to go. I had interviews prepped, angles outlined, and the perfect moment planned. I was going to capture the Unseen Nulls, understand them and make compelling stories. That’s the essence of true reporter like me, understanding the ones we interview, showing them our truth… Re-Destro-sama’s truth…”

“Curious-sama?” one of the younger warriors asked cautiously.

“I’ll explain later! Just move!” she snapped again, then raised her voice for all to hear. “Defend the tower and Re-Destro-sama! Every one of you was born for this. This is your moment! We have to be ready to lay down our lives for Re-Destro-sama’s true narrative!”

As loyal as they were, they immediately obeyed without hesitation. They scrambled after her, shoes pounding against the ground, weapons and meta abilities at the ready, as she led them back toward the tower.

Up front, Curious’ smile finally vanished.

She couldn’t afford to lose this. Not after everything Re-Destro had done for her. He’d turned a washed-up reporter like her into someone who mattered. He’d given her purpose, meaning, and a role in shaping the grand narrative.

And now, they were trying to take that from her. Unseen Nulls were tearing pages out of the interview script she’d so carefully written, threatening to erase her climax before it ever aired.

She wouldn’t allow them to rewrite the headline. Not her headline and not her perfect story.

But now, the timing was ruined.

She just hoped she could reach Re-Destro in time before her narrative was no longer hers.

——

15 minutes before Dazai’s signal to the rescue team (which included Shouto and Akira), down one of the quiet hallways of the tower, a hoodie boy walked alongside a girl with quick, nervous steps.

They looked like they were searching for something, their eyes darting to every corner.

“Man, this place is a freakin’ maze.” The hoodie boy whisper-growled, tugging at his hood in frustration as they turned another corner. “Where the hell’s the basement?!”

He wasn’t exactly used to this kind of stuff.

Infiltration and underground missions? Yeah, no. If it weren’t for Dazai’s absurdly detailed plan, Null’s deadly glare whenever he couldn’t grasp a part of it, and the constant worry for Asteria, he would’ve already peaced out.

He was the type of guy who showed up to a final exam having forgotten there was one.

Thankfully, he had Rii-chan to back him up. She always remembered the parts he didn’t.

“Even with all the intel Dazai-san gave us, this place is way too locked down…” she murmured beside him, eyes scanning the walls like something was about to appear from thin air.

“The basement’s not even on the blueprint Dazai-san pulled from Skeptic’s laptop. We already checked all the lower levels Dazai-san thought she might be in, but it’s all just generic rooms, hallways, and locked doors. No hint of cells or a holding chamber.”

She then sighed, clearly just as frustrated. “We’ve been leaving marks for the extraction path, and the others are doing their part confusing the guards still in the tower and manually disabling traps that aren’t linked to the control center near the lower floors. But none of that helps if we don’t even know where she’s being kept.”

“Ugh,” the boy groaned, kicking lightly at the floor. “Why can’t it be something obvious? Like, I dunno, something from TV? Pull a book and boom! Secret passage! Or, you know, lift a vase and stairs show up or somethi! Ack—!”

As soon as his foot landed, the boy stumbled, his shoe catching on something as the tile beneath him sank slightly.

He flailed forward with a yelp and nearly face planted if his childhood friend hadn’t yanked him back just in time by the back of his hoodie.

“Hey!” she hissed. “Watch it!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he grumbled, rubbing his neck. He then looked down at where he tripped. “Wait… Why is this tile sunken?”

Rii-chan crouched beside him, squinting her eyes at the slightly sunken square. “That’s not right. Look, it’s lower than the others. This must be it! A pressure switch.”

“Maybe…?” he said, kneeling beside her. “I mean, nothing exploded, so that’s good. But I don’t see anything opening either.”

“No. Look around.” She stood up before stepping carefully around the tile. “There’s probably another part to it. Like a two-step thing.”

He blinked. “Like… a video game puzzle?” 

“Yeah, kind of.” She scanned the area again. “We’ve been overthinking it. This tower’s all high-tech and scary, so we assumed the way to the basement had to be some sci-fi level stuff, like face scan, retina ID, or something else. But what if that’s the trick? What if they made it low-tech on purpose so we’d miss it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying… I was actually kinda right?”

She answered with a smirk. “Accidentally, yeah.”

“Wow, rude,” he pouted, crossing his arms.

They both turned their attention back to the floor. She glanced around, muttering as she thought aloud, “Okay, if this were a trapdoor in some thriller movie, there must be something odd nearby that goes with it. Like a second switch or something that doesn’t fit… where…” 

Her eyes landed on a desk lamp down the hall, perched on a table like any regular office lamp. It was a metal base, basic design, except for the big, bold letters ‘MLA’ stamped right across it.

It looked simple, but weirdly extra at the same time. Like, who customized a lamp with their organization’s initials?

Most people would probably shrug it off, thinking that was just some arrogant MLA branding nonsense.

But the more she thought about it, the more it bugged her.

All the other decorations in this hallway looked the same. They were all boring, copy-paste decor, like they just had too much budget and no clue what to do with it, so they decided to fill the space with filler furniture.

Aside from the repeated decorations, everything else they passed was just locked doors and plain walls, which made that one weird lamp stand out even more.

She started walking toward it as the boy raised his foot, glancing down to check the floor switch. It was still sunken, like something was waiting to be triggered.

“Seriously? That ugly thing?” the boy asked.

“Exactly. It’s too on-brand. Everything else here is boring. That’s the only thing that stands out.”

Without waiting, she reached out and lifted the lamp.

*GRRRKKK*

A loud mechanical groan echoed down the hallway, so sudden and intense that both of them jumped.

About a hundred meters away, part of the floor shifted then slid aside, revealing a dark, narrow staircase winding downward.

“There it is! Let’s call Dazai—“

“Wait!” She hissed at him from a distance, “That sound was way too loud! It could’ve alerted the remaining guards. We need to hide first then tell Dazai-san and—“

The girl was about to tap her earpiece, her other hand still clutching the gaudy MLA lamp, when suddenly a sharp tug yanked her earpiece clean off from behind.

She gasped and spun around halfway, but it was too late. The small earpiece clattered against the floor, bounced once, then skidded out of sight beneath the nearby cabinet.

“Not so fast,” a voice growled behind her.

Before she could even fully turn, she caught a blur out of the corner of her eye, followed by the rapid sound of footsteps. The blur looked like a man, but that wasn’t what made her blood run cold.

It was the quick glint of steel.

The hoodie boy near the floor switch barely had time to react. His body tensed just as the knife slammed into his side with a sickening thud. A choked gasp tore from his throat as the pain hit, and his breath escaped in a strangled gasp. 

“Ghh—!”

His eyes widened as he clutched his side, the color draining from his face. The blade was gone as fast as it had appeared. His earpiece was ripped out violently too, flung to the floor and skidding across the tiles near the switch.

Blood quickly seeped through his hoodie as the attacker stepped back, letting him groan and collapse to his knees.

Seeing that, the girl froze, her face turning pale. Her fingers went numb, and the lamp nearly slipped from her grasp. Her heart almost stopped as she screamed her childhood friend’s name.

“OH MY GOD!” Her voice cracked.

The boy winced, blood smearing his hand as he pressed it against the wound. “Ugh… why me again,” he groaned. “Seriously… this has gotta be the worst luck,” he mumbled weakly, slumping against the wall.

The girl let go of the lamp, letting it clatter noisily to the floor. No longer caring, she finally rushed forward, panic rising as blood slowly pooled at her friend’s side.

However, the attacker moved between them and crushed the boy’s earpiece beneath his shoes with a deliberate crunch.

“So this is how you snuck in. Disguised yourselves as one of ours… and used this to communicate,” he said, eyeing the broken device with disdain. “Pretty high-grade, I see. Cowards. Typical behavior from those who live in fear of true liberation.”

“You—!” the girl shouted, eyes wide with disbelief, “You’re that… that political guy!”

He merely adjusted his tie, completely unfazed by the fact that he’d just stabbed a teenager. Straightening his back like he was about to deliver a campaign speech, he introduced himself,

“Koku Hanabata, proud representative of the Hearts and Mind Party, and loyal servant of Re-Destro-sama’s vision.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I speak for a world that no longer needs to cower under rules.”

His eyes fell sharply on the hoodie boy, now slumped and bleeding on the floor. “And I won’t let insects like you corrupt that vision. Starting with you, quirkless boy.” 

With that, he slammed his heel down on the boy’s hand in one brutal motion.

“AAAGH!”

The boy screamed in pain, and the girl cried out his name again, rage and fear crashing together all at once. Her fists clenched and her blood boiled.

She couldn’t just stand there and let some twisted political freak hurt her childhood best friend!

Not again!

Chains suddenly shot out from her arms, wrapping around Hanabata’s leg and yanking him backward. She tightened the chains, then forced them to pull hard and knock him off balance.

The man stumbled, glaring down at the bindings. “What is this?!” he barked, pulling against the bindings. “This… This isn’t some villainous meta ability!”

“That’s because it’s not!” she spat, voice shaking with adrenaline, “I’m an honorary member!”

He paused before looking her over again, then gave a low, mocking chuckle, as though she’d told the world’s worst joke. “Is that so…?” 

Before she could react, Hanabata suddenly pulled something from beneath his coat—a small, pepper dust capsule—and smashed it onto the floor between them.

A burst of fine powder exploded into her face. Rii-chan coughed violently while staggering back. Her eyes burned, tearing up as she wheezed and blinked fast, trying to stay upright.

While she was disoriented, Hanabata slipped his leg free from the loosened chains. He kicked the chain ends away from himself, then stood tall once more, adjusting his collar and brushing invisible dust off his coat.

“You’re just a child playing rebel,” he said flatly, watching her double over, still coughing. “You can’t even use your meta ability properly. That’s why liberation must be earned. Not handed to everyone like candy.”

Through blurred vision and stinging eyes, Rii-chan blinked through the tears, forcing her body to move between him and her friend protectively.

“R-Rii-chan…” the hoodie boy rasped, still on the ground but trying to push himself up.

The girl glanced back at him, concern flashing across her face. “Run! I’ll stall him!”

Hanabata calmly wiped his sleeve again. “He won’t make it. If he tries to run, he dies. That loud mechanism from earlier will have already alerted any guards your teammates haven’t dealt with yet.”

“Damn it!” She cursed under her breath, gritting her teeth.

As the girl pushed through her blurry vision, she dashed toward Hanabata again. Her chains snapped forward, but her control was shaky, still weakened by the lingering effects of the pepper dust.

It caused Hanabata to laugh and easily bat them away with his knife.

Meanwhile, the bleeding boy struggled to think through the pain, to think about what he could do to help.

Then, his gaze darted across the floor and landed on Rii-chan’s earpiece, lying just beneath a nearby cabinet, not far from where he’d fallen.

‘There!’

He began crawling and dragging himself slowly over the cold floor. Every movement sent fire up his side, but he forced himself forward, eyes flicking between the cabinet and the ongoing fight.

‘Shit. It hurts so much! Just a little more…’

Unfortunately, Hanabata noticed him reaching for the earpiece under the cabinet. His expression twisted. “Tsk. I forgot to crush that one! You are not getting it!”

He threw one of his knives, and the boy looked up just in time to catch the flash of steel flying toward him. Only years of dodging punches from bigger kids had trained his reflexes well enough to roll hard to the side.

A cry escaped his throat as pain tore through him again. The knife clanged against the ground where his head had just been. 

He wanted to scream, but he could take it! He had to.

“You alright?!” the girl shouted before swinging her chain again. It lashed toward Hanabata’s neck but missed by centimeters, deflected once more by Hanabata’s blade. 

“Don’t forget about me, you pompous creep!” she yelled, trying to hold his attention. “Get it now!” 

The boy stretched out his arm one last time, then his fingers grazed the edge of the girl’s earpiece. Got it. 

He quickly shoved it into his ear and tapped it. “Dazai! W-We need help now! Hanabata’s here! Rii-chan’s fighting him! A-And I got stabbed! We’re in the lower east wing, near hallway S-5!”

Hanabata’s head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “You!” But it was too late. Dazai had already heard everything.

“Got it,” Dazai replied calmly. “I’m rerouting one of the other teams now. They heard the noise earlier, so we suspected it might’ve been the basement trigger.”

As he spoke, Dazai briefly switched channels to issue an order, then returned to him. “The team I’m sending just wrapped up their phase. They’re on move to your location. I’ve also dispatched the Rescue Team to meet you there.”

“It’s manageable,” Dazai cut in coolly, “At most, three to five guards might’ve noticed. Thanks to the other teams’ decoy work and my guidance, the lower floors are mostly cleared. Once you take care of the remaining enemies, the route will still be viable.”

There was a brief pause before Dazai added more firmly.

“You won’t be alone. Once the rescue team arrives, they’ll help you take down the commander. He’s not much of a fighter, so three-on-one, and you’ll win. Then, one of you needs to get you to me, someone experienced in field medics. Don’t worry, I was taught by a real doctor. Once things settle, we’ll arrange proper recovery with that healer… Your friend’s mother, right?”

Dazai’s tone then turned more serious. “For now, do exactly as I say. Don’t let the bleeding get worse. Tear some cloth, wrap it tightly around the wound, and keep pressure on it. Lie down on your uninjured side. It’ll help stabilize you.”

The boy let out a shaky, relieved breath, almost forgetting the pain for a second. He started following the instructions. “Okay… thanks, Dazai.”

Back in the fight, the girl steadied herself as the dizziness from the pepper capsule was finally wearing off. Her chains responded better now, slithering tighter around her.

Confidence crept back into her stance, especially knowing that backup was on the way.

She scoffed at the commander, aiming to provoke him. “I don’t get what your cult-leader boss was thinking… sending the non-combatant commander to handle us. Really scraping the bottom, huh?”

Her chains coiled sharply in the air, tensing. “Without your loyal crowd, your quirk’s basically useless. ‘Incite’, right? Too bad all your dogs are busy dealing with the chaos outside.”

The man stiffened, though he masked it quickly with a polite, condescending smile. “And I suppose your little stunt is why only one commander is stationed here and half of our warriors are stampeding west.”

“Oh? Just now putting the pieces together?” She mocked with a grin. “It took you long enough.”

Smugly, she tilted her head at him. “Even the strongest fighter would burn out fighting thousands non-stop. So we split them, first wave, second wave. Or, if we’re lucky, maybe there won’t even be a second.” 

Her voice hardened as she went on, “Unfortunately for you, we’re not here to save anyone in this cursed city. This entire city’s just a puppet show for the Meta Liberation Army, isn’t it?”

The man's eyes narrowed even further at her comment, deciding her last words didn’t warrant a proper response. 

“And tell me, how exactly do you intend to face the second wave? As you’ve admitted, your fighters will be exhausted. That’s when the real victory begins for us.”

The girl simply gave him a slow smile. “Apparently, we’ve got an ace left to play.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, as if whispering a secret. 

After all, it didn’t matter whether he knew or not. It was already too late for them.

“One of our allies has a secret ‘power’ he’s been saving for the right moment. And we decided to place our trust in them.” 

She watched his expression carefully, then she saw it, a twitch in his jaw.

"One of our allies is a real strategist. He predicted we’d only have to deal with a non-combatant commander like you, but I’ll admit, you did surprise us. Still, in the end… what can you really do besides swinging your knives around when there’s no one left to incite?" 

Her chains curled around her again, tense but ready, “There was no crowd and no one to sway. Just a knife and your title. So what’s left, politics guy-san?”

Hanabata’s fake smile faltered, and his eyes darkened. Based on his reaction, she figured he’d realized by now that the Unseen Nulls had inside intel and sensitive details they were never meant to have.

Patrol patterns, commander rotations, and tactical placements…

And, he probably had no idea where the leak came from. 

The man tightened his fists and an angry vein twitched at the side of his head. He was clearly stewing over just how much intel the Unseen Nulls must’ve gathered.

Giran was really a great broker, and Skeptic’s stolen laptop combined with their infiltration efforts had done the rest.

But she wasn’t about to tell him that. Let him spiral in frustration.

Just as she finished taunting him, a loud voice abruptly rang out.

“Hanabata-sama!!”

All three of them quickly whipped their heads toward the sound. The voice was certainly trouble for two of them, but a blessing for one.

‘Why hasn’t backup arrived yet?!’

“Fuck!” The hoodie boy cursed, both under his breath and out loud, while also clutching the bloodied fabric around his side.

The pain flared again, but he gritted through it, pushing himself upright after spotting the approaching MLA guards.

Seeing his reinforcements, Hanabata’s lips curled into a triumphant grin. Four against two, and one of the two was already wounded. The odds were swinging hard in Hanabata’s favor. 

“Did you really believe I was just a man with knives?” he called out, voice rising with pride. “My meta ability is Incite! It flourishes in the unwavering loyalty of my people!”

He spread his arms wide with theatrical grace, as if he was a preacher welcoming his flock. “My warriors! Fight for me! Let your convictions give you strength!”

A unified cheer erupted around him as the three guards brandished their weapons, surging forward with renewed determination.

“Rii-chan!” The hoodie boy cried out her nickname, eyes wide in horror as he saw her outnumbered. Despite the pain burning in his side, he forced his legs to move.

He had to reach her, to save his childhood friend.

The girl swallowed hard, her chains twitching at her sides as she faced the approaching threat. Her eyes flickered between the four of them, her heart pounding. 

Unfortunately, she might not have been ready for this. Controlling multiple chains at once was still something she hadn’t mastered. Against one or two enemies, she could manage.

After all, she wasn’t even an official member of the server. She hadn’t been through much real combat training and had barely had time to properly practice her quirk. She’d only trained against single targets—focusing more on precision and control—but never multiple opponents at once.

Now, if she let her attention stray from the real threat, Hanabata, she wouldn’t survive.

So, she made her choice. Clenching her eyes shut, she focused all her energy into merging her chains into one. Her plan was to slam them all to the side, carve a path, grab her friend, and run.

But then, she heard it.

Before she could do anything, she heard a stab.

Her body tensed, waiting for the pain.

But surprisingly, it didn’t come. There was no pain, no impact. 

Confused, she slowly opened her eyes, only to freeze.

Blood has sprayed, but it wasn’t hers, and it wasn’t her childhood friend’s either.

Instead, Hanabata stood at the center of it, skewered from every direction by spear, sword, and knife. He was impaled by the very soldiers who’d rushed to his aid. His eyes bulged, blood dribbling from his mouth and wounds.

“Wh—“

Without a word, the guards wrenched their weapons free in perfect sync. One of the guards stepped forward slowly, staring blankly at Hanabata, until his features shimmered and shifted.

“EdgelordEnergy?!” The hoodie boy and the girl shouted his username at the same time, genuinely surprised.

The previously disguised teen lowered his bloodied blade, his expression was deadly serious, like he was narrating the end of the world.

“Dazai-san foresaw the disturbance before your cries even echoed through the void. He chose not to burden you with the truth, to deliver surprise, not only to you, but to our enemies. Your desperate transmission only carved the path more clearly. When your voices fell silent, he knew… the strings of fate had been severed.”

The other ‘guard’ stepped up, casually sheathing their weapon as they clarified, “Right. What he’s trying to say is, Dazai tried pinging your earpieces and figured you were in trouble. Then he sent EdgelordEnergy to us, and they briefed us quickly.

Dazai decided to keep the full plan a surprise, from both you and the enemy. On our way, we ran into a patrol checking out the noise from the basement trigger. They thought we were fellow MLA, so we ambushed them, knocked them out, and took their gear. Then Mr. Edgy here worked his disguise quirk magic.”

“He is weird, but useful…” someone commented from behind, directly behind the emo guy’s back.

The emo boy turned his head slowly, clearly unamused. “Hmph. You mock what you cannot comprehend.”

No one responded.

Hanabata, clearly bleeding far more than the hoodie boy, let out a strained chuckle. Blood bubbled at the corners of his lips as he gave one last defiant grin

“Heh… So you did plan this far ahead…” he rasped, his voice barely a whisper. “Whoever’s guiding you from the shadows… they’re… a prodigy…”

His eyes clouded over as a final breath escaped his lips.

Hanabata was finally dead.

A heavy silence followed, but no one mourned the guy. One of the disguised Nulls quietly stepped forward and knelt beside the injured boy, gently pulling his arm over their shoulder.

“You need to get to Dazai-san,” they said, “You’re losing blood. I don’t think it hit anything vital, but losing blood is still dangerous.”

“I’ve got him,” Rii-chan cut in quickly, stepping in to support her friend. She shifted into position, letting him lean fully on her as she wrapped his arm around her neck. He winced but nodded.

As she started to move, EdgelordEnergy approached Hanabata’s lifeless body. Without saying anything, he knelt and placed a hand on the corpse, and in a flash, his form changed and perfectly mimicked the late commander.

“I shall remain,” he informed solemnly. “If shadows stir and suspicion falls upon us, we’ll wear this masks of flesh and deceit until the bitter end. Should the tides turn, whether from the depths of this cursed basement or the vultures circling above, we’ll hold the line until the rescue phantoms break through and reach Asteria. Only then will the final act of this grand war unfold.”

The other two disguised Nulls took their positions near the basement entrance. They remained silent and alert, their sharp gaze watching both their friends and the corridor ahead.

Rii-chan and the hoodie boy exchanged a glance, then nodded. 

Together, they turned and pressed forward, heading toward the control center while leaving behind the blood-soaked floor and the body of the man who’d underestimated the power of a prodigy from another world… and the storm of chaos he left in his wake.

——

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Hi! I have a special announcement for you. This fanfic now officially has a Discord server! It’s my first time creating one, and I don’t know much about Discord, so I couldn’t have done it without the help of one of my readers, now my executive in the server!

Chapter Text

In the apartment, the TV hummed faintly, its screen flickering to life with a live coverage. On the right side of the screen, right next to the feed of the ruins, stood a woman with blue skin and pristine clothes, mic in hand.