Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When time becomes a fleeting whisper, a breath that passes through the skin without leaving a trace… when pain is no longer an occasional visitor but a constant guest settling into every corner of the body… when loneliness takes root in the mind like a perpetual echo… the only thing left is to wait.

Wait for it to end… Or for someone to end it.

Darkness was absolute, a suffocating blackness that enveloped his existence. Every attempt to move his eyes ended in unbearable burning, a warning whispered in the cruel voice of suffering: "Don’t even try." The bandages covering the upper part of his face were a barrier between him and the outside world, a wall imposed upon him with the promise that his eyes were not yet ready to see. After the surgery, after whatever had been done to him, all that remained was forced rest and the uncertainty of what would come next.

His mind was a barren field—no memories, no identity. He simply waited. Waited for the man who examined him, who tended to him, who hurt him, who destroyed and rebuilt him with cold hands and perverse precision. That man called himself "The Doctor," and his voice was a discordant blend of twisted sweetness and withered old age. His tone dragged like the edge of a dull scalpel—slow, almost melancholic, as if each word was dissecting its listener. At times, the emotion in his voice was so artificial that it sounded like the echo of laughter that once knew joy, but now only pretended to remember it.

"You always impress me, Shizu! You have an incredible tolerance for everything…" the doctor said, his voice laced with almost proud admiration, like an artist admiring his masterpiece.

Shizu. That was his name.

He hadn’t chosen it. He didn’t remember ever having another. The doctor had given him that name after the final test—the one none of the other subjects had survived. But he had. He had made it through. He was the only one. And so, they called him Shizu, short for Shizuku, "Droplet." Not because he was fragile or fleeting, but for something else… something the doctor found amusing in a way Shizu couldn’t understand.

"Even when a new person is born, something of them always remains…" the doctor would whisper, his voice dripping with veiled irony.

Shizu never understood those words. Never understood why they seemed so amusing to his captor. But he accepted them, just as he accepted everything else—with a timid smile and a slight nod.

Amnesia surrounded him like a thick fog. He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what he had been before this. He didn’t know why he was here. All he knew was that the doctor repeated, with almost fanatic devotion, that he had a mission. A purpose. A vital duty to fulfill.

"If necessary, you will die for this cause," he had said once, with unquestionable certainty.

Because now, he was a new person.

Because he was no longer what he once was.

Because he existed only to serve his master.

Because he was an offering.

Because he had been created to follow orders.

Because he had been created to die.

When the time came to remove the bandages from his eyes, it felt like he was seeing the world for the first time. And in a way, he was.

He remembered nothing before the final test—not his name, not his appearance, not his past life. All he knew was that he now had to obey his master, follow the orders of his superior.

The world was different from what he had imagined in his mind—those blurred images of what he thought reality was seemed like non-existent memories, fragments without substance. And yet, now he was here, facing the tangible truth of his new existence.

At first, his vision was blurry, and the light was too intense. He had to close his eyes and take a moment before opening them again. The pain persisted—a constant sting in his retinas—but it was bearable. Slowly, his sight cleared, and he found himself in a small room, resembling a medical office, but with a suffocating, almost lethal aura. The atmosphere screamed in silent threat:

"Here, you will die tortured."

To the side, a metal table overflowed with sharp instruments—scalpels and surgical knives gleaming under the dim light. He lowered his gaze and saw that he was wearing a hospital gown, an undeniable symbol of his condition. Something inside him whispered that this garment only foretold more suffering.

It was then that he noticed something strange about his body.

His veins—which should have been purple or green like anyone else's—glowed with an intense gold, as if, instead of red blood, liquid gold flowed through him. His hands were completely golden, gleaming, as if made of precious metal. From his fingers, golden veins crawled up his arms, though as they ascended, the color gradually faded into his pale skin. But he could feel it—deep within his body, every vein shimmered with that golden radiance, infecting every corner of his being with that strange, unknown essence.

"My beautiful creation! How do you feel?"

The doctor's voice interrupted his confusion. Shizu turned slowly to see him for the first time.

The doctor was an aged man, his appearance withered. Bald, with a large mustache decorating his face. His oversized glasses gave him an eccentric air, but the most disturbing thing about him was his smile—wide, radiant, almost childlike in its overwhelming excitement.

"I-It hurts a little… and everything is too bright…" Shizu replied, his voice trembling.

The doctor gazed at him in awe, as if admiring his greatest masterpiece.

"The pain will fade little by little. But if it doesn’t, you must get used to it. I created you to endure it, to withstand it, to be stronger than any other creature."

Shizu blinked several times, letting the words settle in his mind. Before he could fully process them, a voice echoed from the corner of the room.

"As impressive as always, Doctor. Your inventions never disappoint…"

Shizu turned his head toward the sound. A small yet powerful speaker was embedded in the wall, next to a camera watching him with mechanical coldness.

"There is still much to do. We need to train him, sir…"

Training. The word echoed in his mind with an unsettling weight.

"Training?"

The concept filled him with questions and fears. His body, still weak, felt the weight of an uncertain destiny. And in his heart, a dark emptiness began to expand.

Hours later, he found himself in a large hall, though the suffocating sense of confinement was inescapable. There were no windows, no trace of the outside world. The cold walls and stale air made him feel as if he were underground. But the most disturbing thing of all was the row of gigantic glass tubes lining the room. Inside them, grotesque creatures floated, submerged in a thick liquid.

"Oh! These are my beautiful creations—just like you! Except you have consciousness, unlike them. You may call them Nomus…"

Shizu stared, caught between fascination and horror.

They were twisted bodies, amalgamations of flesh and metal, each more grotesque than the last. Some had multiple arms, others lacked faces, their mouths mutilated and sewn shut with brutal stitches. Their bulging, lidless eyes gave him the impression that they were staring directly at him, trapped in a state of eternal wakefulness.

A shiver ran down his spine. Had he not survived the "Final Test," he might have been one of them. For a fleeting moment, he felt relieved that he had avoided such a fate… But a voice inside him whispered: "Your existence is no less terrifying."

The first training focused on his Quirk. According to the doctor, it was called "Inner Sanctuary", a power that allowed him to create a mental space. With enough training, he could use it to generate illusions in others just by looking into their eyes, touching them, or if they made direct eye contact with him. However, when his Quirk activated uncontrollably, it reflected the deepest parts of his soul and essence.

The Sanctuary was a place of peace. But the doctor told him that, over time, he could shape it according to the emotions he wanted to convey. While the victim was trapped in his illusion, their physical body would remain motionless in the outside world. To break free, an external touch was required.

The training was... in Shizu’s words, mentally painful.

The doctor had test subjects, people he planned to turn into Nomus: adults, children, teenagers with powerful Quirks. They were kidnapped victims, terrified of their situation. His task was to calm them with his Quirk, communicate with them through the Sanctuary, guide them inside it.

They put him in charge of bringing them food. Each of them was trapped in tiny cages. When they saw him, some sobbed, others begged for help. But he couldn’t help them. He wasn’t supposed to. He only whispered apologies.

At first, he could barely maintain his Quirk for a few minutes. But little by little, he improved. He felt grateful that his power could grant them a brief moment of peace, that in their desperation, he could offer them a reprieve… until the day the doctor took them away.

The Sanctuary was beautiful, unreal. A starry night sky of multiple colors stretched above them, with a brilliant moon shining intensely. The ground reflected the sky like a crystal-clear lake. If you walked further, you would find a vast meadow of white grass and violet flowers. Small, glowing butterflies with a radiant white shimmer fluttered around—not many, but enough to give the landscape an ethereal air. Sometimes, the scenery changed: the night turned into day, and the warm sun bathed everything in golden light.

The children, who had cried for their mothers, laughed and ran through the fields. The adults lay on the water, gazing at the stars. The teenagers gathered, exploring. It was an escape. A beautiful lie.

But every time one of them was taken away for surgery, Shizu accompanied them.

They held hands until the door closed between them.

He also trained with Nomus. To his surprise, they reacted differently to his Quirk. Even though they had no consciousness, something within them—a shadow of who they once were—responded to his Sanctuary with calm. Sometimes, he saw them almost relax in his illusionary world.

As he progressed, he learned to recreate places, situations, people. At first, he could only mimic the scenarios he was physically in. Then, he became capable of shaping other people’s memories, recreating entire scenes. He could manipulate the environment within the Sanctuary, but full control still eluded him.

As he trained, he learned more about his Quirk:

First, direct eye contact was mandatory: His Quirk only activated if he locked eyes with someone or touched them. If they avoided looking at him, he couldn’t pull them into the Sanctuary.

Second, while someone was trapped inside, he could still control their mind and remain aware of the outside world. But if the trance lasted too long, his mental fatigue became devastating.

Third, he could bring multiple people into the Sanctuary, as long as he made eye contact or touched them.

And fourth, overuse dried out his eyes. His Quirk didn’t deactivate when he blinked, but the longer he used it, the blurrier his vision became.

The training had a price. There were days when he couldn’t open his eyes because of the pain. The light was too intense, so he chose to wrap his eyes with a bandage. Eventually, this became a habit: Every night, when he returned to his lonely room with only a simple bed, he covered his eyes before sleeping.

The strangest, yet easiest training was in the café. They taught him how to prepare different types of coffee, how to bake cookies, cakes, how to cook simple dishes. At first, he didn’t understand the purpose. What was the point of learning to make the perfect cappuccino when, in his other training, they threw him into a hell of blood and despair? It was absurd. Illogical. But it was also a respite. A fragile, ironic rest in the midst of torture. His hands trembled as he held a cup, the foam swirling softly under his vacant gaze. A fleeting moment of peace. A mirage.

Because then came the other training.

The battle training was the hardest. They taught him to defend himself, to attack without hesitation, to strike with precision, to stab with lethal intent. And when the doctor handed him a knife, he knew what was coming. Nomus. Grotesque creatures. Brutal beings. Living tools designed only to obey. "Defeat them," the doctor ordered coldly. And defeat meant kill. Not just subdue them. Not just disable them. Kill them. Make sure they would never obey another order again.

Shizu tried. He tried to convince himself that these things didn’t feel—that they were nothing more than remnants of what were once humans. But when his knife pierced flesh, when his fist sank into their grotesque skin, he felt something. A cold shiver. Not guilt. Something else.

At first, he thought it was his imagination, that his mind was playing a cruel joke in its attempt to cling to morality. But it wasn’t. Because when the Nomu fell to the ground, mortally wounded, he felt it.

Not fear.

Not rage.

But relief.

A silent release, like a muffled scream in the darkness. A plea that didn’t need words.

" Let me go."

Shizu froze. His hands trembled, the knife still clutched between his fingers.

He felt the weight of the Nomu’s body beneath him, the creature’s ragged breaths, its glassy eyes that weren’t looking at him—yet somehow, they saw him.

"Please."

A tear rolled down his cheek.

And then, he plunged the blade deep.

When the body stopped moving, Shizu fell to his knees and clasped his hands together. He didn’t know what else to do. He couldn’t restore their humanity. He couldn’t change what had happened. But he could do this.

"Rest in peace," he whispered.

He didn’t know if Nomus had souls.

If they could still hear him.

But he prayed anyway.

Behind him, the doctor watched silently, his smile bone-chilling.

He had discovered something interesting.

Shizu could feel the Nomus.

Shizu could communicate with them.

And that changed everything.

He didn’t know how long he had been training, nor did he understand why he had to do it. He didn’t know his objective, what his final purpose would be. He only knew one thing—he had to obey his superiors.

The doctor was his primary superior. He was always there, giving him instructions, asking him for help in transporting documents or strange objects. Sometimes, he called him "his son", his "divine creation." He said Shizu was the most beautiful of all his works, the ultimate proof of his genius.

Shizu understood what he meant whenever he looked at the Nomus and other creations in the laboratory. They were his "brothers," according to the old man— but they were grotesque. Aberrations of flesh and metal. He, however... He looked human. His veins shimmered with an intense golden glow, as if his blood wasn’t red, but liquid gold. His hands were entirely golden, but as the glow traveled up his arms, it gradually faded.

He had never seen his own face. There were no mirrors anywhere. Nothing to reflect himself. Every time he finished training, one question lingered in his mind: What did his face look like? What about his hair? Was he ugly?
Was he beautiful?

The doctor spoke of his beauty, but his admiration seemed directed more toward his creation than toward him as an individual. The only clue he ever had about his appearance was when he heard the voice of the one they called "Sensei" echo through the lab’s speakers:

"He looks nothing like your previous creations, doctor… He could fool anyone with that angelic little face of his…"

Shizu froze at those words. Was that the reason? Was his appearance part of his purpose? Did they want his face to convey calm and peace amidst the dark, bloodstained reality they had created?

He had never seen this "Sensei", but he knew he was the true master—the one who stood above everyone. His power surpassed even that of the doctor. He was the demon behind everything.

And just his voice was enough to terrify him.

It was deep, resonant, a shadow that slithered through every corner of the lab. It wasn’t just a sound— it was a pressure, a weight on his chest, something that seeped into his mind and froze his blood. He never shouted. He never raised his voice. He didn’t need to. Every word of his was a sentence, every syllable held a power that couldn’t be explained.

Shizu feared that voice.

But he knew that one day, when his training ended, when his purpose began, he would have to face his presence. He would meet Sensei.

He would meet the devil.

When the training ended— When he went from being the most wounded to the one who ended up killing his "brothers." When that cycle repeated itself until it became a routine. When his control over his Quirk became acceptable, tolerable, even natural. When the preparation of sweets, cookies, meals, and dinners became a mechanical act, almost perfect, with the Doctor’s voice praising each creation as if it were the masterpiece of an artist. He was ready.

Shizuku woke up as always. He sat up in bed, back straight, gaze lost in nothingness, waiting for the door to open and for the Doctor to appear with new orders. His life was just that—Waiting and obeying.

When the sound of the locks breaking shattered the silence, his body tensed slightly, preparing itself. But when the door opened, he did not find the Doctor’s usual eager gaze— that spark of excitement that always flashed in his eyes when he looked at him. No. This time, his expression was different. More serious. More… sad?

"Shizuku… Follow me."

Without questioning it, the boy stood up and followed him. It was what he was meant to do. He had always done it. But this time, the path was different. They did not take the usual hallways leading to the training room. They did not descend to the levels where people immersed themselves in the calm of their Quirks. No. They took an unknown route. A corner he had never crossed before.

There were questions burning in his mind— Questions he never dared to ask. But the fear, that silent fear he carried inside him, grew. It did not show on his empty face. It could not show. He was not allowed to show weakness. He was not allowed to cry. He was not allowed to fear. It was forbidden.

Soon, they arrived at a room. No… A bathroom. A real one, with a spacious bathtub.

Shizuku had his own bathroom, yes—but it was a small, cold cubicle, with a thick hose where he washed away the blood after every training session. Nothing more. Nothing like this.

"I want you to bathe thoroughly. Wash that greasy hair and put on the outfit over there. You must be presentable."

The Doctor’s voice sounded like a warning. Shizuku nodded without replying. The door closed behind him. And then,he saw it.

The mirror.

He froze. His heart beat weakly in his chest. He had never seen himself before. He had never had the chance.

What would he look like? Would he resemble what he had imagined? Would he be ugly? Would he be pretty?

His steps were slow. At first, he kept his gaze down, avoiding the reflection. Each step was heavier than the last, until he could go no further. He was now standing in front of the mirror.

He pressed his lips together. He closed his eyes. The darkness embraced him—his old friend. He took a deep breath. And when he exhaled, he opened them.

What he saw… He did not recognize. There was nothing familiar about that face. It was as if he were looking at a stranger.

He was… a boy. A boy of thirteen or fourteen years old, with a slender but toned body, shaped by relentless training. His skin was pale—
not like a corpse, but like someone who had never felt the warmth of the sun. His veins, golden and thin, snaked beneath his skin, some more visible than others.

But his hair…

¡It was green!

He had never imagined that. He thought it might be black, or brown, maybe even red… But green? It fell in messy waves, reaching almost to the nape of his neck. Soft, yet untidy. It didn’t look bad, but it felt… strange.

And his face…

It was round, with soft cheeks, almost childlike. Faint freckles dotted his skin, something that, for some reason, gave the impression of innocence. Innocence? Him? The thought almost made him laugh.

But the most striking thing was his eyes. Green—like pure emeralds, vibrant, but with a golden glow dancing within them, reflecting something ethereal. And around his eyes… Golden lines, thin and radiant, etched onto his skin. They were not scars. They were not tattoos. They were a part of him. They extended from his eyelids, slowly fading into his skin— like a celestial glow. As if an angel had touched him.As if he himself were an angel.

An angel…

That was what they wanted him to be, wasn’t it? Something that radiated calm, peace. Something beautiful.Something that deceived.

Shizuku lifted a trembling hand to his face. His golden fingers brushed against his cold skin, tracing his own features—As if that would help him recognize them. As if that would help him find himself in that image.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t recognize himself. Because Shizuku had never been anyone. He had always been a tool. A creation. An experiment. And now— A beautiful image, designed to fit a purpose he still did not know.

He couldn’t look away from his own eyes.

No. He was not an angel.

He was something worse.

The hot water fell over his skin like a divine balm, enveloping him in a comforting warmth he had never experienced before. He stood still for a few seconds, feeling each drop slide down his body, engraving that sensation into his memory as if he feared he would never have it again. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want it to end.  

But he didn't know how much time he could allow himself. Would the doctor wait? Would he get upset if he took too long? He thought about it, and his muscles tensed from the latent fear that never left his body. So, even though part of him wanted to stay there, floating in that momentary comfort, he began to wash himself quickly.  

The shampoo had a light scent, almost unreal to him. Was this what cleanliness smelled like? His fingers slid through his hair, and instinctively, they shaped soft waves. Why did he do it? He didn't know. Something inside him told him that this was how it should be, that this was how he would look better.  

When he stepped out of the bathtub, he wrapped himself in the only soft towel there was. Soft… a texture foreign to his daily life, where roughness and cold were his only companions. He dried himself carefully, as if he feared ruining the moment with clumsy movements.  

Then, he saw the clothes.  

He approached and examined them cautiously. It wasn't a hospital gown. It wasn't old rags or bloodstained bandages. It was something new. Something different. Something that didn’t feel like it belonged to him.  

He took the fitted black shirt, elbow-length sleeves, and slid it over his torso. He felt the fabric cling to his skin—light, strange. Then, the dark, reinforced pants, heavier than he expected, with straps and seams designed for easy movement.  

But the true piece was the jacket.  

He held it in the air, observing it closely. Black, with dark green details and golden buttons that gleamed with a subtle glow, as if they hid a secret. Its wide hood seemed to devour the light, but inside… inside, it was lined with a brilliant gold.  

Camouflage.  

Deception.  

Illusion.  

He put it on slowly, feeling the weight of the fabric fall over his shoulders like a mantle of borrowed identity. He slid his arms into the sleeves, and its cold touch made him shiver. There was a pocket on one of them, large enough to hide something small yet crucial.  

As he fastened the jacket with the golden ties, he noticed the compartments inside. They were strategic. Hidden. Designed to store weapons. Knives, probably. The tools of an assassin.  

Lastly, the gloves. Black, long, elegant. With symmetrical patterns along the edges, as if they were the final ornament of a carefully crafted masterpiece.  

He took a deep breath before turning to the mirror.  

His reflection awaited him, silent, unfamiliar.  

He didn’t recognize himself.  

It was him, yet it wasn’t.  

The green eyes, with that golden glow surrounded by shining lines on his skin, stared back at him with an empty expression. Like an angel who had forgotten his purpose. Like a specter trapped in a human body.  

The hospital gowns, the nakedness of bare feet, the coldness of a laboratory… Everything he had been was left behind with this attire. Now, dressed in shadows, with gold within and knives within reach, he felt… different.  

Something was about to change.  

And he didn’t know whether to fear it or accept it.

Was the path getting longer, or was it just his impression?  

Every step felt heavy, as if the ground was swallowing him, as if the very air was trying to hold him back. Shizu was walking toward his death. Or at least, that’s how it felt.  

The doctor walked beside him, imposing, with that unsettling calm that made him feel like just another experiment. And maybe he was. When he had stepped out of the bathroom, the doctor had been waiting for him, and upon seeing him dressed, he had smiled with satisfaction.  

"It suits you better than I imagined," he commented with pride, with that rough, confident voice he always had. "I’m not a tailor or a designer, but I chose every detail. After all, if I’m going to present my ‘son,’ he has to look his best."  

Shizu didn’t respond. His body remained firm, his face expressionless, but inside, fear devoured him like a silent plague. His training kept him from trembling, his discipline kept him from running, but if not for them… he would be collapsing.  

Present him.  

He didn’t fully understand what that meant. Present him to whom? For what? His mind generated hundreds of scenarios, each worse than the last. And in all of them, he ended up in pieces.  

The doctor led him to his grand office, where shadows stretched like silent monsters between the tubes that contained the Nomus. Grotesque creatures, amalgamations of flesh and failed experiments, with exposed brains and modified bodies. For anyone else, a nightmare. For Shizu, his reality.

"It’s time," the doctor said, breaking the silence as he approached one of the smaller Nomus.  

Johnny.  

Johnny wasn’t like the others. He didn’t have the upper half of his body, just cables connecting his head to his lower torso. His transparent helmet revealed his pulsating brain, covered in bumps and devices. And yet…  

Shizu found him adorable.  

It was a secret he would never say out loud, but he had always liked watching him walk around in his big white sneakers, obedient and dutiful. Even though his Quirk was… disgusting.  

The doctor pulled a lever on Johnny’s helmet.  

Shizu felt a shiver run down his spine.  

"Shizuku," the doctor called with a smirk. "Now, you will meet the person who gave you this new opportunity. The one you will follow. The one you will obey."  

Shizu swallowed hard.  

"You are the result of his vision. The least you can do is prove that you were worth it."  

He didn’t respond. He couldn’t. His fear was a chained beast in his chest, roaring in silence. But his face didn’t show it. He simply nodded, obedient.  

"Don’t disappoint me."  

The words fell like a sentence.  

And then, the horror began.  

Johnny activated his Quirk, and immediately, Shizu felt a pressure in his stomach, as if something was forcing its way out from within.  

No…  

Nausea struck him with brutal intensity. It was as if his body was rebelling, as if something inside him was being torn out by force. His jaw clenched, his throat burned, and a black liquid surged up his mouth, exploding in a viscous wave that covered him completely.  

In his mind, a single thought repeated, drowning in disgust and panic:  

"This is not going to be fun…"

The disgust was unbearable.  

Shizuku gasped, spitting out the remnants of the black liquid that still burned his throat. His body trembled with involuntary spasms, struggling to regain the air his lungs desperately demanded. His chest rose and fell in desperation, and his stomach churned in an attempt to expel something that was no longer there.  

And then, he heard it.  

"It’s a pleasure to meet you in person, Shizuku…"  

Time stopped.  

He felt his stomach sink suddenly, as if the ground beneath him had opened up to swallow him whole. A cold shiver ran down his spine, paralyzing every fiber of his being, freezing his blood in his veins.  

That voice.  

The voice of the devil.  

The terror was immediate, absolute. He remained still, completely motionless, unsure if he should lift his head and stand or stay crouched there, as if making the slightest movement would seal his fate. His body refused to react. He couldn’t move.  

He looked around, searching for a familiar presence.  

Nothing.  

The doctor was gone.  

He was alone.  

The realization hit him like a slap. They had left him alone with him.  

His breathing turned erratic, but he kept his head lowered, his knees pressed against the cold floor. Don’t look up. Don’t appear defiant. Stay submissive.  

"Th-The p-pleasure is mine… Sir…"  

Shit.  

Don’t stutter!  

"I-I apologize for my nerves… I wasn’t expecting to meet you so soon…"  

His heart pounded painfully, so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. Fear was a primal instinct, but this… this fear was different. It wasn’t like the terror of being attacked by a rampaging Nomu. It wasn’t like the sensation of running for his life.  

No.  

This was something deeper.  

His entire body screamed danger.  

"Oh, don’t apologize," the man’s voice carried an almost amused tone, as if he enjoyed every tremor in Shizuku’s body. "I find it fascinating how the doctor has managed to make his creations feel emotions… feelings…"  

He paused.  

"Fear."  

Shizuku felt the panic wrap around him with icy claws.  

He knows.  

The man in front of him knows.  

He knows he’s terrified, that his body is on the verge of collapse.  

He’s going to kill me.  

Every cell in his body screamed for him to run, but his legs refused to move.  

Wait…  

Wasn’t he supposed to be incapable of feeling these things?  

Wasn’t his humanity supposed to have disappeared after the final test?  

Weren’t these emotions just echoes of his former self?  

If these emotions were artificial…  

Why did they feel so real?  

"I’m not going to hurt you, my child…"  

The man’s voice was soft, almost soothing. Almost.  

"You are important. Your creation is important. And so is your purpose."  

The knot in his stomach tightened painfully. He felt sick. He felt like he was going to vomit from sheer nerves.  

But he nodded.  

He had no other choice.  

"So, lift your head without fear, Shizuku…"  

Slowly, his body obeyed.  

His gaze slid over the cold floor, noticing the cables stretching in all directions. Thick cables, connected to something… or someone.  

And then, his eyes saw him.  

His mind took a moment to process it.  

God…  

That man…  

He had no face.  

Reality struck him like a punch to the stomach.  

He had no nose. No ears. No hair.  

Just scarred tissue covering what must have once been a face, extending from his upper lip to the back of his neck.  

But the worst part…  

The worst part was the smile.  

A perfect mouth, wide, twisted into a malicious expression.  

How could he see without eyes? How could he hear without ears?  

It had to be a Quirk.  

It had to be something unnatural.  

How… how was he alive?  

"Garaki, whom you know as ‘Doctor,’ has always boasted about the great creation you are…" The satisfaction in his voice was evident, but so was his curiosity. "To be honest… I didn’t think anyone could survive the final test."  

Shizuku felt his throat close up.  

"There were so many subjects before you… but none of them survived."  

There was no emotion in those words. No remorse.  

Just facts.  

"You are a miracle, dear."  

Miracle.  

Should he feel honored?  

Because all he felt was horror.  

He could have said "thank you."  

But all he could remember was pain.  

The smell of blood.  

The darkness.  

"I’m impressed by how well your body adapted to that Quirk…"  The man tilted his head slightly, his tone even more intrigued.  "To be honest, when I took it, I wanted to keep it for myself."  

Shizuku blinked.  

Wait.  

What?  

"But then I realized something."  

The man’s smile widened.  

"It would be far more useful in someone like you."  

The words echoed in his mind, over and over again.  

‘Took’?  

What is he talking about?  

The questions swirled in his head, strangling any rational thought.  

Something was terribly wrong.  

"I’m sure you have many questions, Shizuku…"  

It felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over his head.  

The words rumbled in his mind, shaking him to his core.

"T-To be honest, yes… There are things I don’t… understand."  

His own voice sounded fragile, hesitant. He hated himself for it.  

Fear was a poison coursing through his veins, paralyzing him bit by bit.  

Even though the man in front of him had no eyes, Shizuku felt his gaze sharpen, as if dissecting him with the sheer intensity of his presence.  

A shiver ran down his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin.  

"Don’t be afraid. Ask whatever you want…"  

That answer caught him off guard.  

His eyes widened slightly, unable to help it.

He could ask anything.  

The questions exploded in his mind like an uncontrollable torrent.  

Who am I, really?  

What did they do to me?  

Why am I here?  

Why are they training me?  

What is the goal?  

What do they want from me?  

Who decided who lived and who died?  

Why do I feel things I shouldn’t feel?  

What am I now?  

The questions were endless, each more terrifying than the last.  

But among them all, there was one that burned the strongest.  

One that felt safe to ask.  

"Who are you?"

The answer he needed was not about himself but about the man standing before him.  

The man he was meant to follow.  

The man who had given him this "new opportunity."  

He needed to know whom he would obey.  

Who would dictate his fate.  

The man smiled.  

A smile that shouldn’t exist, yet there it was.  

Panic pierced his chest like a dagger.  

—I'm surprised that, out of all the questions, this is the one you choose...  

His tone was almost amused, but there was nothing lighthearted about his words.  

Shizuku felt his gaze.  

A gaze that did not exist, yet it bore into him.  

—To some, I am a legend. A myth from the old days, times when those with gifts were the rare ones, and those without were the norm.  

Shizuku felt a lump form in his throat.  

—My existence is a secret. Everyone believes I am dead. —His voice slithered through the room like sweet poison. —Few suspect that I still operate in the shadows...  

Shizuku’s heartbeat pounded so loudly in his ears that he could barely think.  

—I am known as the opposite of the Symbol of Peace. —The air grew thick, unbreathable. —The one who brought chaos and terror.  

Shizuku’s heart shrank in his chest.  

Chaos.  

Terror.  

The Symbol of Peace...  

All Might.  

His image flashed in his mind like lightning.  

The invincible smile.  

The unstoppable power.  

The hero who protected everything.  

He was a being who felt untouchable, impossible to defeat.  

But then... If this man was his opposite... If he had been the darkness that faced that light...  

Shizuku felt the world closing in on him.  

—I have been the only one to walk away from many battles where all believed there would be no survivors. —His tone carried a hint of satisfaction, as if each word brought with it a memory of destruction. —And I survived when I faced the Symbol of Peace himself.  

Shizuku felt his throat tighten.  

—Though... I did not emerge unscathed, as you can see.  

His eyes returned to the man's deformed face.  

Or rather, to the absence of one.  

He felt sick.  

This man had fought All Might.  

Had survived.  

But... at what cost?  

If the Symbol of Peace, the hero of heroes, couldn’t end him...  

Then what did that mean?  

—I am known as a great and feared figure in the shadows.  

The shadows… Those that devoured everything in their path… That swallowed the forsaken.  

Shizuku swallowed hard.  

—I am the reason you were chosen.  

His chest tightened.  

—You were a small flower among withered leaves.  

Shizuku felt his breathing grow erratic.  

—I saw you.  

His stomach sank.  

—I saw your potential.  

His hands clenched into fists.  

—Your determination.  

His nails dug into his skin.  

—And I knew you were the one.  

Shizuku felt something cold spread through his chest.  

—And, as you see, you are here... Alive.  

His lungs emptied of air.  

—Even I wouldn’t have believed it.  

His mind filled with images of blood, of pain, of darkness.  

He shouldn’t be alive.  

Not after what they did to him.  

—You still have that determination to keep going, despite everything…  

His body trembled.  

He didn’t know if it was from fear.  

Or something deeper.  

Something he didn’t understand.  

Something that made him want to scream.  

The man’s voice resonated in the room like an echo trapped between the shadows.  

—I am the only one who can take a gift and strip it from its wielder. —The world seemed to freeze. Shizuku felt a shiver tear down his spine, as if invisible claws were sinking into his skin. —The only one who can claim the gifts of others as my own.  

The air grew dense, suffocating.  

—The only one who can give a gift... or take it away.  

Shizuku’s heartbeat turned into a wild drum in his chest.  

—The only one who decides who is worthy of power and who must be left with nothing.  

Shizuku felt his stomach drop, his entire body trembling with a fear he had never known.  

Stealing... gifts.  

Taking them.  

Keeping them for himself.  

Giving them as if they were presents…  

He was a god.  

A god who played with the lives and fates of others.  

Shizuku felt his throat close.

If he… if this man could take and bestow gifts at will…  

Then…  

Did the gift he had now truly belong to him?  

Had he been born with it?  

Or had it belonged to someone else?  

Someone who had lost it.  

Someone who was now empty.  

Someone who perhaps…  

No longer existed.  

Terror struck him like an icy wave.  

No.  

He didn’t want to think about it.  

He didn’t want to imagine it.  

But the questions stormed through his mind like a whirlwind.  

Who was he before this man decided he was worthy of life?  

What was he, truly?  

A person... or just an experiment?  

His skin prickled.  

No.  

No.  

No.  

He couldn’t doubt.  

He couldn’t question.  

Because if he did…  

If he started to wonder who he was…

He might not like the answer.  

And worst of all…  

It might already be too late to take himself back.  

Because All For One had chosen him.  

And that meant…  

That he was already his.  

And then, the final sentence.  

—I am known as the Symbol of Evil.  

The air vanished.  

—You may call me "My Sir"  

His entire body tensed.  

—Or "Sensei."  

His throat was dry.  

His mind could not process what was happening.  

And then…

—But my name…  

The world ceased to exist.  

—Is All For One.  

Shizuku felt as if his heart had stopped.

No.  

No.  

No.  

His chest filled with an unfathomable emptiness.  

He had heard that name before.  

He had read about it in classified documents.  

He had heard whispers of his existence in the shadows of the laboratory.  

He was a myth.  

A horror story for heroes.  

A god to villains.  

The most dangerous man in history.  

And now…  

He stood before him.  

Shizuku couldn’t breathe.  

His vision blurred.  

A single thought drove itself into his mind like a knife.  

I am trapped in the palm of his hands.  

And there is no escape.

—Does that answer your question, Shizuku?

The tone of his voice was tinged with amusement. Not mocking, not sarcastic… but something worse. It was the tone of someone who enjoyed seeing uncertainty in others. Like a puppeteer watching the strings of his marionette twist in the air.

The sculpted smile on his faceless visage seemed to widen, even though he had no eyes to express emotion.

Shizuku swallowed.

—Y-Yes… Sensei…

The man smiled even more.

Satisfied.

As if every word, every reaction, every beat of Shizuku’s racing heart was exactly where he had planned it to be.

—Perfect… Now, would you like to know why you are here?

The question embedded itself into his mind like an icy dagger.

Why was he here?

Shizuku looked at the man trapped in a sea of cables, his body held by them as if they were artificial veins. As if, somehow, they were the only thing keeping him alive.

Was that what made him strong?

Was that what gave him power?

Was he clinging to life… or was life clinging to him?

He pressed his lips together and nodded, his fear still present, wrapping around his chest like an invisible poison. But now, on his face, there was also curiosity.

—As you heard —All For One continued—, I am a great figure in this world, though many believe I am dead…

That simple statement made his skin prickle.

—A long time ago, I understood something… For my will to survive, for the future I desire to take shape… I needed to find someone.

The man’s voice became softer, but no less menacing.

—I needed a successor.

Shizuku felt his breath hitch for a moment.

A… successor?

—Someone I would raise myself, someone I would care for as if they were my own child…

Shizuku’s heart pounded against his ribs.

—Someone who will carry a great burden on their shoulders.

The satisfaction in All For One’s voice was evident. It was as if every word he spoke was weaving a destiny already written, one that had been forming long before Shizuku ever knew it.

He swallowed hard.

If All For One was a monster…

What kind of person would his successor be?

Someone like him?

Someone even worse?

—He will need allies… people who will support him, who will help him move forward.

All For One’s voice had a hypnotic cadence, as if each word was designed to wrap around Shizuku’s mind, to settle deep within his subconscious.

—He needs someone who will always be by his side…

A chill ran down his spine.

—Someone who will calm him…

Shizuku felt pressure in his chest.

—Someone who will be willing to give their life for him.

The words weighed on him like a slab of stone.

And then…

—Someone who will be his friend.

His mind went blank.

A… friend?

The word echoed in his head with a deafening resonance.

A friend.

An ally.

A protector.

A loyal dog.

A human shield.

Was that what he would be?

Was that what he already was?

Shizuku felt an emptiness expand within his chest.

Friend…

He had never had one.

He couldn’t remember ever having the chance to know what it felt like.

And now, it was being offered to him…

But not as a gift.

Not as a natural bond.

Not as a choice.

But as an order.

An imposition.

Something that had to be.

Something that must be.

—Although you would also be more like his… caretaker. He already has one, whom you will meet soon, but someone closer to his age might be more… beneficial.

Shizuku felt a lump form in his throat.

His caretaker.

His friend.

His shadow.

—Your Quirk is very useful for him… you can help calm him, and in doing so, he will be able to think more clearly.

A shiver ran down his arms.

Calm him?

Did that mean he was dangerous?

That he was unstable?

That he could lose control at any moment?

That if Shizuku wasn’t there, something terrible might happen?

—You would also be one of his protectors! —All For One continued, his tone almost enthusiastic—. Someone you will defend and never betray…

Shizuku’s breath hitched.

—Giving your life for him…

The air grew heavier.

—Dying for him.

The blood in his veins turned to ice.

Dying… for someone he didn’t even know.

Giving his life… for a purpose that wasn’t his own.

But… did his life truly belong to him?

If All For One had chosen him…

If he had been made for this…

If his very existence was the result of a decision he never made…

Then…

Did he even have a choice?

Silence took hold of the room.

Dark. Cold.

The only sound was the incessant hum of the machines connected to that man and Shizuku’s ragged breathing.

Each beat of his heart echoed in his ears like a war drum, a rhythm that blended with the tension in the air.

And then…

—Tell me, Shizuku…

All For One’s voice shattered the stillness like the edge of a knife sliding across flesh.

—What is your purpose?

Shizuku felt his body tense.

—Why were you created?

His mind froze.

Why was I created…?

The question struck something deep within him.

He thought of every word he had heard.

Every revelation.

Every fragment of truth that had been dropped before him like breadcrumbs on a dark path.

Everything pointed to one thing.

A single answer.

He took a deep breath.

For the first time in the entire conversation, his fear no longer paralyzed him.

He grasped it.

Turned it into something else.

Into determination.

Into courage.

His legs, once weak from panic, found the strength that had been taken from them.

He stood.

The cold floor beneath his feet was no longer an anchor, but a platform.

Shizuku lifted his head.

His gaze, once clouded by uncertainty, became sharp.

Steady.

Determined.

And he faced All For One’s eyeless visage.

That void where pupils should have been still managed to pierce him.

Still managed to sink into every corner of his being, as if it could rip the truth from the depths of his soul.

But this time… Shizuku did not look away.

He did not waver.

He did not tremble.

And he spoke with a voice that resonated in the darkness like an unbreakable oath.

—I was created to serve your successor.

His voice did not falter.

—To follow him without question.

Each word fell with the weight of a sealed fate.

—To walk alongside him, no matter what lies ahead.

His hands clenched into fists, feeling the pressure of his own nails against his skin.

—To aid him in his purpose. To guide him when he needs it.

A shiver ran down his spine, but he refused to let his body break.

—To calm his mind, heal his wounds, and remind him of who he is.

He took a deep breath.

—To fight for him.

The darkness seemed to close in around him.

—To defend him when he is in danger.

The hum of the machines grew distant.

—To protect him.

The emptiness in his chest filled with something new.

—To be his shadow.

And then, with unwavering conviction…

—To die for him.

Silence.

Shizuku felt All For One’s invisible gaze pierce through him.

As if searching for a crack in his resolve.

As if trying to pull his fear from him and lay it bare.

But there was nothing.

Only resolution.

Only certainty.

A smile spread across the man’s face.

Slow. Satisfied.

As if everything was falling exactly into place.

—Exactly.

The word carried the weight of a sentence.

—You will follow my successor, no matter the circumstances.

The air seemed to grow heavier.

—You will follow Shigaraki Tomura.

Shigaraki Tomura.

The name burned itself into his mind like fire branding flesh.

Tomura…

The word echoed in his head like a ghostly whisper.

Doesn’t it mean… mourning?

Was that his nature?

Was his destiny to bring loss, grief, destruction?

The sound of something shifting pulled him from his thoughts.

All For One stood.

Shizuku felt his skin prickle.

He hadn’t believed he could move… and yet, there he was.

Tall. Powerful.

Each step echoed through the room like an omen.

He approached.

The boy felt his breathing grow heavy.

And then, he felt it.

A hand on his shoulder.

A simple gesture.

For many, it might have been a touch of support.

But for Shizuku…

It was a warning.

One that coiled around his throat like a suffocating serpent.

—You have a great purpose in your hands, Shizuku…

The smile on his face widened.

The pressure on his shoulder increased.

His strength was inhuman.

He wasn’t merely resting his hand.

He was making sure Shizuku felt it.

He was making sure he understood.

He could not fail.

The atmosphere in the room tensed in an instant.

Out of nowhere, a violet mist appeared in a corner of the darkness.

Cold. Dense.

It spread like poison seeping through the air, undulating with an almost ethereal movement.

Shizuku felt a shiver run down his spine. His body went on high alert immediately, every muscle tensing like a coiled spring ready to snap…

But All For One’s hand on his shoulder kept him in place.

A silent reminder.

Do not move.

Do not act on instinct.

Obey.

The air seemed to warp around him, as if something larger than the room itself was manifesting within it.

And then, the mist began to take shape—slowly. From the fog emerged a body, a dark silhouette with glowing, intimidating eyes. Two yellow orbs that blurred into the violet mist—without pupils, without expression… yet conveying something impossible to ignore.

Serenity.

Coldness.

Absolute control over its own presence.

The being was dressed with unexpected elegance: a perfectly aligned suit with polished buttons, a precisely adjusted tie, and five metal plates running from its collarbones to its chin, as if guarding an unfathomable void behind them.

It was more than just a figure.

It was a presence.

Imposing.

Mysterious.

The first thing that crossed Shizuku’s mind was elegance.

—You requested my assistance, sir.

The being’s voice was deep, calm, wrapped in a subtle echo that made it difficult to distinguish where its tone ended and where the whisper of the mist began.

It bowed respectfully before All For One…

But its gaze never left Shizuku. Those lifeless yet purposeful eyes pierced through him.

Shizuku felt his mind flood with questions.

Why is his body like that?

Is it just mist, or is there something more beneath?

Does he have a physical form, or is he intangible?

Can he touch himself?

If someone tried to hit him, would they pass right through?

Or does his body have moments of solidity?

Is it his Quirk that makes him this way?

What does it feel like to be an entity like him?

Does he breathe?

Does he sleep?

Or does he just exist in a constant state of wakefulness?

Shizuku blinked.

And he realized something.

He had never noticed how curious he was…

Until now.

—How may I be of service? —the mist being asked, its voice unwavering.

All For One smiled calmly.

—You have done well, Kurogiri…

His tone was different this time.

Affectionate, almost paternal…

Yet still carrying that manipulative edge, that intonation that wrapped every word as if each phrase had been meticulously calculated.

—As you well know, my successor’s attitude tends to be… inflexible.

Shizuku noticed he wasn’t speaking with disdain.

It wasn’t a critique.

It was almost… admiration.

As if Tomura’s inflexibility was something he wanted to preserve.

—Since he has been under your care, you have done an exceptional job with him. You have guided him, looked after him, managed his temperament… despite his unique personality.

Managed him?

Looked after him?

All For One’s words painted a different picture than Shizuku had expected.

What exactly was Tomura like?

What was his personality?

—I am pleased with the way you have handled him. So…

All For One’s arm slid across Shizuku’s back. Then, he gave him a gentle push forward.

One step.

An introduction.

A sentence.

—I present to you, Shizuku-chan.

All For One’s fingers moved rhythmically over his shoulder.

An almost casual gesture.

Almost.

But Shizuku understood the intent behind it.

A reminder.

A warning.

Do not step back.

Kurogiri’s eyes remained fixed on him.

The silence stretched for a few seconds.

He seemed to be analyzing him.

Processing him.

—I want you to be responsible not only for his care —All For One continued— but also for broadening his horizons.

Shizuku felt Kurogiri studying him more closely.

—He has already received prior training. And his Quirk…

A pause.

A silence that weighed heavily.

—…will be of great help to Tomura.

The air in the room seemed to grow heavier.

Finally, Kurogiri spoke.

—It is an honor to receive a new piece for the growth of our young master —he said with unwavering calm.— If his existence is part of the plan, I will guide him and watch over his progress.

Shizuku felt something inside him tighten at the word piece.

Is that what I am?

Just another piece on the board?

But before he could sink into those thoughts, Kurogiri continued.

—However… I would like to better understand the nature of his arrival.

His tone was respectful, but the question was clear.

Why now? Why this boy?

All For One smiled.

Wide.

Satisfied.

As if that question was exactly what he had been waiting for.

The cold in the room became more palpable.

—It is time for Tomura to start socializing…

Chapter Text

Shizuku felt a shiver run down his spine as he stepped through the portal. His boots echoed softly against the floor, a faint sound in the place that would now be his new home. A bar? He never would have imagined it. He had expected a hideout shrouded in shadows, a high-tech secret base—certainly not a place where the clinking of glasses and the murmur of clandestine conversations would usually be heard. The thought unsettled him and, at the same time, amused him. A solid 10 out of 10 for whoever had come up with the idea. If even he hadn’t expected it, the heroes certainly wouldn’t either.

But what disturbed him the most was the feeling in his chest when he looked at Kurogiri. There was something about him, in his strange, misty presence, that felt… familiar. Not in a comforting way, but visceral, as if something inside him whispered that they were part of the same thing. An unsuspected bond. As if they were of the same blood. It was impossible to deny. Kurogiri was also a Nomu, just like him.

And yet, he could talk. He moved with elegance. He had awareness.

Shizu felt an unexpected relief. If Kurogiri was like him and could think, act, choose, then… maybe he could too. Maybe his emotions weren’t just artificial programming. Maybe they were something more.

The portal behind him closed, and Kurogiri turned his dark silhouette toward him. His yellow eyes, mere glimmers in the violet mist, watched him intently.

"Young Shigaraki is in his room. I will summon him soon to introduce you." His voice was unwavering, like that of an ironclad butler "My name is Kurogiri. I am the one who protects Tomura, his guardian and his servant. I ensure he does not go hungry, that he has what he needs… and that he does not self-destruct in his own hatred."

Shizuku blinked. The more Kurogiri spoke, the more he understood that his role went far beyond that of a mere caretaker. He was the only stable presence in Tomura’s life.

"Oh, it’s a pleasure to work with you, Kurogiri-san… I will do my best to help the young master achieve his goal."

Shizu bowed respectfully. It wasn’t just a formality; he knew that this mist-being-Nomu-being would be his new ally. His companion in this strange journey. Kurogiri observed him for a few seconds before responding.

"Before you approach Tomura, there are rules you must follow."

There was something sharp in his tone. Shizu swallowed hard.

"The first: do not bother him without reason. Tomura is impatient and volatile. If you irritate him, he won’t hesitate to show you… I hope he doesn’t disintegrate you."

The comment was spoken neutrally, but the warning was clear. Shizu felt an involuntary shiver.

"The second: if All for One has assigned you this duty, it means he trusts that you can be of use. You must prove you are worthy of being here."

Shizu nodded.

"And now, tell me… What is your Quirk?"

Shizu straightened up. There was no better way to explain it than to show it, but first, he attempted to describe it.

"My Quirk is called Inner Sanctuary. —He took a step forward, raising a hand— I can’t alter reality, but I can influence the mind. My gift allows me to create illusions within a person’s subconscious, a scenario where I can project their emotions, soothe their torment… or immerse them in it."

He observed his own fingers, slowly removing his glove. His golden skin shimmered under the bar’s light, fading into a gradient at his wrist.

"To access this sanctuary, I need eye contact or physical touch. Once inside, the individual experiences a state of absolute calm, as if the chaos in their mind slowly dissipates, like a balloon losing air without bursting. "He paused, searching for words "Even the fiercest killer won’t be able to resist feeling at peace. It’s involuntary. They can’t fight it."

There was silence. Kurogiri didn’t respond immediately, processing the information. Finally, his voice broke the quiet once more.

"Interesting… Can you explore their deepest emotions?"

Shizuku tilted his head, thoughtful.

"Not with precision… but I can see them reflected in the environment they create within the sanctuary. I can see a person’s soul turned into a landscape. Some are beautiful. Others… terrifying."

Kurogiri seemed to weigh the information. Finally, with a slight nod, he conceded:

"It is a valuable power if you can control it well."

Shizu took a deep breath.

"If you’d like… I can demonstrate it."

"Go ahead, young Shizu. We must assess your potential for this task."

Shizu nodded, lifting his gaze toward the yellow eyes diffused in the violet mist. The moment his eyes locked onto Kurogiri’s, he felt the familiar pull in his mind.

And the world disappeared.

Kurogiri listened carefully to Shizuku’s explanation. His Quirk seemed… interesting. But beyond its usefulness, what truly intrigued him was the boy himself. He was not like the other creations of the Doctor. He lacked the latent monstrosity of the mindless Nomu, nor did he possess Shigaraki’s cruel disdain. There was something about him… something different. His youthful, almost innocent face, his green eyes surrounded by fine golden lines that gave him an almost celestial air, the veins tinged with gold running through his skin like living roots, and those entirely golden hands… It was a strange image, foreign to everything he knew.

And then, in the blink of an eye, those green eyes turned golden, as if the sun itself were burning within them.

Before he could process it, the world around him faded.

Kurogiri immediately went on high alert, his body—or what remained of it—tensing. An attack? A side effect of the Quirk? But he felt no danger. There was no hostility, no chaos… only calm. A calm so absolute that it unsettled him.

Before him stretched an endless field of white grass, so tall it reached his knees. The wind swayed it gently, and his own mist drifted along with it, as if it were part of the landscape. White butterflies landed on his dark suit, fluttering in slow circles, unhurried, unafraid. He looked up at the sky… it was an impossible fusion of dawn and night. On one side, the sun peeked out with its warm light, and on the other, thousands of stars twinkled in the twilight.

He felt something inside him—something that had weighed on him for so long—begin to loosen. The pressure, the burden of his existence, the eternal responsibility to serve, to watch over, to be the shadow behind Tomura’s throne… all of it seemed to fade, disappearing like mist at dawn.

He felt… free.

Without even realizing it, his steps led him to a crystal-clear lake that reflected the starry sky like a perfect mirror. He knelt before it, observing his reflection closely. At first, he only saw the dark mist that composed him, the amorphous silhouette that always accompanied him… but then, slowly, the image began to change. His mist was no longer black or violet. Now it was sky blue, ethereal, light.

"Well? How does it look?"

Shizuku’s voice pulled him from his trance.

He looked up and saw him standing beside him, smiling calmly. In any other situation, Kurogiri would have been irritated at not detecting him sooner, at letting his guard down. But here, in this impossible place, danger did not exist. It could not exist.

The boy’s golden eyes glowed as if they were fragments of the sun melting into his skin. His presence was not invasive, did not impose control, but instead carried with it an indescribable serenity.

"This is the sanctuary I always carry with me" Shizuku explained, watching as one of the butterflies landed on his finger. "It’s… my soul, I suppose. Or a representation of it. I can also modify it as if it were an illusion."

Kurogiri looked around. Yes, it made sense. It was a reflection. A refuge.

"It’s beautiful…" he murmured almost unconsciously. "It’s like… a breath of fresh air."

Shizuku nodded with a slight smile.

"Yes. You’ve never felt like this before, have you?"

Kurogiri didn’t respond. He simply gazed at the lake, his reflection distorted by the crystal-clear water.

And then, the landscape changed. Now they were inside a house. A kitchen.

It was warm, illuminated by a soft light, with aged wooden furniture and the distant sound of something boiling on the stove. There was a table with mismatched chairs, a wall decorated with photos that Kurogiri couldn’t quite make out. The sense of calm remained, but there was something else. Something deeper. Something more… broken.

If he looked closely, he could see small errors in the image. As if parts of the house flickered with static, as if they weren’t fully complete. As if they were only a shadow of something that once existed.

Before he could analyze it further, the vision crumbled.

He opened his eyes and was back in the bar. Time had not passed. Shizuku was beside him, in the same position he had seen him in before everything began. As if they had never moved.

"I still struggle to recreate places I’ve only seen briefly" Shizuku explained, massaging his temple with a grimace "I could try to replicate this bar, but there would be major flaws… too many errors. It’s easier for me if there are fewer people."

Kurogiri observed him in silence.

That Quirk…

It wasn’t just an illusion.

It wasn’t just an escape.

It made you lower your guard.

It made you lose perception of time and surroundings.

It made you stop feeling danger.

It was a perfect trap. A silent weapon, disguised as comfort.

For a moment, Kurogiri thought of Tomura. Of how he would react when he realized what Shizuku could do.

At first, he would find him useful. He could help him calm down, release tension, reduce the explosive anger that consumed him so much.

But…

What would happen when Tomura realized he had been "controlled"?

That someone had been able to manipulate his mind, to submerge him in a sensation of peace without his consent? It was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Shizuku could be exactly what Tomura needed. Or the reason he would try to kill him. Kurogiri sighed, letting his thoughts settle.

"Your Quirk is… impressive" he finally said "Not just in its utility, but in its essence. It is not merely an offensive power, nor something limited to manipulation. It is something deeper. It can destroy without the need to attack… and save without the need to touch."

Shizuku blinked, surprised by the statement. Then, a genuine smile appeared on his face.

—Thank you, Kurogiri-san. I will do my best to be useful.

Kurogiri looked at him for a moment longer.

For the first time, he felt that this boy could change many things.

For better or for worse.

Shizuku never thought he would have a room of his own outside the laboratory. No… “room” wasn’t even the right word for what he used to have. It was a space. A disguised cell. Four cold walls and a door that always locked from the outside. His only possession was a thin mattress that sagged in the middle, with a white sheet that looked more like it had been torn from an old curtain.

And his lab coat. That white coat he wore like a shield against the cold. It didn’t really protect him, but at some point, his mind turned it into a barrier between him and the void of the world he belonged to.

Now… the door had opened without closing behind him. The room didn’t smell like chemicals or steel… it smelled like wood, like a soft, forgotten warmth. There was a bed. A full one. Not just a mattress, but a real bed, with soft sheets and blankets that promised warmth. There was a wardrobe, though he had no clothes to store. There was a desk, though he didn’t know what he would use it for.

The place wasn’t big, nor luxurious. But for Shizu, it was like stepping into another world. Into a reality he never believed possible. The wooden planks on the walls were the same as those in the bar, and that made it feel even stranger. It was as if the warmth of the place was trying to embrace him, even if he didn’t yet know how to accept it.

He was in the middle of that thought when Kurogiri appeared. As always, without warning, emerging from the mist.

"The Doctor sent you this," he said in his firm, polite voice, as a portal opened beside him. "He says it might be useful to you… A hobby that, according to him, will be helpful for our mission."

From the fog, something fell. Shizuku stretched out his hands and caught the object without thinking. A notebook. Or at least… what was left of one. Shizuku didn’t move at first. He just stared at it from his place on the bed, back straight, fingers laced over his knees. Finally, he leaned forward and took it in his hands, with a gentleness he didn’t know he had. As if he were afraid it would fall apart the moment he touched it.

The state of the journal was terrible—old, damaged. Almost nothing was intact.

The cover had been mutilated by fire. The corners were scorched. Blackened. Eaten away. There were dark stains that looked more like ash than dirt, damp marks on the inner pages that had warped the ink, turning it into a formless tangle. As if water had tried to erase the thoughts that had once been written there. As if someone—or something—had tried to destroy it with such intensity… that they made sure nothing survived.

The spine was ruined, and the pages crackled as if they might tear just from being looked at. There were traces of words… names or half-sentences that the fire hadn’t quite consumed.

It was a journal.

Or at least, it had been once.

And now… it was his.

Shizu ran his ungloved fingers across the cover. Feeling, not looking. He closed his eyes for a moment, sensing the rough texture of the burns, the fragile crunch of paper that seemed to weep at the slightest touch. It felt like the shape of a buried secret. Something meant to be hidden. Something that had once been loved… and then betrayed.

Kurogiri spoke again, pulling him back to the present:

"I’ll call for you when the young master arrives. We’ll see then if he accepts you."

"Accepts me?"

Shizu blinked, confused. He had believed he was already part of the mission. Wasn’t that the reason for his creation? To support the successor? To be there to protect him? But apparently… that wasn’t enough. The young master wasn’t someone who accepted others based on the Doctor’s orders. He was the one who set the rules. The one who decided who was worthy… and who wasn’t.

And Shizu… He would have to prove his worth.

"The young master… will test me?" he asked, not hiding his surprise.

Kurogiri gave a small nod.

"Most likely. He’s not someone who tolerates interference… or mistakes. Be careful how you treat him. He doesn’t like to be bothered… and you don’t want to make him angry."

A chill ran down Shizu’s spine. He didn’t know if Kurogiri was being serious… or simply trying to prepare him.

Shizu lowered his head in a sign of respect.

"I understand… I’ll do everything I can to meet his expectations."

"I hope so."

And with those words, Kurogiri disappeared once again into his purple mist, as silent as he had arrived. Shizuku was left alone in his new room, with the old notebook in his hands and a strange emptiness in his chest.

It wasn’t fear.

It was something deeper.

It was the weight of wanting to belong.

Of not failing.

Of not being discarded like another broken tool.

He decided to sit on the edge of the bed.The mattress gave under his weight with a softness that still felt foreign to him, almost hostile in its warmth. He held the notebook in his hands carefully, as if afraid it might fall apart just from looking at it the wrong way. There was something in it… Something heavier than the burned and damp pages. Something calling to him.

With a held breath, he opened it.

The crackle of the pages separating was harsh. Like a broken whisper from someone who had screamed too much.

Inside… it was ruined.

The ink had run, staining words, warping letters, turning entire sentences into unrecognizable echoes. Drawings that had once been clear were now blurred, as if the rain had washed them away, as if time itself had refused to preserve them.

And yet…

The intent could still be seen.

They were analyses. Meticulous studies of heroes: their suits, their equipment, their combat stances. There was data about their quirks, their strengths… even their weaknesses. On some pages there were deformed drawings. Strokes that, though warped by water, still tried to exist. Tiny suit sketches, notes in the margins, calculations, observations on movement. He didn’t recognize the heroes’ names. Or maybe he did. Like figures trapped in an ancient fog.

And everything was written with an almost obsessive precision, as if the person who had done it had given it their all. As if every word mattered. Every line… another piece of an invisible puzzle.

He could feel it.

The dedication.

The obsession.

The love for each written word, each observation, each hand-drawn image.

And all of it…

Only to end up destroyed.

Shizu blinked, trying to read more. He strained his eyes. He touched the withered words with his fingers, almost begging them to reveal what they concealed. But it was useless. The information was there, yes. But it was unreachable.

Like a blurry memory of a dream that didn't belong to him.

A pang crossed his chest.

Frustration. Disappointment.

"Who... could have written it?" he whispered to himself, his voice breaking.

He looked at the notebook, as if expecting an answer.

"They put so much effort... only for it to end up like this..." he softly closed his eyes. "As if everything had been wasted."

Shizu swallowed hard. He had never thought much about heroes. He knew they existed, yes... Like one knows the sea is there, even if they've never touched it. They were like the sun or the blue sky: a truth that isn't questioned. But now they were enemies.

They wouldn't come for him.

They wouldn't come for anyone.

The Doctor had made that clear.

"If the heroes knew what happens here, they would have come already. But they don't come, Shizu. They don't come because they don't care about you."

And that was enough to convince him.

Although... deep inside, a small, timid part still wanted to doubt.

But doubting... was dangerous.

The Doctor did not forgive doubt.

And according to the Doctor's words, Shizuku had already failed before.

"You tried to take on the role of a hero, considered it wasn't your goal, and sought to withdraw. I clearly remember that day and thought you would abandon all this."

"But... in the end... you made the right decision, Shizuku."

He looked him in the eyes when he said it, with satisfaction at seeing the child rebuilt once more, disguising it, speaking of how it pained him to destroy and rebuild him. But with a hidden smile that made him realize he enjoyed it. He enjoyed seeing how they broke him to rebuild him. Surely, he smiled with those maniacal grins alongside those amused laughs. Laughing at how it hurt that each of his mistakes became another experiment.

Now there was no room for mistakes.

Now, his purpose had a name.

Shigaraki Tomura.

He was his mission.

His existence.

He looked at the notebook again.

What if these analyses could help him?

What if, despite everything, something useful could still be salvaged?

The idea shook him.

Because if it was useful...

Then it wasn't a mistake.

"There are things I can't teach you. You have to discover them yourself, Shizu."

That's what the Doctor had told him once, as if it were a warning... or a trap. Maybe this was one of those things. The analysis. The observation. The strategic thinking. Not because someone taught him. But because it came from him. Only from him.

He closed the destroyed diary with both hands, feeling the fatigued creak of the scorched cardboard. He could still feel under his fingers the roughness of the burns, the dampness that had never fully dried. As if the object itself still breathed a last breath of its past... one he couldn't reach.

He looked at the cover. The words, disfigured by water and fire, seemed like a mockery. He squinted, as if that could help him make sense of the chaos.

"A... A... A-nalysis...?" he murmured, dragging each syllable clumsily, like a child learning to read for the first time. "Ruther...? Futh...? Futur...? Fu...? Fu...? Future?"

The echo of that last word lingered on his tongue.

"Future?"

It made no sense.

It made no sense at all.

He looked again at the top line.

"A...nalge... Ang... Ange...?"

He rubbed his eyes, exasperated, frustrated, anguished.

"No, no, no...! Analysis!" he gasped suddenly, as if the memory got stuck in his throat.

"Analysis..."

"Future..."

His heart skipped a beat.

Analysis of the future?

Or for the future?

What… future?

The middle word… That… that was the most burned of all. Totally unrecognizable. As if someone had deliberately erased it from the world. As if that word—precisely that one—had been the most important of all.

And that’s why it had to disappear.

Shizu swallowed hard, feeling his shoulders tense up.

Just then, a mist slipped across the floor like a silent wave. A spiral of violet fog appeared at his side, expanding without asking permission, filling the air with a faint, cold fragrance. The temperature seemed to drop. The room became a held breath. And from that fog emerged the tall, elegant, firm, almost solemn figure of Kurogiri. His voice, deep and grave, arrived like a bell ringing in a void.

"Young Shizuku," he announced, with a ceremonious tone, full of the impassive calm that always defined him. "The young master is at the bar. He has requested your presence. He wishes to judge for himself whether you are worthy of joining his mission."

The words fell heavy, like stones tossed into a still pond.

Shizu looked at him, unmoving. He felt the weight of the world land on his shoulders. The young master… The name struck him like a bolt of cold lightning.

Shizu nodded in silence. He said nothing. He simply placed the notebook carefully on the bed. He took a deep breath. Once. Twice. His heart was racing, but it wasn’t fear. It was something else. Something deeper. A trembling that came not from the body, but from the soul.

With slow steps, he approached the mist portal Kurogiri had prepared. The opening flickered like a fresh wound torn into the air. A threshold between what had been and what was about to be. He paused just for a second before crossing it. His hands trembled slightly. But he didn’t hesitate.

He adjusted his clothes with a precision that bordered on ritual.

He lifted his chin.

And stepped forward.

He crossed the portal without looking back.

He wasn’t there to seek comfort.

He wasn’t there to ask questions.

He wasn’t there to recover a past he no longer remembered.

He was there to serve.

To fulfill the purpose the Doctor had written into his very skin. To become the tool Shigaraki needed. The weapon he didn’t yet know he required. Shizu wouldn’t waste time with foolish questions. He had a mission. And that mission had a name.

Shigaraki Tomura.

And if he had to walk to the ends of the earth to prove his worth to him…

He would do it.

Because he…

had been created for this.

Upon crossing the threshold of the portal, Shizuku felt the air change.
It was dense, bitter… as if the whole environment was soaked in a mixture of dust, distrust, and despair. He was returning to the place where it had all begun: The bar.

Light barely touched the surfaces, and through the shadows, he saw someone sitting in one of the chairs—the ones that had once been empty, waiting for someone important. And this time, that someone was there.

It wasn’t a man.

It was a teenager.

So thin he seemed fragile, though every fiber of his body radiated restrained violence, like a bomb on the verge of detonating. He wore black, worn-out clothes and red sneakers that looked like they had survived a thousand pointless roads. But that wasn’t what caught Shizu’s gaze.

It was the hands.

Hands everywhere.

On his arms. On his shoulders. On his head. And on his face… like a living, silent mask. That image hit harder than any training ever had.

That was Shigaraki Tomura.

"So the rookie finally shows up."

His voice, raspy and full of annoyance, was like the edge of a blade grazing the soul.

Shizu felt a chill crawl under his skin. A tingling that screamed danger. He couldn’t see his eyes, but he could feel his gaze. Piercing. Cruel. Full of judgment. As if he had already been condemned. Shizuku clenched his jaw. He couldn’t tremble. He couldn’t lower his head. Fear… was not allowed.

Kurogiri appeared behind him, the portal still open behind his back, carrying that same unshakable tone, as if he could calm a storm with just one word.

"This is Shizuku. He will assist with your objective, Shigaraki Tomura. He will be a key piece in the mission."

The young master let out a dry laugh. A hollow cackle.

"A kid? Seriously? A damn kid is supposed to help us?"

He turned to Kurogiri.

"This is a joke, right? Do you see me as that weak, Sensei? You think I need to play house with brats?"

For the first time, Kurogiri’s voice revealed a trace of barely contained tension.

"He is not an ordinary child. His quirk… his structure… his mind. He is an unprecedented creation. The Doctor has assured us his potential exceeds even our highest predictions."

Shigaraki clicked his tongue, irritated, as he scratched one of his cheeks violently, letting flakes of dead skin fall to the floor like ashes.

"Another experiment, then? Another one like you?" he spat, with a glare that could kill. "I’ve had enough of your obedience, Kurogiri. I don’t need more trash molded by the Doctor."

"Shigaraki Tomura…" Kurogiri bowed slightly—not in submission, but in restraint.

"His ability cannot be replaced. He is not trash. He is a tool even you will find valuable."

The young master rose abruptly. The air shifted. It became tense. Lethal. With a single move, his hand—five fingers fully extended—shot toward Shizuku.

"I don’t want him."

Kurogiri reacted instantly.

"Wait—!" he began to say, but it wasn’t enough.

Shizu didn’t think. He didn’t have time to.

It was instinct.

It was programming.

It was fear and survival braided into a single spark.

He activated his quirk. Without permission. Without consent. Against the one person he was never supposed to touch.

And in a single second…

everything disappeared.

Shigaraki didn’t notice it right away. It was as if the rage vanished in a single blink. The pressure in his chest, the unbearable itch in his skin, the constant buzzing irritation gnawing at him from the inside… all disappeared.

Silence.

The bar, the annoying figure of that kid, the tremble in his own hands… It was all gone. And now, he was surrounded by a landscape so unreal that, for a moment, he thought he was dreaming.

The sky stretched like an endless mantle, covered with thousands, maybe millions of stars—twinkling, soft, completely foreign to the chaos he knew. It was an impossible sky. Deeper. Brighter. More peaceful.

His feet touched a soft field covered in grass that moved with the wind, like it was breathing. Butterflies fluttered around him, landing on his clothes, on his shoulders, on the edges of the hands that hung from his body. He didn’t feel like crushing them.

He didn’t feel anything driving him to destroy.

For the first time in years, he didn’t want to break the world.

He just wanted to look…

And that terrified him.

He felt something shift inside. A small fracture, almost imperceptible. A peace that didn’t belong to him, an emotion he didn’t recognize. And just as he reached out—just one hand, trembling—toward one of the butterflies…

He came back.

The bar.

The smell of dust.

The dim light.

The pressure in his chest.

The anger.

All returned with brutal force.

"I'm sorry!" Shizuku dropped to his knees in front of him, his head bowed in a painful show of reverence. "I reacted without thinking and used my quirk without permission! It won’t happen again!"

His hands clutched at his chest so tightly the pain pierced even through the gloves. He felt faint. Fear coursed through his bones. Was kneeling like this enough?mShould he bow lower? Throw himself to the ground? Beg for forgiveness through tears? Or just brace for death?

"What?"

Shigaraki’s voice was different. It wasn’t the irritated growl from before—it was a roar, cut short.

"What did you do to me?"

Kurogiri stepped toward him, his mist gently restraining.

"Tomura Shigaraki, calm down."

But calm was not something you could simply ask of a demon wrapped in human skin.

Shizuku lifted his head. Through the gaps between the fingers of the hand covering the young master's face, he thought he saw different eyes. Altered. There was more than fury now…

There was fear.

"ANSWER ME!" Tomura roared, fists clenched. "WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME BACK THERE?!"

And then… a new voice emerged.

"Shigaraki Tomura."

A powerful voice, distorted by the static of the bar’s old television. Full of authority, wisdom… and affection. The young master froze instantly. His body, tense like a wire about to snap, relaxed the moment he heard that voice.

"Sensei…"

He whispered, like a child hearing his father after a long absence.

The blurry figure on the screen, hidden by interference and shadows, spoke slowly, with that hypnotic, almost soothing cadence that only All For One could manage.

"Tomura…" He called gently. "The quirk you just experienced is not a threat. It is a tool. A unique power… one that can be molded—for you."

Shigaraki swallowed hard. He didn’t reply. He just breathed slower.

"That child, Shizuku, is not here to replace you. He’s not here to outshine you. He’s here to serve you. He was created for you."

Total silence followed.

"And he was shaped with surgical precision. His mind, his training, his genetic composition. The product of years of research. And not by just anyone…"

A new voice emerged—raspy, shrill, full of impatience and pride.

"Exactly!" The Doctor. "It took me decades to develop his nervous system, his vision, his movements! His brain capacity was hyperstimulated by me! His quirk is more than just a ‘power’—it’s an extension of his soul! A form of sensory-emotional manipulation capable of affecting even the deepest subconscious neural impulses!"

The Doctor huffed with pride.

"And I trained him with my own hands! He is not replaceable! If he dies, it would be the greatest waste this team has ever committed. I designed him only for you, Tomura Shigaraki! Only for you! A custom-made tool! An extension of your will!"

Shigaraki clenched his teeth. He was still breathing heavily, still feeling that unacceptable peace lingering in his body like poison.

"So… he’s mine?" He asked quietly.

"More than anyone else’s," All For One answered."Like your right hand. Like your shadow. Like your most silent weapon. With a potential so great, it will be of total use to you."

Silence returned to the bar, heavier than ever. Shizuku still didn’t dare speak. Shigaraki looked at him—or at least, the face hidden beneath that hand did—and said in a neutral tone, though charged with warning:

"Don’t ever use your quirk again without my order. Understood… my creature?"

Shizu swallowed, bowing his head even lower.

"Yes… master."

And in his chest, the tension burned like fire—because in that moment, he knew…

His existence was no longer his.

It belonged to Shigaraki Tomura.

He was his.

He was his.

To say that his relationship with his master—his lord, the figure he was meant to follow until the end of his days—was complicated… would be an understatement. Shizuku didn’t exactly know what he was doing, or if he was doing it right.

Every step felt like a failure, like he was more of a mistake than a tool. Ever since that first interaction—a presentation that ended in tension, in rage, in near death—everything had gone sideways. Shigaraki didn’t accept him. Not really. He only tolerated him because Sensei ordered it. It was like being thrown into a den of wolves while someone above promised he’d be fine… without ever taking the hunger away from the beasts.

Since then, Shizuku hadn’t left his room. Not out of fear. No, of course not. Shizuku wasn’t allowed to feel fear. He had been trained not to feel it, to not give in to that human reflex.

But then… what was this feeling in his chest? This constant knot in his throat? This weight that made him hold his breath every time he heard footsteps in the hallway, wondering if Shigaraki had come to finish what he started that day?

No, it wasn’t fear. It was something else. It was… caution. He wanted to avoid provoking him again. He couldn’t afford a second bad impression. That’s why he forced himself to stay busy, to focus entirely on the damaged notebook he’d been given. A notebook that had once belonged to someone else—and now was his only guide in the dark.

He threw himself obsessively into the study of quirks, strengths, weaknesses, behavior patterns, support equipment. Every word, every half-burned or smudged sentence was painstakingly reconstructed. He had to be useful. He couldn’t be a burden. He couldn’t be… discarded.

That’s when Kurogiri asked him to accompany him outside. A simple trip, supposedly, just to buy clothes. But leaving the base… the dim refuge of shadows… was much more than that.

The outside world hit him like a brick. It wasn’t how he remembered it. Maybe because he had never really felt it before. Maybe because growing up confined warped his perception.

The sun was too bright. The streets too alive. The people… smiled. Children ran with balloons, parents laughed with their kids, teenagers ate ice cream while talking about meaningless things. That normalcy made him feel like an intruder. Like a dark stain on a clean canvas.

And then there were them. The heroes. With their shiny costumes and confident faces. Shizuku broke into a cold sweat whenever one walked by. Would they notice? Did they know who he was? What he was? Would they realize he was part of what they might be fighting—and destroying—tomorrow?

Maybe they already had him on their radar, marked as a threat. Maybe one of them, that one smiling and signing autographs right now, wouldn’t live to see another sunrise.

When they finally stepped into the store, his breathing normalized. He was safe. For now. Choosing clothes wasn’t hard. Not because he had a clear sense of style, but because he had none at all. Shizuku didn’t dress for desire. He dressed for function. Kurogiri picked out most of the clothes. Elegant, simple. White shirts. Black shirts. Straight-leg pants. Something clean, something serious. Something that didn’t attract attention but demanded respect.

And yet… there were exceptions.

A strange part of him was drawn to a T-shirt that simply said “T-SHIRT.”

Or a pair of pajamas that said “PAJAMAS.”

Silly things. Clothes with unintentional humor that, for some reason, made him feel more human. Kurogiri didn’t object. So he took them, along with a couple of basic jackets, some shorts, socks.

The winter clothing was chosen by Kurogiri himself without asking. Shizuku didn’t mind. Time was valuable, and if it meant going back sooner, all the better.

But then they reached the footwear section.

Nothing fit. Literally. Most sneakers were uncomfortable. Some squeezed too tight, others felt like boats on his feet. It wasn’t about size. It was… as if his body rejected the ordinary. Until Kurogiri, as if he already knew the answer, appeared with a pair of red sneakers. Bright red. Very similar to the young master’s.

Shizuku froze. His body tensed.

No.

He couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

"Don’t you think they’re a bit… similar to the young master’s?" He asked, his voice tight, avoiding eye contact with the sneakers like they were a blasphemy.

Kurogiri, with that unshakable calm, as if he could read the boy’s heart, responded without hesitation:

"Shigaraki will not mind if you wear a pair of the same design."

The sentence didn’t completely ease him… but it convinced him. When he put them on, he understood.

They were perfect.

He didn’t know why, but something inside him resonated with the color red. He liked it. He didn’t know the reason. He didn’t know where the affinity came from. But it was there. And for the first time in a long while… he felt comfortable.

Comfortable in his skin. Comfortable in his clothes. Comfortable…

With that mission came something Shizuku hadn’t expected: a list of unexpected tasks, along with something that completely shook his way of thinking. It wasn’t strict orders, or physical training, or a veiled threat like usual…

It was a credit card.

And they left him alone.

Alone, in a shopping mall.

"I’ll return when the sun sets," said Kurogiri, with that same calm that no longer knew whether it soothed or scared more.

"You have a few hours to buy everything you think you’ll need. You can buy whatever you want. Money doesn’t matter, as long as you use it and it’s useful to you… there won’t be a problem."

Shizuku blinked, unsure.

"B-but… anything?"

"Everything you need," Kurogiri reaffirmed. "If you want a phone, notebooks, books, clothes, devices… the price doesn’t matter. If it’s useful to you, buy it. We have someone who can make them untraceable and expand their functions. There are no limits."

And just like that, with a soft click, he vanished into the air, leaving Shizuku standing there—alone—amid an ocean of lights, sounds, voices… humanity.

The mall was a living beast. Loud. Vibrant. Full of people who didn’t look back, who laughed, who shouted, who picked clothes without caring whether the world might collapse tomorrow. Shizuku was completely disoriented, as if he had been launched from a capsule into the heart of the real world.

He had a card. He had permission. He had… power, in a way. But he didn’t know where to go.

What did “whatever you want” really mean? What was it that he actually needed?

The idea of a phone came first. It wasn’t a whim. It was logical. To know the news, to stay connected. Did the team have a message group? Did Shigaraki have a number? Kurogiri? Any method of emergency communication? He needed to know. Know everything. Always.

And then… a laptop. Of course. An essential tool for research, analysis, and tracking quirks. Heroes, tactics, statistics. A silent weapon of war. He would need it. And if he was going to gather information, he also needed a place to store it: notebooks, paper, pencils, pens. Even… colored pencils.

Would it be wrong? Would it be childish to buy colored pencils just to illustrate the heroes' costumes? To be able to see them on paper? It made him feel like a child. And that feeling, so foreign, so buried… was terrifying.

He went into the bookstore first. Barely breathing. And chose more than he thought he would. Paper, hardback notebooks, highlighters, fine-tip markers, rulers, folders. Every item seemed to have an immediate function. He had to be useful. Always.

Then he went to the electronics store. Chaotic. Full of screens and noise. Choosing a phone from so much tech was exhausting. A smiling salesperson spoke to him as if everything were fascinating, as if he had years to explore, decide, compare. But Shizu didn’t have years. He only had that afternoon. And that card. And the weight of his choices.

He picked a smart one, full of features he didn’t even understand. And along with it, an old square Nokia, capable of nothing more than calls and messages. For some reason, it made him feel safe. A silent machine. Honest.

The laptop was easier. He just asked which was best for research and portability, and the clerk handed him one. Trust the experts. Don’t waste time.

On impulse, he bought some headphones too. Why not?

After that, he just walked. Through shops, down hallways, on escalators that rose to the sky and sank to the underworld. He watched. Evaluated. Thought. Was it necessary to go in there? And there? Another coat? Shoes?

He passed by a pharmacy. He walked in… and stopped in front of a shelf of creams. One in particular promised relief for extremely dry skin. He thought of Shigaraki. His hands, his face… that skin that seemed to crack just from the air.

Could he buy it for him? Could he gift it?

No. No. It would be an offense. An insult. A mistake. But… maybe he could keep it. In case one day, someday, he was allowed to offer it.

He kept walking. And then, without planning it, he saw it.

A toy store.

He wasn’t a child. He wasn’t interested in dolls or trivial fun. It wasn’t for him. And yet… he went in. And among them all, he saw it.

An All Might plush.

He froze.

He shouldn’t touch it. He shouldn’t want it.

All Might was his enemy. The future enemy of the young master.

But the plush had a soft, rounded expression. It wasn’t the imposing hero of the outside world. It was a figure of comfort, of safety. Something that seemed to say “everything will be okay” without a single word.

He didn’t know how it happened. Just that the card was swiped, and the purchase completed.

Shizuku stood still in the middle of the mall, almost frozen, fingers buried in the plush’s soft texture. It was ridiculous… he knew. An All Might plush, in his hands, against his chest, like a shield against the world—a living contradiction to his purpose. He stared at it with an intensity he couldn’t explain, as if the toy held answers no one else could give him.

And then, everything changed.

He felt the presence before he saw it. As if the air condensed, as if a storm were watching him from the rooftop of the world. A foreign hand, that didn’t quite touch him, made him react on instinct. Shizuku’s quirk burst into his eyes, golden and deep like a bottomless well. The lines around his face glowed, transforming his vision, activating the illusion he couldn't stop in time.

And then he saw him.

Him.

The young master’s red eyes clashed with his—deep, empty, but somehow… familiar. A red that wasn’t blood, or rage, not even fury. A red that made him feel… seen. Recognized. Like he belonged to a distant memory he had never lived, but somehow still knew.

And in that instant, his quirk fully activated.

The world warped. Shapes shifted. Colors danced around the master, briefly trapping him in an illusion that should never have been touched. A mistake. A reflex.

By the time Shizuku realized, it was too late. He dispelled the quirk with a burst of willpower, breaking the image, undoing the illusion before it could solidify.

But the damage was done.

He was there.

Black clothes. Red shoes. Grayish-blue hair falling carelessly over dry, cracked skin. A face marked by scars, by rage, by time… and by fate.

"Y-young master!" Shizuku stammered, almost stepping back. His hands trembled around the plush still clutched in his fingers. "I didn’t know you were here. I’m sorry, I thought you were a–"

"Did I tell you to use your quirk on me?" Shigaraki’s voice was low, filled with ice and restrained fury. Every word was a stone dropped on Shizuku’s chest. "Can’t you follow a single order I give? What were you created for then?"

The weight of guilt hit him so hard he lowered his head without thinking. The air turned thick. The words froze him—not from fear… but from something deeper. As if every phrase from his master carried a truth that tore something inside him.

"I-it wasn’t my intention..." he tried to whisper.

"Don’t you dare apologize," Shigaraki cut him off with a venomous hiss. "Not here. Not now. Do you want to attract attention? Is that what you want?"

"N-no..."

"Then shut up. You’re irritating." His eyes fell on the plush with obvious disgust. "Why the hell did you buy that? Just looking at it makes me sick."

Shizuku lowered his gaze even more. The plush now felt three times heavier.

"I don’t know… but if you wish, I can throw it away, young Shigaraki…"

"I don’t care what you do. Just get it out of my sight. Makes me want to destroy it."

Without a word, Shizu quickly put the plush away, almost as if he feared it might touch the ground and be reduced to ashes under Shigaraki’s gaze. But the next moment was even more brutal.

Shigaraki grabbed him by the neck. Not hard, not with all his fingers. Not to choke him, but to guide him, as if he were an object to be moved at will.

"Walk."

"D-do you wish me to assist you in something, young Shigaraki…?"

"Just walk. Can’t you hear?"

The contact sent a chill through him. There was something strange. The theory swirled in his head… about the five points of contact. About his quirk. And the way he held him: three fingers on the nape, one barely on the collarbone, the pinky lifted. Careful. Cold. Calculated.

And yet, the gesture felt… close.

Shizuku followed him in silence, pushed by that invisible hand, tense as a wire. Kurogiri hadn't told him the young master would be here. Why? Was it a coincidence? Or were they testing him? Was all of this a test?

"Do you have the card?" The voice cut through his thoughts like a knife.

"The… the one they gave me for shopping?"

"Yes. What other one?"

"Yes… I have it."

"Follow me. I want to buy some things."

And that was it. No more explanations. Shigaraki started walking with long, quick strides, as if he knew exactly where he was going. Shizuku, on the other hand, couldn't stop thinking.

What did the master want to buy? Clothes? Tools? Blades? Weapons? An arsenal? Poisons, drugs, components to build something macabre? Or something simpler? Books? Food? A box to keep something important? A leash? A mask?

Shizuku's mind was a hurricane, jumping from the grotesque to the mundane, from the image of a chainsaw to a graphic novel about ancient heroes. He knew nothing. Nothing about what he was supposed to find at the end of this path.

Until the world stopped.

In front of them… a store.

Neon lights. Shiny shelves. Moving screens. Consoles on display with video games already running.

No weapons. No clothes. No books. No tools.

A video game store.

Shizuku blinked.

"What?"

"A-a video game store?" he murmured, confused.

When they crossed the threshold of the store, the air changed.

It wasn't a physical change—there was no smoke or deep music, no cold wind blowing from the aisles—but Shizuku felt it. A shift in the atmosphere. In the way the young master walked, the slight tension in his shoulders, as if the entire universe had tilted just slightly… toward the absurd.

Because in front of them, like a shimmering mirage, stretched a store overflowing with artificial light, moving screens, stacked boxes and colorful posters of characters Shizuku had never seen before. Warriors with impossible swords, women in tiny outfits and fierce expressions, strange creatures floating through digital hallways. A cacophony of worlds he didn’t belong to.

And yet, there was Tomura Shigaraki, looking around… with something like interest.

"Do you think Undertale is the better option?" He asked suddenly, like it was a casual conversation between friends on any normal afternoon. "I’ve always wanted to buy it, but it’s sold out everywhere..."

Shizuku blinked again. The game’s name meant nothing to him. And yet, the way Shigaraki held it in his hands—like something valuable, something desired, something long-awaited—struck a chord in his chest.

"What?"

The young master was showing him the cover of a box with strange drawings and pixelated typography. It looked insignificant, but in Tomura’s hands, it became something more.

"Um… if you want… you can buy it. I’m sure it’s a good choice," Shizuku responded, clumsily, the words awkward on his lips.

Shigaraki didn’t answer. He just made a low sound with his mouth, a kind of irritated click, and started picking things up. First Undertale, then another game, and another. He held each one carefully, using only four fingers. His movements were fast, automatic, like he knew exactly what he was looking for. Like he’d done this many times before.

When he reached for a PlayStation 5, Shizuku felt an involuntary impulse. A strange, almost servile need pushed him to act.

He looked for a plastic bag and approached cautiously.

"Um… young Tomura… if you’d like, I can-"

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Shigaraki, without even looking at him, handed over all the games he’d gathered, dropping them into his arms like it was inevitable. Like it was his role, his place, his obligation.

Was that it now? A shopping carrier? A silent assistant?

Shizuku said nothing. He just lowered his gaze and began storing everything carefully, arranging the cases so they wouldn’t get damaged, as if that could redeem him in some way.

"Do… do you like video games, young Shigaraki?" he asked, because the silence was worse than words.

"Tch. What stupid questions you ask…" He spat with disdain, not even glancing away from a new game box.

That… that had to be a yes.

Shizuku nodded slightly, unsure if he should speak more. But then, something shifted in Tomura’s tone. A barely contained mockery, a spark of sarcasm danced in his voice.

"And you? What games do you like? You seem like one of those who plays Animal Crossing or those dumb cooking games, like Cooking Mama."

"Ani… what? I…" Shizuku went blank. "I don’t play many of these…"

Shigaraki glanced at him sideways, just from the corner of his eye, with something between irritation and contempt.

"What, did you live under a damn rock or something?"

And in a way… yes. Shizuku had never had afternoons to play. For as long as he could remember, there was only training, purpose, duty. All this was new. Loud. Bright. Foreign.

In the minutes that followed, Shigaraki seemed to dive into his own world. He browsed games, chose consoles, tested headphones with a serious, focused, even passionate expression. He touched a new monitor and muttered that he’d broken the last one after losing a game.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t lose control.

He just said it. Like revealing a small secret that didn’t matter.

And Shizuku felt something close to compassion. Or maybe it was admiration. He couldn't quite name it.

When they left the store, Shizuku carried a large bag full of video games, consoles, cables, things he didn’t fully understand. He walked behind the young master, who held his new console as if it were a relic. As if he never wanted to let it go.

But then, without warning, Shigaraki stopped.

He turned slightly, and with narrowed eyes, let out a warning thick with threat.

"Don’t you dare tell Kurogiri about this…" His voice was icy steel, a promise. "I swear, if you tell him… I’ll kill you."

And then he left. As if nothing had happened. As if what he had just said was just another phrase, weightless.

Shizuku stood there. Alone. With the bag hanging from his arms, with his heart pounding in his ears, and that phrase burning in his memory.

He likes video games…

Maybe if he learned about them…

Tomura would tolerate him a little more.