"Oh, you."

"Yanli," Shouta said. "Please."

She smiled. "Of course," she said sweetly. "How could I not, for an accomplished Hero such as yourself?"

The door opened, and Shouta stepped in. The scent of ginger and white wine permeated the air; the humdrum of plates clinking and murmurs of laughter washed over him. The restaurant was busy as it always was, and none of the patrons paid Shouta mind.

Hunched over lazy susans, there were a variety of workers after dark: coolies still in construction uniforms, ladies with cigarettes between bright lips, and menacing men in crumpled suits and tattoos. Kabukicho, the biggest red light district of Tokyo, is as hectic as always tonight, it seemed.

"One order of páigǔ lián'ǒu tāng coming up," Yanli announced, wiping her hands on her apron. "Make it special, for a special guest."

Shouta shot her a look, and she shot one of her dashing smiles back. "Would you like a VIP room, sir?"

The VIP room in question was a door just behind the kitchen. The open window across the room allowed the dazzling neon signs from the streets to reflect on the metal door, and on Yanli's eyes—their sclera black to the whole, like beads. She took a key from underneath her apron.

The background noise of the restaurant shut out instantly behind the door. Yanli led the way as she trotted down the winding stairs. Shouta grunted as he hunched down a little—the ceiling was low—and that's when he accidentally kicked an All Might plushie down the stairs.

The plushie fell with a squeaking sound, and then a voice came out of it: "I AM HERE!" it announced, with a slightly distorted voice. "I AM HERE!"

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Shouta reached down to pick it up. The plushie was worn out, in a way that it was well loved—the blue dye of All Might's eyes fading out, along with the thick lines depicting its smile. But the plushie itself smelled of detergent, as if washed often.

"Shūshu, shūshu! Gěi wǒ! "

Shouta looked to the side to find a very tiny child reaching his hands as far as they could. Considering Shouta was standing at a very tall 180cm, the child was barely reaching Shouta's thighs. Still, the little kid insisted, eyes determined. "Gěi wǒ," they demanded.

"A Yuan," Yanli nudged gently. "Say please."

"Pl-ea-se," the child repeated obediently with stilted Japanese.

Shouta returned the plushie. The child took it and ran back to his friends.

Shouta glanced around the room. It's big—much bigger than the restaurant. It was padded with child-proof decor, and adorned with shelves of colorful books and boxes of toys. There were tiny desks and chairs along with a whiteboard, and a door at the corner that Shouta knew would lead to a giant communal bedroom. Underneath the restaurant was the one and only daycare in the entirety of Kabukicho.

Daycare was not quite the right term when the place operated 24/7. It was not, however, an orphanage; some of the children do have parents and guardians who might not be able to keep an eye of their kids as they work—they would pick up their children in the morning. There are at least twenty of them.

("The mothers have their visas expired, more often than not," Yanli had told him a long time ago. "They got pregnant and gave birth here—sometimes unwillingly."

Shouta had stared at her, unflinching.

"These children aren't registered, and they don't have a nationality. Some of them are Quirkless, or have a—how do you call it? Dangerous Quirk."

His capture weapon tight and unrelenting around her hands still. She had smiled that sweet, close-mouthed dashing smile. "If you arrest me, their parents will be deported. And where would these children go? The streets? The government?" she smiled. Her eyes were dark, unreadable.

The police sirens grew close. Shouta's knuckles whitened with tension.

"Well, what are you going to do, Hero?" )

"Get ready for bed, everyone," she clapped her hands together, and the kids mumbled a universal disappointed awww. One of them raised her hand and shot off a lilting question in Tagalog and her friends nod eagerly, prattling off in Mandarin. Shouta had never heard so many languages in the same place before.

Yanli shook her head fondly. "Oh, fine," she said. "Just one more before bed, okay? He has things to do, you know."

Shouta stood at the far corner of the room, watching. The kids were of varying ages, but none seemed to be older than twelve. Some of them seemed to translate one language to the other, and the news of this "one more" traveled fast through the room with a cheer.

"And then you'll go to bed. Promise?" The kids nodded and giggled. "Alright then," Yanli mock-sighed, and called out, "Xiǎo Tùzǐ!"

The door to the bedroom opened readily at that beckon, and out came another child.

No, not a child. This one was a teenager, albeit a waifish one—older than any of the others. The moment he appeared, the children stood up and scrambled at him like a swarm of puppies. The teenager looked overwhelmed for a moment before laughing, sinking under the mass of little bodies.

"Look what you've done to these well-behaved children," said Yanli, teasing.

The teenager smiled sheepishly at her. And then his gaze shifted to Shouta, demure. Shouta looked back, and this seemed to unnerve the teen somehow, who quickly looked away. Shouta supposed he did look intimidating.

He was wearing a hoodie and a pair of nondescript jeans, if a little worn. He looked to the children and said, "have you brushed your teeth?" his voice was a soft tenor. He repeated the question in accented Mandarin and Tagalog. The kids excitedly muttered their response, their hands grasping his shirt in a hug. It was like watching a bunch of bunnies surrounding one slightly bigger bunny.

"Okay," he said, putting one hand over a girl's head—the one who asked a question in Tagalog—ruffling her dark hair. She giggled. "You'll do that right after this, okay?"

He pulled his hand from her hair, and then somehow, four pieces of candy had lodged themselves between his fingers. The kids gasped at this show of magic, wonder in their eyes.

The boy said, kindly, "the ones who get into bed fastest get chocolate."

It transcended language, it seemed, because then the room was suddenly overrun by running children. The boy stood up carefully, laughing, as the kids tripped over themselves to get to bed the fastest. Before closing the door, the boy turned timidly to bow respectfully at Yanli, and then at Shouta.

He didn't look Shouta in the eye. The door closed, leaving the two of them alone in the room.

"Shall we?" Yanli turned to look at him.

They sat on one of the tiny kindergarten chairs, which fit Yanli—whose build is petite—well enough. Shouta, not so much. With his long legs and … well, him in general, he must look ridiculous sitting in a pink plastic chair meant for children under 40kgs. Yanli, of course, seemed to amuse herself with this sight.

A waiter had descended the stairs and put two steaming bowls of soup and rice on the table between them. "Your order," Yanli said, taking her own chopsticks. "Our special menu. On the house, of course."

Páigǔ lián'ǒu tāng; lotus root & pork soup. Yanli's restaurant was famed in this area for their native Hubei dishes, and this one was a bestseller. Shouta knew better than to refuse.

He knew, after all, that Yanli preferred cinder block and a well-placed dock to poison.

There were muffled sounds of laughter from the bedroom. Yanli smiled to herself. "The new helper is very good with children," she said, sipping her soup. "Oh, yes, with his quaint little tricks. You like children, don't you? You're a teacher after all."

That's classified information, Shouta thought. Of course you would know. Nothing less from Kabukicho's number one informant.

Shouta took his chopsticks. "What do you know about Kitaku?"

She smiled. "How forward, as always," she looked up at him. "A fire, no?"

"Arson," Shouta corrected.

Kitaku—a region north of Musutafu. A poor, run-down neighborhood filled with mostly retirees, elderlies, and immigrants. No hero patrols, of course. It was set on fire just this morning: March 2nd, 2:00 a.m.

Three casualties. Damage up to 12 acres. It was said due to electricity malfunction, no investigation conducted. Open and close.

Shouta called bullshit.

"Yin Weisheng. Code name Peacock," Shouta recited, coldly. "Fifty-three year old this year. Over thirty-two charges of villainous activities. He lived there, didn't he?"

He was one of the casualties. Charred beyond recognition, to ashes. The house where he lived was purported as the cause of the incident—the one with the most damage. Not many knew that Yin Weisheng was an ex-Villain, under witness protection of the Hero Associates. Not many knew, other than—

"You think the Chinese Triad did it," she said, her eyes crinkling with humor. "Oh, that's hilarious. Do you think the Triad is so old-fashioned, still? They don't care about old debts. They care about what's good for business," she put a piece of lotus root delicately into her mouth. "And this, is not."

"So it's true," Shouta said. "There is a new force at play."

Yanli grinned, open-mouthed. Her fangs were exceedingly sharp, mutated into an unnatural length. Her eyes, black like a raccoon's, gleam under the low light. Beads. "Now we're talking," she said. "Though I wouldn't exactly say they're new."

Shouta paused. The clock at the corner of a table ticked gently. The bedroom was quiet, now—the children perhaps had been put to sleep. "They've never been heard of before," Shouta said slowly. "This league."

Hell, they hadn't been heard now. Not even among Pro-Hero communities. Even Shouta, as an underground Pro, had to exhaust every single ammunition possible for intel.

This League had been a ghost, whispers in the underworld of Musutafu. A chain of murders and disappearance of notorious Villains, and recently escalating into arson. And if it's escalating, it meant they were getting bold, and if they were getting bold—

It meant they were preparing for an entrance.

"They didn't exactly have a name before," she said. "But they did have their fair share of body count."

"Do you think it's them?" Shouta said. "Were they behind what happened ten years ago?"

The clock ticked. It's about ten, soon. "Well, well," she said. "Aren't you getting comfortable?"

Shouta clenched his jaw. She laughed. "Oh, don't be so defensive. We have an arrangement, do we not?" she ate fast; her bowl is clean of even a single grain of rice. She spread her arms, gesturing to the room. The colorful walls, the neat row of toys and dolls. "I get to keep my restaurant, and you get your information."

Even after all this time, the reminder left an odd, bitter taste in his mouth. A reminder that Shouta, when pushed to it, really did not care about the law so much as he cared about—what actually mattered. According to his own judgement, that is.

Borderline vigilantism, at best. At worst?

Shouta didn't know what sort of look was evident on his face, but she seemed to consider it for a moment before she said, "yes. That's what I think. They were behind what happened ten years ago."

Ten years ago. Another string of disappearances, back then, of Quirkless children.

Shouta was twenty-one, fresh sidekick-graduate. It was one of his first cases. A slew of desperate parents, a dismissive media, a federal cover-up. Lack of man-power—presumed suicides. Delusional mothers. A scandal that should've been a scandal, but of course, who cared about Quirkless children? They simply didn't make news.

It was one of his first cases. One of his first failures.

"This is not a piece of information, Hero," she said. "This is an assumption. A guess."

A guess was as good as any. "Their MO is the same," Shouta said. "Organized. And their targets, people who—" who could be swept under the rugs. Who'd give a shit about Villains disappearing? Shouta didn't continue. Instead, he said, "what about the third party?"

"What third party?"

They looked at each other, tension thick in the air.

This one was, too, a whisper. Word of mouth. A hypothesis. An urban legend.

"The vigilante," Shouta said. "The nameless vigilante of Musutafu."

Who had been present at the scene of fire. Who, as the hushed-up report had it, had been the one to pre-report the fire. The fire station had received a notification—a warning—hours prior.

Kitaku was not a neighborhood that was dear to Musutafu. Even with the report, help had come hours late and the fire had ravished half the neighborhood. But if that report hadn't come at all..

Yanli stared at him silently.

"You'll know soon enough," she said.

When their talk was over, the restaurant was still bustling with customers. Shouta put his hands deeper into the pocket of his coat and tried not to appear too much like a sulking child.

Answers and not answers. Yanli was not even trying to hide that she was hiding something. Though if she did try, Shouta wouldn't know.

What a shitshow, really. Something was brewing—though something was always brewing—and the new semester was coming soon. Shouta trusted his guts, and his guts was telling him that something was going to go fucking wrong.

Shouta had just walked out through the backdoor when someone else walked out into him.

Shouta's reflexes made him jump; his hands placed reflexively on the capture weapon hidden under the lapels of his coat. He saw the perpetrator and stopped.

"Oof—oh, god, I'm sorry."

The teen from before. What did Yanli call him? Xiǎo Tùzǐ. Little Bunny.

"Um," he said. His height barely reached Shouta's shoulders. He was somewhat less plain, up close. "Sorry, sir. Um, Auntie told me to give you this."

Shouta took the bag, glanced at it, and looked back at the kid. Seemingly uncomfortable by Shouta's attention, the kid bowed once more before hurrying back inside.

In the bag was a bunch of yóutiáo—fried dough. And next to them—

Shouta reached inside and pulled out a card. It's a playing card.

A single Jack of Diamonds.