Trigger Warning:

- blood

- gore

Shigaraki called me for an impromptu visit.

Not to our regular rendezvous spot, but to an abandoned, dilapidated warehouse.

"Twice found someone worth recruiting," was what he said. "And you and Compress are our diplomats. Watch from the shadows, observe the person in the light. Monitor his heartbeat to know whether the person is lying or telling the truth."

So minutes before Twice and said someone is supposed to arrive, I am sitting on one of the rafters of the warehouse, pen in one hand, notebook in the other. Before coming here, I was studying the drawing Shouto-kun had sent me: a man and a woman grieving in front of the gravestone of their baby, while the hero responsible for the baby's death repents from afar. Instinct told me that this was an allegory for Shouto-kun, but I chose not to pry at the moment. Things like this were better done in person and when the other party showed inclination toward discussion. Regardless, I had a story to write. Plot points swirled in my head. The hero and the woman were childhood friends. So close that the woman decided to make the hero is baby's godfather. But both had varying perspectives. The woman was realistic and pessimistic; the hero was idealistic and optimistic. The hero believed that this world could change for the better, and he would ensure it did. The woman had her reservations, though. Thought the heroes' intentions were noble, but his propositions were far too risky and reckless. One day-

The entrance door slides open. In enter Twice and a stranger. The stranger is a young man, with pale skin and a slight build. Possibly not older than thirty. Tall, shaggy dark brown hair, gold eyes, and narrow eyebrows. Three small piercings in his left ear, black dress shirt and trousers, ash grey tie, proper belt, and white surgical gloves. The outfit itself generates a strong first impression on me. I hardly notice the off-white sneakers and fur-collared pine green jacket. What I do notice, and very visibly, is the plague doctor mask covering the lower half of his face. Especially the gold plating on it.

I imagine what he would look like without the crow beak. An unassuming figure on the street. No one would suspect him of being a villain. But that would work in his favor. Even his pulse betrays no trace of anxiety. Just goes to show how much appearances can be deceiving. And who would know about deceptive appearances better than me?

The hem of my nightgown flutters from the action, and I rush to hide it. Thankfully, no one notices. Like me, they are focused on the stranger. Every one is dressed in their villain attire, save for me. The spy in the shadows.

No proper introductions are passed. Instead, the newcomer scoffs, "The League of Villains? What a joke."

Magne takes that as an offense. "What?" she exclaims. "Is he supposed to be famous or something? Why is he mocking us?"

Even though Magne used he, she intended for the newcomer to reply. However, Shigaraki answers the questions. "Sensei's shown me a picture of him before. The so-called yakuza. The young leader of the Eight Precepts of Death." Magne's disdain is forgotten as she squeals in delight.

I must admit that I am also intrigued. Yakuza. The Japanese equivalent for mafia. Memories of my time with Inferno have not faded, but I am curious about this particular gangster. Even Toga expresses her interest. She looks up at Mr. Compress and notes, "He's kind of different from the rest of us, don't you think?"

Mr. Compress looks down at her from his perch and very eloquently explains. "Let this old man teach you, my dear young Toga." Odd remark for someone whose voice belies that he cannot be more than fifteen years older than me. "Back in the day, there were a number of frightening organizations that ran the underworld. However, with the prospering of heroes came the systematic dismantling of those groups. The times came to an end with the rise of All Might. Those who were not caught and locked away were basically treated like criminals, under constant surveillance and living at the bottom of the barrel. Put plainly, he's an endangered species left over from old times." And now they are back to take control. The yakuza affirms as much.

This time, Magne directly aims her question at the man. "So what business does Mr. Bottom-of-the-Barrel yakuza man have with us? Are you another one of those types who are on a high after All Might's retirement?"

That nickname bothers me. Whether it be the crow mask or his businessman outfit or his demeanor, in some ways he reminds me of Kaz Brekker. And Brekker was called the Bastard of the Barrel. Not Bottom of the Barrel. But thoughts like these are inane. Because what the crowman responds with is most certainly not absurd.

"No," he refutes. "More so than All Might, the fall of All for One was significant." I raise an brow at that, and Shigaraki remains quiet, silently urging him to continue. So he does. "The Emperor of Darkness, he who controls all the underworld … my generation regarded him like an urban legend. Nonetheless, the believed in him and feared him accordingly. But now, we've heard rumors of his demise. About how this time, he revealed himself in his true form, and how he was thrown into Tartarus. In other words, there is no longer anyone who rules over the day or the night.

"And so the question is, who will be the next to rule?"

A moment of tense silence passes. There was an underlying threat within that question, and the League did not like it. Shigaraki is the one to speak. "If you're saying you know who our Sensei is, and yet you're asking that question … are you trying to stir up something? The next will be me," he says with just as much finality as the yakuza. He continues, "As of now, we are gathering more and more strength and continuing to expand. And with our combined power, we will bring down this society without fail."

The effect bounces off the crowman. "Do you have a plan?" he asks suddenly.

The question confuses Shigaraki and I. "A plan? Didn't you come here to be allies with us?" he demands.

"An objective without a plan is nothing but mere delusion. Being presented with delusion only troubles me. What will you do when you gather your strength? How will you pull the strings? What kind of organization do you plan to build?" the yakuza continues, ignoring Shigaraki's questions. Admittedly, the yakuza does bring up solid points, but … "Stain, the Hero Killer. Muscular, the hedonistic murderer. Moonfish, the escaped death row convict." The yakuza ticks off each name on his fingers. "Each of them a first-class pawn, but all gone to waste so quickly. Did you not know how to use them? You know not how to make use of these enraged individuals, and yet you speak of expanding your power? What do you plan on doing with this power that you cannot control?

"To accomplish an objective, a plan is necessary. And I have a plan. I didn't come here today to be asked to join your group."

My eyes widen. Earlier when I observed his heartbeat, I reasoned that the reason he was so calm was that he came here with no hidden motives. But I was wrong. The real reason he was so collected was because he was confident that his motives would yield fruit. I made a mistake. A grave mistake. This man is not an ally! He is a threat! Instinctively, my mouth opens to burst out that statement, but I catch myself at the last second. I cannot make another error. Thankfully, Shigaraki has reached the same conclusion I have, as he reprimands Twice.

My attention is diverted back to the crow beak gangster. He says with that same assurance quality, "To carry out my plan, a vast amount of financial capital is needed. A relic of the past yakuza such as myself is not going to have an easy time finding investors. But if I have the lot of you overhyped villains on my side, it's a bit of a different story." He extends the deceptive hand of partnership that veils the intentions of oppression. "Come under my wing," he declares. "Let me show you how you should be used. And then I will become the next ruler."

"Go back," is Shigaraki's curt reply. A massive restraint on his anger that is waiting to decimate everything in his path.

Magne does not express a similar control. As she lifts an enormous magnet bar, she apologizes sardonically. She aims the bar toward the yakuza. "We're not gathered here to be 'under' everybody." And the gangster is pulled toward the magnet like a marionette toward its puppeteer. But my eyes narrow on marionette removing its glove. Caution rises. As the man is drawn, Magne monologues about a friend who inspired her to seek her freedom. "It's because I want to live a life without shackles that I am here! Where we belong is for us to decide!"

The yakuza's head barrels into the metal the same instant two of his fingers poke Magne's bare arm. She does not get the chance to savor her victory. She explodes from the torso and up. An arc of blood and flesh splatter up, raining down on me. I hardly notice. Magne was there one moment, and the next she is just a pair of legs. H-how? The rest of the League is as speechless as I am. None of us were expecting a bloodbath.

"You guys threw the first punch," the gangster complains monotonously as what is left of Magne tumbles to the ground. Shock still riddles me. It is only broken when the stinging pain of skin cut open surges through my nerves. My hand presses my shoulder. I absorbed his quirk. Th-th-that's a g-good thing. But I cannot revel in the knowledge. The quirk is strong. Very strong. The laceration only grows. Despite my panicked state, I hurry to close the wound.

"WAIT, COMPRESS!"

My head whips toward the source of the sound. Shigaraki shouted that warning. And I can see why. Mr. Compress dashes toward the yakuza to trap him in one of his marbles. He almost reaches him when a miniscule dart pricks his shoulder. His quirk fails. My eyes widen.

"Don't touch me," the crowman seethes before blasting Mr. Compress' left arm.

Now Shigaraki decides to take revenge. Secrecy be damned. I am about to scream not to. My knives! My poisoned knives! They can get rid of him right now. Give him a death more painful than what he gave Magne. But the instant the first sound escapes my throat, someone else has taken the attack meant for the yakuza. He disintegrates when Shigaraki's fingers touch him.

Shigaraki darts back as understanding rushes forth through me. An army of crow masks barrel through the warehouse, breaking concrete and metal in their stampede. Shigaraki sighs in exasperation. "Things would have been clearer if you just did that from the start."

I almost trip from the rafter. My hands grip it for support out of survival instinct. Otherwise, I am unaware of everything except the realizations storming in my head. I was so focused on the yakuza, I neglected my surroundings. Had I not dropped my guard, I could have listened for hearts pumping outside the warehouse. Their numbers, their rates, their distances. You foolish, foolish girl! Magne's death … Mr. Compress' arm … they're all on you!

But I do not have time for self-disgust. Fury seizes me, making me regain control. Now I do not rely on survival instinct. I rely on killer intuition. Mechanically, my hand reaches for a dagger strapped to my thigh. I aim straight for the yakuza. Complimenting you as Kaz Brekker was a mistake. You are Pekka Rollins. The knife flies, spinning circles in the air as it soars closer and closer to the gangster's heart. Silver hums. Another of his subordinates takes the blow, though.

It's good enough. Blood spills from his eyes in rivers, and his mouth foams, leaking from the edges of his plague doctor mask. Wisps of smoke billow from him. Where the dagger pierced his skin, the flesh blackens and rots. Every layer of tissue singes. Aneurysms and hemorrhages raise his blood pressure exponentially to the point where all his blood vessels burst. Especially those in the brain. That is not all. The vapors of the venom reach his lungs, choking him, suffocating him. A most painful death indeed. And a most impressive threat of retaliation. I leave the dagger where it is embedded as a reminder.

I observe the yakuza for any sign of rage. He displays none. Rather, he exhales long and slow at the sight of his dead comrade. Then he scrubs at his jacket sleeve vigorously, as though the bloodshed bothered him viscerally. "I was hoping to take matters in a peaceful manner," he laments. "Now that it's like this, you won't be able to make a level-headed judgment." His levelheadedness astonishes me. "It is quite unproductive for us to expend any more of each other's fighting power. We've got a casualty on each side. Let's stop here for now. We can talk again when you've cooled your heads."

However, none of us can cool our heads. The members of the League want to eviscerate him. Even I want to. I brandish more knives in the dark, prepared to deliver more plague doctors to a fate worse than disease. But Shigaraki orders us not to. Appalled, I stare at him in spite of the plaster hand covering his face. The rest protest. Perhaps it is my current angle or my experience of him over the year or both that dawn comprehension on me. We may have lost the battle, but we will win the war. By backing down, he promises a retribution far sweeter than anything now. Anticipation is the sweetest torture. Its fruit is bound to be delicious like no other. I know how to choose my battles. And I know that Shigaraki keeps his promises.

There is a quote that I am sure this murder of crows know by heart.

Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don't forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for.

In their honor, here is our pledge.

We will remember you and your betrayal.

And when the moment comes to reap the rewards, we will be the one to scavenge them all.

Note: I have copied some dialogue from one of the English-translated versions of the manga. The link to the chapter is here: .online/manga/boku-no-hero-academia-chapter-125/

Citations:

"Crows remember human faces. They remember the people who feed them, who are kind to them. And the people who wrong them too. They don't forget. They tell each other who to look after and who to watch out for." - Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo