Detective Yukimura didn't know what to think of this. How was this possible? They had been looking into the illegal money laundering ring ran by Yuuichi Ou, who was better known by his moniker, "Albert King". He was a slippery fellow. He was adept at jumping through any legal loopholes he could find to make his victim's contracts difficult to sue. Those that they did manage to charge for, he paid.

In cash.

He still remembered the irritation it caused. God, he wanted to punch that pig's face in when he walked out of the courthouse with that damned smirk of his. All the families he's ruined, all the people that he's left to rot and cower in fear. Yet, Detective Yukimura was powerless to do so. Three months of collecting leads smashed into dust as the hammer struck, its faint echo reverberating in his memories despite the anguished cries of the relatives drowning it out. Those watching from their hospital beds. Those that ceased to exist. It was supposed to be the decisive strike that ended the reign of Albert King's small ring but it failed nonetheless.

Three years passed since that shameful defeat. He supposed he should be elated by this unexpected turn of events that presented itself before him. Lined up in front of the building that acted as Albert's headquarters of his operation was every person that was unfortunate enough to be working last night. Bodyguards, pencil-pushers, cleaners—all were slaughtered with no remorse. This had to be the work of an entire squad of professional hitmen or one really skilled killer because the erratic blood spatters everywhere and the pieces of broken pens and scissors sticking out of some of the corpses told his weary eyes that the suspect(s) used anything that was available to them. The autopsy report that came in later only confirmed his suspicions.

All killed in a span of less than five minutes.

Five!

What monsters! More than twenty people were in that building!

Lastly, the most telling piece of evidence that solidified his suspicion was the body of the snake that slid through his fingers time and time again—Albert King. The way Detective Yukimura saw it, there was no mistaking it. This was an execution from a powerful gang. The pig of a man, who looked about as good as his blackened heart, strung up to the wall of his lavish office with electrical wire mimicking a sick version of a crucifixion. Speaking of his heart, it was gone. The veteran detective had seen many grisly scenes that would make a greenhorn resign on the spot but this might just get him to listen to the nagging voice in his head telling him to retire already.

He knew Yuuichi Ou was a heartless man but never in his entire lifetime did he ever wish for it to be this literal. With jagged chunks of rib and spine sticking out, a huge gaping hole occupied where a good two-thirds of his lungs and his heart should have been. The detective uttered half a curse and half a prayer. While he was not what people his age call, a 'man of the cloth', he subscribed to a belief in a deity of sorts. Now? He was certain that there was a deity and said deity worked in mysterious ways. Only a being so detached from humanity could ever interpret his prayers for 'putting the bastard away for good' like…

He looked at the twisted display again.

Yeah. Like that. By the heavens, he could use a smoke right now. Preservation of the crime scene be damned. A weary sigh escaped his lips. He attempted to go outside and have a drag or two.

Attempted. Perhaps the shock from seeing the gruesome state of his nemesis had shut down his motor functions without him realising. That, or fifteen years of smoking and drinking finally caught up to him because whatever the reason may be, he could not move.

His feet, planted. His body would not listen to his brain demanding that it move. Even his neck stiffened as though it were steel, leaving only his eyes to move about. Only the sensation of blood flowing through his veins and the irregular huffs of hot wind through his nostrils told him that he was still alive.

Then, slow thumps approached him from behind. The steady rhythm of steel-toe on wood adding more tension to his racing heart. Beads of sweat rolled down his bushy brows, reducing his already obscured vision from them. Could this be it for him? The murderer returning to the scene of his crime to eliminate a pesky old man?

"Detective?"

The old detective leapt with a height that was impressive for a man his age and spun round. Using his Quirk, Sense Intent, he determined that the female officer behind him was the real deal. With a sigh, he said, "My word! You shouldn't sneak up on an old man, you know? I'd land you a manslaughter charge from beyond the grave!"

The female officer—a red-head, he noted—gave a shy chuckle and bowed. "I'm terribly sorry, Detective. I was going to inform you that they're calling it a day," she said.

Detective Yukimura raised a bushy brow. It was that late already? He checked his watch. It was late already. Recalling his sudden immobility earlier, anxiety erased his earlier relief.

"Fair enough," he informed her, the authority in his tone barely masking his shakiness. "Lead the way, I'll be right behind you."

With great difficulty he willed his wobbling knees onward to lead him out of the wretched crime scene. He supposed one more cigarette wouldn't hurt before quitting. He fingered the outline of his cigarette pack in his shirt pocket only to freeze. No, he shouldn't. Sudden paralysis was not worth another puff of his favourite brand of smokes.

The red-headed policewoman escorting him, he noticed, was probably quaking as bad as he was. He had to give it to her, for a rookie—he assumed she was—she hid her fear well. The only clue of her fright being her shaking fingers. Ah, he remembered when he was that green.

Unbeknownst to him, what caused the policewoman's shakiness was not fear but anger. Anger at the perpetrator of this heinous massacre. Anger at herself for her failure in finding him sooner.

The Devil had made his move. If the incident at U.A High was anything to go by, it had to be one of the students but who? It was a surreal and terrifying experience, the ability that she'd heard about countless times. Hearing about it undersold its terror by a long shot. One moment she was sauntering out of the principal's office, with the confirmation of the Devil's existence. The next moment, she caught herself about to trip over her own foot.

Whilst already halfway down the staircase.

Sure, she had her bouts of clumsiness from time to time. It was not her fault that the good Lord decided to give her mind the ability to wander about whenever. She did bump into that overly apologetic kid, after all. Something felt off about him but slamming into a person with enough force to knock the wind out of you often did that.

However, if it was that kid, then…

She clenched her fists tight. No, she must not let emotions cloud her. The annual U.A Sports Festival would begin in a matter of days. Her chance would be there.

Still, immense guilt weighed her chest down. It was a student. A child. For it was worth, what the Family will do to them would have been for the greater good. For the greater good. Yes, for the greater good. For the greater good.

The shaking in her fingers stopped.

She took in a deep breath and sighed, mustering her resolve. A single failure was but a small pebble on the path to success. Child or not, they were still sleeping slaves to the puppet master. A puppet master that set into motion the very birth of the Age of Quirks by virtue of his selfishness.

No matter. When the day of the Sports Festival comes, she would be waiting, and she would not be alone.

Diavolo must never escape again.


He did it! He got away with murder scot-free! Take that, Giorno Giovanna! Screw your absolute truth! You and your merry band of piss stains can go rot away in hell! As long as Fate still smiled upon him, not even your Requiem could stop him forever!

'Diavolo, can you tone it down? My head hurts enough as is.'

Ah, right. In his excitement, he, Diavolo, forgot that he was still a soul conjoined with that of a fifteen-year old brat. Said brat was also currently struggling to focus in class as their Math teacher droned on about calculus. To be fair to the teacher, it wasn't as though they were fully to blame for the brat's lack of focus. Indeed, for one burdened with the task of imparting such dry yet essential knowledge, this was the expected result. However, the headaches that have been plaguing the brat since this morning were the true culprit.

The headaches were an unfortunate side effect of him suppressing the brat's memories. Unlike with his previous host, Doppio, he made sure to keep his tampering to a minimum to avoid arousing the brat's suspicions. The brat, Izuku Midoriya, he had to admit possessed an introspective and analytical mind that would have made him an attractive candidate to bring into his gang. Combined with that fiery determination of his, he was sure that the brat would pass the test of the Arrow.

But, that same introspection also meant that he required extra precaution to avoid squandering this reward Fate has bestowed upon him. A single misstep and he might lose the brat's trust. Using Epitaph was not an option when the brat has proven to have control over King Crimson—an annoying fact but just another burden of the fickle mistress that gave him his throne.

Fate was kind enough to grant him a moment of full autonomy when those fools broke into his home. Fate was kind enough to even grant him a chance at living once more. He could not risk wasting Fate's kindness on these pesky resurging memories of his acts of self-defence.

Yes, they were done in self-defence. If he didn't eliminate the loan shark's headquarters, more trouble would befall the Midoriya household. As a firm believer in achieving optimal results, this was the best course of action. Simply put, there wouldn't be a problem with retaliation if there was no one left to send. It was not as though he liked the Midoriya family or anything.

Basic dignity dictated that one provides protection to the patron saint of good food, after all. Helping said saint's child on the right path to success was merely a form of payment.

Still, looking at this morning's newspaper headline through the brat's eyes, how couldn't he be excited? Not only did the police fail to find anything linking back to him, they also made no mention about the pier! The gnats from the pitiful League had better be thankful that he wanted to remain low-profile or else the Hero community would be rid of two morons resembling the title of 'villain'.

He'd pat himself on the back if he had control over the brat's body again. Things were looking great so far, as Fate intended. She challenged him with having some thugs break into his home and his success in handling it granted him his continued non-existence. It would have been preferable if he had continue possessing the brat at will but that would make him seem like a pathetic beggar demanding for a dollar when given a quarter.

Diavolo was no beggar.

Diavolo is no beggar, for kings never beg.

However, the mere fact that Izuku had these memories of the massacre at all was disturbing. Under normal circumstances, anyone under his complete control should have zero awareness. Yet, here he was suppressing these memories as they threatened to surface. Hence, the headaches because forceful suppression of the mind tended to do that.

It wasn't as though this was his first time tampering with the brat's memories. He had done it before, and he could do it again. He would protect his second chance at living no matter the cost.

It wasn't like it was going to affect the brat any further than that, won't it?


A/N: Hey there, everyone! KobeNiku here. First off, do apologise this pitiful excuse of a human being for posting so infrequently. I have under-estimated how busy I'd be once I reached home. Running around getting my visa done, siblings getting sick, getting surgery to prevent a dental disaster among other things, life seems to love going against what I set out to do. Kind of like planning to wash your car in the evening only for it to rain. Regardless, I am honored to have your support this whole time.

Seriously, 600 followers and 502 favorites. You people are mad. I don't deserve any of it.

Thank you so much for sticking around. Now that I have a beta, here's to hoping something resembling consistency comes around!

A word from our Beta

Hey y'all! I'm Macdellion, or Mac for short. I'm KobeNiku's new beta! Basically, I responded to his last A/N and he took me on, so we've been throwing around ideas and this is what we got! Stay tuned, cause it's gonna get wild.