The evening had barely begun, and Shoko Todoroki, heiress to the House of Todoroki, was already getting bored.

That was not a state of affairs that boded well for…anyone, really. Boredom meant idleness, something that was unacceptable. It meant that she had surveyed the ever-shifting landscape of politics and high society, and found it… lacking, unable to keep up with the sharpness of her mind. The only correct course of action in such a situation was to add some spice; a shame most of the ways she could do that were, generally, frowned upon at a betrothal celebration.

It was difficult to identify any specific cause of her disquiet. It wasn't the atmosphere; the Kirishima estate, while not the equal of her family's or the Yagis, was quite ornate, and its Great Hall was a masterpiece of marble and mahogany, thousand-piece chandeliers twinkling above seas of light and beautiful decorations. The main floor had been cleared for dancing, and dozens of balconies layered the walls, turning the space into a three-dimensional tableau of ornate beauty and aristocratic excess.

Nor was it the company; while there was no shortage of fools and idiots among the nobility, Shoko's lack of patience with them, and her legendary acid tongue, had quite effectively cleared them out of her immediate circle of confidantes. She had high standards; there were less than half a dozen young nobles-all of them women-who had earned enough of her respect and trust, a very difficult thing to do indeed, to be considered something like her inner circle.

Not friends; Shoko didn't really do friends. More like…allies. Those were much simpler, and much easier to cast off if it became necessary. At the moment, most of those were elsewhere, enjoying the celebrations. It wasn't every day one of their number got engaged, after all.

So, if it wasn't the atmosphere, or the company, what could it be? It certainly wasn't the wine, which was excellent; the goblet in her hand was gleaming, already partially drained as she surveyed the swirling patterns of the dance floor beneath her, standing on a balcony she had claimed for herself.

Perhaps, then, this was the idleness of someone looking out over an environment they had utterly mastered. After all, she had. As she looked out over the gala, Shoko could name every person she saw beneath her, their House affiliation, their Quirk, their agenda, business interests, rivalries, feuds, alliances…all of it. They were all like strings, tangling together into webs that could be plucked or trimmed just so, to produce whatever effect she desired.

Shoko didn't consider herself a puppet master or anything so grand. Quite frankly, trying to manipulate the whole social and political structure of the Noble Houses sounded exhausting; there were thousands of them, most very small and comparatively poor, with perhaps two or three hundred of real significant power, and a few dozen which could be considered Great Houses. Wealth and status were the currency of this world-and, of course, Quirks, without which one was not noble at all-and the fortunes of whole Houses could turn in a day, if they played their cards right…or wrong. These galas were more than parties-they were the forums, the arenas of the endless battle for survival and power among the houses. A business deal negotiated here, a marriage deal…a feud…these were the things that defined a House's future…or lack thereof.

It was the Great Game-and Shoko was the grandmaster. She'd had to be; her father would have accepted nothing less, after all. She'd grown up in this world, been molded by it; she was both its product, and its unquestioned master. Every decision was calculated perfectly, from her dress-a deep, shimmering blue tonight, frosted with white like snow, narrow and clinging to her hips, accentuated with long gloves that came up past her elbows-to her position, to those she surrounded herself with.

And still…she found herself bored. This gala held nothing new for her. The same petty feuds, the same scheming, the same men and women playing out the same songs, the same patterns. This place held no danger for Shoko-she was in her element.

Which also meant that, at times like this, she sometimes felt like a mountaineer who had summited the greatest mountain of all, only to stand atop it, look around, and wonder what could possibly come next, now that she had succeeded.

This was all a moot point, in the end, though; boredom was as temporary as other emotions, and would be dealt with when she found something sufficiently interesting to hold her attention, something worth picking apart and investigating. Failing that, perhaps she could find…other diversions.

Shoko stirred herself from her thoughts as footsteps heralded another person joining her on the balcony. It was a tall woman with onyx hair in an elaborate spiked ponytail, wearing a red, sequined dress with deep cleavage and one side longer than the other, a fascinating contrast between modesty and tantalizing exposure.

"Lady Todoroki," she said formally, her lips curved upwards in a mysterious smile. "I've been looking all over for you."

Shoko grinned, ever so slightly; she stood, and said in an equally formal voice, "Lady Yaoyorozu. And why might you be looking for me?"

Lady Momo Yaoyorozu didn't respond immediately; instead, she simply returned Shoko's smile, and held her gaze until both women's facades cracked, ever so slightly, and they shared a laugh at their by-now-ritualized joke of a greeting.

Shoko might not do friends…but if she did, Momo was just about the only one she had-and a good one at that. They were a fearsome duo; Momo was perhaps the second most capable political manipulator of their generation of nobles, something Shoko had realized when they were young children only starting to dip their toes into the world of nobility. Naturally, she'd done the logical thing-made her into the closest ally she had, to ensure she would never be a rival.

It had worked brilliantly; she and Momo had been inseparable ever since. Of course, part of that was also probably due to Momo's one great weakness; she, unlike Shoko, had something of a heart.

"I didn't see you on the dance floor," Momo replied, by way of explanation. "So I figured you were up in a place like this, doing your whole "mwhahaha, I am the Ice Queen, all shall fear me!" routine and lording over everyone."

Shoko chuckled. "You got me; I do enjoy lording over people," she confirmed, turning to the small table tucked into the alcove of the balcony, where a second, untouched wineglass was sitting. She picked it up, then offered it to Momo, who took it gratefully-though she did stare at it for a moment.

"You knew I would come find you, didn't you?" she concluded after a moment.

Shoko said nothing, but the twinkling amusement in her eyes as she drank from her own glass said everything. Momo sighed, and joined the toast.

For a minute or two, the two noblewomen simply stared down at the party below, the sounds of music and laughter floating up to the balcony.

At last, Momo broke the silence. "Any particular reason you weren't dancing?" she asked.

Shoko shrugged. "Not really," she admitted. "I just didn't see the point."

Momo raised an eyebrow at that. "Forgive me if I find that hard to believe," she replied. "There's always a point with you. Everything you do, you've got a reason for. Usually several, in my experience."

Shoko grinned again. "Which means I'm getting predictable," she shot back. "I need to be more spontaneous, to keep people from being able to figure me out."

That earned her an even more incredulous look from Momo, who gave her a heaving sigh, followed by a Look. Shoko relished making Momo give her that look. It was a capitulation, an admission that Momo had no goddamn idea what was going through Shoko's head, that their game had run its course, and she would very much like to be clued in now, thank you very much.

What made it even funnier was, well…Shoko was telling the truth.

"I don't have some scheme I'm planning for tonight or anything so nefarious," she answered, hand hanging over the railing as she stared out over the chandeliers. "I just…don't feel the need to dance with a bunch of foolish, arrogant men tonight."

Momo snorted. "That's sort of your job, you know," she pointed out. "You're a young, unmarried noblewoman at an engagement ball. It's in the air!"

"What's in the air?" Shoko asked. "Other than too much cigar smoke and perfume?"

Rather than respond, Momo spared a glance for the engaged couple at the center of the dance beneath them; Lord Ejiro had an arm around his intended's waist, a bright smile splitting his shark-toothed mouth. It was hard to blame him; Lady Mina Ashido was quite the catch. Powerful quirk, gorgeous, unique appearance with her pink skin, black eyes, and horns, and with a sharp mind hidden behind that beaming expression. It was an arranged marriage, of course-there was no other kind, for nobles-but it seemed to contain genuine fondness, which almost- almost- made Shoko feel a little jealous.

She knew better than to expect that. She didn't even want that, really. After all, her own parents had supposedly started as a love match-and look how that had turned out.

The scar on her face-the mark of shame she wore like a badge of honor-burned hot for a moment, then went cold again.

Momo turned to her again, those clever eyes of her searching, probing for weakness. She found none, of course; Shoko was unreadable when she wanted to be, a marble statue in red and white.

"Is that why you were up here?" Momo asked, half-playful. "Bemoaning how you're rapidly becoming an old maid?"

Shoko snorted. "Hardly," she replied. "I'll have you know I'm still the most desired bachelorette in Japan, thank you very much."

Momo shrugged. "A shame half the eligible young noblemen in this country are too terrified of your reputation to approach you for anything more than a greeting," she teased.

Shoko grinned once more, and this smile was not a pleasant thing. It was vicious, all bared canines and predatory light. "And the other half are too terrified of what I'll do to them if they try," she agreed. "If you haven't noticed, Yaomomo, most men are idiots, and I have no intention of marrying an idiot."

Momo chuckled softly, clearly agreeing with her, but her face soon softened again. She leaned out over the balcony, her wineglass nearing empty already.

"You might not get the choice," she muttered. "We are, after all, starting to run low on options."

Shoko narrowed her eyes thoughtfully. Momo wasn't wrong. With Lord Ejiro now taken off the board…

"Who's left, anyway?" she asked thoughtfully. "I swear, there's been so many engagements and weddings recently, I fear I've lost track."

She hadn't, of course, but it was making conversation, and besides, she liked to let Momo feel included.

Momo shrugged. "Not many-especially those you'd be willing to tolerate," she admitted. "There's, what…Lord Kaminari?"

Shoko rolled her eyes. "I just said I'm not marrying an idiot," she pointed out, chuckling.

"Not even a funny idiot?" Momo asked, eyebrow raised.

Shoko shook her head. "Besides," she pointed out, "you've heard the rumors, same as I have."

Momo nodded at that. "You think they're true then?" she asked.

"Probably," she answered. "He'll be engaged in a month or two at this point."

Momo winced. "I'm honestly not sure who I feel worse for in that marriage," she muttered. "Lord Denki, or Lady Ibara."

She had a point. For every compatible couple arranged marriages produced, like Lord Ejiro and Lady Mina, or even functional ones like Momo's own parents-who did not love each other, and made no secret of it, but had come to share a mutual fondness and respect that made their lives bearable if nothing else-sometimes the demands of power-hungry parents and lack of options produced brewing messes like the seemingly-inevitable betrothal of the deeply devout, rather judgmental Lady Ibara Shiozaki with the somewhat hapless Lord Denki Kaminari, who was not a bad man, but whose womanizing tendencies had earned him Shoko's ire more than once; his prospective wife was unlikely to take any kinder of a view towards him, either. It was a match between two people who were, while both fundamentally decent, also extremely incompatible, and everyone knew it. Still...when lives were business, sometimes cold profit took priority.

Shoko shrugged. "Be like me," she suggested. "Stop caring about how much of a disaster it's going to be, and just start laughing at how funny it is instead."

Momo raised her head, and met Shoko's gaze. "You know, sometimes I remember you're kind of a horrible person," she said.

"And you, my dear," Shoko answered, not even bothering to deny the charge, "are far too empathetic."

Instead of responding, Momo changed the subject. "So, not Lord Denki," she mused. "Who else? Lord Tokoyami?"

"Eh," Shoko replied. "Can't see my father going for it, even if I was interested in Tall, Dark, and Weird. Quirks wouldn't mix well."

Momo sighed, conceding the point. The aristocracy was, in many ways, a giant breeding program; they had hoarded the strongest, most useful quirks for generations, passing them down, mixing them carefully, stewarding their power and continually seeking to maximize it. That impulse had produced both of them, Half-Hot-Half-Cold and Creation alike; they knew better than to discount it, especially where a man like Lord Enji Todoroki was concerned. "Lord Sato?"

Shoko drained her wineglass just at the thought. "No."

"Lord Inasa?"

Shoko shot Momo a heated look. Then, she burst out laughing. When she finally had control of herself, she simply replied, "Not in a million years."

Momo sighed. "Lord Tenya is still unmarried," she said. "And after what happened to his older brother, he is the heir presumptive to House Iida."

If not for the sobriety of thinking about what had befallen Iida Tensei, Shoko would have laughed again. "And he's got a stick up his ass the size of a telephone pole," she shot back. "No, thanks. He's the type to go full "missionary only, lights off, for reproduction only," and that's just not happening. When I finally get laid, I want it to have some spice, goddamnit."

Shocked by Shoko's crudeness, Momo snorted into her wine a little bit-a shocking lack of control for a woman like her. "You could also call it discipline," she pointed out.

Shoko fixed her with a look. "You could," she allowed. "But I'm very much not."

In response, Momo simply sighed. "Well, that's just about the list," she declared. "Basically every other man within five or so years of us is either engaged or married, at this point."

Shoko frowned, working through the numbers in her own head-and coming to the same conclusion.

"Damn," she sighed. "That is quite the predicament."

Momo shrugged, surprisingly chipper, all things considered. "Consider it a challenge," she replied. "You do love a good scheme, don't you?"

Shoko couldn't help but smile at that.

"Good point," she admitted. "That is a silver lining."

For a moment, their conversation lapsed again-and before they could resume it, the music abruptly fell quiet, replaced by a bizarre commotion near the great doors that served as entrance to the hall.

The two noblewomen looked towards them, confused, eyebrows rising as they finally registered the source of the noise: the herald was leading someone into the ballroom, causing a stir in the crowd as they craned their necks to study the new arrival. The sight reminded Shoko of nothing so much as a pack of hyenas perking up at the approach of new prey.

"Oh, great," she muttered. "Who's it now? Another self-important lordling who needs his ego stroked every time he walks into a room?"

Beside her, Momo snorted again-only to pause, and study the herald more intently. Their balcony above the main hall gave them an excellent vantage point to watch the great doors swing open, hauled apart by immaculately groomed servants.

"It wouldn't be," the taller girl said softly. "There's too much hubbub going on for that. Look-even the dancing has stopped. This is something else."

Shoko shrugged; internally, though, she was perking up. Finally, something new.

"Well, then," she said airily. "I suppose we should see what all the fuss is about."

A moment later, she got her wish. The herald finally cleared his throat as the hall fell silent. Then, he spoke.

"May I present Izuku Midoriya," the herald said in his clear, bright voice. "Adopted son and heir of Toshinori Yagi."

Shoko blinked, feeling her eyes widen as a hurricane of whispers swept through the crowd of nobles. "The old man himself?" she said, her mind already racing. "He finally picked someone?"

Momo shot her a look. "Don't you remember?" she asked. "It was quite the scandal a few years back-Lord Yagi married a common woman, and adopted her son as his own."

Shoko raised an eyebrow. That sounded like Yagi-the man had never played by the rules, and he'd always gotten away with it, too, thanks to his vast fortune and political influence-influence that exceeded even her father's . Shoko had always wished she had that sort of freedom.

"Why haven't we heard of this guy before, though?" she shot back.

Once again, Momo gave her the patented "I Know You Know This" look.

"Didn't he go abroad?" she replied. "To America or someplace. Supposedly worked as a mercenary."

Shoko snorted. "Fat chance of that," she chuckled. "Probably did what every heir does when their daddy doesn't want them around-drank and partied his way through half the continent."

Momo looked skeptical, but said nothing. Though Shoko didn't expect much, she still found herself leaning over the balcony in curiosity as the great doors opened, quieting the sea of stunned whispers as a man strode in, footsteps impossibly loud in the abrupt silence.

A second later, not a voice could be heard in the entire hall.

The man who walked in was not the Izuku Midoriya that Shoko could now just barely recall from a handful of social events, some seven or eight years back. That Midoriya had been an awkward, timid thing, short and skinny and so visibly uncomfortable among the rich and powerful that he'd been eaten alive by their games-games Shoko had had to master by the age of eight.

This Izuku Midoriya, the one that had just silenced an entire hall of the nobility with his mere presence, shared nothing with his younger self except green hair and a spray of freckles across his cheeks. Now, he was well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders and a physique so powerfully muscled he looked like he could bench-press a car. His hair was close-cropped, now, shorter on the sides than the top, with only a few longer strands to show his natural curls. It wasn't just his physique that had changed, though; even at a distance, Shoko could see the white hairlines of scars on his face and hands.

His clothes didn't seem to fit him; they were masterpieces of craftsmanship, tailored personally for him, of course-but they didn't suit him. They hadn't seven years ago, either, but in an entirely opposite way to now. Back then, the clothes of a noble heir had swallowed him up, had made him look shabby and rumpled and distinctly out of place among a sea of perfect masks. Now, though…he looked out of place because he was too much for the conservative suit. His body strained at its limits, his mere presence demanded attention from every man and woman in the vast ballroom.

Most of all, though, it was the eyes. Shoko had mastered reading people by the age of twelve; she could see through any mask, could pick apart a man into his base motivations a hundred yards away. And she couldn't read Izuku Midoriya. His green eyes were hard, hard in a way she'd never seen before, guarded and wary and utterly predatory . This was a man used to fighting for his life at the drop of a hat, used to enemies approaching him with an outstretched hand and a dagger in their sleeve, a man who had fought , had seen the world in ways that the pampered, sheltered lords who ruled Japan could never.

As he took in the vast ballroom, Midoriya raised his head, and Shoko swore she felt his eyes lock onto hers, on the balcony above him. She felt a shiver run down her spine, electric and thrilling and wild.

Shoko realized, then, that Izuku Midoriya was not a pampered lordling, or a trembling commoner. He…he was something different , something much more dangerous. She found herself revisiting an earlier analogy: if this ballroom was full of hungry hyenas, then a lion had just strolled in and made himself at home.

She felt herself smile. Beside her, Momo watched in confusion, then in dawning fear as Shoko drew herself up to her full height, mismatched eyes gleaming. She knew that look, and what it meant. It meant that Shoko had a new toy to play with.

A shame her toys never lasted very long.

"Well, well, well," Shoko murmured, practically licking her lips. "Finally, something interesting happened around here."

She turned to Momo, gesturing towards the stairs with a roll of her head. "Shall we go say hello?"