It was dark when Shoko's limousine finally passed through the final gate on the road leading to the Todoroki estate. She watched with silent eyes as the sprawling manor came into view, all wooden towers and paneled walls, resembling nothing so much as a traditional Japanese castle scaled up to eleven.
The Todoroki manor was an oddity due to that; most nobles preferred a more European look in their dress as well as their architecture, which had always rather amused Shoko; there was quite a lot that was telling about that preference, about what the nobles really were beneath the glamor, but she put the thought aside for the moment.
It wouldn't do to keep her father waiting, after all. Not any more than was necessary, at least.
The front door slid easily aside for her; she barely spared the butler a glance as she breezed through the vast house. There were countless empty, creaking hallways she moved past without a second thought. This was her home-though it had never been a pleasant one, swallowing her up in its vast coldness.
Why had it been built so huge? Her father had had four children, which was almost an unheard-of number for a noble; the amount of space in the manor could have held ten times that. What was the point of it all, of the ballrooms, feasting halls, guest rooms, and countless esoteric rooms Shoko could only guess at? It was one of the few things she could say that she truly did not understand about her father.
At last, Shoko arrived at her destination: her father's study. A short, sharp knock at the door informed him of her arrival, and an equally curt "Enter," came from the other side of the fine wood.
When Shoko did so, she found Lord Enji Todoroki standing at the window, watching the stars.
Even as a dark silhouette, he was an overpowering presence; a huge man, tall and broad, with strong features and a stiff, upright posture that hinted at his origins as a military man. He wasn't wearing the fiery beard he wore in public appearances, which were becoming more rare now, as he left more and more of House Todoroki's public-facing business in Shoko's capable hands.
Still, this was no old man in the twilight of his life. Enji was still strong, still vital, still the force of nature Shoko had grown up half terrified of, half awed by.
In the cold night, backlit by the stars, it was easy to understand why Enji Todoroki was not a normal member of the nobility. He was not the Lord of House Todoroki; he was its founder.
Thirty years earlier, a warlord in the fractured remnants of what had once been China had turned his gaze eastwards, searching for easier prey in Japan. The war that had ensued was the most violent in a generation; tens of thousands had died as cities burned and the seas choked with fire. Many nobles, and their House Guards, had bolstered Japan's self-defense forces; Yagi Toshinori had personally flattened an invading armada, much as the kamikaze once had to the Mongols a millennia earlier, in a time when a single man could not wield godlike power. This proved to be the event that had cemented the nobility into the social fabric of the nation, the moment when they went from mistrusted parasites to something more entrenched, more accepted.
And for all that, for all the power at the fingertips of a few, when the warlord lay slain on the deck of his own burning flagship, it was not Yagi Toshinori who had killed him, nor any of the other lords of the Great Houses. It had been a young military commander named Enji Todoroki.
For his heroism in the final battle of the war, and for the slaying of the warlord himself in single combat, Enji had been awarded a lordship, and all spoils of the warlord's sizable treasury to boot. Overnight, House Todoroki became one of the wealthiest, most respected Houses in Japan.
But that had not been enough for Enji. No, driven by his own ambition-and, it was said, by a burning rivalry with Yagi Toshinori, the only man in Japan now wealthier than he-Enji had continued cultivating power, building alliances; he'd soon proven to be more ruthless and aggressive in pursuit of these things than any other noble.
His house was rich, but new, which was certain to invite opposition; to rectify this, and to begin the time-honored noble tradition of pseudo-eugenic Quirk marriages, he had married the eldest daughter of House Himura, an old and storied family of ice-quirk users who were nearly destitute from years of fiscal mismanagement. With his prestigious new wife in his possession, Enji fathered child after child on her, unnerving even the staunchest Quirk-marriage supporters with his singleminded drive for perfection, even at the expense of his wife's failing health.
Rei had broken, eventually, under the strain of it all-but not before Enji got what he wanted. One day, those cold blue eyes had stared down into the mismatched pair of a baby girl, and seen a cold, deadly fire that exceeded even his own in them.
He had been right. Here, now, twenty-four years later, in the dark of night, the skin around one of those eyes melted and pitted from boiling water, Shoko Todoroki's eyes still burned.
She wondered, sometimes, if she hated her father. It was a stupid question; as far as she was concerned, hate was a spurious emotion, an unnecessary distraction. It got in the way; as much as Enji's coldness had shaped Shoko's childhood, she also knew he was the most ruthless and effective of all the lords in Japan, a man whose political skill was matched only by his military mind.
For his part, Enji had not been a bad father. He hadn't been a good one, either, of course; but then, in Shoko's estimation, there were few truly bad people in the world, just as there were few truly good ones. Most people were something in between; Enji was no different.
But it was all beside the point. Shoko was not in the business of wondering about what-ifs, or unraveling the tangled knot of emotions that curdled in her chest each time she looked at her father's face. She was in the business of power. Building it, using it, and above all keeping it. And for that, Shoko could not have asked for a better role model, or a better teacher, than Enji Todoroki.
That was their relationship in a nutshell; no love lost, not any particular affection. But Shoko respected her father, and Enji, in turn, respected her for what she had achieved, the reputation she had built from the time she was just thirteen. She was his heir on merit-and if there was one thing Enji Todoroki rewarded, it was merit.
"Shoko," Enji said, not warmly, but with what passed for welcome in his voice. "How are you feeling?"
Shoko shrugged. "Well enough," she said coolly. She did not take a seat, or move from her position near the door. She was the very picture of grace, still in her gown, glimmering in the dim light.
Enji nodded gently. "How was the ball?" he asked. Shoko knew he was not asking for her opinion of the food; he was interested in intelligence, in the political wheelings and dealings that always happened at such events. This was an area in which she exceeded his talents; Enji's towering presence and terse manner were assets in business dealings, but not the social free-for-all of a gala; Shoko could flit through such events like a butterfly, charisma and her talent for manipulating people letting her glean their thoughts without them ever knowing she was reading them like open books.
In this way, Shoko and Enji both served their shared cause; the continued survival of House Todoroki. They did it for their own reasons, to be sure-Enji for his pride, Shoko for her very life-but they did it well, and as long as their goals were the same, their relationship remained…functional. Shoko didn't love her father very much, but she admired him, and Enji had never required her love.
But this night, something was…off. The lingering sensations of Izuku Midoriya's touch on her hip, the light in his eyes as his smile flashed with danger, still sent adrenaline coursing through Shoko's blood. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts enough to speak-an uncharacteristic lapse.
"The Kirishima-Ashido alliance seems all but ironclad now," Shoko said at last, stepping up beside her father to admire the view-which was magnificent, thousands of stars glistening above miles of mountains and forest. "Lord Ejiro and Lady Mina barely left each others' sides all night-and their fathers spent most of the night toasting to each others' health, from what I understand. I don't blame them; that business deal will make both of them rich for generations."
Enji made a thoughtful noise. "I see. Is there a way we can use this?" he asked. This was another thing he did that made it hard for Shoko to hate him; he sought her input, asked her advice, valued her opinions. In his own words, "You will rule this House after me; you should be experienced in handling that responsibility for a long time before I'm gone." Their respect was genuinely a two-way street, and though it had been hard-earned on Shoko's part, she had earned it. That made her much, much luckier than most noble children-especially noblewomen-she knew, who were little more than pawns of their families' ambitions.
She? She was the ambition of House Todoroki.
Shoko grinned. "Not directly-we have no direct blood ties with either family-but yes, I believe so," she replied. "Lady Mina is one of mine. She does what I tell her, within reason, and provided that it does not go against the interests of her House. Lord Ejiro is a reliable man, but one who is the first to admit he does best with assistance-and direction. She will have quite a bit of influence over him. Not to mention, Lady Mina owes me quite a large favor. One she'll be paying off for...the rest of her life, most likely."
Enji raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked, his voice still soft and deadly. "And what might that be?"
Shoko grinned mischievously. "Lady Mina's parents were originally planning to betroth her to Lord Tokoyami," she explained. "But she had decided she would vastly prefer Lord Kirishima. At her request, I…agreed to apply my own efforts to swaying things, in exchange for a suitable price. Which is how she has come to be one of mine."
Shoko left out the exact details of how she had secured Mina Ashido's fealty by breaking that betrothal and convincing Lord Ashido to consider Ejiro Kirishima as his new son-in-law instead. It hadn't been a particularly difficult job, all things considered; a little rumor-spreading here, a bit of applied slander there, one or two pieces of surgically-precise blackmail to tie it all together…it had been simple. And now the fates of the Houses of Ashido and Kirishima were bound together for a generation-and both, in turn, would obey the wishes of House Todoroki.
Not bad, for a week's work.
"Anything else?" Enji asked after a moment. Shoko opened her mouth to respond-then hesitated.
Why? Why was she second-guessing herself? There was really only one other piece of news worth sharing-the big one, the fact that Yagi Toshinori had at last announced his heir and successor to the world.
And yet…she hesitated all the same. Something about Izuku Midoriya made her want to keep him private. She wanted him to be hers, and hers alone.
Enji sighed, having apparently waited long enough. "Well done, Shoko," he said. As always she fought off the pride in her chest at his praise; she was not a dog, to be satisfied with attention and treats when she did a trick. "That does bring up another issue, though: that of your own marriage."
Shoko's eyes slowly narrowed, her smile fading. Cautiously, she said, "Remember our deal, Father? I decide who I marry."
That deal had been struck a long time ago; Shoko had used every bit of leverage she had, small as it was, had demanded it day after day until Enji had at last agreed. After what she'd seen happen to her mother, even what had happened with Fuyumi-though that at least had a happier ending-Shoko was not going to be sold off like a piece of meat. She got to choose. Not Enji.
Her father looked at her with even, cold eyes. "Of course," Enji said reasonably. "I have no intention of breaking the deal, Shoko. You have proven to have good judgment and a reasonable mind. You are entirely capable of choosing a husband. But I still feel I should remind you-you're running out of eligible partners."
Shoko's gaze darkened. Just because it was true didn't mean she appreciated the pressure evident in Enji's voice.
"I am aware," she replied, hating how weak her response was. "But I am still considering my options."
Enji frowned. "Perhaps you should consider them faster," he reminded her. "With the rumors of the betrothal of Lord Kaminari's heir to Lady Ibara, you're running low on men, daughter."
Shoko said nothing; she merely nodded her head, though her eyes still burned as she stared at Enji's shoes.
It was funny; so many women she knew came off like damsels in fairy tales, hoping for some dashing man to come in and sweep them off their feet, to save them from having to marry a man they didn't love. Shoko-one of the few of them with the power to choose for herself-had no such daydreams. She was practical-mostly-in her considerations, and she held no illusions that she would be able to stay single forever. But then, she didn't want to. Shoko had no desire to be an old maid; she did genuinely intend to marry, and did want children. Just…well, about the only requirement she'd ever had for her husband-other than that he would never do to her what Enji had done to her mother-was that he would be interesting enough to hold her attention.
A shame no man had ever managed to clear that bar.
Until now, of course
"I will take your advice into consideration," she said dryly as she raised her head again.
For a moment, their eyes met-three blue, one gray. Enji was as implacable as ever; Shoko's face was schooled into a nearly identical expression, both of them tightly controlling the fire behind their gazes.
At last, Enji sighed. "That is all I ask," he told her as he turned away from the large window, striding towards his mahogany desk. "Now, it's late. You should get some sleep."
Shoko almost did just that. But then, her determination to never leave a conversation with her father at a disadvantage loosened her lips. It was simply too tempting to speak, in the end.
"Oh. There was one other thing," she said, forcing the smile that came to her lips to twist into something playful and amused. "Lord Yagi has finally announced his successor."
That made Enji whip around to face her. He hated Toshinori Yagi, the only man in Japan more powerful than he was. Yagi's lack of an heir had been one of the few things Enji had always been able to lord over him-and now, it seemed, he no longer could.
"You should have led with that, Shoko," he growled.
Shoko grinned, quite enjoying the rare opportunity to mess with her father. "It slipped my mind," she said sweetly.
That was a lie, of course; there was no way Shoko would forget Izuku Midoriya. Not now, not ever.
Enji closed his fist, sparks flickering inside it. "Tell me about his successor," he demanded. "Surely you saw them."
Shoko nodded. "His name is Izuku Midoriya," she replied. "He caused quite the stir today, I'll tell you that much. Strolled into the main hall of the Kirishima estate without a care in the world."
Enji raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. "His quirk?" he asked curtly. That was truly what he cared about, in the end; power in all its forms, but most of all quirks.
Shoko shrugged. "Not sure," she admitted. "But he is very muscular; it could well be his father's super strength. Speaking of which-it's unclear whether he is Lord Yagi's biological son or not. As he only appeared today, I haven't had a chance to learn much about him or where he came from-other than that, apparently, he spent a few years working as a mercenary."
Enji's eyes narrowed at that. He was former military; his views on the thriving mercenary economy in many parts of the world, based on individuals with powerful quirks and, often, little actual training were…not favorable.
"Learn everything you can about him," he ordered at last. "If he's shown his face now, then he and Lord Yagi are planning something. And if Yagi is on the move…we need to be careful."
Shoko nodded. "Understood, father," she said casually. "I suppose it can't hurt to mention that I invited him to dine with me at the Iidas' feast later this week, then."
Once more, Enji fixed her with a cold, deadly look. Once more, Shoko fought back a grin. In a mild, even-keeled voice, Enji said, "You didn't tell me you'd talked to him."
Shoko chuckled. "I didn't," she agreed, fully aware that she'd just toed the line quite hard. "It wasn't for long. We danced for a bit, nothing more."
Enji chewed over that. "And what did you think of him?" he finally asked.
Shoko's smile grew, even as she mulled over her answer for a moment. "What I think is that I agree with you," she replied.
Enji raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Relishing Enji's anticipation, Shoko stretched out the silence as long as she could before finally saying, "We should be careful-particularly when assuming anything about Izuku Midoriya. Mercenary or not, I can tell you this-he is not a man to be trifled with."
Enji seemed surprised by that, but Shoko decided it wasn't her problem. She was tired-and she had dinner plans to make. She'd need to figure out her exact guest list…
Still deep in thought, she barely heard Enji dismiss her; she simply strode out the door, back into that huge, dark, empty house.
She wondered why the memory of green eyes full of lightning was still lingering in her mind-and why it still made her shiver.
One thing was for certain; she was going to relish playing with Izuku Midoriya. He'd break eventually, though; they always did.
Tsutsumi Kaina did not, as a general rule, trust people.
It was a hard-earned lesson, that; she'd learned it well as a child trainee for the House Guard of a powerful noble family, learned it well in the battles against invading warlords and House skirmishes, learned it well when she was forced to flee into exile in America. But most of all, she'd learned it as a mercenary, where employment was always temporary, money was the only guiding star, and today's friend could well be tomorrow's enemy.
Some mercenaries formed teams, watched each other's backs, carved out little pockets of trust in the sea of betrayal. Kaina did not. She worked alone-more of an assassin than a mercenary, though the line distinguishing one from the other had always been blurry, in the eternal state of low-level, smoldering conflict most of North America existed in nowadays.
She'd been damn good at her job, too; any mercenary who was still alive after so many years of being shot at was a living legend in one way or another.
And now, here she was. On another job, in an abandoned, dingy warehouse, cleaning out the right-arm rifle that sprang from her body like a twisted metallic artwork, flesh and metal flowing together like a delirious painting.
This job, though, was different. For one thing, she wasn't in America anymore; she was back home, the first time she'd stepped foot in Japan in over a decade. Funny; she still fucking hated the place, with its arrogant nobles and apathetic, lazy populace, who seemed happy to let the nobles do whatever they wanted. And yet…well, she'd missed it.
For another, the payment she had been promised was very different. There was no money-she had plenty of that, nowadays. No, her reward was something much more valuable.
And finally, this time, she wasn't working alone.
Finally completing her maintenance, Kaina rose off the pile of crates she'd been sitting atop with catlike grace, eyes locked on the figure who was facing away from her, a curling spiral of smoke rising from the cigar in his mouth. He was seated on a crate, his body language resembling nothing so much as a resting predator. Every motion was deliberate-even his rest, his body tense and coiled like a spring.
"All done," Kaina called out, her voice brusque and businesslike. "When the hell are the others you mentioned getting here?"
The boss chuckled. "That's not very nice, Lady Nagant," he said, amused. He did that a lot-called her by the title they'd whispered in Mercy's Bar, the one you were rarely allowed to choose for yourself; the one that marked you as a legend. She supposed it was only fair-after all, he had one, too. "We're supposed to be a team, here."
Kaina rolled her eyes. "Look, you get what you paid for," she said. "You wanted the best mercenaries in the business, not the most polite."
The boss snorted. "That I did," he agreed, exhaling smoke as he removed his cigar for a moment. "But seriously, cool your jets, alright? There's no need to rush this."
Kaina scowled. "Easy for you to say," she replied. "You know, you haven't even told me what the job is?"
"And you took it anyway, didn't ya?" the retort came. "The other two are coming, Nagant. No need to get antsy."
Before Kaina could formulate a response, the rusted, half-ajar door of the warehouse shook, then opened with a loud bang that made her wince.
Two figures stepped through; one was massive, with hulking arms and shoulders, red hair streaming back from behind a black mask. He wore his signature gloves, their leather straps running down his fists and crisscrossing his forearms, his knuckles studded with metal.
The other figure was significantly shorter, though the long white ears jutting up from her head made her seem taller than she was. She was no less muscular than the man, with pale white scars visible up and down dark, inhumanly powerful legs. She had white hair and red eyes-eyes that were full of manic, destructive light, a look matched by her brutal grin.
Kaina knew them both, by reputation and from personal experience. Kendo Rappa and Rumi Usagiyama, living legends both. Rumi had been known by Miruko at Mercy's; Rappa had refused all attempts to give him a nickname, claiming that he viewed it as trying to hide, and therefore cowardly. They'd been enemies at times, allies at others-but never friends. Those were rare, among mercenaries.
Even if she had been willing to befriend other mercs, Kaina would most definitely not have chosen these two; they were shockingly alike, in that their only real motivation in the world was fighting. They were little more than beasts, as far as she was concerned; only interested in trying themselves against insane odds. She'd never seen purer adrenaline junkies.
Or more ruthless killers.
They joined Kaina and the boss in the center of the warehouse; Kaina made no attempt to greet them. Rumi seemed not to be put off by that, however; she sized Kaina up, then drawled, "Well, well, well. If it isn't Lady fucking Nagant."
Kaina narrowed her eyes. "Miruko," she said evenly, trying not to let her disdain seep through before turning to the other newcomer. "Rappa."
Rappa himself merely nodded; about his only redeeming quality in Kaina's eyes was that he didn't chatter when not fighting. Of course, while fighting was an entirely different issue.
Rumi, though, was more trouble. She stepped up closer to Kaina, a strange light in her eyes. It wasn't entirely violent, or entirely not, either. She seemed to be grinning in an almost friendly way-if you ignored her blazing red eyes.
"Been a while, hasn't it?" she asked. "Since…what, Omaha?"
God, Omaha. That had been a shitshow of the highest order; a simple convoy raid had turned into an ambush, had turned into a pitched battle, had turned into a war that leveled damn near half the city. Thousands dead, including dozens of quirked mercs, and the leaders of the two rival paramilitaries who'd started the whole fucking thing turned to ash by a fireball bigger than a city block. Kaina had never felt more exhausted after a battle.
Though she said nothing, Rumi was undeterred. "Last time I saw you, you put a bullet in my shoulder," she growled, hauling up the sleeve of her tight-fitting shirt to reveal the scar, a round swirl of discolored flesh the size of a dime. "I still owe you for that one."
Kaina raised an eyebrow. Her only response was, "I was aiming for your forehead. A shame I missed. Damn rabbits hopping around too much to get a decent bead on."
Rumi's grin sharpened. For a moment, Kaina braced for violence to break out on the spot. But the moment passed, and Rumi laughed, a sharp, harsh sound. "Still the same as ever, Nagant," she chuckled.
Kaina turned away. "Fucking psycho," she muttered.
Before Rumi could retort, the boss spoke. "Enough blabbering, you two," he said. "Or did you not want to know what I hired you for?"
That made them both shut up, though, apparently, not Rappa. In a deep rumble, the man said, "Sure, though I woulda appreciated knowin' before you dragged our asses across the fuckin' Pacific."
The boss chuckled. "Fair enough," he admitted. "Sorry for keeping you guys in the dark, but I needed the best, and I needed them here."
Kaina spoke before he could continue. "Seriously though, why all this cloak-and-dagger bullshit?" she demanded. "The only reason I agreed to come at all is because everyone knows you don't play stupid games."
The boss sighed. "You're right, I don't," he said. "So, I figure it's time to let you all in on the plan, yeah?"
The three of them nodded. They were loners, all of them-but when the options were work together or die, all three of them had and would gladly take option one. They weren't strangers to it.
The boss smiled. It didn't look like a pleasant experience; the staples in his cheeks, holding burned skin to pale flesh, strained as he bared his teeth. Nobody knew for sure how he'd gotten those horrific wounds; they were another part of his legend, this man who had been the second most feared mercenary to ever sit down in Mercy's Bar.
Dabi let out a deceptively casual puff of smoke as he removed his cigar from his mouth. He looked over the three of them, legs crossed, blue eyes burning. What a group they were; four of the most dangerous killers Japan had ever produced, so terrifying they had to be exiled, sent away to keep the whole damn structure from blowing over like a house of cards.
How long would it hold up, now that they had come back home to roost?
"How would you like to help me take down the Great Houses?" he drawled.
Kaina blinked. "The Great Houses?" she asked. "As in, all of them?"
Dabi nodded. "All of them," he confirmed. "The bigger ones most of all. Yagi, Iida, Yaoyorozu…Todoroki."
"You're insane," Kaina said after a moment. There was something to the way Dabi had snarled that last name, some history, something in his eyes, but she honestly couldn't care less. "You expect the four of us to take on the personal armies of the Great Houses?"
Dabi chuckled. "Actually, I expect the House Guards to take care of each other pretty well," he said, "But we'll get to that."
There was another brief silence, before Rappa spoke. "Why us?" he grunted. "Couldn't get anyone else crazy enough to sign on?"
Dabi's grin widened. "Not quite," he answered. "See, I wanted people who hate the Houses. People who know firsthand the damage they do. People with the skills and motivation to burn this shit to the ground."
He spread his hands wide. "You're looking at the only people in this world who can pull it off," he finished.
Once more, the mercs were quiet, considering. None of them were given to charity, or to flowery words-but none of them could deny that something about Dabi's words was powerfully appealing.
Kaina was the first to speak. "We're going to need more manpower," she said. "I don't care how good we are, there's only four of us. To do this, we need mass."
Dabi nodded. "Already working on that," he replied. "Japan's got an underworld same as America, y'know. Give 'em a target, offer 'em the right thing…we'll have manpower."
That made Kaina fall silent again, but Rumi quickly took her place. In a blunt, gruff voice, she said, "I'm sure you've got a real good reason for doing this, but I gotta ask-what the hell is in this for me?"
Kaina understood the sentiment, but said nothing. She already knew what was in this for her-Dabi had offered it to her before she'd ever agreed to even come hear him out. She'd long since made her decision; she was in.
No price was too great for getting to come home at last.
Dabi, though just smiled, discolored skin stretching horrifically. He didn't offer money or jewels; he knew Rumi wanted or needed neither. She had a much simpler motivation, as did Rappa.
"Did none of you ever wonder," Dabi asked, his voice deceptively soft, "where Titan came from?"
That made all three of them fix wide eyes on his face. Just as they knew each other, these mercs knew Titan. They feared Titan. The greatest of them all; the deadliest, most ruthless man to ever set foot in Mercy's Bar. A man with no origin, who'd vanished as swiftly as he'd appeared, fading back into the haze of myth as easily as he'd emerged from it, not a month earlier. Nobody knew where he'd gone. Nobody wanted to know.
Rumi raised an eyebrow; the deadly light in her eyes was back. "He's here?" she asked eagerly. "I always wanted to take a crack at the bastard."
Rappa was grinning now, too. "Get in line, Mirko," he grunted. "Now that's a man I could enjoy killing."
Dabi chuckled, once again drawing in a puff of smoke. "God, you two are fucking psychos," he chuckled. "I knew I made the right choice."
Kaina crossed her arms. "How do you know he's in the country, anyway?" she demanded. "What, did one of the Great Houses decide that a private army wasn't enough, they wanted a human superweapon walking around?"
"I have my ways," Dabi replied, seeming far too smug for Kaina's liking. "And no, that's not quite what happened."
Kaina sighed. "Whatever," she said. "I don't care. All I want to know is: why did you bring him up? We're here for the Great Houses, aren't we? Not him?"
Dabi's smile widened until it nearly threatened to tear his stitches. "Simple," he replied. "He's in one of the Great Houses. If we want to do this, we'll have to kill him. And besides…he and I have a score to settle. Personally."
Kaina's eyes narrowed. "Is that what this is all about?" she asked. "I'm not going to get myself killed for your revenge, Dabi."
Dabi shrugged. "Then leave," he said evenly. "That's an option too, Lady Nagant. The door's right there. But if you take it…you don't get what I offered you. You willing to give up your chance to come home?"
Kaina went quiet. She wasn't. She already knew that. She'd spent so damn long in America, she'd nearly forgotten what home was like. But she remembered.
So many years spent killing for other people. Wasn't this mission finally a chance to at least kill for herself?
"Fuck it," she sighed. "I'm in."
Rumi grinned. "Me too," she said. "Taking on a private army, not to mention Titan? That sounds like the fight of a lifetime."
Rappa nodded, a bloodthirsty smile splitting his face as well. "You're the boss," he said agreeably. "Just tell me who you want dead."
At long last, Dabi rose to his feet, cigar burned down to a stub. "It's a deal, then," he said. "Take down the Houses, financially, politically, and personally. Do what we do best: break shit, burn what we can't steal, and cause chaos. And when Titan comes for us…"
He dropped his cigar butt to the concrete floor, and brought his heel down. The spark went out, ground to ash and nothingness beneath Dabi's combat boot.
When he stood tall again, he thought to himself, "Told you I'd come home one day, Dad. Let's see if you're ready for me this time. You, and dear little Shoko."
"But I suppose it's business before pleasure, like usual. Time to repay some old debts, Izuku Midoriya."