Kaina marched through the empty warehouse that had become their base of operations, trying not to scowl.
It was remarkable, how quickly the place had gotten busier than a kicked ant's nest; boxes of long-abandoned goods had been removed, shifted, or repurposed. The empty, dark abandoned building now held dozens of local…well, thugs, to put it bluntly. They loitered in groups-often the groups they'd arrived in-doing little more than trading crude boasts and watching with greedy eyes that made Kaina's triggers itch. There were few among them who were truly dangerous-most were either quirkless or had quirks so useless and minor that even the least picky of the House Guards had dismissed them. But there were a lot of them-Dabi had done his recruiting work well. They had more than a hundred men now-though that wasn't enough to bring down the Houses in open combat. But then, a mercenary only resorted to combat if they had no other option. Dying was, after all, bad for business.
It wasn't hard to find Dabi; the man was poring over documents on a long, rough table near the center of the warehouse. The surface was littered with maps, timetables, profiles-and a few odder things, lists of scribbled notes or pages of faces with annotations or lines crossed through them.
Dabi looked up as she approached, having apparently heard her coming. "Nagant," he said, an expression not unlike a grin twisting his warped, misshapen skin grafts.
"Dabi," she said tonelessly. "We need to talk."
Dabi raised an eyebrow. Seeing that Kaina was dead serious, he shrugged, then put down the papers he'd been holding. He drew a pack of cigars from an inside pocket of his jacket, pulled one free, and lit it with a flick of his fingers. The end glowed blue for a moment as he sat down, smoke filling the air.
"Then talk," he said dismissively.
Perhaps someone else would have been intimidated by the man-this was Dabi, after all. One of the most dangerous mercenaries in recent memory, a man who had left whole towns burned to ash in his wake. A man nearly as deadly-and perhaps even more mysterious-than Titan. But Kaina was dangerous in her own right, and both of them knew it.
"You said you had a plan, Dabi," she said in a low voice. "But it's been days since the train robbery, and we haven't done anything."
Dabi snorted. "You're gettin' antsy, Lady Nagant?" he asked roughly. "I thought you were a sniper. Didn't they teach you patience?"
Kaina crossed her arms. "I know patience," she said sharply. "But we're sitting here surrounded by a hundred men who signed up because you promised them weapons, loot, and a chance to run wild. They're getting antsy. Not to mention the two leashed psychopaths who get twitchy if they haven't slaughtered somebody in a few days."
Dabi chuckled. "You really do hate Miruko and Rappa, huh?" he laughed. "And here I thought you were being a professional about this."
Kaina gave up the struggle and let her features curl into a scowl. "This is me being professional, Dabi," she warned. "It's because I'm a professional that I don't like you keeping us in the dark. You said you had a plan to bring down the Houses. But all we've done so far is blow up one train."
For a long moment, Dabi said nothing, simply smoking his cigar, releasing clouds of noxious smoke that nearly made Kaina choke. At last, though, he met her eyes.
"You wanna know why we're waiting?" he asked. "Fine. It's simple, actually: we need to let their fear build before we strike again."
Kaina must have looked skeptical, because Dabi sighed and continued, "Yeah, so far we only hit one House. And I can tell you what House Iida is doin' right now-they're running around in blind panic, trying to figure out who did this to them. They'll think it was one of their competitors-another House trying to muscle in on their business. But the longer we wait, the worse their fear gets. Tell me-you ever met a noble?"
Kaina thought back a long, long time. To another life, to a man lying on the floor in a spreading pool of blood. "Yeah," she replied stiffly.
Dabi raised an eyebrow, but there was no surprise on his face; with a chill, Kaina realized that he'd already known. How much did he know, about her past? Who the hell was he?
"Then you know there's not a more paranoid breed of human being on this planet," he said. "They're smart-or some of them are, anyway-and they are constantly suspicious, constantly trying to exploit or trick each other. House Iida won't let down its guard if we don't attack again-they'll get more and more paranoid, because they'll think they are being attacked, the other House is just so subtle, so sneaky, they just can't notice the attacks. They'll wind themselves up, drive themselves into a frenzy. Eventually, they'll start getting desperate to find who did it-and they'll start attacking any other House they suspect, to destroy them before they strike again."
Kaina nodded slowly as she began to see it. "So, are we going to blow up another train?" she asked.
Dabi shook his head, grinning. "No," he replied. "We need every House in that spiral of fear and paranoia. So, we're going to hit somebody else, start winding them up. And you're right about one thing-it's time to get the men pointed at someone else. Luckily, I have just the target in mind."
As his cigar burned down to ashes, Dabi rose once more. He took a sheet of paper from the table, and handed it to Kaina, who took it cautiously. She scanned it quickly, and felt herself grin.
"Monoma, eh?" she asked, tossing the paper back down. "Not a bad choice…but why them, specifically?"
Dabi snorted. "No particular reason," he answered. "They're just a convenient target."
Kaina raised an eyebrow; she wasn't sure if she believed that rationale. Dabi's eyes unnerved her-there was something too hot, too angry, in them to be purely professional. It didn't feel aimed at House Monoma specifically…but it made her wonder.
"How do you know all of this about the Houses, anyway?" she asked.
Dabi's gaze hardened instantly; where his eyes had previously been heated, now they were cold, cold as ice and just as dangerous. That was the gaze of a man who could kill without reason, hesitation, or mercy, the gaze of the man who had had the highest kill count of any regular of Mercy's Bar within living memory.
"Here's the deal, Lady Nagant," he said icily. "Don't ask me about my past, and I won't ask why you got run out of this country for murdering the man you were supposed to protect, yeah?"
Kaina's blood froze. He knew. How? No merc knew that story-knew the truth. Once again, the memory of outstretched hands and bloody lips and a trigger she couldn't remember pulling came back to her.
She said nothing to Dabi's offer. She simply turned around and left, trying not to feel like she was running away.
His mocking grin followed her into the darkness as his cigar burnt out.
Two days after her father met with Izuku Midoriya, Shoko strode through the entrance of yet another Great Hall at yet another gala.
After long enough, all of these events began to blend together, despite their opulence and expense. She didn't even recall the name of the host House; it was a more minor one, an ally of House Kendo that must have nearly bankrupted themselves trying to match the grandeur of a Great House event.
That wasn't her problem, though; she had business to attend to tonight.
As she made her way inside, Shoko spotted Lady Momo standing near the wall, resplendent as always in a rich purple gown. She waved, and made her way over to join her right-hand woman.
As Shoko approached, Momo looked at her with an odd expression on her face. "Lady Todoroki," she said, the faux-formality making Shoko grin.
"Lady Yaoyorozu," she replied. "Are you having a pleasant evening?"
Shoko's amusement grew stronger as Momo continued to give her a poorly-hidden look of confusion. The tall woman seemed to consider whether she should bother continuing their little ritual-them decided that bluntness would serve her better.
"Alright, what's with the dress?" she demanded.
Shoko grinned. "You like it?" she asked, giving Momo a playful half-twirl as if to show it off.
There was a good reason for Momo's surprise; Shoko's dress was, to put it nicely, sure to draw attention. It was white with black trim, folded over itself across her torso as if to make it resemble a suit-albeit one that left her shoulders completely bare, with a top so low it seemed to constrain her chest through sheer willpower. It clung tightly to her back and torso as it wound downwards, allowing the series of black-edged diamond cutouts over her belly to show flawlessly toned skin-and then it reached her waist, and went from "unique" to "unforgettable."
The dress split in half high up on her thighs-so far up that "thigh" probably wasn't the right word for the skin it exposed. The separate halves hung down in the front and back, coming down to well below her calves-while leaving her long, gorgeous legs utterly bare. With glittering white heels, a pair of tinted glasses perched on her nose, and her hair hanging down straight and full down her back, Shoko knew that she would be turning heads all night. In fact, she already was-she could feel the gazes of men and women alike prickling on her back as she spoke to Momo.
Momo looked her up and down, and snorted. "You look gorgeous," she told Shoko. "But it's, uh…not exactly subtle, is it?"
Shoko chuckled. "Of course it's gorgeous," she scoffed. "I'm the one wearing it. And I've found myself questioning the use of subtlety, lately."
Momo raised an eyebrow. "Is that why you're dressing like you want everyone to stare at your tits?" she asked.
Shoko's grin got wider. "Well, as they say, if you've got it, flaunt it," she replied. "It's not my fault I have the best tits in Japan."
Momo sighed at Shoko's crudeness, but there wasn't really any point in arguing about it. She did. Hell, she knew damn well she was the most beautiful woman in Japan, period, disfiguring burn scar-which prickled as she recalled it-notwithstanding. About the only woman who could challenge her for that title was Momo, in her opinion-and hey, maybe someday she'd beat Shoko out for it. When Hell froze over.
"You're going to have everyone staring at you all night," she pointed out. "And you're going to make every noblewoman in Japan jealous when they catch their husbands and betrotheds looking."
Shoko laughed. "Every noblewoman in Japan is already jealous of me," she shot back. "Every smart one, anyway. And I'm quite alright with people staring."
This was the truth; while Shoko generally dressed more conservatively, that was largely to keep up appearances with a society which had regressed considerably in terms of what was "appropriate" for women to wear in public-noblewomen, at least. Commoners rarely factored into the equation when prescribing the dress code for the House gala circuit. Shoko herself rather relished transgressing boundaries like this one-with the added benefit of ensuring that not even the scar her mother had given her, the one that had earned her ugly taunts from peers and sad whispers about the "ruining of her marriage prospects" from older women, could stop every head in the room from turning to stare at her with envy and awe.
Momo, of course, wasn't satisfied. "Is there someone specific you're hoping will stare?" she asked suspiciously, eyes narrow.
Shoko raised an eyebrow at that. It was quite a blunt demand, by Momo's standards; she was basically asking if Shoko had finally made her decision on who to marry, and if she was about to inform the "lucky" man.
The answer, of course, was no-but the answer to Momo's actual question was different. She did in fact have a target tonight. She met Momo's eyes, and gave her best, most unnerving grin.
"Why don't you come with me?" Shoko suggested. "I'll give you a first-hand view."
Momo squinted at her, knowing damn well that Shoko was not to be trusted; but in the end, as Shoko tossed her hair over her shoulder and turned to stride through the endless whirling dance of noble society, Momo followed her all the same. Maybe out of concern, or loyalty, or the simple boredom that was the endless scourge of women like them.
No matter the reason, she followed Shoko as she hunted for Izuku Midoriya.
It didn't take them very long to find him.
Lord Izuku was sitting at a small table in the feast hall, his shock of curly green hair marking him out even in a room packed to the brim with striking, unique individuals. Across from him sat a young noblewoman in a rather plain dress, her equally plain face marked by the look of someone trying desperately to stick to a plan, but simply not being equal to the task.
"Poor thing," Shoko thought, forcing down the mild professional disgust she felt at the thought that this woman had been trying to seduce Lord Midoriya so ineffectually. "You're out of your depth here, girl."
As she and Momo approached, she cleared her throat; no need to give the girl too bad of a fright. She was beneath Shoko's notice; there was no point even snapping at her. The simple fact of her presence would drive off the interloper.
As always, her prediction proved accurate; the moment the noblewoman realized who was coming up behind her, she all but leapt to her feet, face white as marble. Shoko heard her stammer out something about having "urgent business" to attend to, and once again fought back a dismissive snort. The only urgent thing that the girl seemed to care about was escaping Shoko's gaze as quickly as possible; she scurried away as fast as her legs could carry her, leaving Izuku alone at the table as Shoko and Momo approached.
That was another oddity about him that Shoko had noticed; most unmarried young noblemen tended to clump up at events like this, forming a sort of camaraderie in their endless dance despite the competition that they endlessly engaged in. They chose three or four fellows who they could at least tolerate, laughing and playing-or, at the drop of a hat, nearly coming to blows over the tiniest provocation.
But Lord Izuku didn't do that. He chose a place far from the centers of power and attention, in a corner or a hidden vantage point, and watched. A man without the supreme self-confidence he seemed to radiate would have looked like an awkward social outcast doing it; instead, he appeared like a lion surveying a field of sheep through inscrutable green eyes. Shoko noticed something else, too-he was sitting with his back to the stone wall of the building, able to keep everyone within the hall in his direct line of sight without even having to turn his head. He had made sure that he could not be snuck up on.
Izuku looked up from his wineglass as the two women took seats at the table; if he was surprised to see them, he hid it well behind that iron-barred expression. If he was taken aback by Shoko's attire, he hid that well, too-but she knew he'd noticed. He was a man. They always noticed.
"Lady Shoko," he drawled, smiling faintly. "I was wondering why my date for tonight suddenly ran for the hills. Now I see that she was simply exercising common sense."
Shoko finally stopped trying to hide the grin on her face as she accepted a glass of wine from a circling waiter with slicked-back blond hair. She could feel Momo's dark eyes on her neck as she replied, "Am I really so unpleasant, Lord Izuku?"
Izuku raised an eyebrow. "I don't know if I would use the word unpleasant," he said. "Perhaps it's more accurate to say that I'm very glad that I don't have to sit here without the aid of alcohol."
He raised his glass as if to toast her, and Shoko did the same, enjoying the way Momo's gaze whipped back and forth between them, her mind obviously running at a mile a minute.
"Speaking of your date," Shoko continued after a moment, "Who was she, anyway? Even my memory can't seem to place her."
Izuku opened his mouth as if to speak, then hesitated for a moment. Sheepishly, he admitted, "I'll be quite honest, I've already forgotten her name. She was pleasant enough, I suppose-but she didn't say more than four words to me the whole night."
Even as she smiled gently, in her mind, Shoko was crowing in victory. "That's right," she thought. "Why would you want to think about any other woman when I'm right in front of you?"
Speaking of which, Lord Izuku still hadn't given any outward reaction to her dress; it was as if he hadn't seen it. Either he had the most supreme self-control of anyone Shoko had ever met, or he was the dumbest man alive.
"Well," she tutted, "And here I thought you were a gentleman."
Izuku chuckled. "Only when I want to be," he replied.
For a moment, Shoko teetered on the edge of saying something she knew would break the thin veil of propriety still hanging over the conversation. She very nearly followed through. But, as if sensing her opportunity, Momo spoke first.
"I heard about your visit to Lord Todoroki," she said. "How did it go? I was given to understand that he rarely entertains guests."
Shoko fought back the urge to give Momo a heated glare; even still, she had to admit it had been a deft maneuver. Why she didn't want Shoko to speak, though, was something that still didn't make sense.
As she weighed possibilities, Izuku set his wineglass aside for a moment, shifting in his chair.
"Lord Todoroki is an…interesting man," he finally said. "Our discussion was enlightening."
Shoko couldn't have fought back the snort that escaped her at that even if she'd wanted to. "Of all the ways I've heard my father described over the years," she chuckled, "Interesting" might just be my new favorite."
Izuku looked at her oddly, while Momo's gaze softened ever so slightly; she knew a little more of Shoko's history with Enji than Shoko would have preferred, after all.
"And why is that?" Izuku asked.
Shoko just smiled. "My father is many things," she replied. "Arrogant, stubborn, and prideful, to name a few. But I suppose that those things are interesting…if you haven't realized yet that every single noble in Japan shares those exact traits."
Now it was Momo's turn to fight back a cough of laughter, while Izuku continued to give her that odd look. She wondered what he was thinking.
Whatever it was, he eventually seemed to decide against saying it; instead, he asked, "So, if I may ask-what brings the two of you to my table tonight?"
Instead of answering, Shoko just grinned lazily. "You say that like having the two most beautiful women in Japan hanging on your every word is a burden," she replied.
Izuku chuckled at that-and for half a moment, she saw his eyes flick downwards, taking in her dress. So, he did see it. She had him now.
"Oh, it isn't a burden," he assured her. "But I wouldn't call it relaxing, either."
Shoko tilted her head. "Why not?" she pressed.
Izuku raised an eyebrow, and with a jolt, Shoko realized that he saw right through her. He made eye contact, and the look he wore said, "I know what you're up to."
It was thrilling. Dangerous, too, of course-if he realized that Shoko was drawing him in, he could simply refuse, and then all her efforts would be in vain-but damnit, it had been so long since someone actually realized that Shoko was manipulating them. Having it happen again sent lightning down Shoko's spine. There were actual stakes to this game she was playing again.
For a moment, she and Izuku once more teetered on the edge of…something. Tension crackled in the air like static, and she found herself utterly unable to predict what he would do next, what she would do next. For a moment, she considered doing something…drastic.
And then Momo cleared her throat, and shattered the moment. "I hate to interrupt…whatever it is you two are doing," she said dryly, "But I would like to warn you that we have another visitor approaching."
Fighting off the last of her distraction, Shoko half-turned, just enough to spot Lord Neito Monoma approaching from behind her.
Fucking joy. Shoko couldn't even bully him out of the room like she usually managed to do-as Lady Itsuka's husband, he was essentially one of the hosts tonight. And in the elaborate etiquette rules of the nobility, insulting the host was a grave crime indeed. Of course, if the host insulted a guest, that was equally terrible.
Lord Neito bowed extravagantly as Shoko laid eyes on him. He'd come all the way up to the table; his wife was nowhere to be seen. "Lady Todoroki," he said in his simpering voice. "Are you having a pleasant evening?"
Shoko raised an eyebrow. Her eyes were like glittering ice; in that moment, she was every inch the force of nature her reputation proclaimed her to be. "As a matter of fact, I was," she sighed. "A shame it didn't last."
Monoma's smile faded a little. "Now why would that be?" he asked.
Shoko met his eyes. "Your face, I'm afraid," she said. "It gives me quite severe indigestion."
There was a moment of silence, broken only by a low, soft chuckle that escaped Izuku's lips.
In an instant, Monoma's gaze turned to him; the lordling's eyes were burning with barely-contained disgust.
"Was something funny, bastard?" he asked.
Izuku raised an eyebrow incredulously. "I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" he asked idly, stretching and putting his arms behind his head. "I don't see any bastards at this table. My parents were married."
Monoma snorted. "Please, you really think I'll buy that?"
Izuku blinked. "Excuse me?" he asked. His voice was lower now; more dangerous. Momo and Shoko exchanged a concerned glance.
A wiser man would have, perhaps, stopped there. Nobody had ever accused Neito Monoma of being wise.
"You heard me," he said. "Why else would Lord Yagi hand over his house to scum like you? He probably cuckolded your father, too-assuming your mother wasn't just a whore."
Momo's face went blank as she schooled her features into neutrality, an obvious sign of alarm. Shoko gave no outward signal beyond the barest twitch of her fingers tightening around her wineglass; Izuku's eyes merely darkened a shade. Despite it all, he truly seemed to still not care. It seemed as if even an insult as grave as this would simply slide off his back.
Or at least, Shoko thought.
There was the scraping sound of a chair being pushed back; Shoko hadn't even realized up until that moment that every table around them had fallen utterly silent, watching the unfolding confrontation.
Stepping around the table to ensure that there were no obstacles between them, Izuku stared down at Lord Monoma. The nobleman was at least six inches shorter than Izuku, and much less muscular. It was almost cartoonish, the difference between the two men; the look in Izuku's eyes was steely and dangerous, the one in Monoma's simpering and arrogant. A lazy spark trickled from the corner of Izuku's eye, traveling down his powerful neck muscles and across his collar, running down his arm.
"Much like Lady Todoroki," Izuku said, his formality just barely not perfect, his words ever-so-slightly clipped, "I had been in quite a good mood up until now. It's because of that that I'll offer you a chance-apologize now, walk away, and this ends."
Monoma chuckled. "And if I don't, mercenary?" he sneered. "I don't know if you've realized, but this isn't America anymore. You can't start a brawl because somebody hurt your feelings."
Izuku's expression remained unchanged. "I assume that's a no, then?" he asked dryly. "This is your last chance, Monoma."
Monoma scowled. "I have nothing to apologize for, bastard," he spat. "You know I'm telling the truth."
Izuku ignored him. In his mind, he heard Enji Todoroki's voice. "You have to impress us, or we will not respect you."
It was true, he realized, true of all the nobles. Monoma, Chisaki, even Shoko herself. They wouldn't treat him as an equal-wouldn't even show him basic respect-until he showed them what they were dealing with.
Fine. Izuku had dealt with exactly that sort of group before-the mercenaries back in San Francisco had been the same way. And they'd all feared him by the end.
These people wanted a show? He'd give them a fucking show.
It was time to stop hiding from who he was.
Izuku turned to Shoko, who remained utterly guarded, her perfect mask unreadable-and yet Izuku detected a glimmer of eager interest in her eyes. He bowed to her, and asked, in perfect formal speech, "Lady Todoroki, forgive me for my ignorance-but there is a protocol for challenging a fellow lord to a formal duel, correct?"
Monoma's eyes flew wide, as did those of his handful of attending lackeys. A murmur swept outwards around them, ripples of shock and disbelief spreading through the watching nobles.
Shoko was silent for a moment, swirling the wine in her glass, unreadable.
And then, she grinned.
Izuku had seen many terrifying things in his life. He had seen cities burn, armies break, governments fall. None of them had anywhere close to the amount of raw menace in Shoko Todoroki's flawless smile.
A shudder went through the room. Every lord and lady in the room knew that toothy grin. This was more than her unreadable smirk or a polite smile. This was bloodier, angrier, more real. It was the most feared sight in their society-as close to a death sentence as any of them had ever received. They all knew-when Shoko Todoroki grinned like a shark, it was because somebody was now doomed to suffer.
"Why, yes," Shoko replied with absolute relish, "yes, there is."
Izuku grinned; Monoma looked as if he wanted to protest, but one lazy glance from Shoko rooted him in place, his mouth half-open.
"Please, enlighten me," Izuku requested. "I wouldn't want to do this improperly, after all."
Shoko chuckled darkly, a deeply unnerving sound in its own right. "Of course not," she agreed. "Now…I would suggest you state your opponent, your grievance, and offer them first choice of place and time. If he refuses, he must offer you a public apology. If he accepts…"
Nobody needed that explained. With another bow, Izuku turned back to face Monoma. "Lord Neito," he said in a deep, dark voice. "For your countless insults against me, my family, and those who associate with me, I challenge you to a duel."
Monoma took an unsteady step backwards. "Y-you can't challenge me," he hissed. "You're just an up-jumped peasant-"
Izuku took a step forward, thunder crackling off his body, power gathering around him like an ominous wind. "I am heir to the House of Yagi," he snapped. "And I am done tolerating your insults. Apologize, or face the consequences."
Monoma looked around frantically, but found only a sea of unsympathetic-or at least unwilling-faces. At last, recognizing a fruitless search when he saw one, he sighed.
"Very well," he declared, eyes glittering with hatred. "I accept your challenge, basta-Lord Yagi. My family's estate possesses a well-appointed dueling arena. Would three days from now at noon be acceptable?"
Izuku smiled, and it was every bit as menacing, deadly, and devoid of light as Shoko's. "That suits me perfectly," he replied, all flashing canines and gleaming deadly eyes. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to finish my drink."
He sat back down, and Monoma all but fled the room.
As the room around them slowly settled back into something resembling normalcy, Shoko leaned forwards.
"Now that," she declared, "might be the most interesting thing you've done yet."
Izuku chuckled. "All I did was scare the pants off him," he replied. He was still grinning, as he had before Monoma had arrived, but it had an edge now, more teeth and a deadlier tint to his gaze. It was a lot closer to the deadly smile he'd worn as Titan.
"Pretty soon, you'll get the chance to do a whole lot more than that," she pointed out. She was all but leaning over the table now, not caring about her dress or the room or anything else. That look in Izuku's eyes-the smell of ozone and the sense of danger she'd felt when he stared down Monoma-was bouncing around in her head like a ping-pong ball. She couldn't stop thinking about it.
She needed to see what Lord Izuku Midoriya really was.
Izuku nodded. "I suppose I will," he mused. "Maybe being a lord does come with a few nice perks."
With that, Shoko realized that she needed to leave, as much as she didn't want to. The world of the aristocracy was still turning-and if she stayed too long, people would start talking. Normally she wouldn't particularly care, but she knew how vicious rumors could be, and she didn't want to jeopardize whatever progress she'd made in gaining Izuku's trust just yet.
So she stood, and declared, "Well, I'm afraid I have to go for now. I can't wait to see you take Lord Neito to task for…well, everything he's ever said, more or less. Assuming, of course, that you can actually back up your words."
With that barb, she stood, followed a moment later by Momo, who wore her most guarded expression-the one that she only wore when she really wanted to keep her thoughts hidden from Shoko.
They hadn't made it two steps when Izuku responded.
"Lady Shoko," he said. "Might I make a proposal?"
She turned back, grinning already. "That depends on what it is," she said jokingly.
Izuku was smiling, that same glint of danger still lurking in his eyes. "When I win," he said, "I think we should have dinner together. Just the two of us. Is that alright with you?"
When he won? Well, Shoko certainly didn't mind a confident man. "As long as I get to ask for a secret," she responded playfully. "After all, I didn't get one tonight."
Izuku laughed. "I think that can be arranged," he agreed. "Assuming that you don't get your fill of secrets from watching the duel."
That got Shoko's interest all over again, but before she could say anything, Momo's hand landed on her arm. Turning to her right-hand woman, she saw onyx eyes filled with a hardness that would brook no further argument.
"We need to talk," Momo muttered. "Alone."
Shoko sighed. It was only fair, she supposed. "Very well," she decided.
As he watched the two women disappear into the crowd, Izuku drained the last of his wine, not yet sure whether to laugh or cringe at the turn the night had taken.
He hadn't intended to challenge another heir of a Great House to a duel tonight. But he couldn't exactly bring himself to regret it either. At the very least, he could make sure nobody ever insulted his mother in front of him ever again.
And have some fun, of course. That part was a given.
While Izuku remained deep in his thoughts, a waiter approached with a serving tray full of wineglasses. With deft, practiced movements, they gave him another, removing the drained one so quickly Izuku didn't even notice until it was gone.
That was one thing that it was way too easy to get used to, he mused as he nodded to the waiter in thanks and raised the new one to his lips. This whole party could only proceed as it was thanks to an army of servants who moved with militaristic precision, impossible speed, and near invisibility. It was impressive, but the fact that it was so easy to stop paying attention to the waiters also meant that nobody would recognize their faces, or if one changed.
In other words, they were the perfect cover for infiltrators.
Izuku froze, realizing that even as he'd been thinking, the waiter who'd given him the glass hadn't disappeared back into the maelstrom like he'd expected. He could sense the man's presence lingering just behind him, perfectly stationary.
Lightning began to hum as Izuku slowly, surely turned, braced for something, anything. He pretended to still be drinking as he did so, hoping that the man wouldn't realize until it was too late. His paranoia was getting the better of him-but damnit, something felt off.
Then, the waiter spoke. "Fucking hell," he said, coarse and amused. "I was wondering how long it'd take you to notice. You're slipping, you big fucking moron."
Izuku knew that voice. He practically spat out his wine as he dropped the act, slamming his wineglass down and whirling to face the imposter.
"You," he spat, somewhere between horrified, enraged, and in awe at the sheer fucking audacity of it all. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
The blonde man who'd served Izuku, Shoko, and Momo earlier grinned, red eyes blazing with amusement. He'd somehow slicked down his hair into a flawlessly combed style, so incredibly different from his usual explosive spikes that it was why Izuku hadn't recognized him earlier.
"Now, now," Katsuki Bakugo, part-time mercenary and full-time pain in the ass, tutted in response. "Aren't you supposed to be a gentleman nowadays?"