Eight years earlier

Izuku's first impression of Mercy's bar wasn't exactly a favorable one.

It was a dingy, dirty, smoke-filled dump, in truth; the only thing that distinguished it from all the other places just like it were the clientele. They huddled in packs along the outside of the room, clustered around tables and booths that bore cheap alcohol and cheaper food. Their eyes were hard and suspicious as Izuku, Katsuki, and Ochako stepped inside, putting him on edge.

Katsuki, for his part, took one look around and declared under his breath, "Now these seem like my sort of people."

Ochako snorted. "Drunk, stupid, and more likely to cut your hand off than shake it?" she shot back.

Bakugo rolled his eyes at her; the two had barely known each other for a day, and they'd already settled into a neverending cycle of vaguely-friendly sniping and sarcasm.

Izuku, though, had little time for their bantering. Instead, he headed for the counter in front of him, where a stoic, powerfully-built woman with sickly white hair was wiping down shot glasses.

She glared dismissively at him as he approached. "Don't believe I've seen you here before," she said. "Name's Mercy. What can I do for ya?"

Izuku didn't let his apprehension show, even for a second. Instead, he answered, "My friends and I are here looking for work."

Mercy raised an eyebrow. Putting away her last shot glass, she looked him up and down for a moment before snorting, "Boy, you're as green as summer grass. What makes you think there's any work for you here?"

Izuku frowned. "We were told-" he began, only for Mercy to turn away, ignoring him completely as her eyes landed on Ochako.

"Now you, I do know," she said in a low voice. "What're you doing with these idiots?"

Ochako, for her part, simply rolled her eyes. "Idiots they definitely are, but my grandma vouched for them," she replied.

Mercy's head jerked back around; her face was too well-controlled to show shock, but the look in her eyes made it clear she was suddenly reappraising Izuku and Katsuki more seriously.

"Did she now?" she asked, sounding impressed. "That's some feat, boy. What did you do to get the Sheriff's attention?"

Izuku met her gaze evenly. "I don't see how that's any of your business," he answered. "Now, are we good, or not?"

Mercy raised an eyebrow, and for a second Izuku wondered if he'd fucked up-but then, the woman grinned, and she gestured to a board behind the counter.

"You three'll liven up this place a bit, at least," she declared. "Jobs get posted there whenever they come in. They'll be marked with experience levels-I wouldn't take anything above green for two years at least if you value your life…or your morals. Someone's always hiring, so stick your head in every now and then, alright? Oh, and don't trust anyone you meet here. Safer that way."

Izuku nodded. He and the others turned-perhaps to find a table, or perhaps to leave-but before they could, a man waved at them from a corner booth.

"Hey! Over here!" he called, in Japanese, a language none of them had expected to hear so far from home.

The three of them glanced at each other, caught off guard, but slowly approached anyway. As they did so, the man who'd spoken leaned back in his seat. He had spiky black hair and bright blue eyes, and an easy, almost friendly grin on his face. He was lean, wearing a long jacket that hung loose around his frame

"Sorry for makin' a scene," he said, still speaking in Japanese, "but I couldn't help but notice-y'all are from Japan, aren't you? Heard your accents."

Izuku could feel Katsuki's gaze on the back of his neck, warning and uneasy. "Yeah," he said anyway.

The man sighed happily. "Ah, it's nice to see a few countrymen here," he said. "It's been too long since most of us were home. So, what're your names?"

Once more, Izuku recognized the signs of unease on Ochako and Katsuki's faces. The man-who seemed to be in his late twenties or so-apparently recognized them too, because he said, "Oh, relax, we ain't gonna hurt ya. Come over here and sit down, make yourselves at home!"

He gestured to the open side of the booth, while his three companions-a woman with blonde hair in a pair of messy buns, a man with a lizardlike head and scaly skin, and a plain-faced man with a top hat sitting on the table in front of him-remained aloof and seemingly uninterested in stopping their friend from inviting strangers to the table. Taking that as a sign that they weren't going to stop them, and recalling that Mercy's was neutral ground, Izuku decided to do as the man asked. He took a seat, his friends following in behind him.

"Why don't you introduce yourselves first?" he said evenly.

The man grinned. "Fair enough," he said, raising a hand. "That there is Himiko Toga, our resident psycho."

The newly-named Toga stuck her tongue out at him, revealing pointed, fanglike canines. She turned back to Izuku, smiling sweetly at him, though she merely waved and did not speak. Something in her sickly-yellow, hungry eyes made Izuku shudder. There were multiple knives in sheaths around her waist, and he got the inescapable sense that she was eager to use them.

Shifting to his next comrade, the man continued, "This is Shuichi Iguchi. He prefers to go by Spinner, though. Don't ask why."

The lizard-esque man just snorted. He didn't so much as wave at Izuku or his friends, instead nursing a strong-looking drink. He too had weapons-knives, guns, even a sword or two-in holsters all across his body, and the easy grace of a man who knew his business well.

"And this," the man finished with a flourish, "Is Atsuhiro Sako."

The final mercenary grinned at them, and gave a mock bow. "Mr. Compress," he corrected. "At your service."

Izuku's eyebrows rose steadily as he heard the names, and the titles. "And what about you?" he asked the man who seemed to be their leader. "What's your name?"

For just a second, the easy smile on the man's face seemed to twitch, crumbling like plaster over a wall marked and scored with violent scars. But the smile held…for now.

The man leaned back further in his chair, grinning that toothy grin that gave nothing away. "The name's Touya," he said casually, hands behind his head. "But you can call me Dabi."

Present Day

Shoko arrived for her dinner with Lord Izuku at precisely six o'clock, just as agreed.

Sure enough, he had not changed out of the fine clothes he had worn as he reduced a fellow heir to paste not six hours before; the reminder that he hadn't worked up enough of a sweat-or even gotten dirty enough-to warrant a change of clothing was a powerful reminder of just how horrifically outmatched Lord Monoma had been. Shoko liked the reminder-more than she liked the thrum that her body felt at the memory, at least. She didn't need the distraction right now.

Oh, the words she'd bandied about with Momo were true enough-Shoko had thoroughly enjoyed watching Lord Monoma be so easily and ruthlessly dispatched, and not just because the arrogant ass was one of the most aggravating irritants she had the displeasure of facing regularly. But lust and intrigue were a poor mix, and for all that Shoko was cheerfully willing to admit her growing attraction to Lord Izuku, she had no intention of letting that get in the way of what she was doing-or of letting it blind her.

Izuku Midoriya had just demonstrated, conclusively and dramatically, that he was almost certainly the most powerful man in Japan. And he'd done so at the same time as inviting her to a private dinner.

The stages of an aristocratic courtship were a tricky thing; they were at once more and less formal than one might expect, in that there was technically no legal definition of what a courtship was, only conventions and traditions-ones that were often circumvented when, say, a marriage was fully orchestrated by families for dynastic alliance. But when young lords and ladies were afforded the ability to scrutinize and pick between potential partners, there were broadly-recognized stages to a budding courtship.

There were the later stages, like formal betrothal, of course-but before that, if a potential couple began to develop mutual interest, the first step after the flirting that all unwedded bachelors and bachelorettes engaged in at balls and galas was typically dinners-chaperoned, of course-just like this one.

In short, Lord Izuku had essentially declared his potential interest in marrying Shoko by inviting her here tonight. And that was not something Shoko could forget, or allow herself to ignore.

On the one hand, she had to admit, she didn't hate the idea of marrying him. Aside from the political considerations-a union of Houses Yagi and Todoroki would create a power bloc among the nobility that not even all the other Great Houses combined would be able to face openly-he was strong, competent, enjoyable to spend time with, and above all interesting. To say nothing of how personally attractive she found him, of course.

But on the other…Rei Himura had once thought that Enji Todoroki would be a good husband. And everyone knew how that had ended.

Shoko's scar itched.

So, as she stepped out of her limousine, accepting the hand Izuku offered with grace, Shoko had zero intentions of keeping this dinner's discussion light, pleasant, or even flirtatious.

As the limo door closed behind her, Shoko looked Lord Izuku up and down. "And here I thought you'd still be celebrating your victory," she said in a honeyed voice. "It isn't every day one defeats the Heir to the House of Monoma in single combat."

Izuku chuckled darkly. "I should hope not," he agreed. "That would imply that I failed to teach Lord Monoma the lesson I was trying to impart the first time."

Shoko laughed, though there was very little humor in her voice. "I should think that eight weeks in traction will make for a potent teacher," she mused, "But then again, this is Neito Monoma we're speaking of. He may require remedial education."

Izuku's answering grin was all teeth. "Shall I show you to our booth?" he asked, offering her a hand once more.
Shoko took it, and followed quite happily, her eyes absorbing every detail of the scene around her as she went.

The place for their dinner had been chosen quite well, she had to admit; it was a restaurant in a particularly prestigious and wealthy district of Tokyo, the sort of place which catered to noble clientele on a regular basis-though not entirely. Quite a few of the patrons they passed would be merely wealthy regular citizens; perhaps high-level employees and managers of House businesses, perhaps wealthy foreigners, perhaps government officials. More than one of these craned their necks to look as Izuku and Shoko passed, slightly surprised to see them-but no more than that. These were not regular commoners, to whom the Great Houses were nigh-mythical figures, worshiped and feared in equal measure, looming like gods over regular mortals. These were the educated, well-compensated middlemen-the ones who every society, even one so unequal as modern Japan, required to function. They would not stare at the powerful so crassly.

The establishment obviously had experience with visits from such notable patrons, as well; the staff guided them deftly and respectfully to a private booth near the back of the ornately-decorated building, with curtains and screens to shield them from the outside world. Shoko and Izuku took their seats, while the chaperones-a helmeted Yagi House Guard member who said nothing and was utterly forgettable, and a woman named Moe Kamiji from the Todoroki House Guard who had been one of Shoko's minders for years-took up positions just outside the booth, far enough to give them privacy to speak, but close enough as to surely prevent anything… untoward.

When they had both been seated and a waiter had taken their orders for drinks and the first course, Shoko decided that it was time to take back some of the control she'd felt slipping through her fingers ever since Izuku had jumped into that arena.

"So," she began, "You've won one duel, and now you wish to court me? You have some nerve."

Izuku seemed unaffected by the harshness of her tone. He merely raised an eyebrow and replied, "I wished to enjoy a nice dinner with a woman who has given me good advice, that's all. What happens after that…well, I suppose that's as much up to you as it is to me."

Shoko's expression hardened. "Oh, don't play games with me," she said, harsher this time. "I know what men like you want when they invite a woman to dinner."

Izuku's answering grin was lazy and arrogant in a way that made some part of Shoko want to pin him to the nearest hard surface. "I wasn't aware that you'd met any men like me," he chuckled. "I'm the only one, after all."

The waiter returned bearing the wine they'd ordered, and Shoko found herself gripping the stem of her glass a little harder than she'd intended. "I must say, I hadn't realized you were so arrogant before," she mused.

Izuku just smiled again. "It comes with the territory, I'm afraid," he said. "As I'm sure you know, being the best at what you do is a death sentence for your humility."

For a moment, Shoko had to fight back a shudder. There was something thrilling about his words, about how the man she'd seen eclipse the sun and reduce a man she'd known to be a skilled fighter to dust was looking at her like an equal, acknowledging that yes, she was the best, that she stood at the pinnacle of her world, just as he stood at the pinnacle of his. But she forced it down, and met his eyes with steel in her mismatched gaze.

"I'm not going to make this easy for you," she warned him. "I will not be some blushing maiden for you to romance, and I'm certainly not going to come quietly. If you're expecting an enjoyable, simple courtship, you should leave now."

Shoko was deadly serious about every word. She liked Lord Izuku, she really did. He was intelligent, capable, treated her as an equal, and the mere sight of him was becoming enough to set her body humming. But she would not make it easy for him. She didn't dare. Not when her face was scarred forever with a reminder of how terribly wrong noble marriages could go.

Izuku met her gaze without flinching in the slightest. "Lady Todoroki," he drawled, "With all due respect, if I was interested in the sort of woman who'd give me an enjoyable, simple courtship, I would never have asked you to dinner."

Shoko's eyebrows knit together. "Dammit," she thought. "I think I might like this one."

As she fought to clear her mind, Izuku spoke again. "So, why don't you educate me on what you nobles usually talk about at dinners like this?" Izuku asked, grinning playfully. "After all, I'm just an uncultured barbarian, who knows nothing of your ways."

Shoko chuckled-but only briefly. When she met his eyes again, they were stern, cold. Lord Midoriya, after all, was no longer merely a gala plaything. With this meeting, he was a prospective suitor, and that was much more dangerous. Even after all her thoughts, Shoko still wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that. He wasn't the first man to make it this far, to have her considering whether or not she might finally find an acceptable husband.

If he fell short, he wouldn't be the first to do that, either.

Shoko's eyes were glacial when she spoke again. "Let me answer that this way: I will murder you in your sleep if you ever try to marry me for the purpose of usurping my birthright; no, Lady Yaoyorozu and I will not have a threesome with you for your edification; and, because I know you're wondering, I got my scar when I was six years old, when my mother had a mental breakdown and poured boiling water on my face for resembling my father too much."

Izuku's expression seemed to freeze as he tried to process that. Shoko, for her part, merely sipped her wine, her eyes never leaving Izuku's face. Time to see how well he could handle her tests.

She lowered her glass, sighing with relish. "There, now you know the answers to the three most common questions noblemen inevitably ask at dinners such as these," she said, her expression making it plainly clear that she was not joking.

Izuku frowned. "And why did you tell me this?" he asked, eyebrows arched.

Shoko met his eyes evenly. "So you could understand the quality of men you are now going to have to compare yourself to," she answered. "Several times, I have allowed suitors to advance to this stage of courtship. I had high hopes for each of them to prove themselves interesting enough to consider. Not a single one proved to be worth my time."

Izuku's eyebrows raised further. "I have to say," he admitted, "I don't think I'm particularly impressed with these suitors of yours."

Shoko allowed herself a small grin, one that bared just a few too many teeth. "Good. Neither was I," she said.

Izuku's expression grew more suspicious. "If I might ask," he prompted, "What exactly… happened to these suitors of yours?"

Shoko's lips twisted, her eyes gleaming with perhaps slightly too much relish.

"Why, nothing, of course," she told him, then paused and pursed her lips. "Well. Nothing provable, anyway."

Izuku's eyebrows rose still further. "And unprovable?" he asked.

She smiled. Raising her wine glass, Shoko said, "They will be missed, I'm sure. By someone. Eventually."

The two of them laughed; Shoko tried to pretend that she didn't notice how natural it felt, how Izuku's booming, rolling laugh passed through her body and settled somewhere deep in her chest.

When the laughter had passed, Izuku leaned back in his seat. "Am I allowed to feel insulted by the prospect of being compared to them?" he asked. "I am many things, but I rather take offense to the idea that you think I would be so… crass."

Now, it was Shoko's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I should hope you feel insulted," she said lightly. "I like my men with some confidence, after all."

Izuku's smile deepened. "Oh?" he said, his eyes bright and full of possibility. He leaned forwards again, until he seemed to steal the very breath from Shoko's lungs. "And how else do you like your men?"

Shoko grinned. "Much the same way I like my coffee, actually," she replied. "Strong, dark, and with a spoon in them."

That broke the dam of Izuku's amusement, and he let out a sharp guffaw that was utterly honest, totally without guile. Shoko wanted to hear it again, as soon as she could.

"Well," he said, "I suppose I'll just have to keep that in mind."

Shoko found herself a little disappointed as that line of conversation quickly dried up; she'd realized that they were both on slightly shaky, perhaps even improper ground for a conversation between an unmarried nobleman and an equally unmarried noblewoman-but simultaneously, she found she quite liked flirting.

Still, Izuku seemed far more committed to propriety than Shoko had expected (or, if she was being entirely honest with herself, how committed she wanted him to be), and so the two of them lapsed into pleasant silence for a while, enjoying the excellent food and drink.

And then, at last, Izuku finally spoke.

"You know, I've been wondering something about you," he said slowly, cautiously considering every word in order to avoid giving Shoko an opening.

Shoko raised an eyebrow. "A dangerous game," she observed.

Izuku snorted in agreement, but continued. Leaning forward, he said, "I've heard from others that you're the youngest Todoroki child."

Shoko nodded, though her perfect mask twitched ever-so-slightly around her eyes. Leaning back and sipping from her wine glass, she confirmed, "I am. The baby of the family-or what passes for a family, I guess."

Izuku heard the faintest whisper of bitterness in her words, but ignored it; something about it suggested a trap, a false trail she was leaving to try and guide the conversation away and onto better ground for herself. Keenly aware of how much he was treating this like a battle, he asked, "But you're the heir, correct?"

Shoko seemed reluctant to answer at first-but eventually decided to indulge him. "I am," she said, fixing him with a look that made him take a deep breath; that look suggested interest, a level of engagement that Izuku knew meant trouble. "I bet you're wondering how that happened."

Izuku nodded, and Shoko grinned playfully.

"Why, it's simple," she said, sipping her wine. "I'm the only Todoroki sibling left, you see."

Izuku's grip on his facial muscles must have briefly slipped, displaying his confusion and alarm, because Shoko snickered, eyes flashing with dark amusement at his reaction.

"Oh, come off it," she chuckled, setting down her half-empty glass. "I didn't kill them."

Izuku raised an eyebrow. "The fact you had to specify that isn't exactly reassuring, you know," he replied dryly.

She grinned. "It wasn't meant to be," she answered, leaning back in her chair.

When she spoke again, it surprised Izuku; he'd half-expected that to be the end of the conversation. Instead, Shoko began, "My father had four children. I have two brothers, and a sister."

Izuku raised an eyebrow. "Must have been a crowded house," he said.

Shoko chuckled into her wine. "Hardly," she replied. "You've been to the Todoroki estate; you know how huge it is."

Izuku nodded slowly.

"It's the largest in Japan," Shoko told him. "My father would have had to have a hundred children to make the place feel full. Instead, it was just…well, empty."

Izuku felt a soft stab of pity at that. He'd spent his whole childhood in cramped, cozy apartments with his mother; having his own room was a luxury, one he didn't always have. A life like the one Shoko had lived felt alien and cold to him, and he once more wondered if he'd ever really be able to understand this woman.

Either ignorant or uncaring of Izuku's thoughts, Shoko continued, "Anyway…while men do inherit before women, generally, my father has never particularly cared for the gender of his heir. He wanted the best of his children to inherit; the others were…spares, at best. Or playing pieces."

Izuku fought down choice words at that, knowing that they would be meaningless.

"My older sister, Fuyumi, married Lord Takami a few years ago, which took her out of the line of succession," Shoko continued, her eyes distant as her fingertips drummed on the table. "They're expecting their first child by the end of the year."

Izuku blinked. "Lord Takami?" he asked. "I've met him. He's the one with the wings, right? I…honestly don't know what to make of him."

Shoko nodded, a smile slipping onto her face. Lord Keigo Takami was something of a character, just a few years older than her and Izuku, and both highly enamored of himself and equally capable of backing up his bragging with action. "The very same," she confirmed. "His house is young, but wealthy, ambitious, and potent-and he's quite a good friend of my father's, even if he is new-money as all hell. A while back, he did my father a sizable favor in their business dealings, and, well…my father rewarded him with Fuyumi."

Izuku frowned at that. "You make it sound so…cold," he muttered. "Like she was just a bargaining chip to repay a debt."

Shoko shrugged. "She sort of was," she admitted. "That's how it works here, you know. Though, it's not as bad as you think-Fuyumi was actually thrilled with the match. She was quite fond of Lord Keigo anyway, and he seems to feel the same. I think they might actually have come to love each other, too."

A brief glistening in Shoko's eyes emerged at that; she seemed almost wistful, though Izuku didn't dare to read into it. Knowing her, it could well be artificial-or at least deliberate. He could never be sure around her.

"My brother Natsuo was in line to inherit ahead of me," Shoko continued, "but, in all honesty…that would've been a disaster."

Izuku blinked, shocked at how candid she was. "That's…harsh," he muttered.

Shoko chuckled. "Don't mistake me, Natsuo is a wonderful person, and I love him dearly," she said. "But he would not have made a good Lord. He was too easily ruled by his emotions, too disinterested in the affairs of his house, and, well, just not capable enough. I knew it, our Father knew it, all the Lords knew it…and, most of all, he knew it. So…he and Father came to an agreement."

"What sort of agreement?" Izuku asked.

Shoko finished off her wine glass, setting it on the table. A waiter passed by, offering to refill it, but she waved him off, clearly intending to stay sober for the duration of their conversation.

"In exchange for funds to attend college and establish himself after graduating, along with the right to marry whoever he wants," Shoko said, "Natsuo willingly gave up his place in the line of succession. Apparently, he's graduated now-got a girlfriend, a good job, everything. He rarely even goes by Todoroki now-people tend to freak out when they realize they're in the presence of a son of Enji Todoroki, as you might imagine."

Izuku frowned. "He just… left?" he asked. "And your father allowed this?"

Shoko nodded. "He did," she agreed. "Father does care for us, in his way, and he didn't want to keep Natsuo in a position he had no desire for and little promise in. Better to let him forge his own path. And, of course, him being out of the way cleared the path for me to become his heir, which is what he really wanted all along. My father may care for his children, but he also plays favorites."

Izuku winced. "I see," he muttered.

Shoko sighed, clearly wishing she hadn't been so proactive in refusing more wine. "Well, there you have it," she declared. "That's how I, the youngest of my father's children, ended up as heir-much to the dismay of every lordling in this damned country that wanted to marry me, of course."

Izuku snorted at that, though he soon frowned again. "Wait," he said. "I thought you said your father had four children. What about your third sibling?"

Shoko's smile vanished like morning mist. It was replaced with cold, hollow eyes, a perfect, featureless mask on her face. Her fingers flexed around the stem of her empty wineglass as she sighed long and deep.

"That," she said quietly, "would be my brother, Touya. He was…the eldest."

Izuku recognized that tone; it was grief, the dull, aching sort that had cooled and healed and still throbbed like it was fresh all the same, worn down by time and distance and still burning.

"He was…well, he was my father's favorite before I was," Shoko murmured. "He had a fire Quirk, even more powerful than Father's. He was capable, too, every bit as politically skilled as our father, brilliant…everyone liked Touya."

Izuku said nothing-he knew what was coming.

"And then, one day, he and Father…they had a fight of some sort," Shoko continued. "I was young when it happened; I don't remember what they were arguing about. All I know is that, a week later, Touya left for America. Apparently, he became a mercenary, just like you did. Except…he didn't come back. And we never heard from him again."

A sudden chill went down Izuku's spine. His left arm began to throb with dull, remembered pain.

Shoko turned to him, and he was shocked at the look in her eyes. It was… raw. Genuine. For the first time, Izuku realized that she was actually telling him the simple, unvarnished truth.

"There's…something I've been wanting to ask you about that, actually," she admitted. "You spent, what, seven years in America? He would have been there at the same time. Did…did you ever see him there? I know he spent a lot of time around San Francisco, on the West Coast, like you did. I can't imagine that the mercenary world is all that big over there; even if you never met him…do you at least have any sort of idea what happened to him?"

Izuku was silent for a very, very long time, after that. More than that, he was perfectly, utterly still; he didn't so much as move a muscle, and even his face was completely motionless. A stray spark of lightning traveled up the side of his neck, and vanished. At last, after a seemingly endless silence, he spoke.

"I'm sorry," he told her, shaking his head, "but I'm afraid I don't know anything about Touya. I…wish I could help you more."

No sooner had he spoken than Izuku was rising from his seat. "If you'll excuse me," he said quietly, "I really should be going."

Shoko nodded, and let Izuku leave without a word. When the server came back around, she had him fill her wineglass to the very brim.

She took a long, deep swig, dark thoughts running through her head.

"Funny," she thought to herself. "That's the first time I've been able to tell that he's lying."

Two years earlier

Dabi rolled onto his side, coughing as he tried to force air back into his lungs. All around him was dust and blood and screaming. The other members of his team-Toga, Compress, Spinner-slowly got to their feet, just as disoriented as he was.

And to think, things had been going so well, before. The job had been a simple one: be a little bit of backup muscle for a turf war between two rival paramilitaries. Quick, easy cash. Until it hadn't been.

As they'd approached the town where the enemy had been holed up, a single blast of pure force had shredded their formation like an act of God-which, he supposed, it had been. Just not a benevolent god.

Now, a three-hundred-man strong raiding party with trucks and IFVs and armored personnel carriers had been shredded; men and vehicles lay shattered and broken across a huge area, twisted metal and broken concrete filling the air with smoke and dust.

Dabi heard gurgling from his left-the kind of sound he recognized as a man's lungs filling with blood. He turned to see the paramilitary leader-his temporary boss-with a two-foot-thick chunk of rebar from one of the flattened buildings through his chest. The man looked up at Dabi with wide, shocked eyes, tried to speak again, and then died, light fading from his eyes, head slumping against his ruin of a chest.

Dabi turned away again. He barely even registered the sight; maybe another man would've been horrified, but he'd seen far worse things. He was pretty sure he was about to see another.

A second later, he was proven right as the man who' d caused so much destruction stepped out from the billowing cloud of smoke.

They all knew this man. Every mercenary did. Dabi'd known him a little longer than most-had been there the day that bright-eyed boy walked into Mercy's for the first time.

He should've just killed the bastard right then. Would've saved them all a lot of trouble-because that boy had become the meanest motherfucker Dabi had ever seen.

Titan was powerful, yes. Overwhelming, yes. But the thing that had made him great, the thing that made him known from Portland to San Diego, was his sheer goddamn ruthlessness. Fighting Titan was a very simple proposition: either you surrendered, or you died.

A lot more men died than surrendered. Titan was a literal force of nature-and he looked the part, strolling through the smoke and dust towards the choking mercs, every inch of his body Herculean, dark, tight clothing concealing body armor, a radio hanging from his belt. He wasn't wearing a helmet; Dabi could see that curly green hair, and the stone-cold eyes of a practiced, remorseless killer.

One of the IFVs had miraculously survived Titan's opening attack. It was an ancient M2 Bradley, coming up on two hundred years old, kept working mostly out of spite and whatever unholy necromancy the paramilitary's mechanics had pulled. It had lost half its tracks and was leaning drunkenly against a half-destroyed wall, yet it opened fire on Titan as he approached.

The Bradley's twenty-five-millimeter chaingun had been designed to disable tanks and rip men in half; it roared in fury as it spat death at Titan, columns of dust kicked into the air as the gunner dialed him in.

It didn't matter. Titan moved like a blur, far too fast for any pre-quirk weapon to track; green lighting filled the air as he flickered into view, smashing into the Bradley like a meteor. The gunfire stopped, replaced by the sound of shrieking metal and shattering brick.

When the dust cleared, Titan was standing closer to Dabi and the other mercs, and all that remained of the Bradley was a twisted pile of metal, ripped entirely in half. There was no sign of the gunner-except perhaps for a bloody paste oozing from among the wreckage.

Titan closed the distance at last. "Dabi," he said in a simple, deceptively casual voice. "Seems to me like this fight is over, yeah?"

Dabi glanced around; three hundred men, dead in seconds. Barely even a drop compared to Titan's kill count-or his own. He chuckled to himself as he met Titan's gaze. "You say that," he replied dryly. "But we're still here, ain't we?"

Titan frowned. "Your employer's not looking so hot," he noted, nodding towards the impaled corpse. "This fight's nothing to die for."

He was right; it was a rare merc who'd fight for a man in no position to pay them. Most in Dabi's position would shrug, write off the lost payday as one of the risks that you always took as a hired gun, and laugh about it with Titan the next day at Mercy's. But Dabi…Dabi didn't care so much about the money. He had other priorities.

He glanced back at his squad; they nodded back, every one of them. They knew what they wanted: a crack at Titan. A chance to preserve their reputation, to not be another tale for Titan to brag about.

They'd been pushed a little too far.

Titan noticed the shift in their stance, the way they fanned out to surround him, the way Toga gripped her knife, how Spinner reached for his gun, how Compress stretched out those lethal hands of his. He looked uneasy, frowning. "Surrender already," he repeated. "You've lost."

Dabi raised a fist; it smoldered, blue flame licking at his fingertips. "Sorry, kid…can't do that," he drawled. "See, we've got a reputation to uphold. Can't go scurrying back to Mercy's as another notch on your belt."

Titan faltered, then. For a moment, he was not the most dangerous man on the West Coast, wasn't the living legend; he was the teenager who'd found a friend in a new, unfamiliar land again. His eyes softened, looking scared for the first time Dabi could remember.

"I should've killed him when I had the chance," he thought grimly.

"What fucking good is a reputation if you're not around to use it?" Izuku Midoriya snapped. "Stand the hell down!"

Lightning flickered, then vanished. He was pleading now, begging them. Dabi hated him all the more for it. "That's the thing, Titan," he said, smirking as fire burned in his hands, burned his flesh like fuel. "What else is left of us when we die, if not our reputations? Men like us, we're like smoke. When our time is up, we vanish . They don't build monuments to us. Nobody remembers our names-except for a couple of bastards in a run-down bar."

Izuku–Titan–swallowed heavily. "Touya," he said softly. "I don't want to kill you."

Dabi snarled. "Don't you dare call me that," he hissed. He'd burned that boy to ashes years ago. "Besides. This ain't about what you want. It's about what you gotta do. Now…pour one out for us, next time you're at Mercy's, will ya?"

He surged forwards, blue fire scorching the air as he launched it towards Titan. The others attacked too; Spinner opened fire, Toga leaped in, knife outstretched.

As quickly as he'd slipped away, Titan moved.

Toga died first; Titan twisted as her knife lunged towards his heart, letting her momentum carry her past him-right into his arms. His hand shot up faster than the eye could track. Dabi had just enough time to see fear on Toga's face before Titan had her by the neck. He twisted, and there was the sickening crack of bone. Toga dropped to the ground, neck snapped, empty eyes staring.

Spinner howled in rage, pistols blasting; the bullets ripped through empty air, as green lightning flickered and Titan blurred, reappearing directly behind the lizard-skinned man. Spinner's curse choked off, replaced with shocked, horrified gasping as Titan punched straight through him, his clenched fist emerging from Spinner's chest from behind like some monstrous alien creature. When he withdrew it again, there with a massive hole in Spinner's chest, one ringed by blood and shattered bone and horrible pulsing, ripped-out organs. Spinner crumpled instantly, dead on the spot.

Compress fared no better; with a cry, he reached out to grab Titan, hoping to rip him apart with his powers; instead, Titan turned as Spinner's corpse toppled to the ground, and with practically dismissive ease, dodged Compress and ripped his arm from his shoulder.

Compress screamed in agony, his other hand still clawing towards Titan-so he took that one too, a second gout of blood appearing in its place, the limb discarded as easily as another man might throw away a ball of paper. Only when Compress's screaming grew worse did Titan finally dispatch him, a roundhouse kick crumpling in his skull and letting him drop to the ground, just as dead as the other two.

All of that-three of the most dangerous killers Dabi'd ever known, dead-in so little time, with such disgusting ease. Titan had barely even been trying; he could've ripped Compress's head from his shoulders entirely with that kick.

Dabi cursed, and hurled another wave of flames at Titan-who snapped his fingers dismissively, parting the burning sea with another wave of pure force.

He stalked closer to Dabi, who hurled more fire, so hot he could feel the skin of his hands start to char and crisp. Again, Titan cut right through it, seemingly unaffected by the heat.

Twice more, Dabi attacked, and twice more, Titan swatted it aside. At last, the two were face-to-face, with absolutely nowhere to run.

Dabi spat, "Don't even bother asking me to-"

He was cut off with a strangled gasp as Titan seized him by the neck. He raised Dabi into the air, his grip slowly tightening, squeezing down on his airway. Dabi choked, scrabbling at Titan's iron-hard muscles, trying to escape. The man's green eyes were as hard as steel.

Blue eyes burned. Dabi's lips stilled-then twitched upwards into a smile. "See…you…" he croaked, "In…Hell…"

His hands fell away from Titan's, and for a moment, it seemed that he was dead.

Then, with one last burst of energy, summoned from some hellish place beyond human capability, he reached for Titan's throat, fingers groping over the larger man's shoulder, and flame blazed.

Titan did not flinch as Dabi's whole body ignited, blue flames, hotter than the sun, engulfing his whole body. A scream burst out of the dying man, like the howl of a demon, a sound no man should ever hear. And still, Titan showed no reaction as flesh crisped and baked, as the flames turned on their creator, overwhelming his body, licking greedily at his skin. He owed the man that much-owed it to him to look him in the eyes as he died.

And all through it, Dabi smiled.

Finally, when there was nothing left but a burned lump of charred meat on the ground, barely even recognizable as a human being, Izuku Midoriya stepped away, cradling his burned arm.

The radio on his belt squawked, and he grabbed at it with his unburned arm. "Titan, reporting in," he said. "The attacking force has been neutralized."

The voice on the other end was coarse, rough. "And the freakshows?" Katsuki Bakugo asked. He never did have a very high opinion of Dabi and his crew.

Izuku didn't even look down at the pulped, dismembered corpses lying in the dirt and dust. "Handled."

Bakugo asked for no details. He didn't want to know, probably; even dislike had its limits, when it came to seeing the sorts of things Izuku did. The radio went dead, and Izuku put it away again. He spared one last glance at the man who'd been the first real friend he'd had in America, and turned away.

And then he left, with nothing but smoke and ashes in his wake.