Hey everyone!
I've got a new chapter for you, featuring some demi-toxic Dabi content. This one's written from Dabi's perspective again. I'm doing this intentionally so that when you read from the OC's point of view again, you'll always question Dabi's words and intentions lol! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Sending hugs and kisses to all of you.
Enjoy!

Dabis POV

A few days earlier...

Afternoon crept in, cold and indifferent, as I lurked in the shadowy corners of an alley in Tokyo's red-light district. Crimson Blade was my prey, but hunting her was like chasing smoke - she was as elusive in her private life as she was in that damn Angel of Death costume. I had been stalking her for days, trying to find a crack in her armor, a slip in her routine, but she was a ghost, slipping through the cracks of the city, leaving nothing but whispers and shivers in her wake.
At night, she became the Grim Reaper, draped in her ominous attire, stalking the streets with a silence that unnerved even the most hardened of villains. When she spoke, it was with hollow, cryptic words that seemed more for show than communication. It didn't matter what she said - or if she spoke at all. Her presence alone was enough to send chills down the backs of anyone who stood in her path.
Despite our efforts, information on her was frustratingly scarce. No real name, no origin story, no ties to other professional heroes. It was as if she had appeared from nowhere, a phantom in the guise of a savior. She never appeared on talk shows, had no social media presence, and refused interviews even after high-profile villain takedowns.

She'd never made an official statement about her quirk either, leaving it up to the frenzied speculations of her so-called fans.
From what little we could piece together, it seemed that her quirk revolved around blood - maybe materialization, maybe control. The pattern was undeniable: she always drew blood, even if just a scratch, with her attacks. It was almost ritualistic, as if the act itself was necessary for her powers to work. But that was all we had - speculation and scraps of information that made her even more of a mystery.

And there I was, hiding in the bowels of Tokyo, hoping to catch a glimpse of the real her, the person behind the myth. But she remained just out of reach, a shadow slipping through the cracks, leaving me to wonder if I was hunting her or if, somehow, she was hunting me.

And nothing in her private life gave away even a hint of vulnerability—nothing to exploit, nothing to blackmail, no strings to pull. It was as if she'd designed her existence to be as bland as possible. Every day was a repeat of the last: She met no one, spoke to almost no one, her social interactions reduced to a few lifeless exchanges with cashiers or waiters. There was no sign of hobbies, no passions, nothing she seemed to particularly enjoy or value.
But for all her stoic detachment, there was an odd clumsiness to her. More than once, I saw her trip over her own feet, collide with inanimate objects, or drop something for no reason at all. It was almost comical - this exemplar of stoic menace fumbling through her day like a sleepwalker lost in a nightmare.
Twice a week, she'd visit U.A. for exactly two hours, but that was a mystery I couldn't crack. The school was too well guarded for me to get close enough to see what she was doing there. She walked out of the building alone, empty-handed, as if the visit had been nothing more than a formality.

In short, her life was a monotonous loop: nights spent as a pro-hero, days likely lost to sleep, and afternoons dedicated to mundane errands. It was as if she'd hollowed herself out, leaving nothing behind for anyone to find.

The only thing that stood out in her monotonous existence, the one detail that begged for attention, was her choice of residence - Kabukichō, Tokyo's notorious red-light district. A place where neon signs cast long shadows and secrets hung in the air like the smell of cheap perfume. It was a bizarre detail, one that gnawed at my mind like a rat in the walls. The building I suspected to be her apartment was above a well-known brothel, sharing the same lift. The thought had crossed my mind more than once: was she just living there, or did she have a side gig as a hooker?
The idea of her being a prostitute was... confusing, to say the least. Pro-heroes should earn enough to avoid such a lowly existence, shouldn't they? But then, why would she live in Kabukichō, of all places? It didn't make sense. This was the last place any sane woman would call home—a den of vice where danger lurked behind every smirking face, where the constant noise could drive anyone mad. Was she drawn to the chaos, or simply too reckless to care?
From my spot in the alley, I kept my eyes trained on the street, my gaze sharpening as I saw her emerge from the building once again. Same as always, she wore that black medical mask, concealing the lower half of her face like she had something to hide. Maybe she was ugly, maybe she didn't wanted to be recognized by her clients - who knows?

She was at it again, wearing that skirt - just the right length to catch the lusting eyes of Kabukichō's regulars. It clung to her slender frame in a way that seemed almost deliberate, paired with a tight black leather jacket that hugged her bony shoulders. The cooler weather played into her aesthetic, but it also worked in my favor. I had my own attire—long-sleeved jacket, collar pulled high over my nose, sunglasses hiding the worst of my burn scars, and a hood drawn low. Shigaraki had ribbed me about my appearance, saying I looked like a perv snapping photos of schoolgirls from behind a fence. I couldn't argue - he had a point. But I was more concerned about avoiding her recognition when the time came. My disguise was far from perfect, but it was enough to keep me in the shadows.
I kept my distance, shadowing her through the winding streets as she made her way out of Kabukichō's seedy heart and into a more innocent part of the city. It was almost routine by now. She frequented a small, unremarkable supermarket in this quieter district, like clockwork. Every day, she checked the sweets section - specifically the shelf where they kept KitKat Matcha. And every day, for the past week, that shelf had been empty.

I took my usual position in the sweets aisle, knowing she'd start with the meat and work her way to the vegetables before hitting the candy last. The shelf was nearly bare today, save for one lonely package of KitKat Matcha. I felt a sense of duty to leave it there for her. After all, I was a villain, not an asshole.
But then, just as I was about to walk away, two kids darted into the aisle, and before they could react, I grabbed the package and tucked it under my arm - the only weak spot I had discovered about her in the days of stalking, and I'd claimed the prize.

I ducked behind the nuts section, waiting as she made her usual rounds. Sure enough, she headed for the sweets aisle, pausing when she saw the shelf empty once more. Disappointment flashed across her eyes, just for a second, before she turned and moved on, heading for the checkout. I followed, slipping into line a few people behind her.

The man ahead of her in line was the kind of person who could make a vulture look hygienic. His basket was overflowing with KitKat Matcha, the green wrappers piled high like gold in a treasure trove. No wonder Crimson Blade's attention was drawn to him.

"Excuse me," she said, "could you spare a package for me?"

The man turned, his annoyance flaring like a rotten fish on a hot day. "No," he snapped, revealing a set of teeth that looked like they'd been in a lifetime of bar fights. His face was a grimy canvas of neglect.

"Come on," she insisted, eyes narrowing. "You've got like ten packs. Just one?"

The man's sneer deepened, as if he relished the cruelty. "These are the last. Ever," he muttered with a smug grin. He had the kind of face that made you question if he was a natural disaster rather than a human being.

"What?" she said, her voice tinged with disbelief, a rare crack in her usual monotone voice.

"Yeah, didn't you hear? They're discontinuing these. New varieties coming out. Production's stopped," he explained with a smirk.
"That's got to be a bad joke," she protested, her composure breaking. She looked at the cashier, hoping for some form of explanation.

"'Nope, he's right," the cashier confirmed, his voice as flat as a pancake. "We haven't had a delivery in weeks. We're out of stock."

"But... but that can't be right. They were always so popular," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. It was as if she had just discovered that the sky was falling. Why such despair over matcha-flavored chocolate? If it wasn't this brand, she could buy something similar from another. I hid my KitKats, watching the scene unfold with a smirk.
"Maybe you'll have better luck elsewhere," the cashier suggested, his tone almost apologetic. "I haven't seen them in any other stores for weeks either."

"Bad luck I guess," the man chuckled, clearly enjoying her discomfort.
Crimson Blade hesitated, her eyes darted to the man's overflowing basket, then back to him.

"I'll buy one package from you for 15,000 yen," she offered, the desperation in her voice barely concealed by her usual cold facade.

"Forget it, girl," the man scoffed. "I can sell these online for 50,000 yen."

I couldn't believe my eyes - was she really going to fall for this pathetic charade? My curiosity piqued, I watched the scene with dry detachment.

"What you're doing here is shameless," Crimson Blade said, her voice dripping with contempt. Her gaze was steely, yet there was an almost palpable hint of frustration.

"If only you'd been quicker!" the man retorted with a lecherous grin. His laughter was an ugly, high-pitched wheeze as he clutched his shopping bag like a trophy. "Now it's off to Golden Lotus to see my little darling Sayuri," he continued, his voice trailing off as he shuffled away, the brothel's name hanging in the air like a bad odor.

"Golden Lotus, huh?" I muttered to myself, recognizing the establishments name. It was a relatively busy cathouse, and not far from here.
This man had something that could be turned to my advantage, something I wasn't about to let slip through my fingers. Approaching Crimson Blade seemed like a gamble, but it was one I had to take.

"Hey," I called, pushing my way through the checkout line. "You can have my KitKat's."
Crimson Blade's eyes widened in surprise.

"Sorry?" she asked, her confusion clear.

"Yeah, take it," I said, placing the package in her hand with forceful insistence.

"I can't accept that. It's the last one," she mumbled, her face flushed with an awkward mix of shame and regret. Her hesitation was irritating. I needed to move, to catch that slimy scum before he disappeared.

"Take it, now," I hissed, pressing the chocolate harder into her palm before slipping out of the store and sprinting after the man.

I found him with ease. The paper bag still clutched in his grubby hands. He didn't lie - he was heading to Golden Lotus, just like he said. I followed him, staying in the shadows, until he reached a lonely crossroad. As he began to turn, I grabbed him and dragged him into a nearby alley.

I gave him a beating that would've made Endeavor beam with fatherly pride. Satisfied that I'd turned him into a human pretzel, I rifled through his shopping bag like it was a treasure chest. Lo and behold, the KitKats were still there, perfectly fine. I couldn't help but chuckle darkly as I grabbed the bag.
"Don't just lie there like a scattered pile of shit. Sayuri's waiting for you," I taunted, my voice dripping with mockery as I made my way out.
With that, I headed towards the newsstand where Crimson Blade regularly bought her newspaper. The revelation of her obsessive attachment to the chocolate had given me an advantage, a potential weapon to use against her later.

I caught up with Crimson Blade just before she reached her destination. There she stood, like a moth entranced by a flame, staring at the glowing TVs in an electronics store window. The screen flickered with her own image— a program about her played out with dramatic flair. I drifted into position next to her, trying to blend into the surroundings while sneaking glances at the show.

The TV blared:
"Good evening, and welcome to 'Hero Analysis,'" the TV announcer boomed with the enthusiasm of someone who'd done that intro a thousand times. "Tonight's hot topic is the heroine who's been lighting up the headlines: Crimson Blade. Her recent display of heroism in Ginza, where she took down two high-profile villains, has sparked a flurry of debate. Joining us to dissect this phenomenon are two well-respected pro heroes: Edgeshot and Ryukyu. Thank you both for taking the time.

Edgeshot began to speak, "Thank you.
This is an important discussion."

Ryukyu offered only a tight smile. "I'm eager for the insights."
The moderator's voice dripped with anticipation. "There is a debate brewing about Crimson Blade. Some dub her an antihero, while others argue she displays villainous traits."

Crimson Blade's brow furrowed in confusion. "What the hell is an 'antihero'?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

I couldn't resist the urge to chime in, even though I was supposed to be a ghost in this scene. "A hero with a questionable moral compass who's a little less pure and a little more vicious," I explained. With this being my last day of stalking her, curiosity got the better of me. I was itching to see her reaction to the review of her own actions.

"That's just awful..." she murmured, her gaze drifting toward me for a fleeting moment. "Oh! It's you," she said, her usually lifeless eyes sparking with rare emotion. "I'm sorry I didn't get to thank you earlier," she began, but I cut her off with a dismissive wave.

"Save the thanks for later," I hissed, pointing a finger at the TV screen. She turned back to the broadcast, her attention glued to the image of herself under an overly bright spotlight.

The program droned on;

The host's voice cut through the airwaves:
"Her brutal approach draws comparisons to the infamous Stain. Ryukyu, how would you rate her method?"

"Huh?" Crimson Blade muttered, her surprise evident as she leaned forward, her face illuminated by the flickering light of the screen. Her eyes, usually so detached, seemed momentarily alive with a flicker of distress.

Ryukyu responded with a thoughtful pause:
"Crimson Blade's intensity is something many of us aren't used to. She is not afraid to use extreme measures to achieve her goals. The problem is that those extremes can easily turn into something far more dangerous. When heroes begin to use such ruthless tactics, the distinction between hero and villain becomes disturbingly blurred. We're here to deliver justice, but we can't lose our humanity in the process."

Crimson Blade let out a long sigh, her attention still riveted to the broadcast, a sense of bitter acceptance in her demeanor.

The host's voice returned:
"Edgeshot, there are unsettling rumors circulating that the two Villains Crimson Blade defeated in Ginza may no longer be alive. The broadcast was cut off before the final details were shown. What's your take on this?"

"What?!" Crimson Blade gasped, pressing her palm flat against the glass, her sudden reaction was a stark contrast to her usual nonchalance. This sudden alarm made me question the realness of the very broadcast from Ginza. Had we been fooled by a media stunt, or had she indeed crossed a line?
Edgeshot's response carried a note of grave concern:

"These rumors are concerning, of course. As heroes, it's our duty not only to neutralize threats, but also to avoid becoming a threat ourselves. If Crimson Blade has gone so far as to kill these villains, it sets a dangerous precedent. We must have all the facts before making any judgments, but even the possibility casts a shameful shadow over her methods."

"They... they can't seriously think that Crimson Blade actually killed those two villains, right?" Her voice trembled with genuine shock, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Didn't she?" I asked, tilting my head with an exaggerated, confused look, my collar effectively masking my dirty smirk.

"No, of course not!" Her answer was immediate, as if she'd been waiting for someone to challenge the media's sensationalism. The situation had taken a turn for the intriguingly absurd.

"Oh? And how exactly would you know that?" I teased, my tone light but with an undercurrent of menace.

"I was there," she said, her voice rising with an almost theatrical seriousness. "She didn't kill them...the camera crew must have deliberately cut the broadcast to create drama." It was oddly fascinating to watch her defend herself from a third person perspective, blissfully unaware that I already knew her true identity.

"Look at that, so you have clients in Ginza? You must be doing well then," I teased.

"Excuse me, what are you implying?" Her eyes flashed with a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

"I'm in Kabukichō on business for a few days, staying at the motel right across from your 'workplace'—that brothel," I lied smoothly, weaving just enough truth to make it convincing. "Saw you walking in and out a few times."

Crimson Blade blinked, clearly startled. She adjusted her mask, a clear sign of discomfort. "No, no. You've got it all wrong. I'm not a... prostitute," she stammered, quickly looking away. "There are apartments above the brothel. I just live in the building," she clarified, blissfully unaware that she had walked right into my trap. Her revelation was a small victory for me.

I chuckled, the amusement of the situation bubbling up. "Shame, really," I muttered with a teasing note, "I was looking forward to visiting you tonight."
Her dark eyes widened comically at the comment.

"Just kidding," I added with a carefully controlled laugh. The playful jab was too tempting, and her reaction was priceless.

"Don't make jokes like that," she replied, her frown deepening as she tried to regain her composure.

"That was pretty harsh of me, wasn't it? Let me make it up to you," I offered, my voice gentle but my intentions anything but. "How about I take you out for a drink?" I suggested, trying to sound casual. My main goal was to dig up more dirt on her and draw her into our little scheme, but as the words left my mouth, I couldn't ignore the strange flutter in my stomach - a spark of something I didn't want to acknowledge.

"That's very kind of you, but I'm afraid I have to decline," she replied, her voice soft yet firm.

I tilted my head slightly, pretending to be hurt. "I get it... Maybe I came on a little strong. It's a bad habit of mine, pushing too far," I admitted with a sigh, then quickly shifted, "How about we start slow? We can exchange numbers. No pressure, just keeping in touch."

She looked around, almost like she was searching for an escape route. What was up with her? The fearless Crimson Blade, reduced to this meek, awkward mess. It was infuriating. Where was all that bravado now?

"I have to say no again," she said, her voice softer now, almost apologetic. "You don't need to go to such lengths over a little joke," she added, pulling the KitKat out of her shopping bag. "Look, you've already done plenty by giving me this."

Damn it. I cursed myself inwardly. I'd given away the one thing I could have used as leverage today. I could've traded this stupid candy for her phone number. Shigaraki would've had a field day mocking me for such a rookie mistake.

She put the chocolate back in her bag and gave a small bow, her politeness grating on my nerves. "Thank you," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

I wanted to slap myself for being so sloppy. "It's really nothing," I mumbled, coating my words with false sweetness as I calculated my next move. I needed to squeeze as much info out of her as I could.

"I can tell you're not ready to let me go just yet," she remarked with an eerie calm, her gaze locking onto mine. Behind the dark lenses of my sunglasses, my eyes widened in surprise. She was sharper than she looked, and I wasn't used to being called out like that.

"If you have nothing else to do today, we could walk home together. As I understand it, we live on the same street," she suggested, a move that felt like she was trying to defuse the tension hanging between us.

I hesitated, but what choice did I have? "Uh... sure, that sounds like a good idea," I mumbled, stepping forward to lead the way.

"Pleased to hear that," she replied, falling in step beside me. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, noticing how different she seemed without that menacing skull mask—almost cute, in a way that made me question if this was really the same woman who ruthlessly hunted down villains.

"May I at least know your name?" I asked, trying to coax something real out of her.

"My name is Aiko," she said casually, but I knew it was a lie the moment it left her lips. The little snake. Shigaraki had already had someone hack the registration list of her apartment complex. There were 134 people living at her building, and not one of them was named Aiko.

"Cute name," I lied, the words slipping easily from my mouth. "I'm Toya," I added before I could stop myself. My real name. Why the hell did I say that? Maybe because I couldn't think of any other name at the moment, she wasn't supposed to meet Dabi until our next encounter. Either way, it was a slip that left me feeling oddly exposed.

"Toya... that's really sweet," she murmured beside me, her voice taking on a dreamy quality that caught me off guard. For a brief moment, I felt an unfamiliar warmth in my chest, something that almost resembled embarrassment, but not quite. It was strange to hear my real name again after so long—it felt foreign, almost like it belonged to someone else.

As we walked side by side, I couldn't help but wonder how much of this was real and how much was just another layer of deception.

We continued down the street, the sky slowly bleeding into a murky yellow as the sun began its descent. The air was thick with the scent of the city—grease, cigarettes, and a hint of something sweet and rotting just out of sight. It wouldn't be long before night swallowed Kabukichō whole, bringing with it the usual chaos and color. She glanced over at me, her eyes glimmering with curiosity.

"Tell me, Toya," she began, "What kind of business brings you to a place like Kabukichō?" she asked, her voice slicing through the ambient noise. I chuckled, the sound rough and casual, but inside my mind was racing. Conveniently, she was taking the lead in the conversation, sparing me the trouble of spinning the web tighter.

"What kind of business?" I echoed. "Well, I have to admit I haven't been entirely honest with you, Aiko." The name tasted like ash on my tongue—still, I played along. "I'm not here for business. I came to Kabukichō to escape the loneliness for a few days, if you know what I mean." The lie slipped out easily, a mask over the truth.

"Oh," she whispered, disappointment lacing her tone. It was subtle but unmistakable, and I couldn't quite figure out why.

"I see," she continued after a moment's hesitation. "I moved here for a similar reason."
That caught me off guard. I glanced down at her, intrigued, as we stopped at a red light.

"Don't get me wrong, Toya," she added quickly, her tone firm but not unkind. "I don't... indulge in the same pleasures you might. That's where our priorities differ," she paused, her gaze distant, as if looking into some memory.

"I moved to Kabukichō because here, you're never really alone," she continued, her voice taking on a more reflective tone. "Even if there's no one lying next to you, you're never truly by yourself. Whenever loneliness feels unbearable, you just have to open a window. That's when you realize—you're not the one burning on the stake, the world's just on fire," she said, her voice tinged with a strange kind of resignation.

Her words hung in the air, and I found myself thinking about them. She was lonelier than I'd expected. I'd always assumed that her distance from the world was a choice, that she deliberately kept everyone away. But now I could see it wasn't that simple. She was just like me - lost, searching for something to anchor herself to in a world that was slowly suffocating her.

Compress had been right; she was vulnerable to manipulation. Beneath the layers of her hardened exterior was a person still struggling with the cold, brutal truth of loneliness. The thought was unsettling, yet it opened a window of opportunity. Maybe there was still a chance to sway her from the hypocritical confines of this wretched society.

The traffic light flickered to life, bathing the street in a cool blue glow, and we continued our walk, the pulse of Kabukichō beating louder and more chaotic as we ventured deeper into its neon-tinged heart. The cacophony of the city grew louder, more intense, as if the streets themselves were alive and crying out for attention.
"You know, Aiko," I whispered, the words slipping out with a darkly amused tone, "you're a lot like me." The words hung in the air, and for a brief moment her usually somber eyes sparkled with something like hope - a reaction so intense it was as if I had given her the universe. Why was this moment turning out so strangely in my favor?

"Toya..." she began, her voice hesitant, but then she faltered. "Oh, never mind," she finished, brushing off whatever she'd been about to say.

"No, tell me," I insisted as I followed her into the grimy building. She pushed the button for the elevator and we waited in the dimly lit lobby.

"How can someone like you be so lonely?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't quite tell if she was toying with me or if there was some deeper sincerity behind her question. Was she mocking me?

"What do you mean, 'someone like me'?" I countered, a hint of skepticism in my tone. The numbers above the elevator door ticked down slowly, like a countdown to some inevitable revelation.

"Well, someone like you... kind and clever—what's got you feeling so alone?" she asked earnestly as the elevator dinged and the doors slid open.
I couldn't help but enjoy the irony of her words. The poor thing had completely bought into my act. If only I'd approached her sooner; I could have manipulated her much more. She was like a starved stray, eagerly licking up any scrap of affection thrown her way. The realization was almost laughable.

The elevator creaked open, revealing a cramped metal box bathed in flickering light. Crimson Blade stepped inside, her fingers pressing the button for the seventh floor while she lingered in the doorway, blocking it from closing.

"Kind and clever? How flattering, doll," I began, my voice a low, venomous purr.

"I wasn't joking. I genuinely think you're 'all that," she murmured. I moved closer, invading her personal space, the heat of my breath mingling with hers. I held her face in my hand, my fingers pressing into her soft cheeks. The mask's thin fabric caught under my nails, the pressure barely enough to let her feel the mockery in my words. Her gaze lifted to meet mine, and there it was—something almost tragic in the gleam of her eyes.

"Oh no, trust me... I'm just like the filth you purge nightly, the same scum you cut through with that diabolical quirk of yours, you phony bitch," I continued, letting the mask of the 'nice Toya' crumble away.

Her eyes widened and as I pushed her gently, she stumbled backwards, bumping against the mirror inside the elevator. My swift move accidentaly pulled back the sleeve of my jacket, revealing a sliver of burned skin underneath.

For a split second, I wondered if she had noticed, but her frozen expression suggested otherwise.
Her gaze was locked on me, a mixture of confusion and anger playing across her features.

"Sweet dreams, Crimson Blade," I whispered with a twisted grin. As the metal slid shut, I turned and melted into the shadows of the night, the darkness swallowing me whole.

To be continued!