Hey everyone,
welcome to the new chapter! I've been busy crafting both this chapter and the next over the past few days, which is why it took a bit longer to get this one up. Expect the next chapter tomorrow! In this one, I did something I previously said I wasn't a fan of—but I'll explain why in the end notes, so I don't spoil anything for you.
Enjoy!
Ayas POV
About two weeks later
I let the hot water cascade down my body, washing away the last traces of shampoo from my hair, as Best Jeanist's exasperated voice crackled through the speaker of my phone, sitting on the sink. "How could you lose your communicator like that? I know you're... prone to clumsiness, but to drop your earpiece in the middle of that situation? Really, you've outdone yourself," he huffed, his frustration barely concealed.
I massaged my scalp, trying to focus on the warmth of the shower rather than the endless scolding. "Yeah, well, I would've preferred a little backup too," I hissed back, irritation creeping into my voice. The steam around me felt thick, suffocating even.
He let out a heavy sigh, the kind that makes you feel like you're being weighed down by someone's disappointment, even through a phone. "Look, I get it. You were nearly killed, and we're all relieved that you managed to survive that... mess. But now the media is swarming you again. Sure, you're a hot topic for defeating a nomu all by yourself, but-" his voice trailed off before he snapped back with a sharp jab, "the whole burning to death in the inferno thing isn't helping your case."
I rolled my eyes and turned off the water as the last drops dripped rhythmically onto the floor. "It's not like I set the park on fire," I muttered, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel.
"No one's saying that, so cut the crap." His irritation was palpable now, rare for him. Best Jeanist usually kept things cool and collected, but I'd clearly pushed him to the edge. "But as a pro hero, it was your responsibility to ensure the nomu's capture and safety until the authorities arrived. Enemy or not, you know that. You let things get out of hand, and now we're paying for it."
He was right. I knew it too. Everything that had gone wrong that night—Dabis flames, the destruction, the chaotic aftermath—it was all on me. The guilt had already settled deep, like an uncomfortable weight I couldn't shake off. And it wasn't like anyone was going to let me forget it anytime soon.
If I hadn't lost my damn communicator, none of this would've happened. I could've called for backup, and we'd have handled the nomu without things spiraling out of control. But no, I had to face it alone. With no one else to help me, my only option was to bleed it dry with my quirk, putting that creature into a coma. That's the problem with my quirk - it's messy. It worked, but with the nomu unconscious and helpless, it didn't stand a chance when Dabi lit the whole park on fire. That poor thing burned alive because of me - couldn't wake up without medical aid, couldn't do anything but roast in the flames.
And as if that wasn't enough of a failure, Dabi escaped too, leaving Nezu Park a blazing wreck. All because I dropped a stupid piece of equipment. One mistake and I lost control of the entire situation. It's funny, in a twisted way. I was supposed to be a hero, but I ended up watching the world burn around me.
The fallout was inevitable. My hero license was revoked for six weeks, as was my internship at U.A. The government even gave me a quirk-suppressing injection that took away my abilities for the duration of the suspension. A fitting punishment for someone who'd let things spiral so far out of control.
And the media, of course, couldn't leave the event alone. They were all over me, dissecting every moment of that night. Some praised me for taking down the nomu on my own, calling me a true hero. Others tore me apart for failing so catastrophically, for letting the villain get away, and for all the collateral damage. I couldn't even be angry with them - I knew they were right. I was a walking disaster and everyone knew it.
Shame clung to me like a second skin. I had failed, miserably, and now I had to live with it.
I could see why Best Jeanist was pissed. He had every right to be. Our agency was in the spotlight again, but for all the wrong reasons. And, as usual, it was him pulling the strings behind the scenes to fix the mess I'd made. No surprise there.
Meanwhile, everything else around us had fallen apart. Bakugo had been kidnapped by the League of Villains. Sure, he was rescued eventually, but the damage was done. The Hero Society and the U.A. were both taking heat from every direction. All Might, the symbol of peace himself, had been forced into retirement after sustaining severe injuries during his final battle. And as if that wasn't bad enough, U.A. had been torn apart in the media for letting multiple students get injured during the surprise attack at the summer camp—the same attack where Bakugo was taken. It was one PR nightmare after another, and the tension was thick enough to suffocate every citizen in Tokyo.
"I know, and I'm sorry, Hakamada," I muttered as I stepped out of the shower, the steam curling around me like a ghost of guilt. Best Jeanist sighed heavily on the other end of the line, his irritation cooling. I could practically feel the frustration melting through the phone.
"It's fine. We'll fix it. The important thing is that you're okay," he murmured. I grabbed a towel, drying myself off, the fabric stinging as it brushed against the injuries scattered across my skin.
"Everything's healed," I lied, wincing as I glanced at the half healed cuts and burns that adorned my body. Suddenly the doorbell rang, piercing the moment like a dagger.
"You expecting anyone?" Best Jeanist's voice tightened.
"No," I replied, looking in the direction the sound was coming from, surprised someone would show up unannounced.
"Then don't open the door. You don't have a quirk right now, and the League's still got eyes on you. Play it safe," he warned, his tone deadly serious.
As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. Fragility gnawed at me, making the room feel colder despite the lingering heat of the shower. I grabbed my underwear and threw it on, the towel still hanging loosely around my shoulders.
"Yeah, got it," I mumbled, running the towel now through my damp hair, wondering who the hell was waiting outside. The doorbell rang again, its insistent sound breaking through the stagnant air of my apartment.
"That's quite strange. I'm starting to get a little worried for you, Kogarashi," Best Jeanist's voice crackled through the phone, his concern noticeable even over the static.
"Could be a neighbor, I suppose," I suggested, trying to brush off the unease growing in me.
"Why would a neighbor ring your doorbell with such urgency?" Best Jeanist questioned, his skepticism clear.
"Got a letter from my landlord about burst pipes in the building. Might be related," I explained, just as the doorbell rang again, this time more insistently.
"So you think it's a neighbor with a complaint?" Best Jeanist asked, his tone bordering on disbelief.
"Possibly. I've been in the shower for quite a while," I muttered, slipping into my pink fluffy bathrobe.
"Are you going to answer it?"
"Yes. It won't stop until I do," I said with a hint of resignation as the doorbell rang once more.
"Be careful, and whatever happens, keep me posted," Best Jeanist advised, his anxiety radiating through the call, making my own stomach churn.
"I'll get back to you," I assured him, ending the call and tightening my bathrobe before stepping out of the bathroom.
I navigated the silent apartment, every creak of the floorboards echoing like a ghost's whisper. The doorbell's incessant ringing felt like the prelude to some unseen disaster.
I crept toward the front door, my footsteps hesitant and cautious. I secured the door chain and called out, trying to keep my voice steady despite the growing lump in my throat. "Who's there?"
The silence behind the door was thick, almost overwhelming, until a familiar voice shattered it.
"It's me, Shoto."
For a fleeting moment, relief washed over me like a wave. My hand hovered over the door handle, but I hesitated. Sure, Shoto had my address - like everyone else in Class 1A - but why on earth would he show up unannounced? And the voice… it sounded similar to Shoto's, but something felt off. The door remained firmly closed.
"And what exactly brings you here?" I called out, trying to sound nonchalant despite the creeping unease.
The answer came, tinged with uncertainty, "I need to talk to you about the last incident. It's about Bakugo."
"Talk to Aizawa about it," I shot back, my tone deliberately dismissive.
"Please, just open the door. He's in danger," Shoto's voice took on a tone of urgency that set my instincts on alert. The word "danger" struck me like a punch to the gut, triggering an automatic response that overtook my better judgment. My resolve crumbled and I found myself opening the door against my will.
Through the narrow crack, I couldn't see who was on the other side until a hand suddenly grabbed the edge of the door and tried to yank it open as far as the security chain would allow. My eyes widened as I saw a half burned face grinning at me from the shadows.
It wasn't Shoto. It was Dabi.
"Surprise!" he sneered, his voice dripping with malice and amusement.
I slammed my shoulder against the door, desperate to shove it closed, but Dabi's strength and speed were something else entirely. He wedged his boot into the gap, and with a forceful shove, used his weight to pry it open again, just enough to slip his hand through. The security chain rattled against the door frame, a feeble defense against his intrusion. His hand stretched out towards me, and I braced for a fiery assault.
In a panic, I threw myself to the ground, eyes pressed shut against the expected onslaught of flames.
But... nothing happened.
I held my breath, waiting for the heat that never came. Slowly, I opened my eyes. What I saw was unsettling: Dabi, frozen in the doorway, peering down at me with a look of confusion and intrigue. Then his eyes narrowed and a smirk spread across his face.
"Look at that..."
"W-what?" I stammered, cautiously rising to my feet but keeping a wary distance.
"Your quirk has a time limit," Dabi mused aloud, as if piecing together a puzzle with twisted delight. "Interesting." His eyes glinted with the kind of malicious curiosity that made my bones quiver. That bastard had meticulously set this trap to uncover the secrets of my abilities, his cunning as infuriating as it was impressive.
"And it looks like you don't even use your own blood to fight," he continued, fiddling with the lock on the security chain. I knew he was half wrong about the nature of my quirk, but for now, letting him believe his own crazy theories worked to my advantage. At least until I could unleash my full potential again.
In the dim light of my apartment, the scene unfolded with a kind of grim inevitability. I watched as Dabi, with a mixture of sadistic patience and casual menace, fumbled with the security chain on my door. Every twist of his fingers, every turn of the lock, seemed to mock my helplessness.
He was about to force his way in, but there was no way I could let him find out about my quirkless state—knowing full well he'd use it against me in an instant. Avoiding a confrontation was my only option.
"So, you were using the nomu's blood against us, huh? No wonder the poor bastard fell into a coma," Dabi sneered as he finally unlocked the safety chain and stepped into my corridor. His understanding of the fight was a little off; had he witnessed the full spectacle, he would've known that my own blood had been just as much of a weapon as the nomus.
"Looks like you have a supply of blood hidden in your costume, don't you? Maybe that's why it's so long and covered up. Normally, you hero ladies prefer your outfits tight and slutty," he continued, removing his boots with a flourish. His casual, almost mocking tone was unnerving.
What was this? His words and actions created a disturbing dissonance, a nasty vibe that threw me off balance.
"And since you're not in that hideous costume right now - or should I say, you're not really dressed at all..." His eyes wandered over me with a smutty curiosity, "You're pretty helpless, aren't you?" he drawled, a twisted grin spreading across his face as he closed the distance between us.
I gazed up at him, my bewilderment a raw, open wound. Dabi's sneer widened as he cupped my face in his grip. "But tell me, bunny," he purred, his fingers digging into my cheeks as he shook my head with slow, deliberate motions, as if trying to rattle some forgotten answer loose. "Why haven't you bothered to dress? I've been waiting at your door for like five minutes."
Was this guy completely deranged? The audacity of breaking into my home, delivering a lecture, and then acting like he had every right to—was he out of his mind? And I'd already told him in the bar to quit with the ridiculous nicknames, but he just wouldn't listen. For now, I swallowed my displeasure and held my tongue.
Dabi's face intruded far too close to mine, his eyes widening with a predatory glint. "Or were you expecting someone... special?" His voice dropped an octave, dripping with barely contained aggression as his pupils dilated, a clear signal of the unstable storm brewing beneath his calm facade.
I gripped his wrist, the burned flesh beneath my fingers feeling like rough, unforgiving leather. With a firm yank, I removed his hand from my face, the annoyance in my voice unmistakable. "How dare you walk into my apartment and interrogate me like this?" I said, taking a cautious step back, trying to put some distance between us.
He straightened, towering over me with an expression of irritated superiority. "Just answer the damn question," he demanded, eyes narrowing to threatening slits. "Who exactly were you expecting at your door, dressed like that?"
The patience I'd managed to scrape together was wearing thin, and the absurdity of the situation was pushing me to the brink. This lunatic was clearly deranged, and every second spent in his presence felt like an unsettling dance on the edge of sanity.
"I'm not expecting any visitors today," I said, turning him to face the door. "I only opened the door because you pretended to be Shoto and said Bakugo was in danger," I added, my efforts to shove him out of my apartment proving as hopeless as trying to move a statue. Dabi remained stubbornly in place.
With an exaggerated sigh, Dabi muttered, "I'll take your word for it..." His tone was as insincere as his demeanor.
Dabi's rudeness was almost an art form. Realizing the futility of my attempts to force him out, I let go and he spun around to face me again with a smirk that seemed to drip with condescension.
"But just so you know," he drawled, his voice carrying an undercurrent of menace, "next time, I won't be so forgiving." He casually brushed past me, his presence filling the hallway as he made his way to the living room. The question of why he was here and why he wasn't trying to kill me loomed over me like a dark cloud.
"Because, you see," Dabi said smoothly, as if discussing the weather, "I get a bit jealous about these kinds of things, if you know what I mean." He entered my living room with the ease of someone who was simply passing by, as if it were the most ordinary of walks.
Had he forgotten that he was an enemy, a villain who should be plotting my demise rather than engaging in such absurdly casual behavior?
Dabi's gaze swept over the room with a critical eye, his expression one of bemused disgust. "What the hell is this place?" he mumbled, his brow furrowed as he scanned my living room with the precision of a hawk inspecting its prey.
I joined him, driven by a curious and oddly misplaced sense of duty. "What's the problem? I cleaned up just yesterday," I said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the bizarre nature of the situation.
"It's so... empty," Dabi responded.
"I like it this way," I shot back, crossing my arms defensively.
"You live like a divorced dad," he said, gesturing to the lone square coffee table in the center of the room. "No sofa, just this sad little setup."
"I prefer to sit on the floor. What's wrong with that?" I retorted, the hint of offense evident in my voice.
Dabi's eyes narrowed and he strolled into my bedroom with the casual arrogance of someone who didn't care about personal boundaries. "Let me guess, you don't even have a bed frame, do you?" he said as he poked around and reappeared with an air of smug triumph. "And of course; how could it be otherwise?
You've got a futon and nothing more."
"I need my 'floor time', okay?" I shot back. The absurdity of defending my choice of furniture was not lost on me.
"You're a fucking psychopath," Dabi huffed, plopping down on the floor by the coffee table with a casual ease that seemed almost practiced. He lifted one leg in a half-crouch, making himself comfortable at home.
I knelt across from him, my eyes fixed on his face. The situation was so bizarre, so disorienting, that I couldn't quite comprehend why I was still engaging in this absurd charade. The scene felt like a surrealist painting come to life, and I was stuck in the middle of its dark, sardonic narrative.
"Aren't you going to offer me a drink? You really are the worst...," Dabi's eyes rolled with dramatic disdain, a sigh escaping his lips as though he were enduring some profound injustice.
"I assumed you were leaving," I snapped, my eyes narrowing into slits of irritation.
"No, I'm here for the long haul," he yawned, stretching out on the floor as if it were the most natural thing in the world. One foot tapped rhythmically, as if counting the seconds until he'd get what he wanted. "So, what's on the menu?"
Once again, I found myself stunned by his audacity, blinking at him as if he'd just grown a second head. "I've got water, coke, beer... we can also have tea," I stammered, my words tumbling out in a disjointed stream. Anything to avoid a confrontation - if it meant playing the unwitting bartender to this insufferable guest, so be it.
Dabi's gaze was fixed on me, that unsettling, lustful glare never wavering. It was infuriating, and I cursed myself for not dressing properly before answering the door.
"Hm..." he pondered. "I'll have a beer. And you'll have one too."
"Anything else, sir?" I hissed, my tone dripping with sarcastic venom as I pushed myself to my feet.
"No," he muttered, as if he were the lord of this absurd little realm. The situation was growing more surreal by the minute, and all I could do was brace myself for whatever bizarre twist he'd throw at me next.
I made my way to the kitchen, nerves tense, half expecting Dabi to pull some sort of crazy stunt from behind. But when I glanced back, he remained sprawled on the floor like a lazy predator waiting for his prey to come closer. Reluctantly, I turned my attention to the fridge, searching for the beers he so casually demanded.
"Listen, doll," his voice rang out, dripping with condescension. "I'll let your little insolence at the bar slide, but don't pull this kind of act again. I don't tolerate that crap." His words were like dangling bait, practically begging for a confrontation.
"Very merciful of you," I muttered under my breath, grabbing two cans of beer and making my way back to the living room.
"Don't get used to it," Dabi mumbled, his attention now split between two cell phones, his tone so casual it was chilling. It took me a moment to realize one of the phones was mine.
I plopped down on the floor, sliding a can of beer toward him. "What are you doing with my phone?" I asked, suspicion in my voice as I narrowed my eyes at him.
"I'm taking your number," he replied with a grin that sent a wave of irritation through me. The urge to slap that smirk off his face was overwhelming.
We both cracked open our beers at the same time, a strange synchrony that only added to the bizarre atmosphere. As we sat there drinking in silence, blinking at each other occasionally, I couldn't help but wonder - what the hell was Dabi doing here? His presence felt like a time bomb ticking away, waiting for the right moment to explode.
"'Done," he said suddenly, a sinister gleam in his eyes. "Let's see who you've been texting."
My guts tightened. "Now you're crossing the line," I snapped, shooting up and storming over to him. The messages I'd exchanged with colleagues, teachers and students at U.A. could put them all in danger - especially with Dabi being a member of the League of Villains.
"Oh, so that actually bothers you, huh?" Dabi's voice oozed with mocking amusement, pulling the phone away just as my hand reached for it. His grin widened with each failed attempt I made. "Why make it a problem now?" he taunted, keeping the phone just out of reach like a game of cat and mouse.
"Give me my phone back!" I snapped, my irritation rising with every second of his childish antics. But the more serious I got, the more entertained he seemed. When he realized I wasn't going to give him the response he wanted, his leg shot out and hit mine. Before I could brace myself, I fell forward, landing on top of him.
Now we were tangled on the floor, my chest pressed against his, his breath warm and invasive against my ear. "C'mon, be a good girl and spit it out," he whispered, stretching the phone farther away.
I pushed myself up just enough to stare down at him, my breath ghosting over his skin. "It's none of your business who's texting me," I hissed, my frustration bubbling over.
Dabi's eyes narrowed, a flash of provocation before his dirty grin returned, this time even more lewd. "Oh, I see," he mumbled with that unnerving undertone. I didn't care what perverse conclusion he'd come to - my chats were the last thing I wanted him involved with.
Then, in a swift, almost effortless move, Dabi flipped us over. Now I was the one pinned beneath him, his body pressing mine into the cold floor. Before I could react, he straddled me, one hand gripping both of my wrists with a strength that made resistance useless. His other hand dangled my phone in front of my face, taunting me with the control he now wielded.
"Well, that took a bad turn for you, didn't it?" he sneered, sticking out his absurdly long tongue like a bratty kid who had just stolen some candy. "Looks like I'll have to find out for myself now."
"You scumbag, get off me!" I snarled, my frustration bubbling over as I struggled beneath him. His grip on my wrists was strong, and no amount of wriggling would help me slip out from under his weight.
Dabi's gaze bored into me, sharp and disturbing. "I've gotta say... I kind of like you better from this position," he murmured, his voice low and almost playful as he leaned closer, the tips of our noses almost brushing.
A wave of discomfort washed over me and I instinctively turned my face to the side, trying to escape the intensity of his stare. But the move only seemed to irritate him. Without hesitation, he placed my phone on my stomach and grabbed my face, his fingers once again digging into my skin.
"No, no," he breathed, his calm tone somehow more terrifying than if he'd shouted.
"Look at me."
His grip was firm but deliberate as he guided my gaze back to him, and my eyes widened at the intensity that greeted me. Dabi's pupils were dilated, his expression something between possessive and hypnotic.
It left me frozen, unsure how to respond.
"Yes, just like that," Dabi whispered, his voice rough and deep, as if scraping against the walls of his throat. A twisted grin curled at the edges of his mouth as he pinched my cheeks together, his half lidded eyes drifting toward my lips. His attention was unnervingly fixed, as if he were in some strange, dangerous trance.
I could feel the heat of his palm seeping into my wrists as his grip tightened. His breath was warm and maddeningly close, his lips hovering just above mine. My heart pounded in my chest, a treacherous rush of blood making my face blush as his presence loomed over me.
And then, in the smallest of moments, Dabi's lips brushed against mine, light, fleeting, and far too brief.
The contact snapped like a thread cut too soon, interrupted by the shrill, inconvenient ringing of my phone between our bodies. Dabi jolted back as if struck, his reaction almost feline.
His fingers released their hold on my face, though the ghost of his touch lingered. With a frown and his lips pressed into a thin line, he grabbed my phone. Even as he stared down at the screen, his gaze flickered back to me, and I noticed, faintly, a blush rising on what remained of his damaged cheeks.
Before I could even process the kiss he'd stolen, panic surged through me like a flood, adrenaline tightening my chest.
"You're not answering that call!" I shouted, my voice shaking as I remained pinned beneath him. Dabi gave my demand the weight of a breeze and picked up the phone with his typical indifference.
"Yes?... Doesn't matter who I am... mhm... no, she's busy right now, call back later," he mumbled into the phone, completely unfazed. The butterflies that had fluttered nervously in my stomach moments ago turned to ash in an instant, replaced by a seething, silent anger. This absolute maniac...
"She's under me...what do you think, why?" he continued, rolling his eyes as if the person on the other end was the one being unreasonable.
I couldn't even form words, my brain grinding to a halt. What the hell was he even saying?
"Oh, you want to come over? Nah, don't do that. I'm not into sharing," Dabi added, his tone still calm but laced with a subtle possessiveness.
I wanted to shout - to call for help, beg for someone to get me out of this mess. But even as the thought crossed my mind, I realized how bad an idea that would be.
Dabi wasn't just unpredictable, he was dangerous. And right now he was relatively calm - something I couldn't afford to disrupt. The last thing I should do was to provoke him. So I bit my tongue, the humiliation swallowing me whole as I let him spin his freaky story. I reminded myself of my initial plan: avoid a fight, avoid escalation, stay in control. As long as Dabi's mood remained remotely stable, I had a chance.
"Who are you, jackass, anyway?" Dabi drawled lazily. His eyes flickered down to me, narrowing with a sudden, cold seriousness as his lips curled into a mocking smile. "... her boss?
My stomach dropped. Of course: Best Jeanist. He'd told me to call back and I'd been too busy with... well, this.
Dabi, still smirking, switched the phone to speaker. "Hey, princess," he said, his voice carrying a menacing note, "calm your boss down. He wants to come over, but... I'm not finished with you yet."
My eye twitched uncontrollably, every ounce of anger I felt threatening to break through. But I couldn't lash out. Not now. I was still trapped under him, completely at his mercy, and I had no quirk to back me up.
"Y-yes?" I stammered, barely keeping it together.
On the other side of the line, Best Jeanist's voice boomed through the speaker, sharp and tense. "What's going on over there? Who's that guy?"
"He's... just a friend," I lied, forcing out the words, but it was as frail as it sounded. Best Jeanist was having none of it. "You don't have any friends! Don't lie to me," he shot back, his tone filled with suspicion and worry.
Dabi couldn't help but chuckle at the remark, a smug grin spreading across his face. "No, you're absolutely right. I'm not her friend, I'm her..."
"Shut up," I snapped, cutting him off before he could finish whatever vile comment was on the tip of his tongue. My attention shifted back to the phone and I tried to steady my voice. "You really don't have to worry, I have everything under control," I lied again, even though Dabi's grip on my wrists made the statement laughable.
Best Jeanist let out a long sigh and for a moment I thought I'd gotten through to him. "I don't know if I should take your word for it... I'll send someone over anyway."
My heart skipped a beat, and I wasn't the only one alarmed. Dabi's eyes widened as he snapped his head towards the phone. "No!" we both yelled in unison, though our reasons couldn't have been more different.
An uncomfortable silence followed on the other end of the line, and I could practically feel Best Jeanist piecing together Dabi's perverse storyline. "I must have interrupted something… intimate—"
"Yes, you did—" Dabi started, all too eager to twist the knife. But I cut him off again, more forcefully this time.
"Don't talk such nonsense!"
Dabi's eyes flickered with irritation, his grip on my wrists tightening just enough to make his displeasure known. "You keep your mouth shut now, bunny, before I give that jerk on the other side a real reason to worry about you," he hissed, voice low, like a threat wrapped in sugar.
He turned his attention back to the phone, his tone now sharper than before. "Now, back to you—mind your own damn business. You actually did interrupt something... serious, and it really pisses me off."
My mind raced with the possibilities of what Dabi's 'something serious' was about, and the memory of the near-kiss flickered through my mind. To be honest, it didn't bother me at all that Best Jeanist call had stopped Dabi from shoving his tongue down my throat, but he seemed pretty upset about the incident.
What was that even about?
Best Jeanist seemed unfazed. "I see... We need to work on your taste in men, too—" His words trailed off as Dabi, with a look of pure annoyance, hung up the call mid-sentence.
Dabi's eyes snapped back to mine, his expression hardening as if the interruption had only stoked the fire.
"Is he fucking you?" he asked, voice dripping with casual malice, the question hanging in the air like a curse.
As you may have noticed, I've removed Ayas / Y/N's quirk for this chapter. Initially, I wasn't keen on the idea, but it felt like a realistic punishment within the My Hero Academia universe. It worked well with the narrative and gave the protagonist the advantage of Dabi still misinterpreting her quirk.
Thanks for reading! And, as always—stay tuned for what happens next...