After they were announced the victory, Dante unlocked Aizawa's capture cuffs while still catching his breath. His eyes were bloodshot and his breathing erratic from controlling the sludge that had been seperated from his body. He was slowly getting the hang of it but it was way more straining than any other technique. He definitely earned this win.
Aizawa flexed his hands slightly, then gave both Dante and Todoroki a calm, level look. "Good coordination. Smart use of alternating your quirks. You didn't panic when things shifted and you adapted well. Still—" his gaze lingered on Dante, "don't get overconfident. I'm sure Mirko taught you to rely fully on instinct, but relying on it too much will leave gaps."
Dante nods, accepting the feedback with a small smile. "Got it."
The three of them returned to the observation area together. And the moment they stepped in, a few classmates looked up from the monitor and started clapping.
"Hey! That fight was crazy, guys! I wasn't expecting you to actually win!" Kirishima grinned, patting Dante's shoulder.
Dante chuckled before he took a seat.
He watched the rest of the matches in silence, letting his body rest, but in his head, he was going over the fight, replaying it, wondering how he could've done better.
…
…
Deep inside of a bar in the middle of a city, the League of Villain's hideout, the atmosphere was thick with hatred and the sound of scratching. A half working television buzzed in the corner, static occasionally cracking across the screen. Tomura Shigaraki sat hunched forward on a barstool, hungrily scanning a file on the counter.
Each page was a report.
A photograph.
Notes on locations.
Footage of fighting.
Old underground fighting records.
All of them were about Dante Graves.
A profile photo showed Dante standing at a hospital exit, wearing a tattered and burnt pair of black shorts, eyes distant, with medium length messy hair and very pale. Another image captured a scorched crater in Hosu city, with two completely disintegrated Nomu on the floor.
Shigaraki's fingers twitched. He scratched his neck. Hard. Skin flaked beneath his nails. His other hand hovered near the photo of himself post Hosu. Bandaged. Immobilised. Humiliated.
"That little bastard…" he whispered.
Kurogiri, cleaning a glass, ever composed. "You've read these files multiple times, Tomura. Dante Graves. That boy from U.A. Your injuries, even though he was moving too fast to know, you're certain it's him?"
Shigaraki didn't respond at first. He simply flipped to the page labeled Hosu Incident : After Action Analysis. It detailed how a young, unnamed 'vigilante' arrived and flew around faster than either could see, bombarding Shigaraki with a constant flurry of attacks.
Then came the kicker : the boy, cornered by two of his top end Nomu, somehow managed to beat and even fully disintegrate them both.
"He didn't just beat me," Shigaraki finally said, voice low and venemous.
"He… humiliated me. He destroyed my Nomu. He beat me like I was nothing. Treating me as if I was… WEAK."
He gripped the photo tightly, crumpling the paper. "He should've died that night. But he didn't die. He thrived. And now he gets to walk Scot free? After destroying my Nomu?"
Shigaraki's voice turned cold. "No. I want him to suffer. I want to crush every last ounce of hope he's built. He'll drown in fear."
The door suddenly creamed open. Giran entered with a cigarette in one hand and a confident grin stretched across his face. "Well damn, I walked in at the wrong time, huh? Someone's brooding hard."
Shigaraki didn't bother looking up. Giran continued, undeterred. "Anyway, I come bearing gifts. Business is booming. Word on the street is that people are finally taking the League seriously. That stunt with the hero killer really put you on the map. Problem is…" He took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke lazily. "You've got eyes on you now. And people wanna join the winning team."
He turned to gesture at the door behind him.
"Let me introduce some new candidates."
Three figures stepped through the gloom.
The first was a tall black haired man with cold blue eyes, burned skin stitched together like some kind of disgusting grafted doll, and an aura of disdain. He offered a lazy nod and leaned against the wall, eyes scanning the room.
Next came what seemed to be a highschool student? She was bouncy, grinning and already brimming with a strange aura of danger. She was playing with a knife between her fingers and giggled like this was all just some game.
Last was what looked like a lizard person, covered in patchwork armour that looked just like stain's and holding a jagged sword. He looked like someone who lived by himself deals he didn't even understand, but had the determination to try anyways.
Shigaraki's lip curled.
"Tch. I don't like any of them."
The tall grafted man chuckled. "You're not exactly likable yourself, where is stain?"
The girl stepped forward with gleaming eyes. "Oooh~ you're the one that attacked that U.A. Facility right? who wants to kill all might? That's so romantic!"
Spinner stayed silent, shaking a little bit.
Shigaraki stood slowly, limping just slightly from the lingering damage Dante had inflicted. He approached them, his crusty eyes settling on each face with disapproval.
Then his expression shifted, ever so slightly, into something else—an idea.
"You want to join the league right?" He asked. "Very well, but you don't get a seat at my table just because you showed up."
He turned his back on them and walked toward a wall covered in red string and photos—one of which was Dante's face again.
"You want in? Do one little thing for me."
He turned his head just enough that they could see the cracked skin on his face, the rage burning in his half lidded stare.
"This boy right here. Dante Graves."
"I have been tracking him for a while, one of my boss' spies has been keeping an eye on him. And there is one place he visits often. Destroy it and everyone inside."
The newcomers exchanged looks, some grinning, others calculating.