The neon sign of the bar flickered weakly against the gloom of the alleyway. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of cheap alcohol and mounting tension.
Shigaraki Tomura sat at a booth in the corner, methodically stacking a house of cards. His hands, usually so destructive, were moving with surprising delicacy.
Stack. Stack. Stack.
"He's late," Shigaraki muttered, his voice scratching against the silence.
"He operates on a different perception of time, Shigaraki," Kurogiri said from behind the bar, wiping a glass that was already clean. "To him, being late is likely a deliberate choice."
"It's annoying," Shigaraki hissed. He placed a Jack of Spades on the top. "He thinks he owns us just because he fragged the Sensei."
The bell above the door jingled.
A gust of wind swept through the room, blowing the house of cards onto the floor. Shigaraki stared at the scattered pile, his eye twitching.
Izuku Midoriya stood in the doorway. He wasn't in his suit. He was wearing a grey hoodie and jeans, holding a plastic convenience store bag. He looked entirely too normal for a boy who had reshaped the criminal underworld in less than a fortnight.
"You knocked down my castle," Shigaraki said flatly.
"It was structurally unsound," Izuku replied, walking to the bar and dumping the contents of the bag. Energy jellies. Bottled water. A box of instant curry. "Build a stronger foundation next time."
He hopped onto a barstool, spinning it around to face the room. His eyes, green in the dim light but harboring that dangerous red glint, scanned the layout.
"Doctor," Izuku called out to the laptop sitting on the counter. "Are you listening?"
The screen flickered to life. Dr. Garaki's face appeared, looking weary but obedient. "I am here, Zoom. The upgrades to the transmission jamming equipment are complete, as requested."
"Good." Izuku opened a pouch of energy jelly and downed it in one squeeze. "Let's discuss the main event. The UA Sports Festival."
Shigaraki kicked the table leg. "Why do we care about a school track meet? We should be attacking the police station. Or killing All Might while he sleeps."
"Small thinking, Tomura," Izuku sighed. "That's why you failed at the USJ."
Izuku pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and smoothed it out on the bar. It was a blueprint of the UA Stadium, stolen from the municipal archives.
"The Sports Festival," Izuku began, tracing the perimeter with a finger, "is the most-watched event in Japan. Higher ratings than the Olympics. It is the moment the public reaffirms their faith in the system. They watch the children fight and think, 'Look, our future is bright. We are safe.'"
He tapped the center of the arena.
"We are not going to stop the Festival. We aren't going to bomb it. We want it to proceed."
Kurogiri leaned in. "You want them to showcase their quirks?"
"Exactly," Izuku smiled coldly. "I want them to struggle. I want them to fight. I want the audience to fall in love with the winner. And then..."
He drove his finger through the paper.
"...we are going to hijack the broadcast."
Shigaraki stopped sulking and leaned forward, interested. "Hijack?"
"Doctor Garaki has synthesized a frequency override," Izuku explained. "At the precise moment of the medal ceremony—when All Might is placing the gold around the winner's neck—we cut the audio. We take over the Jumbotrons."
"And say what?" Shigaraki asked. " 'We are the League of Villains'?"
"No," Izuku said. "We don't say who we are. We show them what we can do."
Izuku looked at Kurogiri.
"Kurogiri, your Warp Gate range is limited, correct? You need coordinates."
"That is correct."
"I've already marked the coordinates for the security booth, the announcer's booth, and the center stage," Izuku said. "Phase one: We disable the Pro Hero security detail. Not with a big fight. We use the gas."
He pointed to a canister diagram.
"Mustard gas?" Shigaraki asked, grinning.
"Sleeping gas," Izuku corrected sharply. "If we kill the pros off-camera, it's a tragedy. If we incapacitate them instantly, it's a demonstration of incompetence. We want the world to ask: 'Why couldn't the heroes wake up? Why were they so easy to beat?'"
Izuku turned his gaze to Shigaraki.
"Phase two is you, Tomura."
"Me?"
"You hate the spotlight," Izuku noted. "But you need to be seen. When the signal is hijacked, I want you standing on the announcer's podium. I want you to hold the microphone. You are the face of the chaos."
"And what will you be doing?" Shigaraki narrowed his eyes. "Running away?"
Izuku's expression darkened. The air in the bar grew heavy, the static charge raising the hair on Shigaraki's arms.
"I will be in the arena," Izuku's voice distorted, slipping into the Zoom persona.
He looked at the list of Class 1-A students he had written in the margins of the blueprint. Bakugo. Todoroki. Iida. Uraraka.
"The winner of the festival represents the pinnacle of their society's hope. The 'Next All Might.' When they stand on that podium... I am going to challenge them."
"A duel?" Kurogiri asked. "Live on television?"
"An execution of spirit," Izuku clarified. "I'm going to humiliate them. I'm going to dodge every attack, counter every move, and beat them into the ground without breaking a sweat. And I'm going to do it while All Might watches from the sidelines, helpless to intervene because of the hostages you will be holding in the stands."
Shigaraki grinned. It was a wide, dry, cracking smile. "Hostages in the audience. I like that. The crowd becomes the shield."
"Precisely," Izuku said, his voice returning to normal. "If All Might moves, innocent people die. If he stays still, he watches his successor get destroyed by a villain."
Izuku crumpled the empty jelly pouch.
"It's a checkmate. Either way, the Symbol of Peace looks weak."
Shigaraki stood up, dusting off his pants. "Fine. I'll play your game. But if I get a clear shot at All Might..."
"Do what you want," Izuku waved his hand dismissively. "Just don't miss."
Izuku hopped off the stool. He walked to the door, pausing by the coat rack where his yellow suit hung hidden beneath a trench coat.
"One more thing," Izuku said, looking back at them.
"Yes?" Kurogiri asked.
"There is a student. Katsuki Bakugo. Ash-blonde hair. Explosion quirk."
Shigaraki nodded. "The loud one from USJ."
"If he makes it to the finals," Izuku said, his eyes devoid of any warmth, "don't interfere. Leave him to me."
"Personal grudge?" Shigaraki teased.
Izuku opened the door, the night wind rushing in.
"Let's just say I want to show him the reality of our positions," Izuku whispered. "He always wanted to be the best. I'm going to show him that being the best runner doesn't matter if you're running in the wrong direction."
He stepped out.
"Get the gas ready, Doctor. We have two weeks to perfect the nightmare."
The door closed.
Shigaraki looked at the blueprint on the bar. He traced the line to the center stage. For the first time, he didn't feel like a gamer mashing buttons. He felt like a player with a strategy guide.
"Zoom," Shigaraki chuckled darkly. "You really are a cheat code."