The park was quiet, save for the rustle of wind through brittle branches. Tomura Shigaraki sat hunched on a splintered bench, hood shadowing his face. His gloves were gone for repairs, leaving his hands bare—lethal. He kept them curled tight in his sleeves, a predator forced to sheath his claws. One mistake, and someone would crumble into dust.
He was already restless when it happened.
A sharp cry. A young man tripped on broken pavement nearby, groceries spilling, an orange bouncing toward the street. Instinct overtook reason. Tomura moved.
His hand clamped around the man's wrist—skin to skin.
No crackling. No crumbling. No decay.
The man looked up, startled but unharmed. "Thanks," he said with an awkward grin, unaware that death had just grazed him and passed by
Tomura's eyes narrowed behind his hood. Impossible. Every living thing he'd touched had withered in seconds. But this man… nothing. Not a flake of dust. No sign of his Quirk at all.
The man stooped to gather his groceries, chatting lightly as if nothing unusual had happened. Tomura didn't answer. His pulse pounded in his ears, but not with panic—this was curiosity laced with hunger. Something rare. Something dangerous.
He watched the stranger walk away, the world around him fading into insignificance. The itch in his hands wasn't for destruction anymore—it was for understanding. For possession.
This man wasn't just immune. He was… untouchable.
Tomura's lips twitched into the barest shadow of a smile as he stood. He had found something precious, something that defied his nature. And now, he would find out everything about him.
The stranger had no idea, but a predator had just marked him.
And predators never let go.