The spring when canon began, Yoshikage Kira was seventeen years old, had three separate identities, a network of informants built on strategic terror, and absolutely no patience left for this universe's nonsense.
He had known this day was coming—had been counting down to it, really. Somewhere in Musutafu, a quirkless teenager named Izuku Midoriya was about to have his life changed forever by a chance encounter with the Number One Hero. The story was beginning, right on schedule, like a train wreck you could see coming from miles away but were powerless to stop.
Except Yoshikage wasn't powerless. And he had no intention of letting canon play out as written.
He'd spent the past year systematically dismantling Hero Society's credibility, one corrupt hero at a time. Seventeen "voluntary confessions" so far, each one a carefully orchestrated reminder that heroes were just people—flawed, corruptible, and far too confident in their own untouchability. The media was starting to notice the pattern, conspiracy theories were spreading online, and the Hero Public Safety Commission was quietly panicking.
But that was just the foundation. The real work was about to begin.
Because today, if his calculations were correct—and they always were—Izuku Midoriya was going to ask All Might the question that would change everything: "Can someone without a Quirk become a hero?"
And All Might, that symbol of peace, that paragon of heroism, was going to say no.
Yoshikage wanted to be there when it happened. Not to intervene—god no, he had no interest in saving Izuku from his canonical fate—but to observe. To see with his own eyes the moment that perfectly encapsulated everything wrong with this society.
So he positioned himself carefully, using his college-age identity—twenty-two-year-old "Hikaru Saito," freelance journalist—to stake out the area where he knew the slime villain incident would occur. He had a camera, a notepad, and Killer Queen on standby, invisible and patient at his side.
Right on schedule, the chaos began.
The slime villain had escaped from All Might—because of course it had, because All Might was careless despite his power—and was currently rampaging through a shopping district, causing panic and property damage.
Yoshikage watched from a rooftop, safely out of range, as heroes arrived on scene. As they postured and posed and utterly failed to actually address the threat because the villain was in the sewers and none of them wanted to get dirty.
"Pathetic," he murmured, taking photos for appearances. Killer Queen stood beside him, and though the Stand couldn't speak, Yoshikage felt its silent agreement.
These were professional heroes. People who were paid to protect civilians. And they were standing around making excuses while a dangerous villain was literally underneath their feet.
If Yoshikage had wanted to, he could have ended this in seconds. One charged coin dropped into a sewer grate, one detonation, and the slime villain would be vapor. But that would reveal his presence, and he wasn't ready for that yet.
So instead he watched, waited, and was utterly unsurprised when a small, green-haired boy came sprinting around the corner, notebook clutched in his hands, eyes shining with desperate hope.
Izuku Midoriya. The protagonist himself.
He looked younger than Yoshikage had expected. More fragile. The kind of scrawny that came from poor nutrition and a growth spurt the body wasn't ready for. His school uniform was rumpled, his red shoes were worn, and there was a fading bruise on his cheek that Yoshikage recognized immediately.
Bakugo's work, no doubt.
Yoshikage felt his jaw tighten. He'd known it was coming—had known that Bakugo Katsuki was in the same middle school as Izuku, had probably been tormenting him right on schedule—but knowing and seeing were different things.
That bruise was recent. Within the last few days. And from its position and coloration, it had come from a direct blow, probably an explosion at close range given the slight burn scarring around the edges.
Fourteen years. Fourteen years of this, and the teachers had done nothing. The parents had done nothing. Society had done nothing.
Because Bakugo had a strong Quirk, and Izuku didn't, and that was all that mattered.
Yoshikage's hands clenched on his camera, and Killer Queen's fingers twitched in mirror response.
Later, he promised himself. Bakugo comes later. First, let's see this travesty through to its conclusion.
He watched as Izuku approached the heroes, asking questions, taking notes with the desperate enthusiasm of someone who still believed the system could work for him. He watched as the heroes dismissed the boy, brushed him off, treated him like an annoyance rather than a citizen they were supposed to protect.
And then, inevitably, Izuku noticed a manhole cover starting to shift.
The slime villain erupted from the sewers like something from a horror movie, all viscous green mass and malevolent intent, and latched onto the nearest target.
Izuku Midoriya screamed as the villain forced its way down his throat, into his lungs, suffocating him from the inside out.
The heroes panicked. Shouted. Looked around for someone with the "right" Quirk to handle this while a fourteen-year-old boy was being murdered in front of them.
Yoshikage raised his camera and took photos. Documented every second of their failure, every moment of their incompetence.
This. This was Hero Society. All the flash and spectacle in the world, but when it came down to actually saving someone, they were useless.
All Might arrived thirty seconds later—cutting it close, as always—and saved Izuku with his usual overwhelming force. The slime villain was bottled, the boy was safe, and the crowd cheered like this was a victory rather than a catastrophic failure of every hero present.
Yoshikage lowered his camera and watched as All Might prepared to leave, as Izuku grabbed onto the hero's leg in a last desperate attempt to get his question answered.
He couldn't hear the conversation from this distance, but he didn't need to. He knew what was being said.
Can I become a hero without a Quirk?
And after a long moment, All Might's response, crushing and absolute:
No.
Yoshikage saw the exact moment Izuku's heart broke. Saw the light go out of the boy's eyes, saw his shoulders slump, saw the weight of the world settle onto someone far too young to carry it.
All Might left. The heroes dispersed. The crowd wandered away, already forgetting about the Quirkless boy who'd almost died because of their incompetence.
And Izuku Midoriya sat on that rooftop alone, staring at nothing, his dreams in ashes around him.
Yoshikage watched for another moment, then turned away.
Good, he thought coldly. Learn it now, Midoriya. Learn that this society doesn't care about you. That heroes are just people, and people are disappointing.
Better to learn it from All Might's honest cruelty than from Bakugo's fists.
Though speaking of Bakugo...
Yoshikage checked his watch. If canon proceeded as expected, the explosion boy should be getting attacked by the slime villain right about... now.
Sure enough, he heard the commotion from several blocks away. Screaming, explosions, heroes shouting. The slime villain had escaped—again, because apparently hero competence was a myth—and had grabbed a "better" host.
Yoshikage made his way to the scene, moving through the crowd with practiced ease. His journalist persona gave him an excuse to be here, and his camera gave him a prop to hide behind while he observed.
And there, in the middle of the street, trapped in a prison of slime and his own explosive Quirk backfiring, was Bakugo Katsuki.
Yoshikage studied him with cold analytical interest. Spiky blonde hair, red eyes wide with panic, fighting and struggling and losing for probably the first time in his privileged life. The heroes were standing back—the boy's explosions were too dangerous to approach, the slime was too fluid to contain—and Bakugo was suffocating, dying, experiencing for the first time what it meant to be powerless.
How does it feel? Yoshikage thought, watching dispassionately as Bakugo's struggles grew weaker. How does it feel to be helpless? To have everyone watching while you suffer and nobody helps?
Is this what Izuku felt like for fourteen years?
He should let it happen. Should let Bakugo experience the full weight of his own mortality, let him come right to the edge of death before All Might inevitably saved him.
But then Izuku came sprinting out of the crowd, that stupid, self-sacrificing idiot, throwing his backpack at the slime villain in a pointless gesture that would only get him killed alongside his abuser.
And Yoshikage realized: this was an opportunity.
Not to save them—he had no interest in playing hero. But to make contact.
Because if he was going to operate in this city, if he was going to dismantle Hero Society from within, he needed insurance. He needed a contingency plan in case a hero got too close, in case someone started connecting the dots between the mysterious villain confessions and the "Quirkless" teenager who had transferred into their school district.
He needed Bites the Dust.
And Bites the Dust needed a host.
Izuku Midoriya, Quirkless and invisible and utterly beneath suspicion, was perfect.
All Might saved them, of course. Transformed into his muscular form and scattered the slime villain across three city blocks with a single punch that caused millions in property damage and somehow didn't kill the two teenagers at ground zero.
The heroes cheered. The crowd celebrated. Bakugo was pulled from the slime, coughing and furious and humiliated.
And Izuku was immediately blamed for his "reckless Quirkless intervention" by the same heroes who had stood by and done nothing.
Yoshikage watched it all with disgust, then made his move during the chaos of cleanup.
He approached Izuku as "Hikaru Saito," freelance journalist, camera in hand and friendly smile on face.
"Excuse me," he said, and Izuku looked up with those too-wide eyes, still shaking from adrenaline and fear. "I saw what you did back there. That was incredibly brave."
"I—I didn't—" Izuku stammered, looking confused. Nobody ever called him brave. Nobody ever approached him unless it was to criticize. "It was stupid, I shouldn't have—"
"It was brave," Yoshikage repeated firmly. "Stupid, yes. Reckless, absolutely. But brave. You saw someone dying and you acted when nobody else would. That means something."
Izuku stared at him like he'd sprouted a second head, and Yoshikage felt a flicker of something uncomfortably close to pity.
This boy is so starved for basic human kindness that a compliment from a stranger nearly makes him cry. What the hell is wrong with this world?
But he pushed the feeling aside. He wasn't here to save Izuku Midoriya. He was here to use him.
"I'm writing an article about Quirkless discrimination," Yoshikage continued, which was technically true—he had been compiling information for months, though he had no intention of publishing it through conventional means. "Would you be willing to answer a few questions? Your perspective would be invaluable."
Izuku hesitated, clearly torn between ingrained self-deprecation and desperate desire to be helpful, to be useful to someone.
"I... I guess?" he said finally. "But I don't know if I'd be much help—"
"You'd be perfect," Yoshikage assured him, and gestured to a nearby café. "It'll only take a few minutes. I'll even buy you a coffee."
That sealed it. Izuku followed him like a lost puppy, still in shock from the day's events, completely unsuspicious of the well-dressed college student who was being nice to him.
They sat in a corner booth, Yoshikage ordered two coffees, and for ten minutes he conducted an actual interview, asking genuine questions about Izuku's experiences with discrimination, his thoughts on Hero Society, his dreams and aspirations.
Izuku answered honestly, painfully so, revealing more than he probably intended about the bullying, the isolation, the systematic dehumanization he'd endured his entire life.
And with every answer, Yoshikage's contempt for this universe grew.
This boy was smart. His analysis of Quirks was sophisticated beyond his years, his understanding of hero tactics was encyclopedic, and his insights into the flaws of the current system were surprisingly nuanced when he actually allowed himself to voice them.
He could have been great, in a society that valued intelligence and determination over genetic lottery.
Instead, he'd been beaten down, told he was worthless, pushed to the brink of suicide by his peers and abandoned by every adult who should have protected him.
And then All Might had come along, and instead of actually addressing any of the systemic issues, had just given Izuku a Quirk and called it a solution.
A shortcut. A cheat code. A way to preserve the status quo while making one exceptional Quirkless person "acceptable."
It made Yoshikage sick.
But it also made Izuku perfect for his purposes.
"Thank you for your time," Yoshikage said finally, closing his notebook with a smile. "This has been incredibly helpful. I have just one more question, if you don't mind."
"Sure!" Izuku said, relaxing now that the interview was winding down.
"Do you think things will ever change?" Yoshikage asked softly. "Do you think Hero Society will ever truly accept the Quirkless, or will it always be like this?"
Izuku's expression shuttered, that brief moment of openness closing off as his learned helplessness reasserted itself.
"I... I don't know," he admitted quietly. "I want to believe things can get better. That heroes will be better. But..."
"But you've been waiting for them to be better your whole life," Yoshikage finished, "and they never have been."
Izuku flinched like he'd been struck, and Yoshikage knew he'd hit the mark.
"It's not your fault," he said gently, and meant it. For all his manipulations, for all his ulterior motives, that much was true. "You deserve better than this world has given you."
He reached across the table and placed his hand on Izuku's shoulder in what appeared to be a comforting gesture.
And in that moment of contact, Killer Queen activated.
The Stand was invisible to Izuku, imperceptible to everyone in the café. It miniaturized itself and slipped into Izuku's eye in a fraction of a second, positioning itself deep in the boy's psyche, a bomb waiting to be triggered.
Bites the Dust was armed.
Yoshikage set the conditions carefully in his mind: If anyone asked Izuku directly about "Hikaru Saito" or "the journalist who interviewed you" and Izuku began to provide identifying information, the time loop would activate. If anyone attempted to extract information about this meeting through force or Quirk, the loop would activate. If Izuku himself tried to investigate "Hikaru Saito's" identity too deeply, the loop would activate.
It was elegant. Subtle. Izuku would never know he was carrying a defense mechanism, and anyone who got too close to connecting Yoshikage to his various activities would be caught in a death loop until he decided to release them.
Perfect insurance.
"Thank you again," Yoshikage said, withdrawing his hand and standing. "You've been very helpful. I'll make sure your voice is heard."
"Oh, um, you're welcome!" Izuku said, smiling that uncertain smile of someone who didn't quite know how to accept kindness. "Good luck with your article!"
Yoshikage nodded, paid for the coffees, and left.
Behind him, Izuku Midoriya sat in the café, completely unaware that he was now carrying a time-bomb in his soul, that he'd just become a contingency plan for someone who had no intention of letting this world's story play out as written.
One problem solved, Yoshikage thought as he walked away. Now for the other one.
Time to have a conversation with Bakugo Katsuki.
Finding Bakugo was easy. The boy had a routine, and his arrogance made him predictable.
Every day after school, he took the same route home, usually accompanied by his sad collection of hangers-on who laughed at his jokes and enabled his worst behaviors. He'd stop at the same convenience store, buy the same spicy snacks, and continue on his way like he owned the entire city.
Today, though, his entourage had abandoned him. The slime villain incident had shaken them—watching their "invincible" leader nearly die tended to do that—and Bakugo was walking alone, hands shoved in his pockets, expression thunderous.
Yoshikage followed him at a distance, observing. Waiting for the right moment.
It came when Bakugo cut through an alley, a shortcut he frequently used. Isolated, quiet, no cameras.
Perfect.
Yoshikage stepped into the alley behind him, and Killer Queen manifested, invisible and ready.
"Bakugo Katsuki," he called out, and his voice echoed off the narrow walls.
Bakugo spun around, hands already crackling with explosions, eyes wild with post-traumatic hypervigilance.
"Who the fuck are you?" he snarled, and Yoshikage was almost impressed by how quickly he'd defaulted to aggression. Almost.
"Someone who's been watching you," Yoshikage said calmly, adjusting his glasses. He was using his high school identity now—seventeen-year-old Yoshikage Kira, transfer student, utterly unremarkable. "Someone who's seen exactly what kind of person you are."
"I don't have time for this stalker bullshit," Bakugo spat, turning to leave. "Get lost before I—"
The wall beside his head exploded.
Not from Bakugo's Quirk. From Killer Queen's touch, the brick vaporizing in complete silence, leaving a perfectly smooth crater where it had been.
Bakugo froze, staring at the wall, then at Yoshikage, then back at the wall.
"What the fuck—"
Another explosion. The ground at Bakugo's feet this time, close enough that he jumped back with a startled shout.
"I told you," Yoshikage said pleasantly, walking forward slowly, hands in his pockets. Killer Queen moved ahead of him, invisible executioner touching random objects as it passed. "I've been watching you. I know what you do. I know what you've done."
A trash can exploded. Then a pipe. Then a discarded bottle.
Bakugo was backing away now, eyes wide, trying to figure out what Quirk could cause objects to just disappear without any visible trigger.
"I know about Izuku Midoriya," Yoshikage continued, his voice dropping to something cold and dark. "I know you've been tormenting him since you were four years old. I know you've beaten him, burned him, humiliated him. I know you told him to kill himself."
"That's—I didn't—" Bakugo started, but Yoshikage cut him off.
"Don't lie to me." Killer Queen touched the wall right next to Bakugo's head, and the boy flinched violently. "I have evidence, Bakugo. Photos. Videos. Testimony from other students. I know everything."
This was a bluff—Yoshikage had some evidence, but not as much as he was implying—but Bakugo didn't know that. The boy's face was pale now, sweat beading on his forehead, and his hands had stopped sparking.
He was afraid.
Good.
"What do you want?" Bakugo asked, and his voice was almost steady. Almost. "Money? You trying to blackmail me or some shit?"
"No," Yoshikage said simply. "I want you to understand something."
He stopped walking, standing just outside Bakugo's range, and stared at the boy with cold, analytical eyes.
"You are not special," he said clearly. "You are not exceptional. You are a child with a moderately powerful Quirk and an overinflated ego, and the only reason you've gotten away with your behavior for so long is because the adults in your life have failed in their responsibility to stop you."
Bakugo's face flushed red with rage. "You don't know anything about—"
"I know that you're a coward," Yoshikage interrupted, and Killer Queen moved closer, invisible pressure making the air feel heavy. "You prey on someone weaker than you because it makes you feel strong. You surround yourself with sycophants because you can't handle anyone challenging you. And when you faced real danger today, you froze."
"Shut up—"
"You nearly died because you were reckless and overconfident," Yoshikage continued relentlessly. "And you would have died if Izuku Midoriya—the boy you've spent fourteen years tormenting—hadn't tried to save your worthless life."
"I SAID SHUT UP!"
Bakugo lunged forward, explosions igniting in his palms, and Yoshikage didn't move.
Killer Queen did.
The Stand's fist caught Bakugo's wrist mid-swing, invisible force stopping the attack cold. To Bakugo, it looked like his arm had simply frozen in mid-air, held by nothing, unable to move forward no matter how much he struggled.
"What—what the fuck—LET GO—"
Yoshikage stepped forward, moving past Bakugo's trapped arm, and leaned in close.
"Here's what's going to happen," he said softly, and his voice was devoid of emotion. "You are going to leave Izuku Midoriya alone. Completely. You will not speak to him, you will not look at him, you will not acknowledge his existence. If I find out you've so much as breathed in his direction with hostile intent, I will ruin your life."
"You can't—"
"I can," Yoshikage assured him. "I will send every piece of evidence I have to the media, to the Hero Public Safety Commission, to every hero school you've applied to. I will make sure that everyone knows exactly what kind of person you are. Your reputation will be destroyed. Your hero career will be over before it begins. Your parents will be investigated for enabling child abuse. And you will spend the rest of your life known as the villain who tortured a Quirkless boy for over a decade."
He leaned in closer, until they were nearly nose to nose.
"Or," he whispered, "if I'm feeling less charitable, I'll just make you disappear. My Quirk can erase anything I touch, Bakugo. Anything. And nobody would ever find the body."
Killer Queen released Bakugo's wrist, and the boy stumbled backward, cradling his arm, his face a mask of fear and fury and humiliation.
"You're insane," he said, voice shaking. "You're—you're a villain—"
"Maybe," Yoshikage acknowledged, straightening his jacket calmly. "But I'm a villain who keeps his promises. Remember that."
He turned and started walking away, then paused and looked back over his shoulder.
"Oh, and Bakugo? If you tell anyone about this conversation, if you try to report me or have me investigated, I'll consider that a violation of our agreement. And I'll respond accordingly."
"How the fuck am I supposed to—"
"Figure it out," Yoshikage said coldly. "You're supposed to be smart, aren't you? Aren't you always going on about how you're going to be the Number One Hero? Surely you can manage something as simple as leaving one person alone."
He didn't wait for a response. Just walked away, hands in his pockets, leaving Bakugo Katsuki standing in that alley, trembling with rage and fear and the terrible realization that for the first time in his life, he had encountered someone he couldn't bully, couldn't intimidate, couldn't beat.
Yoshikage smiled to himself as he exited the alley.
That should keep him in line for a while. And even if it doesn't, even if he's stupid enough to test me, I've planted the seed. He'll be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life, waiting for me to make good on my threats.
Welcome to consequences, Bakugo. I hope you choke on them.
Two problems solved in one day. Not bad.
Now for the real challenge.
The League of Villains was, in Yoshikage's professional opinion, a joke.
He'd been tracking their formation for months, ever since Shigaraki Tomura had started making moves in the underground villain scene. It wasn't difficult—the man-child was about as subtle as a brick to the face, leaving a trail of dissolved victims and rambling speeches about destroying society wherever he went.
All For One's protégé, supposedly. The next great villain who would bring down Hero Society.
In reality? A traumatized twenty-year-old with poor impulse control and the strategic thinking of a toddler throwing a tantrum.
Yoshikage had identified the location of their base within three weeks of serious investigation. The bar in Kamino Ward wasn't exactly well-hidden, and Kurogiri's Warp Gate Quirk left distinctive energy signatures that could be tracked if you knew what to look for and had access to the right equipment.
He'd been planning his approach carefully. The League was useful, in theory—they drew hero attention, created chaos, and could potentially be steered toward productive targets if handled correctly.
But after watching them operate for months, after seeing their complete lack of planning, their childish motivations, their utter incompetence despite having some genuinely powerful Quirks, Yoshikage had come to a conclusion:
They needed to go.
Not killed—not yet, anyway. That would make them martyrs, give them more credibility than they deserved. No, they needed to be humiliated. Broken down. Made to understand exactly how pathetic they were, so thoroughly demoralized that they'd either disband or become someone else's problem.
And Yoshikage was going to enjoy every second of it.
He chose his moment carefully: a night when he knew the core members would be gathered at the bar, planning their attack on the U.S.J. training facility. Shigaraki, Kurogiri, and a handful of their early recruits, including Dabi and Toga.
Perfect.
He approached the bar openly, through the front door like he owned the place, wearing his college-age identity and a pleasant smile.
The door was locked, of course. Yoshikage placed his hand on it, and Killer Queen activated.
The lock vaporized. Then the hinges. Then a perfect vertical line through the door itself.
He pushed gently, and the door fell inward in two pieces, clattering to the floor of the bar.
Inside, six villains spun to face him, Quirks activating, weapons drawn.
Yoshikage stepped over the destroyed door and smiled pleasantly at their shocked faces.
"Good evening," he said politely. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."
Shigaraki was the first to respond, scratching at his neck with four fingers, his fifth finger carefully held away from his skin.
"Who the fuck are you?" he rasped, and Yoshikage could see the calculation in his red eyes, the decision tree of whether to attack, negotiate, or retreat.
"A concerned citizen," Yoshikage replied, looking around the bar with interest. It was dingy, poorly maintained, with a strange aesthetic that was trying for "threatening" but landed somewhere around "college student's first apartment." "I've been hearing a lot about the League of Villains lately. Thought I'd stop by and see what all the fuss was about."
"This is a private establishment," Kurogiri said smoothly, his misty form roiling with subtle threat. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."
"Or we could make you leave," Dabi added, blue flames dancing across his scarred hands. "In pieces."
"How aggressive," Yoshikage said mildly, and Killer Queen manifested behind him, invisible to everyone present. "And here I came in peace. I even brought a gift."
He pulled a folder from his jacket and tossed it onto the bar.
It landed with a heavy thump, and several photographs spilled out. Images of Shigaraki from security cameras, records of his attacks, maps of his known locations.
"I've been investigating you," Yoshikage continued as the villains stared at the folder. "Your organization, your goals, your capabilities. And I have to say, I'm disappointed."
"Disappointed?" Shigaraki repeated, his voice rising. "You break into our base, you threaten us, and you're disappointed?"
"Yes," Yoshikage said flatly. "Because you people are pathetic."
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
"You want to die?" Toga asked, her voice sweet and cheerful and completely insane. "Because I can make that happen! I'll cut you up real nice and—"
"Toga Himiko," Yoshikage interrupted, looking at her directly. "Age seventeen. Blood-drinking Quirk manifested at age fourteen. Suppressed it for two years before snapping and assaulting a classmate. Fled from home, became a fugitive, joined the League."
Toga's smile faltered. "How do you—"
"And your motivation for all this violence, all this running?" Yoshikage continued relentlessly. "You were 'mistreated' because your Quirk made people uncomfortable. How tragic."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly," Yoshikage said coldly. "You had urges you couldn't control, and instead of seeking help—instead of going to a doctor, a therapist, a hero specialized in Quirk counseling—you attacked someone and then ran away when you faced consequences."
"It's not that simple!" Toga protested. "Nobody would have understood! Society would have rejected me!"
"Bull. Shit." Yoshikage's voice cracked like a whip. "You know who would have understood? Vlad King, the Blood Hero, whose entire Quirk is based on blood manipulation. You know who else? The dozens of heroes with 'villainous' Quirks who successfully integrated into society by getting proper support. You know what your real problem was?"
Toga stared at him, knife trembling in her hand.
"You didn't want help," Yoshikage said flatly. "You wanted an excuse. You wanted to give in to your impulses and pretend it was society's fault for not accepting you. You chose the easy path of violence over the hard path of self-control, and now you're trying to justify it with a victim narrative."
"Shut up," Toga whispered, her cheerful mask cracking. "Shut up shut up shut up—"
"Moving on," Yoshikage said, turning his attention to Dabi before Toga could work herself into a frenzy. "Dabi. Real name Touya Todoroki, I presume?"
Dabi's flames intensified, blue fire crawling up his arms. "You really do want to die."
"Eldest son of Endeavor, the Number Two Hero," Yoshikage continued as if Dabi hadn't spoken. "Quirk incompatibility caused severe burning. Faked your death rather than deal with your family issues like an adult. Now you're plotting revenge against your father by... what, exactly? Killing random people? How does that hurt Endeavor, precisely?"
"You don't know what it was like," Dabi said, and there was real venom in his voice now. "The training, the abuse, the pressure—"
"So go public," Yoshikage interrupted. "You want to destroy Endeavor? Reveal the truth. Hold a press conference. Provide evidence of child abuse. Ruin his reputation and his career through legitimate means. You have testimony, you have scars, you probably have medical records. One interview with the right journalist and Endeavor's career is over."
"That's not enough," Dabi snarled. "He needs to suffer—"
"So this is about your personal satisfaction, not justice," Yoshikage observed. "You don't actually care about stopping him from hurting others or preventing future abuse. You just want revenge. Selfish, short-sighted revenge that helps nobody and accomplishes nothing except making you feel better temporarily."
"SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH—"
"Truth hurts, doesn't it?" Yoshikage said calmly, and turned to Shigaraki before Dabi could attack. "And you. The great Shigaraki Tomura. All For One's chosen successor."
Shigaraki was scratching his neck furiously now, leaving red welts. "You're dead. You're so dead. I'm going to dust you and—"
"Your real name is Tenko Shimura," Yoshikage said, and Shigaraki froze. "Your Quirk manifested during a moment of trauma and you accidentally killed your family. All For One found you, groomed you, and convinced you that your only purpose is to destroy society because it 'failed' you."
"He saved me," Shigaraki hissed. "When nobody else would—"
"He used you," Yoshikage corrected. "He's a two-hundred-year-old manipulator who needs a successor, and he chose a traumatized child because children are easy to control. He gave you just enough support to make you dependent while keeping you emotionally stunted and strategically incompetent."
"You don't know anything about Sensei—"
"I know he's been 'training' you for over fifteen years and you're still a failure," Yoshikage said bluntly. "Your big plan is to attack a high school training facility with a bunch of low-level thugs. That's your grand strategy. That's what over a decade of the 'greatest villain in history's' mentorship has produced."
Shigaraki's hands were shaking now, all five fingers twitching. "I'm going to kill you. I'm going to kill you so slowly—"
"You're going to try," Yoshikage agreed. "And you're going to fail. Just like you fail at everything else."
He looked around the room, at the assembled villains, and shook his head slowly.
"Look at yourselves," he said, and his voice was full of contempt. "Every single one of you has a sob story. Tragic backstories, cruel circumstances, society's failures. And you've all decided that justifies murder, terrorism, and chaos."
"Easy for you to judge," Kurogiri said quietly. "You know nothing of our struggles."
"I know that plenty of people have tragic backstories and don't become murderers," Yoshikage countered. "I know that your pain, while real, doesn't give you the right to inflict pain on others. I know that every one of you has had opportunities to seek help, to choose a different path, and you've rejected them because villainy is easier."
He started walking forward, slowly, hands still in his pockets.
"You want to be villains? Fine. Be villains. But at least be competent villains. Have actual goals beyond 'destroy society' and 'make people suffer.' Develop strategies that account for hero response. Build organizations that can sustain themselves. Actually accomplish something beyond making yourselves feel better about your trauma."
"Big words from someone who's about to die," Shigaraki said, and lunged forward, five fingers reaching for Yoshikage's face.
Killer Queen caught his wrist.
To Shigaraki, it looked like his arm had been grabbed by invisible force, stopping him dead in his tracks. He pulled, twisted, tried to activate his Decay Quirk, but couldn't make contact with whatever was holding him.
"What—"
"My turn," Yoshikage said pleasantly.
Killer Queen hurled Shigaraki backward into the wall hard enough to crack the plaster.
Dabi's flames shot forward, a wall of blue fire hot enough to melt steel.
Killer Queen touched the floor, and a line of bombs detonated in sequence, creating a trench that swallowed the flames harmlessly.
Toga lunged with her knife, fast and precise.
Killer Queen batted her aside like a fly, sending her crashing into the bar.
Kurogiri opened a warp gate beneath Yoshikage's feet—
—and Yoshikage jumped backward with perfect timing, having anticipated the move, and Killer Queen turned the edge of the portal into a bomb. It detonated, and Kurogiri's Quirk collapsed, the misty villain crying out in pain as his body forcibly reconstituted.
In ten seconds, the entire League of Villains was on the ground, groaning, defeated.
And Yoshikage hadn't moved more than a few steps, hadn't broken a sweat, hadn't even raised his voice.
"This is what I mean by incompetent," he said, looking down at them with cold disdain. "You have powerful Quirks. You have numbers. And you still lost to one person because you're predictable, uncoordinated, and lacking in any real tactical training."
He crouched down next to Shigaraki, who was struggling to rise, blood running from a cut on his forehead.
"Here's a free lesson," Yoshikage said softly. "If you're going to be a villain, be a smart villain. Study your enemies. Plan for contingencies. Don't attack targets that will draw massive hero response unless you have a specific goal beyond 'cause chaos.' And for the love of god, stop monologuing about your tragic backstories."
"Who... who the hell are you?" Shigaraki gasped.
Yoshikage smiled, and it wasn't pleasant.
"Me? I'm nobody. Just a Quirkless civilian who's sick of watching incompetent villains make the rest of us look bad."
He stood and looked around the bar one more time.
"Consider this a warning," he said. "The hero system is broken. Society needs to change. But you people aren't going to be the ones to change it, because you're not trying to fix anything—you're just lashing out like children throwing tantrums."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Oh, and if you come after me or try to investigate who I am, you'll regret it. I have resources you can't imagine and no compunctions about using them. Stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. Interfere with my plans, and I'll dismantle your organization piece by piece."
"What plans?" Kurogiri asked, reforming slowly. "What are you trying to accomplish?"
Yoshikage glanced back over his shoulder, and his eyes were cold.
"I'm going to show this world what a real villain looks like," he said simply. "I'm going to expose every flaw in Hero Society, every crack in their foundation, every lie they tell themselves. And when I'm done, when heroes and civilians alike realize that their entire system is built on sand, then things will change."
"You're insane," Dabi muttered.
"Maybe," Yoshikage agreed. "But I'm insane with a plan. Which is more than any of you can say."
He walked toward the destroyed door, then stopped one final time.
"Also, your attack on U.A.? It's going to fail. The heroes know you're planning something—you've been too obvious about gathering forces. They're going to be ready, and you're going to lose members, credibility, and All For One's confidence. So here's my advice: call it off. Regroup. Actually plan instead of just attacking whatever target Shigaraki fixates on."
"Why would you help us?" Shigaraki asked suspiciously.
"I'm not helping you," Yoshikage said flatly. "I'm trying to prevent you from being such an embarrassment that people start thinking all villains are as incompetent as you are. Professional courtesy, nothing more."
And with that, he left, stepping over the destroyed door and disappearing into the night, leaving the League of Villains scattered across their own base, utterly defeated by a single opponent they never saw coming.
Yoshikage returned to his safe house an hour later, made himself tea, and sat down to review the evening's activities.
Bites the Dust planted on Izuku Midoriya: Success. He now had perfect insurance against anyone getting too close to his civilian identities.
Bakugo Katsuki traumatized: Success. The boy would think twice before touching Izuku again, and even if he eventually worked up the courage to test the boundaries, Yoshikage had planted enough fear to keep him off-balance.
League of Villains humiliated: Complete success. He'd deconstructed their motivations, exposed their incompetence, and established dominance without even revealing his full capabilities.
All in all, a productive day.
Killer Queen manifested beside him, and Yoshikage raised his teacup in a mock toast.
"To being a better villain than the villains," he said softly. "And to showing this universe what happens when someone actually uses their brain."
Killer Queen's eyes gleamed in the darkness, and Yoshikage smiled.
Canon had begun, but it wasn't going to play out the way it was written.
He would make sure of that.
Because Yoshikage Kira didn't want a quiet life anymore.
He wanted to watch Hero Society burn, brick by carefully demolished brick, until nothing remained but ashes and the truth.
And he was going to enjoy every second of it.
Let the real story begin.