Pain.
It was all-consuming, a dull, throbbing ache spreading through every inch of my body.
My arms refused to move, my legs were dead weight, and a sharp sting ran through my ribs with every shallow breath.
Blood trickled down my temple, warm and sticky, pooling beneath me on the cold floor.
I stayed still, not by choice but because my body wouldn't allow otherwise.
A deep, distorted voice cut through the silence.
"You're still so fragile, Azaria."
I forced my eyes open, vision swimming as I took in the darkened room.
A single dim light cast long shadows across the walls, and at the center of it all, he sat.
All For One.
His massive frame was reclined in his chair, wires and tubes snaking from his body into the machines that kept him alive.
His mask, smooth and featureless, concealed whatever expression he might have had, but I could still feel his gaze on me, heavy and piercing.
He was relaxed, almost casual, yet every word he spoke carried a suffocating weight.
"You have potential. But potential means nothing without strength."
A shiver crawled up my spine, a mix of fear and exhaustion.
I had already endured so much, yet he spoke as if I hadn't suffered enough.
"You'll be taking on more responsibilities soon," he continued, his voice calm. "Shigaraki needs reliable hands, and I expect you to be one of them."
The mention of him sent a fresh wave of unease through me.
Shigaraki.
He was unpredictable, cruel, and worst of all—he enjoyed making sure I knew just how powerless I was in his grasp.
All For One leaned forward slightly, his presence suffocating despite his stillness.
"You fear him, don't you?"
I said nothing. My throat was dry, and my body screamed at me to stay silent.
A chuckle, deep and distorted.
"That's good. Fear keeps you cautious. But don't forget, Azaria—" His voice dropped, laced with something darker. "You belong to me. If I say you serve Shigaraki, you do. If I say you suffer, you endure. Understand?"
I swallowed, my fingers twitching against the cold floor.
I wanted to say something, anything but what was the point?
"Take him to the doctor," AFO finally said, waving a hand dismissively. "He still has much to learn."
The last thing I saw before darkness took me was the slow rise and fall of his chest, his life supported by machines.
Yet, I was the one gasping for air.
---
The air in the bar was thick with the scent of old wood and something faintly metallic.
A low hum from unseen machinery filled the silence, adding to the suffocating atmosphere.
Kurogiri stood behind the counter, silent and composed, his form shrouded in shifting mist.
His ever-watchful eyes gleamed from within the fog, observing the room with practiced patience.
Across from him, slumped lazily in his usual seat, was Tomura Shigaraki.
His silver hair was unkempt, strands falling over his crimson eyes as he scratched absently at his neck.
His oversized blue hoodie hung off his thin frame, wrinkled and slightly torn at the edges.
His fingers drummed against the table—one, two, three, four—his pinky always hovering just slightly apart from the rest. A casual habit.
The door creaked open.
A youth stepped inside, his hair split evenly between green and light blonde, messy strands falling over his sharp, piercing yellow eyes.
His expression was unreadable—lazily indifferent, yet his posture betrayed a subtle tension, the kind of wariness that never truly left.
Azaria.
Shigaraki's lips curled immediately.
"Well, if it isn't our little rat from U.A."
His voice was dry, dripping with mockery.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees as his fingers twitched. His red eyes gleamed with amusement.
Azaria didn't react right away, only stopping a few steps in, his gaze flickering between Shigaraki and Kurogiri.
The way Shigaraki looked at him—it wasn't just disdain, It was ownership.
Like he was a pawn. A tool. Something beneath him.
Shigaraki tilted his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"Heard you were the center of attention during the week." His voice was teasing. "I didn't know we had a celebrity on our hands."
Azaria stiffened just barely.
Shigaraki smirked. He caught that.
"Oh? What's wrong? You surprised?" His fingers twitched again, and for a second, Azaria swore the air itself felt heavier. "What, did you think I wouldn't know?"
Kurogiri spoke then, his voice smooth as ever. "We told you that we would be watching you, Azaria."
Azaria's jaw clenched, but his expression remained calm.
So he was correct, there was another spy.
Of course, there was. He should've known.
The League wouldn't rely on just one person, not for something this important.
It made sense.
It also meant that no matter what he did, no matter how careful he was, they were always watching.
"Don't look so tense," Shigaraki mused, resting his chin on his palm. "You're doing fine for now, I guess.
I don't really care what you do, just do what you were sent to do but if you get too comfortable, well..."
His fingers twitched again. One, two, three, four. Pinky still raised.
Azaria exhaled slowly, forcing himself to relax even as his heart pounded.
"I'll keep that in mind."
Shigaraki stared at him for a moment before snorting.
"Yeah, you do that."
***
I adjusted my collar as I sank into the chair, the air thick with the stench of alcohol and stale smoke.
The dim lighting cast jagged shadows along the walls, stretching toward me like grasping fingers.
I hate this place. It felt suffocating, like the walls were closing in, pressing against my skin.
Shigaraki sat across from me, his bloodshot eyes barely visible under the unruly mess of white hair hanging over his face.
His fingers twitched, nails scraping against the wooden table in an erratic rhythm. The sound sent an unpleasant shiver down my spine.
"So, if you know all that… then you must know All Might is a teacher at U.A.?" I said, breaking the silence.
Shigaraki exhaled sharply, standing up as he lazily scratched at his neck—his nails digging into irritated skin.
He reached for a newspaper sitting on the bar counter and flipped it open with one hand.
"Yeah, yeah. The other rat told me already, it is in the papers too." He waved the paper dismissively before tossing it aside.
The other rat. That meant I wasn't the only one feeding him information from the inside.
So if he already knows, then why the hell am I here?
I didn't like coming here. Every time I walked in, it felt like I was sinking into something I wouldn't be able to climb out of.
The heavy scent of decay, the low hum of Kurogiri polishing glasses behind the bar. It was a constant reminder that this place wasn't meant for people like me.
And then there was Shigaraki. Dealing with him was exhausting. He was immature, erratic.
A walking tantrum wrapped in the power to turn anything he touched into dust.
He did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted—like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off.
As if reading my thoughts, Kurogiri finally spoke, his voice smooth and measured as always.
"Not to waste anyone's time, you were called here for a separate reason."
I exhaled slowly, forcing myself to stay calm.
Shigaraki reached into his coat pocket and tossed a thick envelope onto the table.
It slid across the surface, stopping just in front of me.
The corner of a photograph peeked out. Blond hair. Glasses. A man I didn't recognize although he looked familiar.
"Find this man and stalk him." Shigaraki cracked a finger, his lips curling in irritation.
I hesitated before pulling the picture out, examining the man's face. "Who is he?"
Shigaraki's fingers twitched again. His red-rimmed eyes locked onto mine, sharp and unreadable.
"That is none of your business," he said flatly. "Just monitor him and report back to me."
I frowned, gripping the photo between my fingers. "How am I supposed to do that? I'm already balancing this school thing, and it's fucking hard enough. Now you want me to—"
The words barely left my mouth before I felt it.
A hand around my throat.
My breath caught as cold fingers tightened against my skin, all but the pinky pressing into my neck.
My body locked up.
He wasn't going to kill me.
He wasn't.
He could.
My pulse pounded in my ears. My lungs burned, panic creeping in like a slow poison.
If he just moved his hand slightly… if his pinky made contact… I wouldn't even have time to scream.
A wave of dread crashed over me.
"You sure talk a lot," Shigaraki muttered, his grip tightening just enough to make my throat constrict.
His lips pulled into something between indifference and a slight frown.
"You think I care how hard it is? Do you really think your struggles matter to me?"
I stayed silent. His hold wasn't tight enough to choke me, but it was enough to make his point.
"You do what you're told," he continued, voice low with irritation. "Or should I remind you what happens if you don't?"
My stomach twisted. I knew what he was talking about. My parents.
The memories threatened to claw their way forward, but I shoved them back.
He held me there for a few agonizing seconds, watching, waiting then he let go, shoving me back into the chair like I was nothing more than an afterthought.
I sucked in air, my throat throbbing where his fingers had been.
I swallowed thickly, rubbing at the sore spot on my neck as he cracked another finger, still watching me like a cat playing with its food.
"This isn't a request. It's an order. Get it done."
I forced myself to nod. I didn't have a choice.
The door creaked open.
Laughter.
Loud. Raucous. Mocking.
A group of bottom-feeding scum strolled in—grinning, sneering, like they smelled blood in the water.
"Ohhh, shit!" one of them howled, elbowing the guy beside him. "Did you see that? Look at this little bitch, Shigaraki had his whole hand around your throat, and you were fucking scared"
More laughter.
"Fucking pathetic. You really got no spine, huh?"
A lanky bastard with rotting teeth grinned. "Tch. That's what happens when you let a U.A. bitch run around pretending to be one of us."
"Yeah, bro," another chimed in, swaggering forward. "You got that shiny little school badge and you think you're hot shit? Hate to break it to you, but you ain't shit."
A red-haired woman slouched against the bar, her smirk razor-sharp. "Look at him, all stiff. What's the matter, hero boy? You gonna run home to daddy? Oh wait—" Her smirk widened. "Say something and you won't have one."
The laughter crashed into me like a tidal wave, drowning me.
"That's evil!"
"Nah, she's right though—look at him. Bet he'd beg like a bitch if we cornered him outside."
"What, you gonna cry? Gonna piss yourself again? Oh wait, you probably already did back there."
More laughter.
The walls felt tight, pressing in.
My nails dug into my palms.
I don't know which was more embarrasing, being insulted by third rated villains or Shigaraki.
He didn't even react, didn't say anything. Didn't even look up.
He just sat there, resting his chin on his palm, fingers tapping idly.
Like I wasn't even worth acknowledging.
Like I wasn't even here.
I forced myself to breathe. Forced myself to move.
I pushed up from the chair, legs unsteady, my hands clenched into trembling fists at my sides.
I didn't say shit.
Didn't look at them.
Didn't give them the satisfaction.
I just turned and walked out, their laughter chasing after me like a fucking noose tightening around my throat.