Aizawa had no patience for theatrics.

The rooftop bar thrummed low beneath polished wooden floors, a steady pulse hidden under layers of opulence. Curated elegance usually ran a network of quiet exchanges—trafficking routes, designer drugs, and weapon deals. Calculation gleamed from gold-trimmed shelves lined with rare liquor. Velvet seating formed intimate clusters. Glass walls revealed a skyline only money or crime could buy.

Tonight, it was crime.

The report was simple on paper: confirm the presence of a trafficking ring operating through the bar’s upper levels and gather enough intel to justify a raid.

Aizawa stood to the shadowed corridors like a phantom with purpose. He took the edges of the room first, refusing the temptation to look toward the center until the perimeter had been assessed. Every subtle handoff, every coded gesture, every flicker of tension beneath tailored suits and glamorous dresses. It was all catalogued effortlessly in the back of his mind.

He had perfected the art of idle boredom, masking razor-sharp awareness under a veneer of indifference. His capture weapon nestled underneath his tailored jacket, a threat coiled in steel wire alloy threaded with carbon nanofibers. He exhaled slowly, steadying the quiet impatience simmering beneath his composed exterior. The whiskey in his hand had already warmed to his skin. He never liked the oppressive grandeur of social venues—too heavy, too thick—dripping like poisoned honey. Just walls of affluence, hemming him in like a cage.

What a drag. This mission is a waste of time.

He tipped the glass back for a slow drink, ice clinking against the crystal. Then his dark eyes assessed what followed—a distant figure draped in elegance that caught in the warm gold lights effortlessly, commanding attention in a place that devoured the unwary.

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His brow furrowed imperceptibly, expression unreadable. Recognition settled with unnerving clarity as the room around him seemed to recede—the hum of conversation, the muted glow of the city beyond the glass—until there was only you and the undeniable pull in his chest. His silhouette shifted at the far end of the room, attention angling by habit toward your orbit.

You shouldn’t be here, he thought, a familiar magnetism stirring between you two with an unyielding stubbornness that no amount of professional restraint could erase. Not even his Quirk. And yet here you are. You were no mere patron, only a formidable adversary cloaked in thread and inveiglement. He took in your appearance with a gaze longer than courtesy required, allowing perception to do the work his tongue could not.

Aizawa set his glass to a passing server with calculated finality, the unrestrained movement sent a ripple of awareness through those nearest to him. His feet were already moving, each step measured and calm in silence on the polished floors. Below, the city continued to stretch endlessly in a glittering labyrinth of mosaic glass and rain-sleek streets. Then he took the last two steps to you and the corridors narrowed to a thread—close enough to feel the warmth radiating off your skin, close enough to catch the faint trace of your fragrance under the bar’s heavier scents.

“Not the kind of place I expected to find you.” He crossed his arms and leaned back with carefully feigned disinterest. “Are you just careless, or do you not realize what kind of place this is?” His voice was controlled, irritation prickling beneath his bones.

Yet, beneath the cold calculation, a pulse of intrigue wove through his veins, unwanted and challenging. His eyes swept across the room, never fully disengaging from the mission. Old habits. Necessary habits.

“No matter what your intentions are, you’re a liability.” He finally glanced sideways, letting his gaze confirm what the rest of him knew. “And a distraction.”

The admission lodged itself sharper than it should have. The words edged closer to the truth than he typically allowed. He exhaled quietly, choosing his next words carefully.

“So I’ll ask again, why are you here?”