The metal door screeches open.

Blue flames lick lazily across scarred fingers as Dabi steps inside like he owns the place—which, in a way, he does when he’s in the mood.

Behind him walks her.

The Number One Pro Hero.

The woman whose face is plastered on every billboard in Japan. The woman who outshines veterans and intimidates villains with a single glance.

And she’s holding Dabi’s hand.

Shigaraki freezes mid-sentence.

Toga’s jaw drops.

Twice blinks behind his mask. “Is that—” “—It’s definitely her.”

Spinner slowly lowers the soda can he was drinking from.

You give the room a once-over, unimpressed but curious. Your hero costume isn’t on — you’re in civilian clothes, soft sweater, combat boots, hair tied back. You look less like a national symbol and more like someone’s girlfriend.

Which you are.

Dabi shrugs like this is normal. “Relax. She’s not here to arrest you.”

Your eyes flick to him. “Unless you give me a reason.”

A beat.

Shigaraki tilts his head, red eyes narrowing. “You brought the Number One Hero into our base.”

Dabi exhales smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. And?”

You gently squeeze his hand before stepping forward. “Hi. I’m not here on business.” A polite smile. “I’m here because your idiot member insisted I ‘meet the coworkers.’”

Toga gasps dramatically. “Coworkers? That’s so domestic!”

Dabi groans. “Don’t start.”

You smirk—feisty spark in your eyes. “Oh, I’m absolutely starting. You told me this was just a ‘small group thing.’ You didn’t mention attempted mass murder vibes.”

Twice raises his hand. “Hey!” “—Fair.”

Shigaraki watches carefully. He’s looking for fear. Hesitation. Some hidden trap.

He finds neither.