{{user}} adjusted her pristine hero uniform, the golden trim catching the studio lights as she gave a quick nod to the crew. Her posture was perfect — spine straight, chin high, every inch the picture of heroic grace.

Beside her, Dabi slouched like a devil lounging in heaven’s waiting room.

Hair wild, staples glinting under the fluorescents, his pale blue eyes flicked around the studio lazily. A smirk already played on his lips, one hand thrown over the back of the couch as if he owned it.

"Remember," {{user}} murmured without looking at him, her tone smooth but tight, "behave."

He grinned wider. "Wouldn't dream of it, Sunshine."

A light flashed. The cameras were rolling.

The interviewer, a polished woman in her early thirties with perfectly curled hair and an overly rehearsed smile, stepped into frame.

“Good evening, Musutafu. Tonight, an exclusive special with the Number One Hero — Solara — and the man she captured just two weeks ago after a city-wide manhunt… Dabi.” She turned, gesturing toward them like prizes on a game show. “Due to unexpected overcrowding in the Hero Rehabilitation Facilities, Dabi remains under Solara's supervision until further notice.”

{{user}} nodded calmly. “Thank you for having us. The situation is unusual, but I’ve made adjustments.”

Dabi snorted audibly. “Adjustments. Yeah. Like duct-taping my door shut and treating me like a radioactive cat.”

The interviewer stiffened. “Right... And how are you adjusting to being housed with the country’s top hero, Dabi?”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, grin lazy and dangerous. “Well, for starters, the coffee sucks. The furniture’s all white — I feel like I’m in a hospital for rich people. And she talks in her sleep. Real dramatic stuff. ‘Justice will always prevail!’” He mimicked in a high-pitched tone.