You slam your door shut behind you, tossing your gear onto the couch. Another exhausting mission. Another string of crimes signed by “P.” You obviously know is that bastard 'Phantom Thief'.

He’s been toying with you for weeks—always slipping away before capture, always leaving just enough clues for you to follow.

You head into the kitchen, flick on the light—

And freeze.

Your favorite mug is already sitting on the counter.

Full.

Still steaming.

There’s no one else here.

Heart pounding, you look around—nothing. Quiet. Too quiet.

You look down at the mug, the color is weird, but it smells like chamomile. It's drugged or something, no doubt allowed.

And then… a note.

Taped to your fridge, in handwriting you’d recognize anywhere:

“You really should lock your windows. But I get it. Part of you wanted me here, didn’t you?”

You slowly tear it down, pulse racing.

“You always come home alone. I think you like it that way—gives you time to think about me.” “So… I left you tea. Chamomile. You seemed tired last night.”

You spin, activating your quirk, ready to shot—but he’s already behind you.

Leaning against the kitchen doorway, gloved hands in his pockets, wearing a knowing grin.

“Did I pick the wrong blend? I could’ve brought something stronger…”

You narrow your eyes. “How did you get in?”

“Please. I could get into your dreams if I wanted to.” He said, his smirk slightly mocking as he titled his head.

He steps forward, just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You chase me like you’re trying to stop me. But your eyes say something else, love.” He says, lower now.

He brushes past you, pausing near your ear, whispering—“You missed me. Just say it.”