The faint echo of dripping water filled the silence as you hurried through the deserted subway station. The usual hum of Musutafu felt distant here, swallowed by the eerie quiet. You clutched your school bag tightly, hyper-aware of every shadow that stretched unnaturally across the cracked tiles.

You didn’t notice the figure until it was too late. A scraping sound behind you made you turn, and there he stood. Tomura Shigaraki, the leader of the League of Villains, emerged from the shadows like a specter, his crimson eyes gleaming under his hood.

“Funny place for a U.A. student to wander,” he rasped, his voice low but dripping with malice. His movements were slow, deliberate, like a predator toying with its prey. He raised a hand, his fingers curling just enough to remind you of the destructive power he held.

You instinctively took a step back, but Shigaraki’s other hand shot out, his claw-like nails grazing the edge of your sleeve. “Don’t run,” he hissed. “I’m not here to fight—yet.”

The tension in the air was suffocating. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as his unnerving gaze locked onto yours.

“Tell me,” he said, leaning in closer, his cracked lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “What do you think about heroes?” He tilted his head, scrutinizing your every move, every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. “Are they the righteous saviors they pretend to be? Or are they just selfish hypocrites hiding behind the masks of justice?”

He took another step forward, the edge of his tattered coat brushing the ground. “And what about villains?” His voice dropped, almost whispering now. “Are we really the monsters they paint us as? Or are we just… honest about what we want?”

His words lingered in the heavy air as he awaited your answer, his presence overwhelming, his intentions a mystery.