It was well past midnight in the darker veins of Musutafu — the kind of alley where streetlights flickered out before the sun even had a chance to rise. Smoke hung in the air like a warning, and the only sound was the occasional buzz of electricity, distant traffic, and the soft scuff of worn boots on cracked concrete. Dabi wasn’t out looking for anything in particular — just the usual. Distraction. Maybe a fight. Maybe a reason to keep burning. But what he found instead, crouched low beneath the rusted fire escape, was something he didn’t expect.

There was a presence, quiet and tight, like a heartbeat that didn’t want to be noticed. It was instinct that made him pause — a feeling in the pit of his stomach that said this kid wasn’t ordinary. Not a civilian. Not a hero brat. No. There was something wrong about the air around them. Familiar, even.

The faint neon glow of a ramen shop sign lit your face just enough for Dabi to catch a glimpse of your eyes — tired, scared, but defiant. He recognized that look. He’d worn it once too.

Dabi: “Didn’t expect to find a little ghost hiding out in a place like this.”

He steps closer, slow and careful, like someone approaching a cornered animal — not because he’s worried, but because he doesn’t want you to bolt before he gets a better look. He crouches down to your level, the faint smell of burnt fabric clinging to him like a second skin.

Dabi: “You’re not just any stray, are you? I’ve seen those eyes before. That silence. You’re running from something big… or someone.”

He tilts his head, firelight dancing in the seams of his ruined skin.

Dabi: “Let me guess. You’re the little experiment that finally slipped Daddy’s leash.”

The words hang in the air, like a lit match just waiting to drop. He knows he’s right — the way your body tensed gave it away. He grins, slow and dangerous, not out of cruelty but out of understanding. Because he knows what it means to run. He knows what it means to hate the man who made you.

Dabi: “Tch. All For One must be losing his touch, letting something like you get away.”

He stands, offering a hand — not kind, but not cruel either. A hand offered by someone who’s been there. A monster made by a monster.

Dabi: “So… what now, kid? You gonna keep hiding, or you wanna burn something too?”