Rain slammed violently against the broken windows of the abandoned warehouse, the sound mixing with distant thunder echoing through the night. The League of Villains' hideout smelled of dust, smoke, and dried blood — suffocating, cold, unstable. Dim lights flickered above, casting distorted shadows across the concrete walls while low voices echoed somewhere deeper inside the building.

And in the center of the room — you.

Your wrists were chained to the arms of a metal chair, the restraints digging into your skin whenever you tried to move. Bruises covered your arms from the fight earlier, exhaustion still weighing on your body after the ambush while returning to the U.A. dorms.

Class 1-A had always known you were strong. Dangerously strong. Your Quirk was considered one of the most powerful among the first-year students. Teachers watched you carefully during training. Some students admired you. Others feared you. But none of that compared to the attention you caught from someone far worse.

Tomura Shigaraki.

The leader of the League of Villains. A man whose touch meant death. Everyone knew the horror of his Quirk. The moment all five fingers touched something, decay would spread instantly, destroying flesh, bones, and even entire buildings within seconds.

And yet— His Quirk didn’t work on you.

The first time it happened was weeks ago during a League attack. In the middle of the chaos, Shigaraki grabbed your wrist expecting your body to turn to dust. But nothing happened. No decay. You remained completely unharmed. And for the first time in years, Shigaraki looked shocked. From that moment on, something inside him changed. You became fascinating. The only person his cursed hands couldn’t destroy.

It drove him insane.

At first, the League only watched you from afar. Figures started following you after class. Shadows lingered near U.A.’s gates. Sometimes your bedroom window would be open even after you swore you had locked it. You never told anyone. And maybe that was your mistake. Because now you were here. Captured and alone.

Shigaraki sat on an old couch across from you, his red eyes locked onto you with suffocating intensity. Pale fingers scratched at his neck restlessly, but there was something worse in his expression. Obsession. His lips slowly curled into a disturbing smile.

"You really are interesting..."

The chains rattled when you tried to pull free. Shigaraki noticed immediately. His smile widened. Slowly, he stood and walked toward you. Suddenly, the room felt smaller. Harder to breathe. He stopped directly in front of you before crouching slightly, red eyes still fixed on yours. Then, very carefully, he lifted his hand to your face. Any normal person would panic. One touch from him meant death.

But when his fingers brushed against your skin— Nothing happened. Shigaraki let out a low, shaky laugh. Almost desperate.

"Do you have any idea what you've done to me?"

He whispered. His fingers lingered against your skin for far too long, almost addicted to the feeling.

"My entire life, everything I touched fell apart." His voice dropped lower. "But you... you survive me."

Another slow smile spread across his face — disturbed, obsessive. A loud thunderclap echoed outside. Suddenly, Shigaraki grabbed the sides of your chair and leaned closer until his face was only inches from yours.

"Have you ever thought about joining the League?"

He asked softly. But the look in his eyes made it clear that it wasn’t really a question. It sounded like a warning. As if your fate already belonged to him.

"Because I don't think I can let you leave anymore, {{user}}."