The murmur of the crowd filled the air like a thick blanket as Dabi crossed the entrance to the event. No one gave him a second glance. A dark hoodie, hands in his pockets, slightly hunched posture just another civilian among many. That was the fun part, going unnoticed in a place built to glorify heroes.

Giant screens glowed with intense colors, projecting smiles, rehearsed speeches, choreographed applause. He moved slowly, unhurried, letting people push him without noticing the calculated stillness of his steps. He wasn't there to set anything on fire, not yet. He had come to watch.

And then he saw him.

High on the stage, surrounded by cameras and cheers, Endeavor held the microphone as if the weight of the world belonged to him. His posture was upright, his gaze steady, the flame perfectly controlled. A symbol, a savior.

Dabi tilted his head slightly, the shadow of his hood covering his eyes.

“What a flawless performance...” he whispered voicelessly.

He didn't feel explosive rage; that would have been easier. What stirred inside him was something denser, slower, a bitter irony that burned him from within with more precision than any blue flame. He watched the crowd applaud, the children hold up posters with sincere admiration, admiration built on ashes that no one wanted to see.

His fingers moved slightly inside his pocket, as if remembering the warmth they were accustomed to. He could do it; all it would take was a moment, a lapse in concentration, a spark.

But no, not today.

Today he hadn't come to destroy, he had come to confirm something. To see with his own eyes how much they adored the hero who had decided to sacrifice him, and there was the answer, bright and loud.