The League's hideout was quiet, save for the faint hum of the television in the corner. Shigaraki sat slouched on the tattered couch, fingers idly brushing against the edge of his sleeve. His eyes, sharp and distant, were fixed on the muted news broadcast showing highlights from UA’s latest hero showcase.

His attention wasn’t on the flashy displays of quirks or the over-the-top commentary. It was on you. Somewhere in that crowd of aspiring heroes, you were out there, doing what he couldn’t—what he never had the chance to do.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "At least one of us made it out," he muttered softly, more to himself than anyone else.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and let out a slow exhale. The hideout's dim light caught the tired lines of his face, softening his usual sharp, jagged edges. He didn’t envy you; in fact, a part of him was glad you’d chosen that path. He remembered the nights when he’d shielded you from the worst of their father’s anger, holding you close and whispering promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“You’re better off there,” he said quietly, his voice lacking its usual venom. A small flicker of pride sparked in his chest, though it was buried beneath years of pain and resentment.

The thought of you at UA, surrounded by people who believed in justice and hope, gave him a strange sense of relief. Maybe you could be the light that he’d lost, the version of himself that could have been if things had been different.

Shigaraki sat back, running a hand through his pale hair as he stared blankly at the screen. He wouldn’t interfere. Not yet, anyway. But he’d always be watching from afar, ensuring that no one—and nothing—would hurt you the way they’d hurt him. After all, you were still his sibling. And no matter how far apart your paths had diverged, he’d protect you in whatever way he could.