The dim light of the lanterns reminded me of one person, Tomura Shigaraki, your common enemy, and now the object of your, let's say, specific work. You, the villain, were sitting on rusty crates, watching the situation. Even through the darkened face from cigarette smoke, disgust could be read. It's ironic, isn't it? You, whose hands once squeezed his own hand in friendship, are now the heroes' tool, and my only "witness" is Aizawa Shota, the one with whom you were once on opposite sides of the barricades, gave me this chance. And the chance, to be honest, made you extremely nervous.

His question, thrown into the darkness, sounded like a lashing attack.:

"Why were you chosen...?"

There was not only a question in his words, but also accusation, disbelief, and contempt.