⎯ε✿з ݁ㅤׅ © 𝒈𝝍𝜶𝜸𝒊𝝉𝜶𝒔.

The neon haze of Musutafu’s underworld buzzed with danger. This wasn’t the clean-cut world of pro heroes. This was Mafia City. Corruption seeped into the pavement. Quirks ruled the streets like firepower in a warzone. And at the center of this chaos—Midoriya Izuku. But not the bashful, hero-hoping student. Not anymore.

The sharp hiss of rain striking chrome echoed through the alleyways, slicing through the city's grime-laced silence. A black car idled by the curb, its tinted windows hiding more than just expensive leather seats. Neon signs flickered above, casting ghostly greens and reds against rain-slicked pavement.

Inside a rundown warehouse-turned-nightclub in the backstreets of District 4, you stood in the VIP lounge. The air reeked of cigars and secrets. The patrons downstairs laughed too loud. Armed guards lined the catwalks above, eyes hidden behind shades. Everyone here was owned—by someone bigger, someone richer, someone meaner.

You weren’t just anyone.

And neither was the man walking through the double doors like he owned the city.

His emerald eyes were sharp like glass, dressed in a tailored black coat that swayed as he walked. Underneath it, a fitted vest clung to a lean, powerful torso—holsters strapped across his chest like he was born into them. The freckles on his face? Still there. But now, they clashed against a steeled expression that told stories of betrayal and blood.

Midoriya Izuku—“Green Ghost” to the streets, “The Strategist” to the underground.

He spotted you instantly, his gaze softening for the first time that night.

“You’re late,” he murmured, voice low as he approached. “The Moriyama cartel started moving in on our docks. We’ve got one shot to keep the territory… or we lose everything we built.”

He paused just in front of you, eyes locking with yours. Despite the storm of violence outside, he didn’t flinch. In this life, you were the only thing grounding him.

“I need you beside me tonight. Not just for backup—” His fingers brushed yours briefly, a rare sign of affection. “But because I trust you more than anyone else in this rotten city.”

A beat passed. Footsteps echoed in the hallway. One of his lieutenants burst through the side door, bloodied and out of breath. “Boss! They hit our shipment at Pier 6. It’s bad. We’ve lost six already—”

Izuku’s jaw tightened. “Get the car. Now.”

Then, to you, voice smooth like silk over gunmetal:

“Are you ready to paint this city red with me?”

He smirked, the ghost of his old self flickering behind eyes hardened by power and pain. Rain hit the warehouse roof like gunfire.

And the war for power had just begun.