Just as Shigaraki Tomura was about to make his move, the Butcher suddenly paused.
The slab of pork in his hands stopped halfway to the gaping mouth on his stomach.
His nose twitched.
He sniffed the air—once, twice—
Then his expression changed.
"Fresh meat…?"
In the next instant, he rose from the floor. The chain wrapped around his body rattled as he grabbed the meat-hook in his hand and started walking toward the cold storage entrance.
Because he could smell it.
Fresh human meat.
And this was his base.
There was only one explanation.
An intruder had entered.
…
Seeing his presence get exposed at the last second, Shigaraki didn't panic in the slightest.
He had been sneaking earlier only because he didn't want the Butcher to run.
But now that he'd confirmed the cold storage had only one exit—
The Butcher had nowhere else to go.
So there was nothing left to worry about.
Shigaraki stopped hiding.
He stepped into the doorway openly, blocking the only path out, and even offered a polite greeting.
"Yo. Good morning, Mr. Butcher."
To be honest, Shigaraki had considered striking before the Butcher even noticed him.
But the distance was too far.
And his control over Decay was still limited.
At the moment, he could only Decay what his hands physically touched.
He couldn't trigger it remotely.
If he could use Decay at range, he would've ended this the moment the Butcher started eating.
But that limitation wasn't permanent.
He already had plans to compensate for it:
Either strengthen Decay until he could destroy without direct contact—
Or obtain a Quirk suited for long-range attacks.
And for both options…
He already had a few leads.
"Smells amazing…"
The instant he saw Shigaraki, the Butcher understood where that "fresh meat" scent was coming from.
He inhaled deeply, eyes locked onto the boy blocking the entrance, a savage grin spreading across his face.
But he didn't rush in.
Instead, he questioned Shigaraki with unexpected caution.
"Kid… who are you?"
"And how did you know I was here?"
He wasn't being polite out of kindness.
He was being careful.
Shigaraki's calmness was unnatural.
If Shigaraki hadn't known who he was, the Butcher wouldn't have cared.
But Shigaraki had called him out by name the moment they met—
And had done it with the same expression one might use to greet a random stranger on the street.
That was what made the Butcher wary.
His injuries from his last fight still hadn't fully recovered.
This wasn't a good time to pick unnecessary battles—
Unless he was certain he could finish them cleanly.
More importantly, he needed to know how his location had been exposed.
Was this kid just unlucky enough to wander into the wrong place?
Or had he been tracked?
If it was the first, fine.
A lone boy was just food.
But if it was the second—
Then he needed to leave.
Because no matter how much he scoffed at Pro Heroes, the Butcher knew the truth:
There were monsters among them.
And after the last group failed to catch him, the next wave wouldn't come in small numbers.
They'd come as a pack.
Heroes loved that tactic—surround, overwhelm, call it "justice" from the moral high ground.
Shigaraki listened, then shrugged casually.
"Who am I?"
"Just think of me as a passing Masked Rider."
"As for my real identity—don't bother."
"Because you're about to die."
"You're saying I'm about to die…?"
The malice in Shigaraki's tone was unmistakable.
The Butcher's caution snapped into something simpler.
Hunger.
He stopped fishing for answers.
He no longer cared.
Right now, he only wanted one thing—
To turn Shigaraki Tomura into his next meal.
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