(Bonus chapter for my birthday)
He couldn't leave yet.
Every muscle in his body felt like it had been wrung dry.
If he tried to walk home in this condition, he might collapse before reaching the next block.
And once night fell in this world—
It wasn't pretty.
My Hero society might look orderly in daylight, but after dark?
Villains prowled.
Petty criminals, unstable Quirk users, opportunists who preferred dim alleys to bright streets.
With his body still weak from Apocalypse's backlash, he would be an easy target.
That wasn't a risk worth taking.
So Shigaraki stayed.
Leaning against the alley wall, he waited for his strength to return.
There was also another reason.
Shinso was still unconscious.
Leaving him alone in a deserted alley didn't sit well—not for moral reasons, exactly, but because unnecessary complications were annoying.
If something happened to him here, it would create noise.
And noise was troublesome.
Better to wait until he woke up.
Besides—
Recovery time could be used efficiently.
Even as his body rested, his mind did not.
Inside his head, the knowledge he had extracted through Apocalypse was being reorganized.
Segmented.
Indexed.
Compressed.
Like an overheated processor finally stabilizing.
Everything related to Brainwashing—trigger windows, vocal cadence patterns, psychological leverage points, energy flow timing—was sorted into distinct mental partitions.
The understanding didn't feel borrowed anymore.
It was integrating.
Becoming instinct.
As if it had always been his.
Then—
A faint mechanical resonance echoed in his mind.
Like unseen gears turning in the void.
Apocalypse Baptism — Remaining Uses (2/3).
Two left.
Shigaraki exhaled softly and pulled out the food he'd bought earlier, eating without ceremony.
He didn't regret using Apocalypse on Brainwashing.
Not even slightly.
Because Brainwashing was dangerous.
Not flashy-dangerous.
Not explosive-dangerous.
It was subtle-dangerous.
The kind that ended battles before they began.
If something like that existed in the world—
It either needed to be destroyed.
Or controlled.
Preferably the latter.
At minimum, he needed a countermeasure.
Because someday, someone could try to use it on him—or on his allies.
And being unprepared was unacceptable.
As for killing Shinso?
Yes.
The thought had crossed his mind.
More than once.
But he discarded it.
First, Shinso hadn't actually done anything hostile.
Following him was annoying, yes.
But not lethal.
Killing someone simply because their Quirk posed potential danger?
That crossed a line even Shigaraki wasn't eager to step over.
Second—
He wasn't indiscriminately bloodthirsty.
Removing threats preemptively was pragmatic.
But murdering a boy who had yet to become anything?
That was unnecessary.
Third—and most practical—
Too many people had seen them enter this area.
Pedestrians.
Cameras.
If Shinso died after following him—
Suspicion would naturally fall on him.
And this identity?
It still had use.
Wasting it over this would be stupid.
So he chose the cleaner solution.
Learn Brainwashing.
Neutralize the threat.
Move on.
Thirty minutes later—
Footsteps scraped against concrete.
Shinso stirred.
His eyes blinked open sluggishly.
He winced and raised a hand to the back of his head.
Then memory snapped back into place.
His expression hardened instantly.
"What did you do to me?"
Shigaraki reacted as if startled.
He waved his hands awkwardly, expression flustered—then quickly held up both palms in a don't-talk gesture.
He pointed at Shinso's neck, then at himself, then mimed an oops and a clumsy apology.
On the surface, he played the part.
But internally—
He was already braced.
Because he knew Shinso wouldn't buy it.
And more importantly—
He knew what Shinso would do next.
"Is that so…" Shinso replied quietly.
His eyes narrowed.
Compared to trusting an explanation—
People trusted confirmation more.
If Brainwashing worked—
Then whatever answer came out of Shigaraki's mouth would be the truth.
That was human psychology.
And Shinso intended to rely on it.
The trigger condition was simple:
The target must respond verbally.
Shigaraki hadn't given him a single verbal opening.
Which meant Shinso didn't hesitate—he tried to force the trigger.
The moment stretched thin.
And Shinso expected to feel that familiar shift—
The invisible thread connecting his will to the other person's body.
But what he didn't realize—
Was that he had just stepped into a trap.
Because Shigaraki wanted this.
People believe what they see with their own eyes.
What they hear with their own ears.
So instead of arguing—
Instead of persuading—
Shigaraki chose something better.
He would let Shinso "control" him.
And then—
He would feed him the version of truth he wanted him to believe.
After all—
Brainwashing is terrifying.
But it only works if you think you're the one holding the leash.
And right now—
Shinso had no idea—
That the leash had already changed hands.
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