Chapter 23: In the Shadows of Defeat
The dim, stale air of the abandoned bar was suddenly torn apart by a swirling vortex of purple mist.
With a dull, unceremonious thud, Tomura Shigaraki tumbled out of the warp gate, collapsing onto the scuffed wooden floorboards. Kurogiri materialized a second later, his misty form wavering and unstable, struggling to maintain his usual elegant composure after sustaining the intense thermal damage from the plaza.
The warp gate shrank and vanished, plunging the hideout back into its usual murky gloom.
Shigaraki stayed on the floor for a long moment. He curled inward, pressing a pale, trembling hand against his bruised abdomen. The lingering, sharp ache from the green-haired brat's desperate, skull-crushing headbutt throbbed with every ragged breath he took. The physical pain, however, was nothing compared to the violent storm of humiliation raging in his mind.
"Damn it," Shigaraki wheezed, his voice cracking. "Damn it. Damn it all!"
He scrambled to his feet, his balance erratic. His single visible eye darted around the quiet room, searching for an outlet. With a sudden, feral shriek, he lashed out. He swept his arm across the nearest table, sending empty glass tumblers and dusty liquor bottles crashing against the brick wall. The glass shattered into hundreds of jagged splinters, raining down onto the floor.
He didn't stop. He kicked a wooden stool, sending it skidding across the room, then grabbed the edge of the polished mahogany counter, his fingers digging into the wood until it began to flake and decay into gray dust under his touch.
"It was a perfect setup!" Shigaraki screamed at the empty room, scratching his neck with a frantic, bloody rhythm. "We had the mob. We had the isolation. We had the ultimate weapon! The boss character was right there, and the game just… it just broke! A stupid, unfair glitch ruined everything!"
"Tomura Shigaraki. Please, calm yourself."
Kurogiri's polite voice tried to cut through the tantrum, but the young villain was too far gone in his own frustration to listen. He continued to tear at his own skin, pacing the narrow space like a caged, rabid animal.
A low, electrical hum suddenly vibrated through the room.
On the far wall, a bulky, outdated CRT television screen flickered to life. The display was pitch black, save for two simple white words glowing in the center: Audio Only.
The chaotic energy in the bar evaporated in an instant. Shigaraki froze mid-stride. His hands dropped to his sides, the frantic scratching coming to an abrupt halt. He stared at the screen, his posture shifting from a rampaging child into that of a reprimanded student.
Kurogiri stepped forward, bowing deeply toward the glowing monitor. "Master. We have returned. I humbly apologize. The mission to eliminate the Symbol of Peace was a failure. Furthermore… we were forced to leave the Nomu behind. It was destroyed."
For a few tense seconds, the speaker attached to the television emitted nothing but a faint hiss of static.
"I see," a deep, smooth voice finally resonated from the screen. The tone was not angry. It was remarkably calm, carrying a warm, almost paternal cadence that commanded the room effortlessly. "A disappointing outcome, certainly. But you both survived. Tell me, what unforeseen variable caused the loss of my bio-engineered vanguard?"
Shigaraki practically stumbled forward, his voice trembling as he sought to justify the humiliating defeat. "It wasn't All Might! The monster was flawless. It was a cheat! One of the students, a kid in a white cap. He jumped into the plaza right before I could dust the others."
Shigaraki gripped his own arms, his mind flashing back to the blinding, scorching light. "He turned the ground into a literal pool of magma. When the Nomu punched him, the kid drove his molten fist straight into its brain. The heat was ridiculous. The Nomu's shock absorption couldn't handle the temperature, and the hyper-regeneration couldn't keep up with the carbonization of the cells. The beast just melted and died."
The voice on the other side of the screen hummed thoughtfully. The sound of faint medical machinery could be heard in the background of the audio feed.
"Fascinating," the Master mused, his tone analytical rather than accusatory. "To bypass physical shock absorption and outpace advanced cellular regeneration requires a localized thermal output of extraordinary magnitude. For a mere first-year high school student to wield such an uncompromising level of destruction… that is a rare anomaly indeed."
"He ruined the game!" Shigaraki interrupted, his frustration bubbling to the surface again. "He needs to be deleted."
"Patience, Tomura," the Master soothed, his voice acting as a cooling balm over the young man's erratic temper. "Do not let a single lost match blind you to the larger board. This failure is simply a necessary stepping stone for your growth. You relied on low-level thugs to fill your ranks. Street trash and petty thieves will scatter at the first sign of genuine resistance. They lack conviction."
The Master's voice lowered, carrying a subtle, manipulative weight. "To tear down this false society, you need true companions. You need a party composed of individuals who possess real power and share your desire to shatter the current order. The League of Villains must evolve beyond a mob."
From the darkest corner of the bar, the sharp clack of a metal lighter echoed through the room. A small orange flame flared to life, illuminating a grinning face.
Giran, the underworld broker, took a long drag from his cigarette and stepped into the dim light. He exhaled a thin cloud of gray smoke, chuckling softly at the mess on the floor.
"The man in the monitor is right, kid," Giran said, adjusting his round glasses. "You can't conquer a fortress with a bunch of uncoordinated pawns. But look on the bright side. You actually breached U.A. High School. You survived an encounter with the Symbol of Peace. By tomorrow morning, the media is going to plaster this incident across every news channel in the country."
Giran leaned against the wall, a sly, transactional smile spreading across his face. "This failure is the best advertisement you could ever ask for. The outcasts, the psychos, the people who have been crushed by this shiny hero society… they are going to see that someone finally had the guts to strike at the top. They will come looking for you."
Shigaraki narrowed his eye, staring distrustfully at the broker.
"And that is where I come in," Giran added, tapping ashes onto the wooden floor. "For the right finder's fee, I will sift through the garbage. I will find the real talent hiding in the shadows and bring them to your door. People with actual teeth."
Shigaraki slowly walked over to the only stool left standing. He sat down, his posture slumping as the adrenaline finally left his system. The throbbing ache in his stomach flared up again, a constant, agonizing reminder of the green-haired boy who had launched himself like a missile to protect his classmate. Then, his mind shifted to the terrifying, glowing fist of the teenager in the white cap.
Two students. Two massive thorns in his side.
"Fine," Shigaraki muttered, staring blankly at the floorboards. His voice grew dangerously quiet, devoid of his earlier panic. "Bring me better pieces. Next time we play, I am going to tear those brats apart with my own hands."
"Rest now, Tomura," the Master spoke from the screen, his tone concluding the meeting. "Heal your wounds. Reflect on your tactical errors. We have all the time in the world to correct this."
"Yes, Master," Shigaraki whispered.
The audio feed clicked, signaling the end of the transmission. The television screen reverted to a dull, gray static, casting a flickering light across the gloomy bar.
Miles away, hidden deep within a secured, life-support facility, the towering man known as All For One sat alone in the dark. Various tubes and monitors fed into his scarred, faceless head, keeping his ancient body functioning.
He rested his chin on his knuckles, the rhythmic beep of his own heart monitor filling the silent room.
Tomura's report replayed in his vast, calculating mind. A teenager wielding magma hot enough to permanently neutralize an upper-tier Nomu. It was a brutal, uncompromising quirk, the kind of raw firepower that rarely manifested in the modern era.
A cruel, knowing smile curved across the scarred lower half of his face.
Such a devastating ability was undeniably a threat to his grand design. However, in the hands of the right player, it was an unparalleled asset. If the boy could be broken, manipulated, or simply caught off guard...
"A quirk that turns the earth into a lake of fire," All For One murmured to the empty room, his synthetic voice dripping with a quiet, boundless greed. "How extraordinary. I believe... I would very much like to meet this young man."