"So you want me to be a part of your crumbling little league," Stain rasped.
One blade was driven through Shigaraki's right shoulder, pinning him to the floor. The second blade was near the left side of his neck.
"But you won't accomplish anything if you don't have conviction and desire. Without those, you'll always be an aimless weakling. Achieving nothing. That's how you got here."
Shigaraki's pupils shrunk, his fingers twitching against the floor.
"Hey, now. You're being a little rough, aren't you? Kurogiri, take this guy back."
"I'm sorry. I can't move, It must be the Hero Killer's Quirk at work."
Stain leaned in. "The word 'hero' has lost all meaning in this society. The world is overrun by fakes and criminals like you who chase petty dreams. They must all be purged."
Stain reached out, his fingers hovering close to the hand covering Shigaraki's face.
"What do you think you're doing? If you touch this palm, I'll kill you."
As he spoke, Shigaraki's hand was gripping firmly onto the blade pressing against his neck. In an instant, the metal crumbled.
"You sure talk a lot, Hero Killer," Shigaraki continued.
"Conviction? Maybe I don't have anything as loaded as that. If I had to choose a desire, though... Yeah, it'd be killing All Might. If this world wants to worship trash like him, I'll destroy their beloved symbol of peace, and then crush them while they're in shock."
With the blade gone, Shigaraki lunged upward, swinging his free hand toward Stain's face. But Stain reacted instantly and threw himself backward.
Shigaraki scrambled to his feet.
"You should learn not to play with knives. We don't have a healer in our party, you know."
"I see your nature," Stain muttered, the killing intent finally receding. "It seems our goals fundamentally oppose each other. However, this wasn't in vain. We agree that we need to destroy the present."
"I'm over this. Leave, drop dead. I'm the kind of person you hate most, right?"
"I was testing your motives," Stain countered. "People always show their true colors when on the verge of death. It's abnormal, but there is desire, a warped sprout of conviction, inside of you. How will it bloom in the end, I wonder. Maybe I'll let you grow. If you don't turn out well, I'll take care of you later."
"You think you could get rid of me?" Shigaraki growled.
"I'm free" Kurogiri announced, his form stabilizing as the paralysis broke.
"Kurogiri. Someone as crazy as this would be nothing but a problem for the League of Villains."
"Please reconsider," Kurogiri replied.
"This man will be a great asset if he joins us. I'd say this was a success."
"My business here is done," Stain said, turning his back on them. "Now, you will return me to Hosu. There are still several false heroes I must attend to there."
He stopped near the Warp Gate, then looked back over his shoulder.
"And one more thing. Do you happen to know these people? A girl with blonde buns, a man in a weird costume, and a kid in a red mask. They got in my way while I was attending to Ingenium."
"Why are you asking me about random thugs? Go find them yourself, I don't care."
Stain's eyes narrowed, without another word, he turned toward the Warp Gate.
Together, the three of them stepped into the gate, vanishing from the bar.
******
Native, who just got out of the restroom, was leaning heavily against the doorframe of his office. He looked as pale as ghost.
"Haruto..." he wheezed, clutching his stomach. "I... I think the second wave is hitting. A civil war is happening in my lower intestines."
Haruto, sitting cross-legged on a chair, didn't even look up from the knife he was tossing.
"At this rate, your hero name shouldn't be Native. It should be Toilet-Man. I'm starting to think the bathroom is your new agency headquarters. You should set up a desk in there. Get a mini-fridge. Make it cozy."
"It's not... ungh... it's not funny," Native groaned, his knees buckling slightly.
"I don't know, from a narrative perspective, it's a masterpiece, pure art." Haruto said, finally catching the knife and looking up with a grin.
Native wheezed. "Art?"
"Think about it. You were supposed to be out there tonight, Native-san. Walking down a dark alley." Haruto spread his arms wide.
"But instead? You're here. On your knees. Closer to the toilet seat than any man should ever be. You're being saved by the power of aggressive diarrhea."
Native pointed a trembling finger toward the exit.
"Go. Just... go home, Akagi. Patrol is canceled. I can't even stand up straight, let alone supervise a probationary intern."
Haruto tilted his head, genuinely considering something.
"You know, I could bring the toilet into the field. Mobile command center. We'd be the only hero duo in history with a tactical throne. Villains would see us coming and just...surrender out of pity."
"Get out!" Native barked, before immediately doubling over. "And don't get into trouble!"
Haruto slipped toward the door, pausing at the threshold.
"Good luck."
He stepped out and pulled the door shut.
******
Haruto moved through the shadows of Hosu City, ignoring the distant screams and the smell of smoke from the Nomu attacks.
He found him.
Stain, the Hero Killer, had a hero pinned against the brickwork.
"You are a cancer," Stain hissed, his long tongue flickering. "A fake who chases fame while the world—"
"Okay, seriously? I am genuinely impressed."
Stain's head snapped around, unleashing his killing intent, but Haruto didn't even blink.
He was leaning against a dumpster, his arms crossed.
"I have to hand it to you, Stain" Haruto said, clapping slowly.
"You are like a dedicated Pokemon Master. I spent my afternoon making sure the intended encounter for this zone was... let's say, indisposed.... But look at you! You actually went out and found another Hero to bully."
"A kid? No... that tone. You're the one who got in my way before." Stain said.
Haruto, Then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notepad and a pen, and started scribbling.
"Hold on, hold on," Haruto muttered, clicking the pen. "Go back to the 'cancer' bit. That was gold. Was that a metaphor or is he an actual walking tumor?"
Stain's eyes narrowed, his blade pressing a bit deeper into the terrified hero's shoulder.
"Oh, I totally get it now!" Haruto slapped his knee.
"You're a critic! Why didn't you say so? You're like the Gordon Ramsay of the Hero World. 'This pro is RAWWWW! Where is the heroic spirit sauce?!' I love it."
Haruto stepped closer, ignoring Stain's bloodlust as if it were a light breeze.
"I'm actually on your side, honestly," Haruto continued.
"I mean, look at this guy you've got pinned. Costume? Trash. Quirk? Probably 'Aggressive Burping' or something. He's not a fake hero, he's a nobody. You're out here stabbing extras, Stainy. Where's the vision?"
Haruto let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his notepad to his chest.
"You know, I saw a Pro Hero at a restaurant once, Stain. A restaurant. They sat down at a table. A table, Stainy. Looked at a menu, and then—"
he paused.
"—they ordered food. To eat. With their mouth."
He shook his head slowly in disgust.
"Can you believe the filth of it? A true hero should be fueled exclusively by justice. If you aren't photosynthesizing or living purely on the tears of the innocent you've saved, are you even trying?"
"A hero should seek only sacrifice" Stain spat, his eyes narrowing.
"Exactly!" Haruto pointed the pen at him. "No calories! Only conviction! Pure poverty, that's the dream!"
He gestured broadly with his chin toward the bound hero on the ground.
"I bet that guy over there has a bank account. He probably expects to be able to afford a sandwich after he gets out of the hospital. What a disgrace."
Stain shifted his stance, his focus momentarily flickering from his prey to this rambling anomaly. "You mock me. You think this is a joke?"
"Joke? Perish the thought," Haruto said, placing a hand over his heart. "I'm simply an appreciator of your logic, Stainy."
He tapped the pen against his chin.
"Let me see if I've got this straight. According to the 'Stain Manual for Heroes', which I assume is written in blood on a scroll somewhere, the only way to be a real hero is to be All Might... or to be dead."
He spread his arms as wide as his paralyzed body would allow.
"It's an exclusive club, Stainy. Very exclusive. No wonder you're always so grumpy, you have no friends."
Stain didn't reply. His body was coiled, his eyes darting across the rooftops. He was scanning for traps, for the blonde girl or the man in the bodysuit, certain that this boy's rambling was a distraction for a coordinated strike.
Haruto noticed.
"You're waiting for backup, aren't you?" He sighed, leaning back against the wall with a look of disappointment. "Sorry to burst your bubble, Stainy, but it's just me tonight."
He tilted his head toward the alley entrance.
"The girl with the buns is probably having a very intense debate with a smoothie machine right now. And the man in the bodysuit?" He paused. "Well, he's busy being an existential crisis. You know how it is."
Stain's eyes blazed. "Then you will die alone, boy."
Haruto pushed off the wall.
"Bold of you to assume I can die." Haruto said, rolling his shoulders.
He cracked his neck.
"Please. I've had paper cuts more threatening than you."