He didn't leave.

Of course he didn't.

I could tell the moment the shift happened—the way his posture changed, less defensive now, more... focused. Not on proving something anymore, but on understanding it. That was always the dangerous part.

Because once he latched onto something, he didn't let go.

I was halfway through rinsing a cup when he spoke again.

"...what about All Might."

I paused.

Just for a second.

Then continued like it didn't matter.

"...what about him."

He leaned forward slightly, fingers twitching again—but not from irritation this time. Anticipation. Curiosity.

"I need information."

I snorted quietly.

"You and everyone else."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

I dried the cup slowly, setting it aside before turning to face him properly.

"...you're asking about All Might."

"Yes."

"And you think I'll just—what—hand you everything."

A pause.

"...yes."

I stared at him.

Then huffed.

"...bold."

"You didn't say no."

I didn't.

Because—

He wasn't wrong.

Not in here.

Not under these rules.

I leaned back against the counter again, arms crossing loosely.

"...what do you want to know."

His eyes sharpened immediately.

"Everything."

I rolled my eyes.

"That's not specific."

"Strengths. Weaknesses. Patterns. Limits."

That was better.

More usable.

I tilted my head slightly.

"...he's predictable."

Shigaraki blinked.

"...what."

"He's a symbol," I continued, tapping the counter lightly. "That means consistency. He shows up. He saves people. He wins."

"That's not a weakness."

"It is."

A pause.

"Because you can anticipate it."

He went still.

Thinking.

Good.

"He prioritizes civilians over anything else," I added. "That's your first leverage point."

His fingers twitched again.

"...so distractions."

"Yes."

"And he'll fall for it."

"He won't fall for it," I corrected. "He'll choose it."

That made him pause.

"...what."

"He knows it's a trap," I said simply. "He just won't ignore it."

Silence.

That landed.

Hard.

"...that's stupid," Shigaraki muttered.

"No," I said calmly. "That's what makes him effective."

A beat.

"And predictable."

He leaned back slightly, processing.

"...okay."

I turned away briefly, grabbing a plate.

"Cake?"

He blinked.

"...what."

"You're still here."

"So?"

"So you're buying something."

"...I already bought coffee!"

"And now you're buying cake."

"That's not how that works."

"It is here."

He stared at me.

Then groaned.

"...fine."

I didn't even ask what kind.

Just grabbed a slice and set it in front of him.

He didn't touch it immediately.

Too busy thinking.

"...what about his limits," he said instead.

"Time."

That got his attention.

"...explain."

I leaned one hip against the counter.

"He can't maintain his full power indefinitely."

A pause.

"Damage."

Another.

"Strain."

I didn't elaborate more than that.

Didn't need to.

Shigaraki's eyes narrowed slightly.

"...so he runs out."

"Eventually."

"How long."

"That depends."

"On what."

"A lot of things."

He clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"You're being vague."

"I'm being accurate."

He glared at me.

I ignored it.

"...he's also reckless," I added.

That made him pause again.

"...reckless."

"Yes."

"How."

"He takes hits he doesn't need to."

A beat.

"Because he prioritizes others."

Another.

"You can use that."

Shigaraki finally reached for the cake, taking a bite without really tasting it.

His focus was elsewhere.

"...so if I pressure him enough..."

"He makes mistakes."

Silence.

Then—

"...this is good."

I blinked.

"...the cake."

"Oh."

I shrugged.

"I know."

He took another bite.

Then another.

Still thinking.

"...what about his fighting style."

"Direct."

"That's obvious."

"Yes."

"...you're annoying."

"I've heard that."

He huffed again, then pushed the plate slightly forward.

"Another."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You haven't finished that one."

"I will."

"You're ordering ahead."

"Yes."

"...fine."

I grabbed another slice, setting it down beside the first.

He didn't even question it.

Just kept eating.

Thinking.

Processing.

"...he doesn't adapt well to unpredictability," I added after a moment.

That made him look up again.

"...really."

"Yes."

"Why."

"Because he doesn't need to."

A pause.

"He overwhelms most threats before that becomes necessary."

Another.

"But if you push him past that—"

"He struggles."

"More than he should."

Silence stretched again.

He leaned back, both plates in front of him now, coffee half-finished, mind clearly running through scenarios faster than he could say them out loud.

"...this is useful."

"I assumed."

He glanced at me.

"...why are you telling me this."

There it was.

I met his gaze.

"Because you asked."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

He frowned slightly.

Like he didn't quite believe that.

Like he was trying to find something else behind it.

There wasn't.

Not here.

Not in this space.

Rules were rules.

And I didn't break them.

Even if I probably should.

"...you're weird," he muttered.

I shrugged.

"You keep coming back."

"...fair."

He took another bite of cake, slower this time.

More deliberate.

"...I'm going to win," he said after a moment.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just... certain.

I watched him for a second.

Then looked away.

"...finish your cake."

He scoffed.

But he did.

I noticed it before he did.

Of course I did.

Because unlike him, I wasn't completely absorbed in one thought at a time. My attention stayed spread—on the counter, on the room, on the subtle shifts most people ignored. And right now?

Kurogiri had been trying to get his attention for a while.

Quietly.

Patiently.

Standing just a few steps away, cup already empty, posture as composed as ever—but there was a slight tilt to his head, a pause in his usual stillness that gave it away. He had finished his coffee minutes ago. Had even moved closer at some point, probably hoping Shigaraki would notice without being interrupted.

He hadn't.

Too busy.

Too focused.

Too caught up in his own head.

I sighed quietly, then reached out and tapped the counter once, sharp enough to cut through his thoughts.

"Hey."

Shigaraki didn't look up immediately.

"I'm thinking."

"I can see that."

Another pause.

"...then don't interrupt."

I clicked my tongue softly.

"Look behind you."

He frowned.

"...why."

"Just do it."

He didn't.

Of course he didn't.

So I leaned forward slightly and nudged one of his empty plates just enough to get his attention again.

"Shigaraki."

That did it.

Barely.

He glanced up, irritation clear.

"What."

I jerked my head slightly to the side.

"...look."

Annoyed, he finally turned.

And then—

Paused.

Because standing there, calm as ever, was Kurogiri.

And the moment their eyes met, Kurogiri simply raised a hand and pointed.

At the clock.

Shigaraki blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then his eyes widened just a fraction.

"...oh."

Yeah.

Oh.

He straightened slightly, looking back at me, then at Kurogiri again.

"...how long has he been there."

I shrugged.

"A while."

"You didn't say anything!"

"I just did."

"That doesn't count!"

"It does."

Kurogiri stepped closer then, voice as composed as ever.

"Tomura Shigaraki," he said calmly, "we are expected elsewhere."

A pause.

"You asked me to remind you."

Shigaraki made a face.

"...right."

Of course he did.

Because planning was one thing.

Actually keeping track of time?

Apparently not included.

I crossed my arms lightly, watching the interaction with mild amusement.

"You might want to work on that," I said flatly.

"Shut up."

"Time management is important."

"I said shut up."

Kurogiri didn't react to the exchange, simply waiting with the same quiet patience he always had.

Shigaraki ran a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed—not at me this time, but at himself.

"...fine."

He grabbed his coffee again, finishing what was left in one go before standing up abruptly.

"I'll be back."

I raised an eyebrow.

"...you always say that."

"And I always am."

Fair.

He glanced down at the plates.

"...I paid for those."

"You did."

"Good."

A beat.

"...next time," he added, pointing at me slightly, "you'll be impressed."

I shrugged.

"We'll see."

That earned me one last glare before he turned toward Kurogiri.

"Let's go."

Kurogiri gave a small nod, already opening a warp beside them, dark mist curling outward.

Before stepping through, Shigaraki paused just briefly, glancing back at me.

"...don't forget what you said."

"I won't."

That seemed to satisfy him.

Or at least—

Not frustrate him further.

He stepped into the warp, Kurogiri following right after.

The mist closed in on itself.

Gone.

Just like that.

The café settled again, the quiet returning like it had never been disturbed.

I exhaled slowly, grabbing the empty plates and stacking them together.

"...unbelievable."

A small pause.

Then, quieter—

"...he really came here just for that."