This—

This was not how this was supposed to go.

Not even close.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of my own delivery truck—well, technically not mine, but it might as well have been at this point—while the idiot behind the wheel was trying to both drive like a maniac and kill me at the same time.

"...you've got to be kidding me."

The engine roared as the truck swerved hard to the side, tires screeching against the road. My hand tightened around his collar, the other braced against the dashboard to keep myself from smashing face-first into it.

"I came here to ask a question," I snapped, voice low but sharp, tightening my grip just enough to cut off his breathing. "One question."

The driver choked, one hand clawing at mine while the other jerked the wheel again.

"You—shouldn't—be here—!"

"No," I agreed flatly, pulling him back just enough to throw off his balance without completely crashing us. "I really shouldn't."

The truck lurched forward, speeding up instead of slowing down.

Of course it did.

Because why would anything be simple today?

I glanced out the windshield for half a second, taking in the road, the turns, the distance—calculating automatically, even while my attention snapped back to the problem in front of me.

"You missed a delivery," I continued, like this was still a normal conversation. Like I wasn't actively strangling him. "No call. No message."

He gasped, his foot slamming harder on the accelerator like that was somehow going to fix his situation.

"Company—orders—!"

"Then you say that," I cut him off, tightening my grip again. "You don't disappear."

Something sparked near his hand.

I saw it.

Too late.

"—shit."

His quirk flared, a burst of force slamming into my side and throwing me back against the door. Pain shot up my ribs, sharp and immediate, but I didn't let go completely—just enough to avoid taking the full hit.

The truck swerved violently.

Horn blaring.

Close.

Too close.

I grabbed the edge of the seat, pulling myself back in, eyes narrowing as irritation spiked into something colder.

"...you're really testing my patience."

"You attacked me first!" he wheezed.

"I asked you a question!"

"That's not how questions work!"

"You didn't answer!"

He tried to shove me again, quirk sparking—

I caught his wrist this time.

Hard.

"Stop," I said, voice dropping.

Flat.

Dangerous.

For a second—

Just a second—

He froze.

And in that moment, I moved.

Pulled him forward.

Cut off his air again.

Not enough to knock him out—

Just enough to make him listen.

"Listen carefully," I said quietly, leaning closer, ignoring the way the truck veered dangerously as his control slipped. "You are driving. I am not."

A pause.

"So you're going to keep your hands on the wheel."

His breathing hitched.

"And you're going to stop using your quirk."

Another.

"Or we both die, and I promise you I'll make that worse for you before it happens."

Silence.

Heavy.

Immediate.

The truck swerved again—but less.

Less chaotic.

More controlled.

Good.

He swallowed hard, hands tightening on the wheel instead of trying to fight me.

"...good choice."

I loosened my grip slightly, just enough for him to breathe without passing out, but not enough for him to forget where my hand was.

Because clearly—

He needed the reminder.

I leaned back just a fraction, exhaling slowly as I recalculated.

Road.

Speed.

Distance.

"...now," I said, voice steady again like this was just another normal conversation, "you're going to explain why my delivery didn't show up."

His hands trembled slightly on the wheel.

"...we were told not to."

I blinked once.

"...by who."

He hesitated.

Of course he did.

My grip tightened again.

"Think very carefully before you decide not to answer."

The truck sped forward, engine screaming as the city blurred past us.

And somewhere in the distance—

I could already hear it.

Sirens.

"...great," I muttered under my breath.

Because of course.

Of course it had escalated to this.

All I wanted—

Was my delivery.

And now?

Now I was in a high-speed chase, strangling a driver with a quirk, while police were probably on their way.

"...this day just keeps getting better."

And I still didn't have my coffee.

3rd POV:

It had been a quiet walk.

Unusually quiet.

No targets. No noise. Just the low hum of the city as he moved through it, slipping between alleys and rooftops like a shadow no one noticed. Blood had long since dried on his clothes—clean enough now, contained. Controlled.

For once—

Nothing demanded his attention.

Until everything did.

The roar of an engine tore through the street below, too fast, too reckless. Tires screeched, a horn blared, and in a split second, the truck burst into view—out of control, veering far too close.

Stain moved without thinking.

A sharp step back, body turning just enough—

The truck missed him by inches.

Wind slammed into him as it passed, violent, sudden—

Gone just as quickly.

Silence followed for half a second.

Then—

"...what."

His eyes narrowed, head turning sharply as he tracked the vehicle disappearing down the street.

Too fast.

Too careless.

Too—

His gaze sharpened.

Because for just a moment—

Just a fraction of a second through the windshield—

He had seen something.

Someone.

"...no."

That wasn't possible.

It couldn't be.

But—

He didn't question it.

Didn't hesitate.

He moved.

Boots hit the ground once before he launched forward, sprinting after the truck without a second thought. His body flowed into motion, fast, precise, cutting corners and obstacles like they didn't exist.

Because if that was who he thought it was—

Then something was very wrong.

Or—

Very intentional.

"...Izuku."

The name sat wrong in his chest.

Because that boy—

That child—

Was not someone who got caught off guard.

Not someone who got dragged into things without knowing exactly what he was doing.

Stain knew that.

He had seen it.

Learned it.

The hard way.

A flash of memory crossed his mind—

A shovel.

A broken body.

Blood on the floor that hadn't belonged to Izuku.

A calm expression that hadn't matched the violence at all.

His jaw tightened slightly.

"...no one kidnaps you."

Not him.

Not without permission.

Not without consequence.

So if he was in that truck—

Then either—

He wanted to be there.

Or something had gone very, very wrong.

The engine roared again in the distance, louder now, echoing through the streets as the vehicle tore through traffic without slowing.

Stain adjusted his path instantly, cutting across a side street, vaulting over a low barrier without breaking stride. His movements were efficient, relentless—closing distance where he could, tracking direction when he couldn't.

"...reckless."

That driver wasn't just fleeing.

He was panicking.

Badly.

Which meant control was already slipping.

Which meant—

Danger.

Not just for him.

For everyone around.

Including—

His eyes flicked forward, sharpening further.

"...if you're actually in trouble..."

The thought didn't finish.

Didn't need to.

Because even if Izuku didn't need help—

Even if he was perfectly capable of handling whatever was happening inside that truck—

That didn't mean Stain would ignore it.

Would let it happen.

The sirens started then.

Faint at first.

Then growing.

Police.

Of course.

His expression hardened slightly.

"...this is getting complicated."

Because now—

There were too many moving parts.

Too many variables.

A speeding truck.

A possible civilian—no, not a civilian.

Izuku.

Police closing in.

And him—

Right in the middle of it.

He exhaled once, steadying himself as he pushed forward faster, muscles tightening, focus narrowing.

"...fine."

If this was chaos—

Then he would cut through it.

Like he always did.

Because whether Izuku needed help or not—

Stain was going to find out exactly what was happening.

And if someone had made the mistake of dragging that boy into something he didn't choose—

Then they had already lost.

They just didn't know it yet.

.

.

.

The wall went up in flames way too easily.

"Wow," Himiko Toga hummed, crouched near the edge of the mess like she was admiring art instead of a half-melted hero agency sign. "That was disappointing."

"It's a trash agency," Dabi muttered, flexing his fingers as faint blue flames curled and died out around his hand. "You expect quality?"

She tilted her head, tapping a bit of blood from her sleeve with mild interest.

"I expect effort."

"You're asking a lot from people like that."

Dabi stepped back, glancing at the damage. Blackened concrete. Warped metal. Just enough chaos to take the edge off.

Not enough to fix anything.

But enough.

For now.

He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders—

Then—

A horn blared.

Loud.

Sharp.

Close.

Both of them turned at the same time.

Because that wasn't normal traffic noise.

That was—

"—what the hell," Dabi muttered.

A truck tore down the street, completely out of control, engine screaming, swerving just enough to make it clear the driver either had no idea what he was doing—

Or couldn't.

Dabi's eyes narrowed.

Because through the windshield—

He saw it.

Clear as day.

"...you seeing that?"

Toga leaned forward slightly, squinting.

"Is that—"

Yeah.

It was.

Izuku Midoriya—

Their barista—

Was in the passenger seat.

Strangling the driver.

Dabi blinked once.

"...what."

The truck sped past them in seconds, leaving behind nothing but noise and confusion.

For half a second—

Neither of them moved.

Then—

Footsteps.

Fast.

Precise.

Dabi's head snapped to the side just in time to catch another figure sprinting past—

Stain.

Chasing the truck.

No hesitation.

No question.

Just—

Gone.

Silence hit again for a split second.

Then Toga grinned.

Wide.

Sharp.

"Oh, this looks fun."

Dabi dragged a hand down his face.

"...we're really doing this."

"We are absolutely doing this."

He glanced down the street.

Truck—gone.

Stain—already ahead.

Sirens—getting louder.

"...great."

Because of course.

Because why wouldn't this turn into a full-on mess.

He exhaled sharply, irritation flickering before settling into something more focused.

"...we're not letting him die."

"Obviously," Toga said brightly.

"Or get arrested."

"Also obvious."

Dabi cracked his neck slightly, already moving.

"Then move."

He didn't wait.

Didn't check if she followed.

Because he knew she would.

They took off down the street, cutting corners, ignoring everything that wasn't directly in their path. Dabi didn't bother holding back much—small bursts of flame propelling him faster when needed, controlled enough not to draw too much attention.

Because priorities had shifted.

Fast.

"...the hell were you even doing," he muttered under his breath as they ran.

Because seriously—

Strangling a driver.

In a speeding truck.

In the middle of the city.

That wasn't normal.

Not even for him.

Up ahead, he could just make out movement—

Stain.

Still chasing.

Still closing in.

And somewhere beyond that—

The truck.

"...we're getting him out," Dabi said, more to himself than anything.

That café?

That balance?

Yeah.

They weren't letting it crash and burn—

Not like this.