I finished blending the second frappuccino and slid the cup across the counter toward Shigaraki.

He grabbed it immediately.

The man had the energy of someone who hadn't slept in three days and was running purely on spite and caffeine.

Honestly, relatable.

Before he could take a sip, I spoke.

"You might want to reconsider something."

He paused mid-straw.

"...what."

I leaned against the counter.

"Doing it alone."

He frowned.

"...what do you mean."

I gestured vaguely around the café.

"Attacking a school."

"Yes."

"Full of hero students."

"Yes."

"Possibly teachers."

"...yes."

I tilted my head.

"And you're planning to do that by yourself."

Shigaraki slowly lowered the cup.

"...when you say it like that it sounds stupid."

"Because it is."

He scratched his neck again.

"But working with people is annoying."

"Yes."

"People are stupid."

"Also yes."

He squinted at me.

"You're agreeing with me too easily."

"I serve villains for a living."

Fairly strong evidence.

I continued calmly.

"Still."

I pointed toward the room.

"The more the merrier."

Shigaraki looked around the café.

Stain.

Twice.

Mr. Compress.

Three other questionable individuals.

Then he looked back at me.

"...you're suggesting recruitment."

"I'm suggesting survival."

He slurped his drink thoughtfully.

"...hm."

Progress.

I left him there to contemplate teamwork—an experience that clearly caused him physical pain—and walked across the café.

Stain had just finished his coffee.

The empty cup sat neatly on the table.

The knife sharpening had stopped.

Which meant exactly one thing.

I stopped beside his table.

"The usual treat?"

Stain looked up at me.

His red eyes were sharp, focused, intense as always.

But his voice remained calm.

"Yes."

Good.

I nodded once.

"Black Forest gâteau."

He inclined his head slightly.

Correct.

I turned and walked back behind the counter.

Some people got coffee.

Some people got tea.

Stain got cake.

Balance in the universe.

A few minutes later I returned with the slice on a small plate.

Rich chocolate.

Cherries.

Cream.

Perfect.

I set it down in front of him.

He studied it for a moment before picking up the fork.

Then he glanced past me.

Toward the counter.

Where Shigaraki was now aggressively stabbing the whipped cream on his drink like it had personally offended him.

Stain spoke quietly.

"If that freak over there is bothering you."

He casually tapped the handle of one of his knives.

"I will deal with it."

I followed his gaze briefly.

Shigaraki was currently arguing with Kurogiri again.

Something about "mentors giving terrible assignments."

Typical.

I looked back at Stain.

"He's fine."

Stain hummed.

"A nuisance."

"Yes."

"But not a threat."

I shrugged.

"He pays for his drinks."

Fair trade.

Stain took a bite of the cake.

Then nodded slightly.

"Acceptable reasoning."

Across the café, Twice leaned toward Mr. Compress again.

"Is this a villain meeting?"
"Or a bakery?"

Mr. Compress adjusted his mask.

"Both, apparently."

I walked back toward the counter.

Shigaraki was now pacing while drinking his frappuccino.

"...I hate planning."

Kurogiri responded calmly.

"It increases success rates."

"That's not the point!"

I leaned against the counter and watched them.

The last customer left around midnight.

Mr. Compress tipped his hat politely before exiting like he had just attended a theater performance instead of spending four hours in a café full of criminals.

Twice waved enthusiastically.

"GOODNIGHT!"
"GOODNIGHT FOREVER!"

The door closed behind them.

The bell chimed softly.

And finally...

Silence.

Real silence.

I stood behind the counter for a moment and stretched my arms above my head.

Crack.

Crack.

My shoulders protested immediately.

"Wow," I muttered to the empty room. "I'm sixteen and already feel forty."

Tragic.

I grabbed a bucket and cloth and started wiping the tables.

The café looked peaceful now.

Chairs pushed in.

Plates stacked.

A few crumbs left behind by Stain's cake.

Honestly?

It looked exactly like a normal café after closing.

Which was funny.

Because if someone had walked in two hours ago they would've found half the criminal underworld casually drinking coffee and debating muffins.

I wiped down the table Stain had used.

The man always left things neat.

Professional.

Across the room, the chair where Shigaraki had been pacing was slightly crooked.

I fixed it automatically.

Then moved to the counter.

The tip jar sat beside the register.

I picked it up and shook it lightly.

Coins clinked.

Bills folded neatly inside.

I popped the lid open and peeked.

...yeah.

Villains tipped really well.

Which was something I had discovered pretty quickly after opening this place.

Apparently when someone gives violent criminals a quiet place to sit and drink coffee without judgment...

They show gratitude.

Financially.

Which was nice.

Because I had bills.

I counted the money quickly.

"...wow."

Good night.

Very good night.

I slid the bills into the register and leaned back against the counter.

My eyes wandered around the café again.

The place wasn't hidden.

Not really.

It sat right on a regular street.

There was a sign outside.

Large windows.

Warm lights.

Anyone walking past could easily see it.

And yet...

Normal people never came in.

Not once.

No couples.

No students.

No office workers grabbing coffee before work.

Just villains.

Always villains.

I tapped my fingers lightly against the counter.

"...weird."

Because technically nothing about this place should scare people away.

Unless—

Well.

Okay.

Maybe the occasional bloodstained coat walking through the door was a factor.

Or Stain sharpening knives in the corner.

Or Shigaraki screaming about destroying hero society.

Minor details.

Still.

It was strange how the place had become... invisible.

Like the city itself had quietly decided this café didn't exist.

I sighed and grabbed the broom.

"Not that I'm complaining."

Honestly?

Villains were better customers.

They didn't complain about prices.

They didn't demand special treatment.

And they tipped ridiculously well.

Also—

They followed the rules.

Mostly.

I swept the floor slowly.

The bell above the door didn't ring.

No late-night customers.

No sudden chaos.

Just the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the soft scratching of the broom against tile.

Eventually I finished cleaning and turned off most of the lights.

Only the warm lamp behind the counter remained.

I leaned against the counter and looked around one last time.

Mom's café.

Still standing.

Still running.

Just...

Not exactly the way she imagined.

I rubbed the back of my neck and chuckled quietly.

"Well."

I glanced at the tip jar again.

"...at least the criminals appreciate good coffee."

Honestly?

Could be worse.

Much worse.