3rd POV because I can:

Izuku had stopped checking the time weeks ago.

At some point, days blurred together into bruises, sweat, concrete floors, aching muscles, and notebooks filled with observations.

Morning.

Training.

Research.

Training again.

Collapse into bed.

Repeat.

It became normal.

Or at least, normal enough that he no longer questioned it.

Right now, though?

Right now his lungs burned.

"Again," Dabi said flatly, rolling one shoulder as blue flames flickered briefly along the scarred skin near his neck before disappearing again.

Izuku bent forward slightly, hands on his knees as he tried not to cough up a lung.

"...You say that," he breathed out, "like I haven't already died three times today."

"You're still talking. Means you're fine."

"Wow. Inspiring."

Dabi smirked faintly.

"Get up."

Izuku groaned dramatically but pushed himself upright anyway.

The warehouse around them echoed faintly with movement—boots against concrete, sharp breaths, the occasional impact when one of them got thrown.

Usually Izuku.

Not always anymore.

That was the weird part.

A month ago, he couldn't even touch Dabi properly.

Now?

Now he could occasionally force mistakes.

Tiny ones.

But still mistakes.

And Dabi had noticed.

Which meant the fights had become nastier.

Faster.

Less forgiving.

Izuku shifted his stance slightly, shoulders relaxing instead of stiffening the way they used to.

Dabi noticed that too.

"...Better," he commented.

Izuku blinked.

"...Was that praise?"

"Don't ruin it."

"Oh my god, write this down—"

Dabi lunged.

Fast.

Izuku reacted immediately this time.

Not backing up.

Side step.

Angle shift.

Dabi's hand shot toward his collar—

Izuku redirected instead of resisting, twisting sharply and trying to hook Dabi's leg the way he'd practiced.

It almost worked.

Almost.

Dabi adjusted at the last second, grabbing Izuku's wrist and yanking hard enough to throw him off balance.

Izuku hit the ground shoulder-first with a grunt.

"...Ow."

"Too slow."

"You literally say that every time."

"Because you keep being too slow."

Izuku rolled his eyes and pushed himself back up.

Again.

Always again.

That was the rule now.

No staying down.

No hesitating.

No freezing.

Dabi watched him carefully as he reset his footing.

"...You're thinking too much again."

"I always think too much."

"Yeah. But now you're hesitating because of it."

Izuku clicked his tongue.

Annoyingly accurate.

Again.

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen up.

Trust movement.

Trust instinct.

That was the hardest part.

His brain always wanted another second.

Another angle.

Another variable.

But fights didn't wait for that.

Dabi moved first again.

This time Izuku managed to block properly.

Barely.

The impact still rattled through his arms, but he held.

Shifted.

Countered.

Dabi stepped back instead of pressing forward immediately.

Testing.

Watching.

Izuku noticed that too.

"...You're doing that on purpose."

"No shit."

"Rude."

"Focus."

They moved again.

Faster now.

Concrete scraped beneath their shoes as Izuku ducked under a swing, twisting sharply and driving his shoulder forward.

Dabi caught him.

But not cleanly.

Not easily.

Progress.

Izuku grinned despite himself.

"...I'm getting better."

"Barely tolerable now," Dabi admitted.

"Wow. Basically a love confession from you."

Dabi looked offended.

"As if."

Izuku laughed breathlessly—

And froze.

Something shifted.

Tiny.

Wrong.

The feeling crawled up his spine instantly.

His smile vanished.

Dabi noticed immediately.

"...What?"

Izuku's eyes moved toward the shadows near the far side of the warehouse.

"...Someone's here."

Silence.

Dabi's posture changed instantly.

Relaxed to dangerous in half a second.

"You sure?"

Izuku nodded slowly.

"...Yeah."

The feeling wouldn't leave.

Like being watched.

No—

Tracked.

His skin prickled.

Every instinct screaming.

Run.

Move.

Now.

Dabi's flames flickered to life slightly.

The warehouse fell silent around them.

Too silent.

Izuku's pulse started pounding harder.

"...I don't like this," he muttered.

Then—

Movement.

Fast.

A flash from the darkness.

Black cloth shot toward them like a living thing.

Izuku's eyes widened.

Capture weapon.

His body moved before his brain fully caught up.

"DOWN!"

He slammed into Dabi hard enough to knock them both sideways just as the capture weapon snapped through the space where they'd been standing.

Concrete cracked where it hit.

Dabi cursed sharply beneath him.

"What the—"

"RUN!"

Izuku was already scrambling back to his feet.

Adrenaline crashed through him violently.

Because he recognized that weapon.

He recognized the movement.

And there was only one person—

The cloth lashed out again.

Faster this time.

Izuku grabbed Dabi's sleeve and yanked him sideways before it wrapped around his arm.

The fabric scraped against his skin as it missed by inches.

"MOVE!" Izuku shouted.

Dabi finally reacted fully, blue flames igniting violently around him as they sprinted apart from where they'd been standing moments earlier.

A figure dropped silently from above.

Black clothes.

Goggles.

Messy dark hair.

Tired eyes sharper than Izuku remembered.

"...Aizawa," Izuku breathed.

Well.

Shit.

Aizawa's POV:

Sometimes I wonder if the universe just hates me personally.

Not in a dramatic way.

Not in a "fate conspires against me" way.

Just—

In the very specific sense that every time I think a situation cannot possibly become more exhausting, life decides to prove me wrong out of spite.

Right now is one of those moments.

Because standing in front of me—

Inside a run-down warehouse that smells like smoke, sweat, and burned concrete—

Is Dabi.

The Dabi.

Wanted arsonist.

Serial offender.

League-affiliated psychopath with enough firepower to turn entire streets into crematoriums.

And next to him?

Breathing hard, eyes wide, adrenaline still practically radiating off him—

Midoriya Izuku.

The quirkless kid.

The same kid who walked into UA's entrance exam and somehow became the center of a disaster.

The same kid Nezu offered special placement to.

The same kid we thought would be safer literally anywhere except the hero course.

And now?

Now he's training with a villain.

Not casually.

Not accidentally.

Actually training.

Combat stance.

Movement patterns.

Reaction speed.

He tackled Dabi out of the way of my capture weapon on instinct.

Instinct.

I stare at them for exactly half a second before my brain catches up enough to fully process the situation.

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

Midoriya looks horrified.

Dabi looks annoyed.

Which somehow makes this worse.

Blue flames flare violently around Dabi's arms as he shifts slightly in front of Midoriya without even seeming to realize he's doing it.

Protective.

That detail immediately lodges itself into my brain and makes everything ten times more complicated.

Because villains don't protect random civilians.

Not like that.

Not automatically.

Not during a threat response.

"Tch," Dabi mutters. "Eraserhead."

Right.

Fantastic.

He recognizes me.

Of course he does.

I tighten my grip slightly on my capture weapon, eyes flicking between both of them rapidly.

Assessing.

Calculating.

Threat levels.

Distances.

Exit points.

Midoriya's stance is all wrong for a civilian now.

That's the first thing I notice.

Weight balanced.

Knees slightly bent.

Hands positioned not randomly, but deliberately.

He learned that.

Recently.

Fast.

Too fast.

And Dabi—

Dabi trained him.

That realization hits like a migraine directly behind my eyes.

"...Midoriya," I say flatly.

He visibly winces.

"...Uh."

Outstanding response.

"Explain."

He opens his mouth.

Closes it again.

Looks at Dabi.

Looks back at me.

"...This is gonna sound bad."

"You think?"

Dabi snorts quietly beside him.

"Oh, this is entertaining."

"Shut up," I mutter automatically.

Dabi actually looks offended.

Midoriya, meanwhile, looks like he's debating whether pretending to spontaneously combust would somehow improve this situation.

Spoiler: it wouldn't.

I narrow my eyes at him.

"...You disappeared from UA consideration."

"Yes."

"You rejected further placement."

"...Yes."

"And your next decision was apparently to train with a known villain."

Midoriya rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

"When you say it like that—"

"I'm saying it exactly like it is."

That shuts him up.

Good.

For half a second.

Then—

"It's not what you think."

I stare at him.

Long.

Tired.

Unimpressed.

"...Midoriya," I say slowly, "you are currently standing beside Dabi in an abandoned warehouse after both of you dodged my capture weapon like trained combatants."

A pause.

"What exactly am I supposed to think?"

"...Fair point."

Dabi laughs.

Actually laughs.

Low and rough and deeply unhelpful.

"Oh, I like this kid."

"This isn't a social gathering," I snap.

The flames around Dabi flicker hotter for a second.

Threat response.

Immediate.

Controlled, though.

That part matters.

Everything matters right now.

Midoriya notices the shift too and immediately steps slightly sideways.

Not away from Dabi.

Between us.

My brain nearly short-circuits from the implications.

"...Midoriya."

His eyes flick toward me immediately.

"...Yeah?"

"Why are you standing there?"

He blinks.

"...What?"

"You positioned yourself between us."

Realization hits his face a second later.

"...Oh."

"'Oh'?" I repeat flatly.

"I didn't do it on purpose!"

"That's somehow worse."

Because instinctive behavior says more than deliberate action ever does.

And right now?

His instincts are screaming association.

Trust.

Protection.

With a villain.

A dangerous one.

This is exactly the scenario we were afraid of.

Exactly.

I exhale slowly through my nose, already feeling a headache building.

Nezu is going to lose his mind.

Recovery Girl is going to yell at me somehow despite this not being my fault.

Present Mic is never going to let this go if he hears about it.

And somehow, in the middle of all that, the most concerning part is still Midoriya himself.

Because he changed.

A lot.

Fast.

Too fast for normal training.

The way he moved earlier—

That wasn't amateur improvisation anymore.

Still rough.

Still incomplete.

But trained.

Purposeful.

His reaction timing improved dramatically too.

And all of it happened within what?

A month?

Maybe slightly more?

That kind of growth rate is dangerous.

Especially attached to a brain like his.

Especially attached to this environment.

I glance back at Dabi.

"...You trained him."

Dabi smirks slightly.

"Sharp observation, teach."

I ignore that.

"How long?"

"A while."

"Specific."

Dabi shrugs lazily.

"Enough."

Useless answer.

Not surprising.

Midoriya shifts awkwardly.

"...About a month."

I look at him sharply.

"A month."

"...Yeah."

One month.

One month and he already moves like that?

No.

No, that's a problem.

A serious one.

Because that means his learning curve is insane.

And if villains noticed that before we fully did—

Then we screwed up.

Badly.

I grit my teeth slightly.

"...Why?"

The question slips out before I can stop it.

Not tactical.

Not professional.

Just honest confusion.

Midoriya looks startled by it.

Dabi watches silently now.

Waiting.

And the kid—

The idiot kid—

Actually answers honestly.

"...Because heroes said no."

Silence.

That hits harder than it should.

Because technically?

He's wrong.

We didn't reject him completely.

We offered alternatives.

Safer paths.

Structured routes.

But standing here now—

Looking at him bruised, exhausted, stronger—

I suddenly realize how that must have sounded to him.

Not "later."

Not "another way."

Just—

No.

Not hero course material.

Not enough.

Not suitable.

And someone else answered instead.

Someone dangerous.

Someone willing to train him when we hesitated.

Damn it.

Damn it.

Midoriya looks away slightly.

"...They didn't."

I narrow my eyes.

"...Who."

He hesitates.

And that hesitation?

That's all the confirmation I need that this situation is about to become even worse somehow.

"...Midoriya."

His shoulders tense.

"...You're really not gonna like the answer."

Wonderful.

Absolutely fantastic.

Because clearly this night wasn't painful enough already.