... a couple of mininutes earlier....

I stared at the scene in front of me and seriously considered turning around and pretending I never saw any of this.

Because clearly my exhaustion had finally won.

There was no other explanation for why I was currently watching Dabi — the Dabi, League of Villains member, mass arsonist, walking public safety disaster — calmly correcting Midoriya Izuku's stance like some kind of underpaid private tutor.

"Again," Dabi said flatly.

Midoriya immediately shifted his footing.

Not scared.

Not trembling.

Not kidnapped.

No.

The kid looked focused.

Sweaty, bruised, determined, and listening with the kind of intensity I usually only saw from problem children trying to prove something.

What.

The hell.

I stayed hidden on the rooftop across from the abandoned warehouse district, scarf wrapped loosely around my neck as I watched the impossible continue unfolding.

"Your balance is garbage," Dabi said.

"Yes, sir."

"And your reaction time sucks."

"Yes, sir."

"You compensate by overthinking."

Midoriya paused only long enough to mutter, "Working on that."

Dabi snorted.

Actually snorted.

Then he launched blue fire directly at the kid.

Midoriya moved.

Not fast enough.

The flames clipped his sleeve and sent him crashing across the concrete, rolling twice before slamming into a support pillar.

I almost moved.

Instinct.

Teacher reflex.

But Midoriya pushed himself upright before I could even decide whether intervening was necessary.

"Again," he coughed.

Dabi tilted his head slightly.

"...You're insane."

Midoriya grinned.

Actually grinned.

"You already said that yesterday."

Yesterday.

Yesterday.

So this had been going on for multiple days.

I suddenly understood why Yamada kept saying Midoriya's recent physical evaluations looked "weirdly improved." At the time I assumed the kid had found some underground gym or become possessed by a motivational ghost.

Not... this.

Dabi's flames flared again, smaller this time. Controlled. Precise.

Midoriya dodged left.

Too early.

Dabi swept a leg out and knocked him flat instantly.

"Predicting instead of reacting," Dabi said. "You think too much."

"That's literally my entire personality."

"Yeah, tragic for you."

Midoriya groaned from the floor.

And Dabi — criminal, murderer, menace to society — held out a hand to yank him back up.

I think something inside my brain physically disconnected.

Because there was no logical framework for this.

None.

I had prepared myself for a hostage situation.

Blackmail.

Manipulation.

Threats.

Instead I found... whatever this was.

Training.

Real training.

Harsh, dangerous, objectively illegal training, but still.

Midoriya reset his stance, breathing hard. "Again."

Dabi stared at him for a long moment.

"You ever quit?"

"No."

"That's unhealthy."

"I've been told that."

"By literally everyone?"

"...Probably."

Dabi looked deeply unimpressed with reality itself.

I could relate.

The kid moved again, launching forward this time instead of retreating. Smarter. More aggressive. Dabi countered instantly, but I caught the tiny pause beforehand.

A warning.

Subtle.

Intentional.

He was adjusting to Midoriya's level.

Not enough to go easy on him.

Enough to avoid killing him.

That realization somehow made this worse.

Because it meant this arrangement had rules.

Understanding.

Trust.

I suddenly had the mother of all headaches.

My phone buzzed quietly in my pocket.

Present Mic.

I rejected the call immediately.

There was absolutely no way I was explaining this out loud yet.

How exactly was that conversation supposed to go?

Hey, Yamada. Funny story. Remember the quirkless applicant everyone underestimated? Turns out he's apparently being mentored by a wanted terrorist with cremation issues.

Yeah. No.

Below me, Midoriya finally landed a hit.

Barely.

A sharp strike to Dabi's side during an opening.

Dabi stopped.

Midoriya froze immediately afterward like he'd just realized who he hit.

The warehouse district went silent.

Then Dabi smirked.

Actually smirked.

"There you go, problem child."

Midoriya looked ridiculously pleased with himself.

And somehow that phrase hit me harder than it should have.

Problem child.

Mine.

Or at least he was supposed to be.

Instead he was out here collecting underground villain mentors like Pokémon cards.

I pinched the bridge of my nose.

Nezu was going to enjoy this far too much.

... back to the present....

I should arrest Dabi.

That's the logical course of action here.

Capture him.

Restrain Midoriya for questioning.

Call Tsukauchi.

End this before it spirals any further.

Simple.

Clean.

Professional.

So naturally, absolutely nothing about this situation is simple, clean, or professional anymore.

Because Midoriya looks at me with the kind of expression that already tells me he's about to say something that will permanently worsen my evening.

"...They need help."

There it is.

I close my eyes briefly.

"...No."

Midoriya blinks.

"What?"

"No," I repeat, opening my eyes again. "You do not get to casually say something like that while standing beside a wanted criminal."

Dabi snorts quietly somewhere behind him.

"Wanted criminal. Harsh."

"You set multiple buildings on fire."

"Allegedly."

I ignore him immediately.

Midoriya, meanwhile, looks frustrated now.

Not scared.

Not defensive.

Frustrated.

That's somehow worse.

"You don't understand," he says.

"That's what people usually say before explaining something incredibly stupid."

His eyes narrow slightly.

"...You're already assuming I'm wrong."

"I'm assuming you're fifteen and training with a mass murderer."

Dabi raises a finger lazily.

"Technically—"

"Not helping."

He lowers the hand again.

Midoriya exhales sharply through his nose, clearly trying not to lose patience.

And that alone is concerning because the kid used to look nervous around teachers.

Now?

Now he looks determined.

There's a difference.

A dangerous one.

"...They're not what you think," he says finally.

I stare at him flatly.

"Midoriya. One of them is Dabi."

"...Okay, fair, bad example."

"Very bad example."

"But listen—"

"No, you listen," I cut in, voice sharper now. "Do you have any idea what kind of situation you're in?"

"Yes."

"I don't think you do."

"I do."

The immediate answer catches me off guard.

No hesitation.

No uncertainty.

Just conviction.

The kid actually meets my gaze directly.

"...I know they're villains."

Dabi stays quiet behind him now.

Watching.

Careful.

Midoriya continues before I can interrupt.

"I know what they've done. I know what people say about them. I know what the news says."

"Then explain to me why you're here."

His jaw tightens slightly.

"Because nobody else looked at them like people."

Silence.

I blink once.

"...What."

"They need help," he repeats quietly.

Not dramatic.

Not emotional.

Just—

Certain.

I feel a headache forming instantly.

"Midoriya," I say slowly, "they are criminals."

"And heroes never ask why."

That lands harder than I expect.

Not because he's right.

Because part of me immediately wants to argue.

But another part—

The exhausted, older, far more cynical part—

Knows exactly where that statement comes from.

Dabi shifts slightly against the wall behind him, blue eyes fixed on Midoriya with something unreadable in them.

The kid keeps going before I can respond.

"You guys stop villains after things happen," he says. "You fight them. Arrest them. Throw them away."

"That's called law enforcement."

"But nobody tries stopping people from becoming villains in the first place!"

His voice rises slightly now.

Not yelling.

Frustrated.

Real.

"They're people before they become villains!"

Dabi's expression changes for a split second.

Tiny.

Barely visible.

But I catch it.

And suddenly this conversation becomes even more dangerous.

Because Midoriya isn't just sympathizing.

He's connecting.

I cross my arms tighter.

"...And your solution was what? Joining them?"

"No!"

The answer comes instantly.

Good.

At least there's still that.

"I'm not joining them," he says firmly.

"Then what exactly are you doing?"

Midoriya hesitates.

Thinking.

Organizing thoughts.

Then—

"Trying to help them get out."

I stare at him.

Long.

Tired.

Completely baffled.

"...Out."

He nods slowly.

"Yes."

"Midoriya," I say carefully, "you are a quirkless teenager."

"Yeah, I noticed."

"You are not equipped to rehabilitate dangerous criminals."

"Heroes aren't doing a great job either."

I grit my teeth slightly.

Damn it.

Damn this kid and his stupidly direct observations.

Because he says things most adults avoid saying out loud.

Not because they're false.

Because they're inconvenient.

"There are systems for this," I say.

"Those systems failed them."

"And you think you can fix it?"

That finally makes him pause.

Not because he doubts it.

Because he's actually considering the question seriously.

"...No," he admits quietly.

That surprises me.

"I don't think I can fix everything."

The honesty in that answer catches me off guard.

"But I think somebody should at least try."

Silence settles heavily around the warehouse.

The fluorescent lights buzz faintly overhead.

Dabi still hasn't interrupted.

Hasn't mocked him.

Hasn't redirected the conversation.

That alone tells me more than anything else tonight.

Because he's listening too.

To Midoriya.

Actually listening.

I exhale slowly.

"...You have no idea what you're getting involved in."

Midoriya's expression shifts slightly.

Something darker there now.

More tired than someone his age should look.

"...I think I'm starting to."

That answer bothers me more than I want to admit.

Because he sounds older.

Not physically.

Mentally.

Like the last few months dragged him somewhere he can't fully come back from.

And maybe we helped cause that.

Maybe all of us did.

UA.

The exam.

The rejection.

The alternatives.

We thought we were protecting him.

Instead—

Someone else reached him first.

Someone willing to validate what he wanted.

Even if the path was wrong.

I rub a hand over my face tiredly.

"...Do you even hear yourself?"

"Yes."

"And you still think this is a good idea?"

"No."

That answer comes immediately too.

Dabi actually huffs a laugh at that.

Midoriya glances back briefly.

"What? It's a terrible idea."

"You're still doing it."

"Yeah."

Then he looks back at me again.

"...Because somebody has to."

There's no arrogance in it.

That's the worst part.

No savior complex.

No dramatic hero speech.

Just quiet conviction.

Like he genuinely believes nobody else will.

And standing here now—

Watching a wanted villain silently let a quirkless kid speak for him—

I suddenly understand why Nezu was worried.

Not because Midoriya might become a villain.

No.

That would actually be simpler.

The real problem is worse.

Much worse.

Midoriya still wants to save people.

He just stopped caring whether society thinks they deserve it first.