I leaned back in my chair, idly watching as the rest of Class 1-A filled up. The morning was like any other, full of chatter and noise, and I half-listened to Kaminari telling Sero something in his usual exaggerated tone. I would've tuned it out completely if it weren't for the topic: my little "project" that had been the latest news sensation—the UA Villain Rehabilitation Center. Or, as they'd charmingly dubbed it, the UA Villain Spa.

"Did you see that article in the Hero Times?" Kaminari asked, practically cackling. "They're calling it a 'rehab for the rich and corrupt.'"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes as Kaminari mimicked some mock-villain rehabilitation process, which apparently involved sipping tea and cucumber water in fluffy white robes. If they only knew what it actually took to build that place.

"They're actually serious about reforming villains now?" Jirou chimed in, shaking her head. "As if a facility's going to magically make Shigaraki and the League of Villains 'productive citizens.'"

"Exactly!" Sero chimed in, slapping his desk with a laugh. "What, are they just gonna ask Shigaraki really nicely to stop disintegrating people? That'll work, I'm sure."

It was the perfect setup for a sarcastic remark, but I kept my mouth shut. The truth of the situation was... complicated, to say the least. Sure, from the outside, the rehab program sounded like an idealistic, high-stakes experiment. But no one knew the truth—that every security protocol, every locked-down system, and every single strategic weakness had been handpicked by me. The entire facility was airtight, designed to control and contain. I didn't build it to "reform" the villains. It was a cage, dressed up with a fancy label and some Nezu-approved PR.

"And here I thought UA was supposed to be smart," Kirishima muttered, shaking his head. "Who even came up with this plan? Rehab for villains, as if that'll fix them."

I grit my teeth, holding back a smirk. Sure, UA technically "came up" with the program, but the funding, the shares in the system, and every security detail had my fingerprints all over it. They had no idea that the whole program was running on my money, or that I'd pressured Nezu into supporting it with a few "persuasive investments." After all, who better to contain villains than someone with the resources to outsmart them?

The rest of the class kept laughing and making sarcastic remarks, and I tried to tune it out, but then Kaminari leaned back with a smug grin.

"So, like... is this 'villain spa' gonna have a pool? Because I've got some free time next weekend, and if Shigaraki gets to kick back and relax, maybe we could too," he joked.

I finally let out a sigh, my patience running thin. They didn't get it, and they wouldn't. The League of Villains weren't just criminals; they were family... in a loose, warped, slightly murderous sense. They'd taken me in, trusted me, relied on me when they needed advice, and—unknowingly, of course—I was babysitting them in disguise. They had no idea that everything I did was also keeping the League under control.

"Oh, please," Sero scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "They'll just be lounging around, right? All that therapy and social work, just waiting to make villains all warm and fuzzy inside."

"Yeah," Kirishima laughed. "Just one cozy group therapy session and Dabi's reformed. Sure thing."

I didn't realize my hand had curled into a fist until I felt my nails digging into my palm. They were wrong. I knew it, and I could prove it. Not that I owed them an explanation. Not one of them knew how much of my life I'd invested into building that place, how many sleepless nights went into designing every layer of protection, every security measure. To them, it was just a joke—another UA headline to laugh about between classes.

By now, they'd already started mimicking villains in their "spa" cells, Kaminari leaning over to Sero as if giving a faux-therapy session. "So, Dabi, let's talk about your... arson issues," he snickered, and Sero added, "Here's your robe and some scented oils. Please don't torch the place on your way out."

I couldn't listen to it anymore. I stood up abruptly, the legs of my chair scraping against the floor. The sound was enough to cut through their laughter and chatter, and slowly, the room fell silent as everyone turned to stare at me.

I knew what they were thinking. It was probably the most I'd reacted to anything in class, ever.

"Midoriya? You okay, dude?" Kaminari asked, looking puzzled.

Without bothering to reply, I let a small, polite smile flash across my face, one that I knew looked every bit as bored and dismissive as I intended. They didn't get it. No one here understood a thing about what I'd done to get that program running, or why it existed at all. So why even bother explaining myself?

As I stepped toward the door, the teacher appeared, a stack of attendance sheets in hand, clearly thrown off by my sudden movement.

"Midoriya, class hasn't even started—"

"Oh, don't worry," I interrupted smoothly, reaching into my wallet and pulling out a few thousand yen. I didn't even look at the exact amount as I tossed it over to him. "Consider this my 'attendance fee.' Just mark me down as here."

I barely glanced at the money as it fluttered to the floor, the sound of cash hitting tile freezing the whole class in stunned silence. No one said a word as I kept walking, not even waiting for a response. Before anyone thought to stop me, I was already halfway down the hall, my footsteps echoing off the walls. The whispers started up behind me as soon as I left, but I didn't care.

There were more important things to worry about. Shigaraki was already in his second week of the "rehabilitation program," and while it was going as smoothly as possible given his... unique personality, he was my priority now. They could laugh all they wanted; I had a villain facility to check on.

I walked through the corridors of UA, heading toward the rehabilitation wing. As I reached the secure entrance, I flashed my ID to the guard, and he waved me through with a nod.

Shigaraki was sitting in his cell when I entered, leaning back against the wall, his face unreadable behind his usual glare. When he noticed me, his expression softened just a little, the corners of his mouth quirking up.

"Well, well," he drawled, crossing his arms. "Didn't expect a visit from our dear little hero. Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

I shrugged, leaning against the glass. "Let's just say I paid my way out."

Shigaraki snorted, shaking his head. "Typical. You know, they're treating me like some kind of science experiment in here. 'Rehabilitation,' my ass. This is just a high-tech prison."

"Glad you noticed," I replied with a smirk. "I may have gone a little overboard with the security, but hey, better safe than sorry, right?"

He gave me a long, considering look, the way he always did when he suspected I was hiding something. "You designed this place, didn't you?"

"Can't confirm or deny," I said, folding my arms. "But if I did, let's just say I didn't build it to be cozy."

Shigaraki rolled his eyes, but there was something almost amused in his gaze. "You always have to be in control, huh? Even when you're trying to play hero, you're pulling all the strings."

"Who said anything about playing?" I shot back, the grin still plastered on my face. "Besides, someone's got to keep you guys in line. It's practically a full-time job."

He looked away, a strange, thoughtful expression crossing his face, like he was trying to decide whether to take me seriously or laugh it off. But in that moment, the glint in his eye was familiar, a quiet acknowledgment of the twisted partnership we had. I may have been "quirkless," but in my own way, I was as much a player in the game as he was.

As I left the facility, I thought back to my classmates, to the laughter, the jokes, the dismissive way they'd spoken about the rehab center. They didn't know the half of it. And they'd never understand what it meant to control a system like this, one where villains and heroes alike were pieces on the board. Let them laugh—for now.