The alleyway was dark, damp, and absolutely oozing with bad vibes. Perfect place for a clandestine meeting, of course. Why did all clients insist on picking spots that screamed ambush me here? At least pretend you don't want to stab me in the back.

But hey, I'm not picky. I'd been to worse. Once, I got briefed in an abandoned amusement park. Another time, in a literal sewer. Don't ask. This? This was practically a five-star restaurant by comparison.

I didn't even bother scanning the shadows when I walked in; I couldn't smell anything anyway. Every omega worth their weight in pheromones could pick up the tiniest whiff of tension in the air. Me? I had the olfactory range of a brick.

Blind as a bat in the scent department, I relied on other senses: the faint scuffle of boots on the wet pavement, the muted sound of someone trying to breathe quietly, the telltale rustle of fabric. My ears flicked, catching the faint noises like a predator stalking prey.

Whoever this client was, they were trying really hard to seem inconspicuous. Rookie mistake.

The figure finally stepped out from the shadows, and I had to stifle a groan. Hoodie? Check. Hands stuffed into pockets like they weren't hiding something? Check. Brooding silence? Check. This guy was ticking all the cliché boxes.

"Deku," the figure said, his voice low and measured. I couldn't see his face thanks to the hood, but there was something... off. Something familiar about the way he moved.

"Congratulations," I said, leaning casually against the wall. "You know my name. Want a cookie?"

The hooded figure ignored the jab. "I've got a job for you."

"Yeah, I figured," I said, waving a hand. "You wouldn't be lurking in a dark alley if you wanted gardening tips."

"I need you to steal something."

The words hung in the air, heavy with tension.

And just like that, I felt my patience snap. "Okay, let me stop you right there," I said, holding up a hand. "First of all, I'm an assassin. You know, the guy you call when you want someone dead? Not Swiper the Fox from Dora the Explorer. Second, I've had my fill of stealing-related disasters recently, so unless this thing you want me to steal is made of gold and guarantees world peace, I'm out."

The figure tilted his head slightly, as if considering my words. "It's important," he said, completely unfazed. "And it pays well."

"They all pay well," I shot back. "What's the target?"

There was a pause, and then the client said something that made me want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

"Katsuki Bakugo."

I froze, my brain short-circuiting for a moment. Did he just say—? No. No way. The universe wouldn't be that cruel.

"You want me to steal from Bakugo?" I repeated, just to make sure I'd heard it right.

"Yes."

"Katsuki Bakugo?" I clarified, because apparently this guy thought I had a death wish.

"Yes," the figure said again, like he wasn't asking me to sign my own death certificate.

I stared at him for a long moment, then did the only reasonable thing I could: I laughed. Hard. Like, doubled-over, tears-in-my-eyes kind of laughing.

"Wow," I said, wiping my eyes. "You really want me dead, huh? You couldn't just shoot me in the head and call it a day? No, you want me to steal from the literal mafia boss who already hates my guts?"

The hooded figure didn't respond, which only made me laugh harder.

"Oh man," I said, shaking my head. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"Well, here's a free tip," I said, crossing my arms. "Life doesn't want me to mess with that man. I've tried. Three times. And you know what happened? Disaster. Every. Single. Time. You know what they say about three strikes? That's the universe telling you to stop swinging. So no, I'm not touching Bakugo, his money, his people, or his overpriced hair gel. Find someone else."

The figure shifted slightly, and I got the distinct impression he was trying not to laugh. "You're refusing the job?"

"Damn right I'm refusing," I said. "I'm an assassin, not a masochist."

There was a long silence, and I couldn't help but feel like I'd said something amusing. Something about this guy's posture screamed smug satisfaction, and it was starting to get on my nerves.

"Fine," the client said finally. "I'll find someone else."

"Good luck with that," I said, pushing off the wall. "And hey, if they survive, tell them I said hi."

As I turned to leave, the figure muttered something under his breath, too quiet for me to catch. I ignored it and walked away, the sound of my boots echoing in the empty alley.

It wasn't until I was halfway home that it hit me. The voice. The way he moved. The faint trace of something I couldn't quite place.

Was that Todoroki?

No. No way. That would be too weird, even for me. Right?