Morning came far too quickly. I was sprawled out on the couch like roadkill, hair sticking in five different directions, and a faint smell of coffee lingered somewhere nearby.

You'd think winning a chess war against Nezu and securing 100,000 yen would've left me feeling refreshed and victorious. Nope. My brain decided I was a winner and an insomniac. So, here I was, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life's greatest mysteries.

"So... who's next?" I mumbled, rolling onto my side.

I tapped at my phone screen, pulling up the list I'd been compiling for weeks now. Heroes, villains, corporations, and other shady bigwigs—all the people who'd stuffed their pockets while others suffered.

One name glared back at me.

Shie Hassaikai.

A mafia group that made even villains squirm. And at the very top? Chisaki Kai—otherwise known as Overhaul. Yakuza boss, germaphobe, and all-around grade-A creep.

"Bingo," I muttered, grinning.

Now, you're probably wondering: 'Izuku, are you really going to poke the literal Yakuza? The same guys who shoot people for fun?'

And to that, I say—yes. Yes, I am. Because the Shie Hassaikai might've been terrifying, but they were also loaded. Between dirty money, underground trade, and overpriced quirk drugs, these guys had more cash than they knew what to do with.

Honestly, they were begging me to rob them.

Besides, Chisaki was a special case. Something about his whole "rebuild the Yakuza" shtick and his obsessive need for cleanliness made him the perfect target. Like, seriously—who wears a plague mask in public and thinks that's normal?

"You're not a Victorian doctor, dude," I said aloud, staring at his picture. "You're a mafia boss with a germ problem and the worst fashion sense I've ever seen."

I could already picture it. Me sneaking into their base, taking everything that wasn't nailed down, and leaving Chisaki frothing at the mouth.

"Who dared sully my pristine empire?!" he'd screech, probably disinfecting the walls like a maniac.

Honestly, the mental image alone was worth it.

But still, I had to be smart. The Shie Hassaikai were dangerous, and I wasn't exactly packing heat—unless you count my sparkling wit and questionable life choices as weapons.

"Alright," I muttered, sitting up and stretching my arms overhead. "Time to get a game plan together."

I grabbed my laptop and started digging into every scrap of intel I could find.

Turns out, Chisaki's empire was like a maze of underground hideouts and warehouses scattered throughout the city. Tracking down their assets was like playing Whack-a-Mole—but with fewer plush mallets and more homicidal gangsters.

Still, I managed to narrow it down to a handful of locations that looked promising. Overhaul and his goons had been making deliveries to certain warehouses at odd hours—meaning cash, quirk drugs, or whatever illegal garbage they were peddling probably got stashed there.

Now, most people would take one look at this plan and say, 'Izuku, maybe don't pick a fight with the Yakuza. They don't exactly send polite cease-and-desist letters.'

And to those people, I say... well, yeah, fair point.

But here's the thing:

These guys were scum. Worse than scum. They didn't just hurt people—they profited off their pain. And if I could steal their dirty money and use it to make kids smile this Christmas? Then I was going to do it.

Besides, I was Deku—the bunny who pissed off heroes and villains alike. If I didn't do stupid things, who would?

"Alright, Chisaki," I muttered, closing my laptop with a grin. "Let's see how you like Santa Bunny crashing your party."

The first step in any good heist is preparation.

I spent the better part of the afternoon gathering gear—lock picks, a grappling hook, and my trusty utility bag of random-but-useful items. (You'd be amazed what you can accomplish with duct tape, zip ties, and pure determination.)

Next came the suit.

The red-and-white Santa costume stayed—obviously. I wasn't about to ditch the theme now. But I made a few tweaks: reinforced boots for sneaking, a sleeker fit for easier movement, and a splash of black detailing to give it some edge.

It was Christmas, sure—but I wasn't about to stroll into Yakuza territory looking like a mall Santa.

I strapped on my sleek red mask, staring at my reflection in the cracked bathroom mirror.

"Perfect," I said, smirking. "Deku Claus is coming to town."

Nightfall came quickly, and I slipped out into the shadows, hopping across rooftops like it was second nature. The cool winter air stung my face, but I didn't mind.

I knew exactly where I was headed.

One of the warehouses I'd marked earlier sat deep in the industrial district—far enough from prying eyes that the Hassaikai could do their dirty work in peace.

Lucky for me, they wouldn't be getting much peace tonight.

By the time I reached the building, the place looked deserted. Lights were dim, no guards in sight.

"Suspicious," I muttered, crouching on a rooftop ledge. "But hey, I like an easy in."

With a flick of my grappling hook, I swung down toward the back entrance, landing as quietly as possible. I fished a lock pick from my bag and got to work, teeth clenched as I fiddled with the mechanism.

"Come on, come on..." Click.

The door creaked open. I slipped inside.

The warehouse was massive, filled with rows of crates and storage containers. I stuck to the shadows, my boots silent against the concrete floor as I moved deeper inside.

And that's when I saw it.

Stacks of cash. Bags upon bags of it, shoved haphazardly onto shelves like they didn't even care.

I whistled softly. "Well, aren't you guys organized."

I didn't waste time. I pulled out my utility bag and started loading as much cash as I could fit.

The whole time, I kept my ears open—just in case. If I got caught here, I was screwed.

Not "detention" screwed. Not "Eraserhead yelling at me" screwed. I mean actual Yakuza-are-going-to-make-me-disappear screwed.

Still, the adrenaline buzzed through my veins, and I couldn't stop grinning. This'll show you, Chisaki.

"Hope you don't miss this too much," I muttered, stuffing one last bundle of bills into the bag.

That's when I heard footsteps.

My heart stopped.

"Oi! Who's there?"

Crap.

I dove behind a stack of crates, clutching the bag to my chest. A flashlight beam swept across the warehouse floor, coming closer.

"Come on, buddy," I whispered to myself, inching toward the exit. "Don't look down here..."

The light paused. My breath hitched.

Then, miraculously, the guy turned around.

I didn't stick around to ask why. I bolted for the door, slipping back into the night with a bag full of cash and a grin plastered across my face.

"Thanks for the donation, Chisaki!" I called over my shoulder, just for the fun of it.