The cold night air bites at my skin as I step out into the city streets, the faint jingling of bells attached to my suit blending into the ambient noise. It's not intentional, the bells—I swear—but apparently, I've committed fully to the Santa aesthetic. Maybe I'll lean into it for the intimidation factor. Nothing says fearsome vigilante like sounding festive while sneaking through dark alleys.

Tonight's stop: the League of Villains.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking. "Izuku, why the hell would you go near those lunatics? Don't they hate heroes?" Sure, they're chaotic, dangerous, and absolutely not the kind of people you want to hang out with on a casual Friday night. But here's the thing: they're also sitting on a treasure trove of black market potential.

Oh, don't look at me like that. I know they're poor. Shigaraki's whole crew practically defines the term "villain budget cuts." Their base is probably held together by duct tape and spite. But even broke villains have their perks. Shigaraki isn't dumb enough to keep only cash lying around—he's got connections, stolen goods, and who knows what else stashed away. And if I can 'liberate' some of that, it's going to help a lot of kids.

I duck into an alley, pulling the mask down over my face as I glance around. The League's latest hideout isn't exactly a secret if you know where to look. And by "look," I mean hack into certain encrypted networks that villains think are safe. Pro tip: they're not.

Slipping through the shadows, I make my way toward the decrepit building they're calling home this month. It's rundown, sure, but that's how they keep a low profile. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was just another abandoned warehouse. But I know better.

I circle the building, scouting for cameras or traps. Nothing obvious, which is either very sloppy or very clever on their part. Considering Kurogiri's ability to warp them out of trouble at a moment's notice, I'm betting on the latter.

Scaling the side of the building, I find an open window near the top. Lucky me. Sliding inside, I land silently on the floor, my boots muffling the sound. The interior is just as bleak as I imagined—peeling paint, flickering lights, and a smell I'd rather not identify.

I creep down the hall, sticking to the shadows as I make my way toward the main room. Voices drift through the air, familiar and chaotic.

"I told you, the TV doesn't work because you smashed it, Shigaraki!" That's Toga, sounding exasperated.

"It's not broken—it's just malfunctioning!" Shigaraki snaps back.

"Malfunctioning? There's a hole in the screen, boss." That's Twice, and I can practically hear the grin in his voice.

I pause, leaning against the wall to listen. It's almost... endearing, in a weird way. They're like a dysfunctional family. A terrifying, unhinged family, sure, but still.

Focus, Izuku. You're not here to join the League's sitcom.

I move toward what I assume is their storage area, carefully testing each door until I find one that's locked. Bingo. Pulling out my lockpicks, I crouch down and get to work. The lock isn't high-tech—it doesn't need to be when most people are too scared to break in.

The door creaks open, revealing a room filled with mismatched crates and boxes. I step inside, letting the door close softly behind me. The smell of old wood and dust fills the air as I start poking through the boxes.

It's a strange assortment of items: weapons, gadgets, stolen electronics, and a few things I can't even identify. Some of it's junk, but there are definitely a few treasures here. A prototype hero gadget that never hit the market? That could fetch a fortune. High-end tech swiped from a hero agency? Even better.

I pull out a small notebook and start jotting down an inventory. It's not like I can carry all this stuff out right now, but I need to know what's worth coming back for.

As I work, a thought strikes me. Most of this stuff probably isn't even valuable to the League. They don't need fancy tech or experimental gadgets to cause chaos. They're all about brute force and unpredictability. Which means they're not likely to miss a few "misplaced" items if I play this right.

I smirk behind my mask. "You know, Shigaraki, for a guy who hates heroes, you're surprisingly good at collecting their stuff."

The sound of footsteps jolts me out of my thoughts. I freeze, my heart pounding as the steps grow louder. Someone's coming.

Sliding into the shadows, I press myself against the wall, holding my breath. The door creaks open, and a figure steps inside. It's Dabi, his lazy posture betraying the sharpness in his gaze as he scans the room.

"Great," I mutter under my breath. "Just what I needed."

He moves toward one of the crates, muttering something under his breath as he rummages through it. I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to leave. Minutes crawl by, and I'm starting to think I might actually get away with this when he pauses, turning his head slightly.

"Who's there?"

My heart stops.

Dabi steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he scans the shadows. I tighten my grip on the mask, ready to bolt if necessary. But before he can get too close, a shout from the hall distracts him.

"Dabi! Stop hoarding the snacks and get back here!"

He sighs, muttering something about Toga being a pain, and leaves the room. The door clicks shut behind him, and I exhale a shaky breath.

"That was too close," I whisper.

Taking one last look around, I finish jotting down my notes and slip out the way I came. The League may not know I was here tonight, but they'll feel my presence soon enough.

As I make my way back into the night, my mind races with possibilities. The black market value of what I saw in that room is more than enough to make a real difference. Toys, clothes, supplies—whatever the kids need, I'll get it.