Ah, money. 

Sweet, beautiful, digital money, sitting there in my stolen offshore account like it was waiting for me all along. 

I lean back in my chair, letting out a sigh of triumph as the numbers glow on my screen. Nezu may be a genius, but I out-geniused him, didn't I? Not that it was personal. Okay, maybe a little. 

The guy blackmails politicians for fun, and he has more than enough yen stashed away to lose some without breaking a sweat. What else would I do with his dirty money? Let it rot? Please.

I crack my knuckles and start scrolling through online shops. It's mid-December, and while most people are thinking about cozying up with family or taking vacations, I've got a different holiday tradition in mind. You see, I decided to play Santa the moment I found out how many heroes—yes, heroes—have secret offshore accounts. Heroes are supposed to protect the people, not hoard wealth in places so shady they make villains look honest.

Anyway, Christmas is coming, and I've got kids to spoil. Not just any kids. I'm talking about the ones heroes and society conveniently forget about—the ones in hospitals, orphanages, or sleeping in doorways because life dealt them a trash hand. And if I'm gonna be their Santa, I'm going all out. None of that "cheap stocking stuffer" nonsense. I'm thinking brand-new clothes, toys, books, art supplies—everything a kid could dream of. From ages 0 to 10, no one's getting left out.

But there's a problem.

I pull up a few websites, my fingers flying over the keyboard as I calculate shipping times. It doesn't take long before reality slaps me in the face. It's mid-December, Izuku, what did you expect? Nothing this big can be shipped in bulk fast enough, not unless I want to pay quadruple the cost for express delivery. And even then, there's no guarantee.

"Of course," I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. "Leave it to capitalism to make Santa's job harder."

I scroll through another website, scanning for anything that can ship before Christmas Eve. Nope. Everything worth buying is either out of stock or requires three to five business days just to process the order. Perfect. Just perfect.

Okay, deep breath. 

Panicking won't help. I've still got time to figure this out. 

Plan B, maybe? There's always a Plan B when you're me. 

I start looking up local suppliers—shops, warehouses, anything within a reasonable distance that might have what I need. If I can't have it delivered, I'll pick it up myself. Who needs shipping when you've got a vigilante with too much time on his hands and a moral superiority complex?

As I click through the listings, a faint smirk tugs at my lips. Who would've thought this would be my life? A quirkless dropout hacking hero agencies and robbing the rich to play Santa. Past-me would've been horrified. Current-me? Eh, he's too busy winning to care.

But seriously, this all started when I stumbled across those offshore accounts. Did you know some of the top heroes in Japan stash their cash in places where no one can touch it? The same heroes who preach about integrity and selflessness. Hypocrites. The lot of them. So yeah, I decided to redistribute some of that wealth. Robin Hood style. Except instead of handing out coins to villagers, I'm spending it all on kids who actually deserve a break.

I pause for a moment, staring at the screen. A warehouse catches my eye. They've got toys—lots of them—and they're only a train ride away. Perfect. It's not the massive online order I was hoping for, but it's a start. Plus, it gives me an excuse to get out of this chair before I fuse with it.

A notification pings on my laptop, pulling me out of my thoughts. It's a news alert about some pro hero winning an award for their charity work. I snort. Charity work. Yeah, sure. Maybe try actually helping people instead of throwing spare change at photo ops.

Shaking my head, I close the alert and focus back on my list. Clothes, toys, books—everything a kid could imagine. The sheer scale of it makes my chest tighten. I want to give them the kind of Christmas that leaves them wide-eyed and grinning, even if it's just for one day. Because for a lot of these kids, one day of happiness can make a world of difference.

I grab my phone and start mapping out a route to the warehouse. There's still a lot to do, and time's running out. But hey, that's part of the fun, isn't it? The rush, the chaos, the satisfaction of pulling it all off in the end.

And maybe—just maybe—I'll leave a little something for Nezu under the tree. Nothing says "Merry Christmas" like a sarcastic thank-you note and a reminder that I outsmarted him. 

Again.

;)