Didn't take me long to figure out that a pub might be a good place to figure some stuff out... besides I was a bit hungry.

The shabby pub was tucked away in one of the city's forgotten corners, a place where the shadows were thicker than the air and the neon sign buzzed with exhaustion. It was the kind of place that didn't bother with names—just a faint "BAR" flickering in sputtering light over the entrance.

I stood outside for a second, pulling my hoodie tighter around my head. The idea of stepping into a place like this was... not ideal, but my stomach had other ideas. Let's just say instant ramen can only hold a person over for so long before your body starts demanding actual food.

"Alright, Sivx," I muttered under my breath. "Let's see how this goes."

The second I pushed the door open, the smell of cheap alcohol, smoke, and over-fried food hit me like a punch to the face. I wrinkled my nose but didn't hesitate, stepping inside and letting the door creak shut behind me.

The pub was dimly lit, with peeling wallpaper and a floor that looked like it hadn't been mopped since All Might's golden years. Tables were scattered haphazardly, occupied by the kind of people who didn't want to be noticed. A group of men in the corner laughed a little too loudly, their words flickering faintly in the air: "...and then he just dropped the bag, like an idiot!"

Villains. Probably low-level, judging by their lack of subtlety.

I kept my head low and my hood up, heading straight for the bar. A bored-looking bartender with a scruffy beard and a stained apron glanced at me as I slid onto a stool.

"What'll it be?" his words appeared faintly in my vision, floating just above his lips.

"Something cheap," I replied, pulling out a crumpled bill from my pocket.

The bartender grunted, grabbing a menu that had clearly seen better days and plopping it in front of me. My eyes skimmed over the options: greasy burgers, soggy fries, and a questionable "special" that I wasn't brave enough to ask about. I settled on the safest-looking option—a small plate of fries—and handed him the money.

While I waited, I let my eyes wander around the room.

The pub was a perfect mix of shady and seedy. The people in here weren't just drunk—they were dangerous. A woman at a nearby table toyed with a knife, her words faint in my vision as she whispered to the man across from her: "Job's tomorrow. Make sure you're ready."

Great. Definitely villains.

My fries arrived, a sad-looking pile of soggy potatoes that made my stomach grumble anyway. I picked at them absentmindedly, using the meal as an excuse to stay longer. Listening was the real reason I was here.

In a place like this, people talked when they thought no one was listening. And when people talked, information slipped through the cracks.

A man at the far end of the bar leaned in close to his companion, his voice low but clear enough for me to catch in flickering text: "Shipment's delayed. Boss isn't happy."

Shipment? My ears—or, well, my word-vision—perked up at that.

I didn't react, just kept eating my fries like I hadn't heard anything. But my mind was already cataloging the information, slotting it into the mental puzzle I'd been working on for weeks now.

More murmurs floated around the room. Conversations about jobs, stolen goods, and the occasional drunken brag about outsmarting a hero. It was like a treasure trove of intel, all just waiting to be pieced together.

I glanced around, making sure no one was paying me too much attention. I wasn't stupid—this place was as dangerous as it was useful. One wrong move, one suspicious glance, and I'd be the next "mystery disappearance" in the papers.

Still, it was worth the risk.

I finished my fries and pushed the plate aside, leaning back slightly to get more comfortable. The hum of conversations continued, and I let myself sink into the rhythm of it. Words floated and blurred, overlapping in my vision like a chaotic collage of light. It was overwhelming, but I'd learned to sift through the noise.

The more I listened, the more it confirmed what I already suspected. Something big was brewing in the city, and it wasn't just a one-off shipment. This was coordinated, deliberate.

And the heroes? Clueless.

I felt a small smirk tug at the corner of my lips. Typical.

The pub door creaked open, and I stiffened slightly, glancing toward it. A burly man with a scar running down his face stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room like he owned it. His words appeared briefly in the air: "Everyone shut up. Got business to discuss."

The chatter quieted almost instantly.

I ducked my head, pretending to focus on a fry I hadn't eaten yet. Whoever this guy was, he commanded attention. And that made him dangerous.

He moved toward a table in the center of the room, sitting down with a group that had clearly been waiting for him. Their conversation was low, their words faint in my vision, but I caught bits and pieces: "New supplier... timeline shifted... no room for mistakes..."

This was big. Bigger than I'd thought.

I stayed for as long as I could without drawing suspicion, piecing together fragments of conversations and filing them away for later. By the time I finally stood up to leave, my notebook was practically bursting with new intel.

I paid for my sad fries and left the pub, stepping back into the cool night air. The city buzzed faintly around me, the shadows feeling a little darker than usual.

This wasn't just a shipment. This was something bigger. And I was smack in the middle of it.

"Guess it's time to get back to work," I muttered, pulling my hood tighter as I disappeared into the night.