Chapter Text
Atsuhiro Sako sat beside his window, staring blankly at the purple wisteria just beyond the glass. They really were beautiful, cascades of ethereal purple, practically shimmering as they swayed in the light breeze. He stared at the flowers, but found no joy in them. No joy, no pleasure, not even a sense of nostalgia. It should’ve been frustrating not to feel. Wisteria had always been his favorite flower, a symbol of elegance, perseverance, longevity, and good luck. All things he strove for in his life— or had striven for. Not anymore. He didn’t strive for anything anymore. He just… existed. Even though he didn’t want to. Especially not today. Today was the one year anniversary of Toga and Tomura’s death.
One year, eight months, and eighteen days since Overhaul killed Magne.
Thirteen months and twenty-two days since poor Jin’s murder.
Twelve months to the day since he’d lost Toga and Tomura.
Eleven months and twenty-nine days since Spinner had died.
Ten months and ten days since the Todorokis had given up on Dabi.
Ten months and eight days since Atsuhiro had nearly succeeded in joining his friends.
Even now Atsuhiro didn’t understand why the powers that be had been so insistent that he live. What was the point? He suspected because all the rest of the League were dead and beyond the reach of whatever so-called justice system the new government had created, and they wanted to keep him as an example. There had been a trial, or a hearing, or some such nonsense, somewhere between news of Spinner’s death and Dabi’s. Truthfully, he had only vague memories of it. He wasn’t even sure if he had a lawyer. What triumph for the government could there be in displaying someone as broken as Atsuhiro Sako? What could they gain?
No, on second thought, All For One’s last will and testament was a far more likely reason for Atsuhiro’s continued existence. Still an odd thought, that a supervillain would have a will, but there it was. The struggling Japanese government desperately wanted AFO’s money, but the devious old bastard had left his will with an international corporation of scary lawyers, bequeathing his entire empire—including what Sako was sure was a ridiculous amount of ‘legitimate’ money and properties—to Tomura Shigaraki. Tomura’s will had also been brought forward by those same lawyers, giving everything he owned… to his League. To Atsuhiro, the last survivor.
Atsuhiro’s lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. The will had definitely been Tomura’s. He’d specified any money he had was to be split evenly between League members, and all his gaming supplies and accounts were bequeathed to Spinner, but proclaimed that the rest of his possessions were, “Up for grabs. Go ahead and fight over it. Stuff whatever you don’t in a charity box or something. I don’t care.”
It was so like Tomura to phrase his final bequests like that.
A fresh wave of grief made Atsuhiro close his eyes, leaning his head against the wall and taking deep breaths. Crying would’ve been nice, but his tears had dried up ten months ago along with everything else.
At least the scent floating into his room was pleasant. Sako wished, in a dull sort of way, that he could throw the window open wide and let more wisteria scented air in. Maybe even reach out and touch the flowers with his remaining fingers. But the windows in this place only opened a few inches. They were too afraid of patients attempting escape— by climbing out or by suicide didn’t really matter.
“I miss you,” he murmured to the air. “All of you.” A stray breeze brushed across his face like a caress, more rose scented the wisteria, and he opened his eyes.
A knock at his door made him sit up. The door opened and a nurse poked their head in. They were vaguely familiar, one of his regulars perhaps? He used to be excellent at remembering people. “Sako-san, you have a visitor.”
“Oh?” he asked, trying to pretend to be interested and giving up immediately. “I don’t feel up to visitors today. Please ask them to come tomorrow.”
The nurse hesitated, then said, “It’s Deku-san.”
Atsuhiro sighed softly. Of course it was. Who else would it be? He’d received other visitors he knew, but those memories were vague and dull as everything else— except for once, the time Katsuki Bakugo and Shoto Todoroki had come with Midoriya. Shoto looked so much like Dabi, especially with the scar. The same porcelain pale skin, the same facial structure, same build, and the same cyan blue eyes— or eye, in Shoto’s case. The pain had been sharp enough to cut through the cotton dullness that had wrapped itself around Atsuhiro’s emotions.
///
“Please forgive me, but I can’t stay,” he said, after only a few minutes of stilted conversation. He was so glad the doctors had allowed this meeting to happen in one of the visitor rooms. It meant he could run away like the coward he was.
“Like you got somewhere else to be?” scoffed Bakugo, folding his arms and sitting back like a belligerent teenager and not a war hero. Some things never changed.
“Kacchan!” Midoriya hissed. Bakugo rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, but miraculously didn’t say anything else. Turning those big green eyes back to Atsuhiro, Midoriya said, “I’m sorry you can’t stay longer, Mr. Sako, but it’s okay if you have to go.”
Atsuhiro nodded, relieved, and got to his feet.
Shoto, who had been completely silent until that moment, spoke up. He had such a quiet voice, especially compared to his father and brother. “Is it us? We can go, if you’d like to stay and talk to Izuku some more.” He had kind eyes too, but that just made it hurt worse.
In the face of those kind eyes, Atsuhiro found himself admitting, “You… You look so much like your brother.” His hand clenched tight on the back of his chair, unable to even look at the young hero. “It hurts to see you.”
“I didn’t want to cause you pain,” Shoto said, a hint of pain in his own voice. “I… It’s just… You knew him. You’re the last one who really knew him.”
Atsuhiro knew what the boy wanted. It stirred up a tiny spark of anger. He didn’t want to feel sympathy for any Todoroki, not after what they’d done to Dabi, and especially not after they’d denied Atsuhiro a chance to say goodbye. But…
“He was kind,” he whispered, unable to speak any louder than that. As if by speaking too loudly the memories might be taken from him as well. “He tried to hide it, to pretend he didn’t care, but he was kind. He’d let Toga paint his nails, and he’d braid her hair whenever she asked. He never got angry or annoyed at Jin, no matter how manic he became. He teased Spinner mercilessly, but when Spinner asked him to stop calling him lizard, he did. Never used that word again, even when Spinner wasn’t in the room.” A tiny smile found its way back to Atsuhiro’s lips, and it felt wrong there. “Called him gecko, instead. He had nicknames for all of us, you know, and every one of them started as an insult, but they became his own form of endearments. He and Shigaraki were always sniping at each other like that. Zombie, Handjob, Stapleface, Creep… back and forth, all day and night. God, they were like children, but he was Tomura’s right hand man for a reason. Sometimes, I was a little envious of how close they were, of how much Tomura relied on him. Dabi was one of the few who could coax Tomura out of his spirals, would just grab his hands without fear and talk about nothing until he relaxed again.” Atsuhiro took a deep breath and realized he was shaking. When had that started? “Your brother was a good friend. It was an honor to know him.”
Unable to bear being in the room another moment, he went to the door and opened it, allowing the nurse to take him back to his room. It had been nice to think about the good things, but it had hurt so much more than he’d expected.
///
“Mr. Sako?” The nurse’s voice jolted him back into the present.
“Forgive me. I got lost in thought,” Atsuhiro said automatically, and remembered why the nurse was here in the first place. A visit from Izuku Midoriya. Shigaraki’s last request had been for Midoriya to watch over the remaining League members. Midoriya had honored that request, even though Atsuhiro was the only one left. For Tomura’s sake, Sako never turned Izuku Midoriya away. “Please tell Midoriya he’s welcome, as always.”
The nurse nodded and left. A few minutes later, Izuku Midoriya appeared at the door. He wasn’t smiling, which was a bit of a surprise. Midoriya still ascribed to the All Might adage of ‘smile to show it will all be okay.’ It was a bunch of nonsense, and frankly it was a relief to see a solemnity in Midoriya that matched his own. The young man was carrying a box, which did pique Atsuhiro’s interest. “You chose a difficult day to come and visit, Midoriya-kun,” he said, waving him to the other chair.
Midoriya sat down and nodded. “I know. But I didn’t think you should be alone today. I know we were on separate sides, but I… well, I told you about what I learned last year in Tomura’s inner world. You can’t get that close to someone without gaining a connection. I… I mourn him too. You’re the only one who really understands.” Tears spilled down Midoriya’s freckled cheeks.
Atsuhiro, in a fit of romanticism, had once thought that Midoriya cried for all people who couldn’t. Today, he was willing to believe it, and was pathetically grateful that someone could cry for Tomura. Reaching out, he put his hand over Midoriya’s, squeezing it. “Thank you,” he said, voice hoarse.
Midoriya’s tears got bigger and he nodded, squeezing back. They sat like that for a long time, until their grief was rudely interrupted by the box in Midoriya’s lap. It rocked gently, and there was a soft little squeaking noise.
“What is that?” Atsuhiro asked, eyeing the box warily.
Now Midoriya’s smile came back, a little sheepish, a little hopeful. “Well, I need help with something, and you’re the best person I could think of.”
“Me?” Atsuhiro blurted.
“Yeah.” Midoriya set the box in Atsuhiro’s lap and sat back, fingers steepled like a scheming villain.
Giving the boy a suspicious glance, Atsuhiro carefully lifted the flaps of the box, noting as he did the air holes punched in the top. A look inside showed… a kitten. A very small kitten, still young enough to be wobbly on its legs, with strangely patchy fur and enormous milky blue eyes. It looked… fragile. But there was nothing fragile about the demanding yowl it gave the second it saw him. “Good grief,” he murmured, eyes widening. The little thing must be ninety percent lungs.
Midoriya giggled. “He’s probably hungry. Here, you can feed him if you want.” He opened his backpack and pulled out a thermos, a can of powdered kitten milk, and a tiny bottle. With quick efficiency, he mixed a bottle of milk and handed the bottle to a stunned Atsuhiro. “Go on,” he urged as the kitten screamed, trying to climb up the side of the box with the tiniest claws Atshuiro had ever seen.
Hesitantly, Atsuhiro lifted the kitten from the box and set it on his lap, then offered it the bottle, which was immediately seized. It was awkward with only one hand, but Midoriya helped, and Atsuhiro found himself smiling as the kitten sucked greedily. The smile felt foreign on his lips. “What an appetite.” In better lighting, he could see that the bald patches on the kitten’s back had an odd texture to them, like scars. A familiar texture. “Is this one of your projects, Midoriya-kun?”
“Kind of. He has a story that’s kind of sad, but really amazing too. I found him in an apartment fire.” Atsuhiro’s heart clenched and he felt his face go pale. Midoriya nodded, eyes overbright again, but his smile was still there. “Yeah. I think his mom was trying to carry him out, but she couldn’t, so she curled up around him to protect him. She didn’t make it, but she saved her baby. The vets thought that the baby would die too, but he pulled through! Even though he was so little. He’s a genuine miracle.”
Atsuhiro looked down at the kitten, who had finished his meal and was trying to wash himself. Midoriya provided a washcloth, dampened with warm water from the thermos, and Atsuhiro helped clean the kitten. When it was all clean, the kitten curled up on his lap. Unable to resist, he traced a finger along the pale, barely visible stripes, and was surprised when the little beast began to purr like a tiny motorboat. “My goodness,” he murmured, amused.
“He likes you!” Midoriya chirped, absolutely beaming.
“I think he would like anyone who fed him,” drawled Atsuhiro, but felt pleased anyway.
Midoriya chuckled. “Probably, he is just a baby after all, but… do you want to take care of him?”
Atsuhiro twitched, staring at the young hero. “Me? But…” He gestured at their surroundings. It wasn’t a prison, but he was still a prisoner, and he was only here because the prison hadn’t been equipped to deal with a suicidal, high-profile villain. And, suicidal or not, Atsuhiro was a villain. Furthermore, he was the last League member, the only surviving symbol of the group that nearly tore Japan apart. Japan had needed to be torn apart, but he doubted that the general public felt that way. He had no doubt that most of Japan wanted him executed. There was no way the powers that be would give him a pet.
“Yeah, you. I already have permission, and, well… you guys need each other.” Midoriya’s smile wobbled, then firmed. “He needs someone who has the time to take care of him, he’s too little to be by himself, especially with the burns. And you… you need someone too, I think. This is the first time I’ve seen you smile without a hint of sadness, Sako-san.”
He blinked, a little startled, but it was true. Any other fleeting smiles had been because he’d been thinking of his friends, thinking of the good times before they’d been lost. With a bit of a shock, he realized that he was actually feeling right now, the world wasn’t gray and dull. Just existing didn’t hurt.
Outside his window, the wisteria rustled, no longer seeming so far out of reach, light gilding the purple flowers with edges of gold.
The silence was again rudely broken, this time by the door flying open and a woman striding in. The kitten in his lap jumped, hissing a teeny little hiss, and Atsuhiro immediately put a protective hand over it, glaring at the intruder. Midoriya jumped to his feet, flailing about as he got between the stranger and Atsuhiro. “Ms Tsutsumi!” he cried. “You were supposed to wait! I said I’d talk to him! Today might not be a good day, I told you that!”
Tsutsumi? As in Kaina Tsutsumi, Lady Nagant?
Atsuhiro eyed the woman, noting the scars on her face and the bright purple and pink hair. Either she was an amazing cosplayer, or a hero had just walked into his room. A damned hero. His breath caught and he froze in place as his mind went to war with itself. He wanted to retreat back into the cotton dullness he’d wrapped himself in the past year, like a child hiding beneath a blanket from the monsters. A place where he didn’t hurt, and it didn’t matter what happened to him, where he was safe. But he was also very aware of the tiny life beneath his hand.
Rationally, he knew there was no way Izuku Midoriya would allow anyone to hurt a kitten, even if this hero was inclined to do so— which he doubted. But rationality had very little to do with emotion, and all he could think of were his friends being taken away, one by one. So he held off the fog, keeping it from doing more than creeping in at the edges, and kept his hand over the still quivering kitten.
“Sako Atsuhiro, I’m here with an offer,” Tsutsumi said brusquely, ignoring Midoriya as he fussed around her.
That was unexpected enough to shake him from his impending panic attack. “I… beg your pardon?” he asked carefully.
Without asking, she sat down in the chair Midoriya had vacated and held out a folder. Atsuhiro took it after a glance at a resigned looking Midoriya, flipping it open one handed (it had taken lots of practice to get good at using only one arm, but he’d had time to practice.) He only read the first line before he was looking up again, stunned. “Villain Rehabilitation?”
Tsutsumi’s smile wasn’t much of one. “It’s something our little hero here insisted on when the government got restructured.”
Midoriya turned pink, but nodded firmly. “The way things were before the war wasn’t right. Too many bad things were hidden. Too many people were lost, or deliberately thrown away. I’m not going to let that happen again, Sako. And I want you to help. You can’t do that from a hospital or prison.”
Rather than comment on that astonishing sentiment, he opened the folder and read through it as quickly as he could… which was so much slower than it had been a year ago. It was difficult to think, to force his mind to focus instead of drifting away, but he made himself read it all before he spoke again. “So, I’d be working for the new government? I feel somehow that’s almost worse.”
Tsutsumi snorted. “Tell me about it.”
That made him frown. “What role do you play in all this, Lady Nagant?”
She flinched, just a little bit, at the sound of her title, then straightened. “I was the first one to sign up for the program.”
“As a— what was the term?— a hero mentor?” he asked, hoping he remembered the term correctly. The job had sounded a lot like a personalized parole officer, than a mentor.
“No,” she said, meeting his eyes, “as a villain.”
The folder fell from his hand in shock. “Bullshit!” It was the first wave of strong emotion he’d felt in… months. Both Midoriya and Tsutsumi stared at him. “Well, she’s most obviously not a villain,” he said defensively. “Look at her. She radiates hero. And I am aware of her circumstances, many villains were. If anything, killing that HSPC bastard should’ve gotten her a parade, not a sentence.”
“But I killed innocents,” she said softly. “Knowingly. I deserved my time in Tartarus.”
“You were deceived and taken advantage of by people you should have been able to trust, just as Shig—” he broke off, feeling as if a hand had closed around his throat and cut off his air. The fog came back and it was like a physical weight, pressing down until his shoulders and head bowed beneath it. His gaze dropped… and fell on the kitten in his lap. Without thinking, he ran a finger over the soft fur. The purr started up again, tiny back arching into his touch as it kneaded his thigh with paws the size of his smallest fingernail. The little pinpricks of discomfort helped knock him back into himself, the motorboat purr shoved back the fog. The tiny thing on his lap knew pain and loss, but still clung to life and enjoyed a gentle touch. A miracle, just like Izuku had said. An indomitable little spirit.
“Sako?” Midoriya’s voice broke him out of his numb reverie and he looked up again, feeling tired, but a little more here than he had been. When his eyes met Midoriya’s, he felt caught, unable to look away. “Shigaraki loved you all so much. When you love someone, you want to see them happy, even if you’re not in their life. I know you miss them, but you have to get up again sometime.”
Atsuhiro blinked, eyes burning, then said, very quietly, “I can’t do anything until this one is old enough to be left on their own for a few hours.”
Izuku Midoriya beamed, and it put sunshine to shame. “Understood!” He could only stay still for a moment longer, bouncing on his toes, before he burst out, “Let me go get the rest of the stuff! I knew you’d say yes, so I brought everything you’d need.” He zoomed out of the room and Atsuhiro smiled again, a real smile.
“Hey.” Tsutsumi’s voice made him jump. He’d forgotten about her. She smiled, quick and crooked, then became serious again. “Thank you, for what you said.”
“About what?”
“About me.” Her gaze was direct, disconcertingly so, even as she seemed to struggle to find the right words, “You’re right, or that’s what the therapist has been saying, but it… You don’t get anything out of telling me that. It’s real, coming from you.”
He shrugged, though he understood what she meant. They’d shoved a therapist at him too, but he had yet to say anything of substance to them. “You shouldn’t have to thank someone for the truth. However, if you really want to thank me, tell me your honest opinion of this program.”
She snorted, twirling some of her hair around her finger, pulling on it so it stretched like taffy. Must be a nervous habit, he thought, fascinated, as he waited for her to think through her reply. After a minute, she rewarded his patience, “I think it’s idealistic, but not stupid. Midoriya came up with the broad strokes of a plan, then rounded up a whole lot of experts in different fields and basically hounded them until they did what he wanted. Not every villain is going to be offered this chance. I think it’s mostly for the… the victims of the last regime. It’s a really tough line to draw, which is why Midoriya plans for there to be a panel of psychologists vetting every participant in later years. Right now, he’s the one doing the choosing.”
“And how can they argue with that?” Atsuhiro said, almost chuckling.
“Some people tried, but it didn’t work,” she agreed, again flashing that brief, crooked smile. “He figured getting former villains who were hurt by the last system to help build the new one would help keep from repeating the same mistakes.”
He nodded. The idea was sound in principle, though the execution would probably get messy.
“Your buddy Geten is enrolled.”
His eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“Yup. He’s stalled at the sensitivity training though.”
Atsuhiro laughed. He laughed. God, he hadn’t laughed in… more than a year. It felt, really, really good. “Of course he is.”
Midoriya came back in, hauling what seemed to be an unquantifiable number of boxes and bags. Tsutsumi got up to help, and Atsuhiro turned his attention back to the kitten. “You’re going to need a name,” he told it. “Names are very important, so I’ll have to think of a good one.”
From his spot leaning up against a wall, Dabi said, “He’s gonna name it after me.”
“I think he’s going to name it after me,” Tomura objected mildly, leaning over to gently rub the kitten between the ears. It purred, looking up at him and kneading Sako’s leg even harder. “Today is the day I died, after all, and I’m his leader.”
“I died today too, you know,” Toga protested, trying to get the kitten’s attention. It sneezed when it got a whiff of her rose-scented perfume and turned away. “Toga can be a boy’s name.”
Dabi snorted his derision. “It survived a fire. It’s gonna scar. Obviously, he’s gonna name it after the other fire-related badass he knows!”
“You guys are so full of yourselves,” Spinner grumbled.
“You’re just bitter because you know he probably won’t name it after you,” Magne teased, throwing an arm around his shoulders.
“He won’t name it after you, either,” was Spinner’s quick retort.
Jin bounced around the room, trying to get a better angle to view the kitten while still also watching the heroes unpack the necessary kitten equipment. “Do you think there’s a chance he’ll name it after me? Jin is a pretty good name. Maybe Jin-Jin! Or Jin-chan!”
“I think he’ll name it something cute,” Oboro Shirakumo said brightly, leaning over to pet the kitten, his arm around Tomura’s shoulders. “Like Tora, or Mochi, or Onigiri, or… oh, I know! Fuku! That’d be perfect for a lucky little guy who lived through a fire!”
“We should name Dabi that!” Toga squealed, clapping her hands. “All in favor?”
Everyone raised their hands.
“What? You can’t just rename me! I’m not your damn pet!” Dabi shouted, outraged.
“Be quiet, Fuku,” Toga told him. He threw sparks at her, which she dodged, cackling.
“Everyone shut up!” Magne ordered. “He’s got that little twinkle in his eye that means he thinks he’s thought up something clever.” The League went quiet, watching at their friend, waiting.
Sako, who had been staring out the window again, smiled. “How about Fujiki? With the characters for wisteria and joy.”
The League all groaned. Spinner face palmed. “Of course he’d pick something like that. It’s just like him.”
“He’s such an old man,” Toga agreed, arms crossed and nose in the air, while Jin protested weakly,
“I kinda like it!”
“Yeah, it has cute nick-name possibilities. Fuji, or Iki, or Fu-chan,” Orboro agreed, which made Jin immediately cross to his side of the room in a show of Fujiki solidarity.
Dabi rolled his eyes and tried to kick Atsuhiros’ ankle, but was unable to for obvious reasons. “What a fuckin’ waste of opportunity, Mister. You dumbass.”
“If you are going to be like that, then go home,” Tomura ordered. “I don’t want him accidentally influenced by your shithead attitudes.”
Toga stuck her tongue out at him and flounced to the door. “Fine. Come on, Fuku.”
“My name isn’t Fuku, you damn leech!” Dabi growled, pursuing her.
"And yet you ~came!~" she sing-songed, causing him to curse.
Magne and Spinner left too, Magne pausing to kiss the top of Sako’s head. “I think it’s a cute name, Sako. Don’t listen to those brats.”
“Same,” Jin agreed, patting Atsuhiro on the back as he went by.
“Are you coming?” Orboro asked Tomura, smiling.
Tomura smiled back. “I’ll be there in a minute. Keep them from burning the bar down for me?”
“You got it, kiddo.” The hero turned villain, turned hero again, ruffled Tomura’s white hair. “Don’t stay too long. I don’t want you stuck in Melancholy Town.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Tomura watched Orboro go, then settled himself on Atsuhiro’s bed, watching his friend get up and start helping with kitten-proofing the room. It had been too long since he’d seen light Mr. Compress’s eyes. He waited until Midoriya and Nagant left, until the kitten had found its new bed and curled up, and Sako had taken his customary seat beside the window. Getting up, Tomura took the spot opposite him, looking out the window at the wisteria Sako loved so much. He could see Sako’s face reflected in the glass, and his whole being ached as he watched the tears start trickling down his friend’s face.
“Do you remember after Deika, when you were the only one not badly hurt?” he said quietly, even though Sako couldn’t actually hear him. “Even Dabi was down with quirk exhaustion. You were running around, taking care of all of us, and I was a mess. More of a mess than usual. I’d just remembered my past, I was in pain from all my injuries, I was anxious about taking over the MLA, and scared of what Ujiko had planned for me. I tried to hide it, but it got to be too much and I started crying, right before you walked in on me. I was so embarrassed, but you just sat down next to me, took my hand, and spouted some quote at me. Do you remember it? It was Washington Irving. ‘There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love.’ ”
He smiled at Sako’s reflection, then turned to face the real thing. “I told you that was bullshit, and you laughed and said, ‘Then just pretend it’s another type of rain.’ Then you made me cry on your shoulder until the meds kicked in and I fell asleep.” Reaching out, he did his best to brush away some of his friend’s tears. “I’m glad to see you crying, Atsuhiro. You locked yourself away for a long time. But this is why I wouldn’t let you come with me when you tried to kill yourself, why I made you stay. You weren’t ready. Not like we were. You still have so much life left, so much more to do, so much more to give. I couldn’t let you just give up because you missed us. I hope you’ll forgive me for that, someday. When you are ready, I’ll come and bring you home myself, I promise.”
Sako nodded, as if he could hear Tomura, which he could, on some level. Tomura had learned enough over the past year to be sure of that. Whoever had called the division between life and death “the Veil,” had known what they were talking about.
Tomura stayed with his friend until Sako had climbed into bed, the newly named Fujiki curled up next to him. He petted the kitten, then told the sleeping man, “Here’s one more quote for you, since I know you love them. ‘We never lose our loved ones. They accompany us; they don’t disappear from our lives. We are merely in different rooms.’ Keep that in mind, alright? You’re still a member of the League of Villains. We’ll be there whenever you need us.”
Smiling, Tomura Shigaraki went home.