Chapter Text
“We need you to infiltrate the League of Villains,” they’d told her.
“Okay,” she’d said. “Why are you asking me and not someone more… suitable?”
“We had another option,” the woman had told her. “However, we’re concerned the League of Villains will not believe he wants to join them. You, on the other hand, are extremely independent and… outspoken. It’s not so hard to believe that you may tire of hero society and its rules.”
“You’re obnoxious and difficult to control,” is what she’d really meant. It’s what they all did.
“So. You want me to do it instead of your golden boy Hawks. Because I’m ‘outspoken,’” Rumi had said. “Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. And I’ll do a damn good job, too.”
Rumi’s introduction to the villain Dabi involves the murder of someone who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Her first instinct is to kick him where it hurts, but she restrains herself at the last moment. It won’t look too good if she saves his victim and tries to “join” the League right after.
As the blue flames die down, leaving behind only ash and dust where there was once flesh and blood, Rumi leaps down from her perch, landing heavily in front of Dabi. Her heart pounds against her ribcage, the scent of charred muscle and skin and smoke thick in the air. She doesn’t let any of her unease show, face stony and neutral.
“Before you burn me…” she starts boldly, straightening up and placing her hands on her hips. “I got something I want to say to you.”
This is the first time she’s seen Dabi in person. He’s not as tall as he looks in the grainy photographs the HPSC provided her with, is her first thought. His scars are more prominent than she realized, too, and Rumi aches just looking at them. For a moment, sympathy pangs at her heart, but she suppresses it quickly. Now is not the time. Not after he just murdered someone before her eyes (and what does it say about her, that she just sat there and watched).
Dabi slowly lowers the hand he had instinctively raised and lifts an eyebrow, looking amused. “What is it, hero ?”
“I want to join the League.”
Dabi doesn’t show whether or not he’s surprised. He simply tilts his head, copying her pose and placing his hands on his hips. “And why should I believe that from a top ten hero?”
Rumi takes a deep breath, reciting the cover story the HPSC gave her. “Hero society… it has too many rules and restrictions. I don’t agree with all of their regulations. I’m sick of the HPSC especially, with the way they boss us around and make us do their bidding. I just. I just think it would be better if this was a free world for everyone, including villains.”
“‘Including villains,’ huh?” There’s a smooth, silky note to his voice as he prowls closer, his eyes half-lidded and glowing in the dark, the way she imagines a predator with its prey. Sly. Playful. Confident, in control.
Rumi doesn’t let his affect unsettle her. She’s faced much, much worse; in the pale moonlight it’s abundantly evident Dabi relies on the sheer power of his flames in combat and is lacking everywhere else. She can absolutely take him and win if necessary. “Yes,” she says strongly. “I’m talking to you instead of beating you to a pulp, aren’t I?”
A slight smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Careful, hero. I can still burn you to a crisp.”
Rumi huffs. “I’d like to see you try.”
No response to that. Instead, he steps forward, slow and impactful, until he’s right in front of her. Rumi gazes up at him steadily, refusing to let him get the advantage. Dabi leans in close, until his lips are by her ear. “You’re in,” he murmurs, still with that playful, dangerous tone of his.
Before she can get a word in, Dabi pulls away and continues. “You still have to prove that you’re dedicated to this cause before I let you meet the boss, hero .” He cracks a grin that’s all danger and sharpness, teeth and staples glinting in the dim moonlight. “You’re going to be working with me a little more.”
Rumi nods. That’s what she expected. What she didn’t expect is for Dabi to accept her so easily. It’s unlike him from what little his file had on him. Still, she extends a hand, returning the smile easily. She’s not going to let him shake her.
Dabi looks at her hand for a moment. “If this is some trick to arrest or track me, I’m setting you on fire.” Then he grips her hand anyway, giving it a firm shake. His skin is surprisingly soft—lacking calluses the way she has from years of training—in contrast to his generally rough demeanor. It’s also cooler than expected, at odds with his fiery quirk.
And he has chipped, black nail polish. Rumi isn’t one of those old farts who think clothing and makeup should be gendered, but she also didn’t imagine Dabi as the kind of person who would willingly apply nail polish to himself considering the dominant, masculine character the HPSC profiled him with—and the image of him sitting on his bed, carefully painting his nails pops up unbidden.
They’re all small things, but they’re… oddly human, something she doesn’t want to imagine when she’s dealing with a murderer.
She wonders if he paints his toenails, too.
“Nope,” she says brightly as she pulls her hand away, mind still on the gentleness of his skin. “Looking forward to working with you, Dabi.”
Dabi waves a lazy hand, pushing past her as he leaves. “Whatever, hero. Meet me at the abandoned warehouse near the docks tomorrow at nine.”
Rumi reports back to the Commission right after. First, they screen her for any bugs or wires, anything that could be used to spy on her. She doubts the League has access to that sort of technology right now, nor did Dabi really touch her beyond that handshake, but they can never be too sure.
“He’s agreed to let me in,” Rumi says as her opening, and one of the officials raises an eyebrow.
“That was quick,” he says. “Were you required to do anything before he let you in?”
Rumi shakes her head. “I gave him the explanation you wrote up for me, and he accepted it.” Her nose scrunches. “I don’t trust it. Him. He has something up his sleeve.”
“As you shouldn’t,” another one says in agreement. “Make sure to stay in contact with him now that you have an in. Don’t mess this up.”
“And,” the president adds, “don’t hesitate to get your hands dirty. Whatever Dabi has you do, you do. Without question.”
It’s all Rumi can do to hide her distaste. This is the exact reason she never bothered with an agency. She can’t stand working for others, to abide by rules someone else decided for her. And now she’s expected to do exactly that?
It’s only her determination to be the one that finally takes down the League that keeps her on this path. “Fine,” she says eventually, ears twitching. “Will that be all?” Her voice is mocking.
“Careful with your tone,” the president admonishes. “We’re trusting you with this, Mirko. If we think you cannot succeed, we will pull you out.”
Rumi huffs, fists clenching. After a few more heated moments, she finally loosens up. “Yes, Ma’am. I understand. Am I dismissed?”
“Yes. You’re free to go.”
Dabi isn’t stupid.
He knows the HPSC deliberately chose Mirko to infiltrate the League because she seems like the type of hero who could go rogue. That’s why he let her join so easily. This way, he can keep an eye on her and also, potentially, use her for his own gain.
All heroes have their dirty secrets, skeletons they cover up and lock in the closet where the light of justice can’t reach them. Mirko, he’s certain, is no different. Anything will help him in his path towards destruction.
As he strolls back into their current hideout, hands in his pockets, he surveys the scene. The fearsome League of Villains, reduced to sitting around in an empty warehouse because they have nothing better to do. “Lounging around again like wastes of space,” he scoffs. “Meanwhile, I got a new recruit.”
Twice bursts into laughter. “Oh, that’s a good one, Dabi! That was terrible.”
“It wasn’t a joke,” Dabi says flatly, “I have a new recruit.”
“Cool, a pile of ashes is joining,” Toga says, to which Twice starts laughing again.
“She’s still alive,” Dabi says, frowning. “How could I recruit her if she was dead? Idiot.”
“Bet you Dabi’s just got the hots for her,” Twice whispers to Spinner, who nods in agreement. Dabi wishes the boss would let him set his coworkers on fire. Just every now and then.
Shigaraki clearly catches onto what he’s thinking and gives him a warning look. “Will you bring her over soon?”
Dabi shakes his head, leaning against a cement pillar. “Nah, I want to work with her a little bit more before we do that.”
“Okay, they’re definitely fucking,” Spinner quietly tells Twice.
Shigaraki promptly stands up and grabs Dabi as he lunges forward in an attempt to blast one of them with fire.
“Dabi,” Mr. Compress calls out as he bares his teeth at Shigaraki in a threat, “if you ever need any help with your romantic endeavors, then I am always open to providing you with advice. I used to be quite the player myself in my youth.”
For a single, hysterical moment, Dabi considers giving himself up to the heroes. He can handle Tartarus. Shigaraki simply looks at him with an unamused face and says, “No.”
“What’s her quirk?” Toga asks, bouncing up and down. “Is she pretty? Do you think she’ll like me?”
“None of your business, no comment, and definitely not,” Dabi responds. He thinks he’ll wait to let them know she’s actually the number six (or is it five, now that All Might has retired?) hero. It probably wouldn’t go over well, especially when it’s clear she’s just a spy.
Toga pouts. “Boo, you’re no fun.”
Shigaraki sighs and lets him go. “Good luck with this recruit. When’s your next meeting?”
“Tomorrow,” Dabi responds, and shoots the others a glare before they can say anything else. As if he’d ever be into a hero. He has no love lost for any of them, not anymore.
“When do you think you’ll be ready to let her in?” Shigaraki asks. “You’re the one in control here, so it’s up to you.”
Dabi shrugs noncommittally. “When I’m sure she’s a good fit for us.”
“What does that even mean?” Spinner asks. “Do you consider us a good fit, then?”
Dabi looks at him with the most disdainful expression he can muster. “No. If it were up to me, you’d be up in flames already.”
Spinner blinks at him. “Alright. Harsh, dude.” His tone is neutral, though, as though he isn’t bothered. Maybe he’s used to Dabi’s insults by now. Hm. He’s going to have to try harder.
“Spinner’s a valuable asset to the League,” Shigaraki says to Dabi. “Don’t say that sort of stuff about him.”
“Fine, Mom ,” Dabi scoffs, rolling his eyes and pushing past Shigaraki roughly as he leaves their hideout. Why’d he even bother coming home, he thinks dully. These people are unbearable.
“Have fun with your girlfriend!” Twice shouts after him, and Dabi ducks his head, walking just the slightest bit faster.
He has nowhere else to go but home, but he’d rather be anywhere but there right now.
Discipline and structure have never been Rumi’s things, but here she is, showing up early to her and Dabi’s meeting spot. Fuck those Commission bastards. They probably think her lazy and unreliable, never mind the fact that she clawed her way up to the top ten as the only woman. As though she got there without trying.
Dabi arrives just a few minutes after she does, but still earlier than the stated time. He looks her up and down with a critical eye, standing in the open doorway and blotting out what little moonlight that was filtering in. “Hmph. You trying to prove yourself?”
Rumi rolls her eyes. “What do you know about me?”
“That you’re the number six hero,” Dabi says instantly. “Probably number five now. The only woman in the top ten. Just another symptom of this corrupt society, of course.” He steps closer, blue gaze heavy-lidded. “You’re also known for not being a team player and acting on your own.”
Those were the words the Commission’s profilers used to describe Dabi. She does not like that. Not one bit.
“Let me get one thing straight,” she starts, “I don’t prove myself to anybody. I do what I’m capable of, and more, because I like to. I got to the top ten not because I wanted to get there, but because I did my own thing and happened to end up at the top. It was hard, yeah, but that’s just the way I am. Always pushing myself.”
Dabi tilts his head, smiling. “Don’t sound so proud of yourself for being a top ten hero. You’re here to be recruited into the League, remember?”
Of course Rumi remembers, but damn it. She more and more gets the feeling that Dabi doesn’t believe her—because why would anyone?—and is using her for his own amusement.
She doesn’t have to put up with this crap, she thinks, and then instantly realizes, she’s going to have to if she wants to be the one who takes down the League from the inside.
“I am,” she says after a deep, measured breath. “And now you have someone like me on your side. What the hell are we meeting for, anyway?” The Commission better compensate her well for the amount of restraint she’s showing.
Dabi crosses his arms over his chest, leans his shoulder against the wall of the abandoned warehouse. That sly expression of his, likened to a cat, never fades from his face. “I wanted to get to know you a little bit more. I’ll give you some tasks later, but today is for the ‘job interview,’ if you will.”
“So what do you think?” Rumi shoots back. “Am I hired?”
The slow grin that spreads across his face is dangerously sharp. “I like ambition. Too few people these days have any real motivation.” A heavy pause. “You’re not one of them.”
That’s the closest he’ll get to saying yes, she supposes. Considering he’s steadily gaining notoriety for leaving charred and blackened bodies everywhere, she’ll consider it a win.
Not that she’d ever let him get even a single ember on her.
“So is that it?” she demands heatedly, steps forward. “Make me come all the way here for two minutes to tell me you’re still considering me?”
“I’m sure you’re a busy bunny,” Dabi says, covering his mouth with a hand. “Hopping all over the place, punching up villains. I’m being considerate.” His words drip with a mocking tone like venom from a snake’s fangs.
Rumi grits her teeth, clenches her fists. This guy never seems to lose his cool, despite his fire quirk. Her experience with heat-related quirk users has been the opposite thus far. Endeavor, namely. Jeez, that man is unbearable. Is it fucked up to say she almost prefers speaking to Dabi over him?
“I’ll need your number before you leave,” Dabi continues when she doesn’t respond. “So I can contact you.”
Rumi rattles it off, Dabi typing it into his phone. The Commission had provided her with a burner phone specifically for this purpose. “What, I don’t get one in return?” she asks when Dabi doesn’t respond.
“I don’t trust you with that,” Dabi says simply, pocketing his phone. She figures that means he’s going to be using public landlines.
He’s smarter than the Commission gave him credit for. The profile she’d been briefed with implied he was quick to use his fire without much thought behind it… like her. Oh, that stings.
Dabi leaves without so much as a goodbye, and Rumi doesn’t offer one in return. She doubts it’ll hurt her chances.
And Rumi needs to go home, curl up in bed, and avoid thinking about the supposed similarities between their personalities right now.
The thing is, Rumi has heard other heroes talk over the years. They say things they think she can’t pick up with her rabbit ears. But she can.
She’ll go rogue one day, they say. She’s halfway there already.
Oh, the civilians love her—because she’s hot, and that’s a whole other thing she’s not going to get into right now. But the heroes?
The heroes are convinced she’s a villain just waiting to be made.
Not everyone is like that, of course. Rumi gets along well enough with most of the other heroes, although she’s not especially close with any of them, preferring to keep to herself and train. She finds a lot of them far too hypocritical and self-righteous (and what does that say about her, thinking such uncharitable things that only a villain would?) to try befriending them.
Rumi’s fine with the friends she has; they get her in a way the heroes never would, too caught up in their own superiority to ever understand her and others like her.
And since she never teams up with others, there’s no need for her to get all friendly with them, anyway. That particular trait of hers is what people have a problem with—she’d rather rely on her own strength and prowess instead of depending on others for everything.
But she’s not interested in changing herself. Rumi is who she is, and if others don’t like her, they just have to fucking deal with it.
Silence for the next few days.
Rumi doesn’t think much of it, figuring Dabi would be the type to contact sporadically from the beginning. Instead, she throws herself into her job the way she always does—taking down villains, rescuing civilians, doing what she’s supposed to.
There’s a definite snap to the air that wasn’t there prior, signaling the ever impending Hero Billboard Chart event in a few weeks. She doesn’t particularly care about it, but everyone else seems to be holding their breath now that All Might’s retired. How Endeavor’s going to respond, since he’s number one in all but name at the moment.
Truthfully, Rumi doesn’t think he can manage to uphold All Might’s legacy, but Endeavor’s plight is hardly a concern when she’s busy with other things.
And, nearly a week after the meeting, Rumi finally gets a call on the burner phone. She picks up instantly, since only one person could be calling her on it. “Took you long enough,” is her greeting. “How exactly am I supposed to be a member if you don’t tell me anything?” It doesn’t matter to her nearly as much as her words imply, but she figures she should keep up the charade of desperately wanting to be part of them. And, technically, she does need to start getting intel at some point.
“Hello to you, too,” Dabi says, clearly unbothered. “I was busy with other things. I have a life outside of you, you know.”
A life of murdering innocents , she thinks, glowering, grateful that Dabi can’t see her face right now. “You could still pick up the pace a little,” she says. “I’d like to meet Shigaraki before next century.”
Dabi hums. “You want to see the boss that bad? And here I thought you were a loner who doesn’t follow orders.”
She should have figured that would come up at some point. “I still am. But Shigaraki’s goals are useful to my own, so. I figured working with him wouldn’t be too awful.”
“Hm,” Dabi says, and Rumi has no idea what he’s thinking. After a pause, he speaks up again. “Same place as last time at ten. We’re going to be planning.” And he hangs up.
Asshole , she thinks. But she didn’t expect anything more, which means she’s still reading him right (and something deep in her gut tells her that he’ll be the most unpredictable person she’s ever known, that this is only the beginning).
With seven years on the streets, Dabi prides himself on his ability to read others almost as much as his firepower.
With a single look at someone, he can deduce their worst fears and insecurities and wage psychological warfare against them. Force past the cracks in their iron defenses and break them from the inside out. There are few characters he can’t figure out, and even fewer that he’ll readily admit to not understanding.
He’s observant, keen-eyed, and it’s a strength of his that he knows the heroes are unaware of. Mirko probably thinks him brainless, throwing around his quirk to get what he wants. That’s what everyone assumes at first glance, and he’d prefer to keep it that way.
Mirko might think she’s the one winning this spy game, but Dabi hasn’t even introduced his pieces yet.
They barely even get to talking before a hero stumbles upon the two of them. Rumi whips around while Dabi stays put.
“Mirko-san! Oh my gosh, it’s such an honor, I saw you coming in and—“ the hero starts, before his eyes widen. “Oh! I can help with the villain!“
Rumi instantly grabs Dabi, pulling his arms behind his back. He looks very unamused, rolling his eyes but going along with it for the time being. Good. She doesn’t want to deal with two problems. “I’m fine, I’ve got this.”
He falters, squinting his eyes to peer through the heavy darkness. Only Dabi’s staples gleam in the weak moonlight. “Ah—wait, you’re capturing Dabi!” A thread of nervousness in his voice, but he does an admirable job of covering it up.
“Ain’t no one’s capturing me,” Dabi says, and stomps on Rumi’s flesh foot before flaring up. She lets go more out of surprise than anything, and immediately feels a rush of irritation that she’s letting her instincts take over even now.
“I got this!” the kid, because he really is just a kid new to this whole hero business, squeaks, and before Rumi can react, a lock of his hair stretches out and wraps around Dabi’s arms, pulling them back behind him.
Useful in any other situation, but right now Rumi needs to do damage control before Dabi does something rash. He’s clearly holding himself back for now, but Rumi knows the kid’s dead the moment he gets bored with this. And she’s not going to let some innocent kid die because of her job.
“Thanks,” she says curtly as the hair detaches itself from the hero’s head, “now I’ve got this from here.” She shoves Dabi down so his arms are trapped beneath his body weight.
His eyes gleam with amusement, and Rumi works hard to not let any disdain show. This is all just a game to him, isn’t it? People’s lives, their wellbeing.
“Stay down,” she hisses into his smirking face, “I just need to get rid of the kid, okay?”
In the pale light, Dabi’s eyes are glowing. “You think it’ll be more realistic if I give up without a fight?”
And Rumi hates him, his smug attitude, how he can’t seem to take any of this seriously. How he’s clearly making this more difficult for her because he wants to see her flounder between acting like a hero and not giving up her ticket to the League. Especially when he brings his legs up and wraps them around her torso, bodily shoving her to the side.
Rumi recovers quickly, since all he did was push her off him, but Dabi has already launched himself back onto his feet with his quirk. He turns, runs towards the back exit of the warehouse. Rumi sighs and pretends she’s more winded than she is, hoping it’ll give Dabi a chance to hide from the hero.
Of course, the kid doesn’t get the hint and barges straight after Dabi. There’s silence, then a yelp and a splash.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Rumi follows the two of them out to the back side of the warehouse that’s right by the dock. The kid is staring at the sea, hands clutching his head in clear panic, and there’s no Dabi.
Rumi does not get paid enough for this. Despite her natural aversion to water, she leaps in after the idiot villain. All heroes are trained in water rescues, and it’s a piece of cake to locate a dark shape in the freezing sea. Rumi kicks, pushing herself closer, and wraps an arm around the waterlogged figure once she reaches him.
They break the surface, Dabi looking very unamused even as he gasps for air. Rumi swims to the dock, pulling both of them out with ease. When she gets a better look at Dabi, she has a good idea as to how he ended up in the water. The kid must have tied up his legs to keep him from running, not considering the sea right by them until Dabi lost his balance.
And then, she thinks, Huh . There’s mascara running down Dabi’s face, rivulets of black staining his cheeks. His white shirt is soaked, revealing everything underneath, including what looks like… well, Rumi hadn’t expected that. Without thinking she hurries forward and grabs the lapels of his soaked coat, trying to pull it together and cover him up.
“What are you doing, hero?” Dabi sounds scandalized, as though she was trying to strip him instead.
Rumi rears back, realizing she just overstepped. “I—I just—” And before she can muster up an explanation, say that for a moment she thought he had just gotten outed, he winks at her. That’s so uncharacteristic of him that she can only assume it’s some sort of bizarre mind game.
Rumi’s not going to play along, though, and huffs, training her gaze to the side.
Lands on the kid. She… forgot he was even there. Had been so busy making sure Dabi was okay that it didn’t occur to her that they had an audience.
He looks… confused. Concerned. “You—why aren’t you using your quirk?” He directs this to Dabi.
Dabi raises a thin eyebrow. “Do you want me to?”
“You’re barely trying to get away,” the kid whispers, eyes wide. “You could have killed the two of us already but you aren’t even bothering.” And his gaze flickers over to Rumi, something uncomfortably close to horror gleaming in his eyes. “Mirko, why were you with him in the first place?”
This is bad. This is bad, bad, bad. And Dabi will be no help, of course. Rumi takes a deep breath, lets it out. “Hey, don’t worry about it. He just knows he’s outclassed by me,” she says boldly and with her signature carefree grin, ignoring the way Dabi glares at her. Throws him over her shoulder like a sack of flour. Dabi protests loudly. “I’m no traitor. I’ll handle things from here and take him into custody.”
“I should come,” the kid starts, and Rumi shakes her head.
“There could be more of the League around. Can you handle that for me? Just a check, okay?”
The hero’s face looks a bit ashy at the thought of the other League members nearby. But he nods firmly. “I’ll handle it, Mirko-san.”
She allows herself a smile. Dabi’s squirming on her shoulder, but she ignores him. “You got this, kid.”
Lets go of Dabi once they’re far away enough, and he immediately sets himself on fire, burning away the hair shackles on his arms. His face is still a mess of runny makeup, and he’s clearly unhappy. The first time Rumi’s seen him so fazed (granted, this is only the third time they’ve seen each other in person, but still).
“Tomorrow,” he bites off, pointing at her. “Forget about tonight. I’ll tell you the place later.” He gestures at his legs. “Get these off me. I’m not burning up my pants.”
So his clothes aren’t fireproof, she notes. He was never provided that technology by Shigaraki? “I wouldn’t complain about that,” she says lightly, trying very hard not to think about the fact that maybe, just maybe, she really wouldn’t (how far down do the scars reach? Are his legs completely burnt the way his arms are? Is his— oh , that’s too painful to even think about) and Dabi scoffs.
“You’re not going to get my trust faster by flirting with me.”
“Just trying to get you to lighten up, man.” Dabi doesn’t respond, so Rumi pulls out the knife she keeps on hand for situations like this and cuts through the hair, letting the strands fall to the ground.
Dabi doesn’t thank her and turns without another word, clearly intending on leaving.
“What should I do about the kid?” she asks. “He was suspicious of us.”
Dabi looks at her over his shoulder. “That’s not my problem, hero .” Mockery laces the word, a reminder of their places in society. She’s a hero, and he’s a villain, and they will never be true allies. “You handle it however you like.”
She should have expected that answer. It still annoys her.
Debriefs right after, debating whether she should bring up the kid. But as little as she knows how the Commission works, she does know they will not react well to her keeping quiet about a potential leak.
So eventually, after a couple minutes of mulling it over, she opens her mouth. “There was—another hero. I guess he’d been scouting in the area. He saw us, and got suspicious. I did distract him, but—”
“What was the hero’s name?” One of the handlers asks, cutting her off.
Rumi pauses. “Dunno. But he had a quirk that allowed him to control his hair and use it as a restraint.”
“Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Mirko,” the president says after sharing a look with one of the officials. “We will have the situation handled.”
Rumi narrows her eyes. “How, exactly?”
“That’s none of your concern,” the president says, eyes like hard stones. Dark, unyielding. Rumi meets her gaze head on. “We will simply ensure this operation isn’t compromised.”
Rumi doesn’t know much about the Commission, but she also knows they can’t be trusted. And she has no doubt that something is going to go wrong.
“Shigaraki.” Dabi stands behind him, looking over his shoulder at whatever pointless phone game he’s distracted himself with now. “I need you to do something for me.”
The words clearly take him off guard, not used to Dabi requesting… well, anything. He turns around, blinks. Confusion blooms in his red eyes. “What happened to your face?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Dabi says dully, instead of, “I nearly drowned in the most embarrassing way possible because some rookie hero doesn’t know how physics works.” He tries not to think of Mirko’s capable hands guiding him out of the water, how she immediately tried to protect his identity. Bleeding heart, she is. He’d only interrupted her because that kid was there, but Dabi hadn’t actually… minded. Had winked at her to show there were no hard feelings.
…Literally what possessed him to do that, the fuck.
To his credit, Shigaraki brushes it off with zero hesitation. Sometimes, Dabi does think he’s grown into someone who will one day be an admirable leader. “What do you need?”
“Can you track down a hero’s home address?” Dabi unlocks his own phone where he’s pulled up the public profile for that obnoxious kid. “This one.”
Shigaraki takes the phone, looks at the screen then incredulously at him. “You want to go find some nobody hero?”
“He has information I don’t want getting out just yet,” Dabi explains. Can’t have him leaking that a villain and hero are colluding, regardless of who is the presumed traitor. When this is released, it will be on Dabi’s terms, no one else’s.
Shigaraki studies his face, finding a clear resolve. He sighs and looks away, rubbing at his neck instead of scratching it. “Fine, but be careful, okay? We can’t lose anyone else.”
“You know me,” Dabi says humorlessly, “I’m always careful.”
Dabi doesn’t even end up killing anyone, because someone else did the work for him. He’s not complaining, it was an inconvenience that he had to go out of his way to murder some overeager hero who was only out at night trying to make a name for himself.
He stares down at the floor where the body is lying, fresh blood still sluggishly leaking from a stab wound and forming a grisly painting. He was just killed, at most, ten minutes before, and Dabi was lucky enough to break in before the crime scene could be cleaned up (and after the assassin had already left, otherwise he’d be facing a problem).
He didn’t think the Commission would stoop this low, but he has learned to not be surprised when heroes continuously disappoint him. Just another symptom of society’s rotten core.
Heavy boots carefully step around the pool of blood as he checks the area for a potential weapon, but as he assumed, the killer took it with them.
Well, this is definitely something he can use to his advantage.
“I gotta say,” Dabi starts the next day, “didn’t think you would jump straight to murder to deal with that hero, but maybe you’re more fit for this villain gig than I thought.”
Rumi blinks. “Wait, murder who?”
Dabi’s smirk wipes off his face, like someone ran a cloth against his mouth and erased it. “That hero who bothered us last night, he was found stabbed. Should have known it wasn’t you.” He rolls his eyes. “You’re too much of a hero.”
“I—” She fights hard to keep the horror off her face, but she’s not certain she managed. Her stomach roils, ocean waves cresting against her inner abdomen. “I didn’t kill him. Even if I did, I wouldn’t stab him.”
Blue eyes glow with interest. “Oh? What would you do then?”
Rumi straightens, forces a confident smile on her face despite the revulsion striking her core. I did that, I killed him. Punches her palm. “A good ol’ fashioned beatdown, obviously.”
“How elegant,” Dabi says drily. “Tell me then, bunny, if it wasn’t you, who could it have been?” And the teasing lilt his voice has held for all these meetings drops abruptly, as though it’s been cut off, strangled. His eyes are blazing, two blue infernos meeting her red gaze. “Who are you reporting all this to?”
Her hands ball into fists at her side. Damn the Commission for putting her in this position. “I…the Commission wanted someone to infiltrate the League. I offered, because I already wanted to join you guys. And I figured, this way I can feed the heroes false information about what you’re all doing and help the cause.”
“You have to know how this looks,” Dabi says.
A sigh. “I do. That’s why I didn’t say anything at first, because it would have obviously looked like I’m an implant. Now I know I probably should have been upfront anyway.” Rumi forcibly relaxes, looks Dabi straight in the eye so he knows how serious she is about this. “But I’ll do anything to prove I’m dedicated to the League. To Shigaraki.”
“Anything, huh?” Dabi says, eyebrow raising.
And Rumi knows, whatever he asks, she’ll deal with the fallout later.
Messy, messy.
Mirko has no idea what she’s doing, is way in over her head dealing with such rotten characters. Dabi hadn’t had to bring up the hero to know she didn’t kill him. Of course she didn’t. That was just to fuck with her (and it’s almost insulting how stupid the Commission thinks he is, assuming that he can’t tell Mirko’s a spy).
Oh, she’ll push on. She’s not the type to give up. She’ll do anything and everything to ensure her place in the League, no matter how her actions may tear her apart, because she’s just that stubborn (a tiny voice in his mind asks where he’s seen that quality before, but he shuts it up).
Dabi knows she’ll lie and steal to prove her loyalties (killing, he has doubts about). Didn’t even have to tell her to do anything to know that. But he has plans, and she’s useful to them, and the more he can compromise her integrity the more ammo he’ll have for knocking down the pedestal lifting heroes up above everyone else.
There’s not a single news article about the hero’s death. She doesn’t even know his name, and she got him killed.
Rumi almost considers the idea that Dabi killed him and is lying to get her off his tail, because how else would he know, but—
The president had said they’d handle the case. And if Dabi did kill him, why bring it up? And, and why aren’t there any articles about it? If he’d been found burnt to a crisp, then it would be all over the news.
Rumi throws up, and dials the president while still leaning against the toilet, cold sweat running down her temples. What a sight she must make. If any of her fans saw her right now, their perception of her would completely shatter.
“Yes, Mirko?” the woman says, voice elegant and poised as always.
Rumi, when she speaks, sounds weak and vulnerable. Voice hoarse, almost a whisper. Not like the strong, capable hero she’s meant to be. “You—you killed him. The kid.” She feels her throat get thick.
“We handled the situation as we said we would,” the president says firmly. “It was your doing that led to this. You need to be more careful, or we will pull you out of this mission. Do you understand? Right now, you are acting as nothing more than a liability. We’ve given you a grace period to gain the League’s trust but we do expect intel sooner rather than later.”
Rumi grits her teeth, feels her stomach churn once again. “I—I’ll be careful. Promise.” And she hangs up before the president can respond, turning to retch into the toilet bowl. There’s something wet on her cheeks, and she squeezes her eyes shut.
Although she may have a reputation for being eager to fight in her battles, she’s never caused unnecessary harm to a villain. Certainly never killed anyone.
And now the Commission has made her into a murderer.
Realistically, everything should have been cleaned up, any evidence of the horrific crime that took place wiped away as though it never happened. Blood and body and carnage erased from existence.
Rumi still finds herself searching the hero’s tiny apartment for any signs of who the Commission’s assassin could be. There has to be something they missed. Something, anything .
Her ears twitch at the sound of someone approaching and opening the door. She whirls around, fist ready to bury itself in the person’s face, and falters upon seeing Dabi. The last thing she needs right now (or, perhaps, that would be the Commission, and Rumi quickly files that thought away). “What do you want?”
He shrugs carelessly, shutting the door behind him. “Thought you would be here searching for clues.”
She feels a chill run down her spine at the thought that Dabi can predict her actions so well, makes sure not to let any of her discomfort show. Rumi raises an eyebrow instead, face impassive. “And you know this place how?”
“None of your business,” Dabi says boldly, taking a seat on the beaten up sofa as though he lives here and they didn’t break into a dead man’s apartment. Crosses one leg over the other and stretches his arms over the back of the couch. “Listen, I knew it was the Commission from the beginning. I wanted to—”
“Wait, you knew the Commission did it? Then why the hell did you ask me if I did it?”
He grins, wide and dangerous. “To fuck with you.”
Rumi has never used more willpower in her life to restrain herself from beating someone up. She takes a deep breath, trying to lower her blood pressure to a healthy level. “Whatever. What did you want to do?”
Dabi gestures at the spot where she’s standing. “There’s where the body was, by the way.”
Rumi does not move and give him the satisfaction of messing with her again, no matter how much it creeps her out. “Get to the point,” she growls.
“You sure you’re a rabbit and not something more fierce?” Dabi asks, but before she can have an aneurysm he continues. “I wanted to figure out who killed the hero. And it looks like you’re trying to do the same.”
“So you… want to team up?” Rumi says dubiously. She crosses her arms over her chest, frowning.
“You wanted to prove you’re ‘dedicated,’ right?” Dabi’s voice holds a hint of mockery, but she ignores it. “Well, this is how.”
Rumi slowly sits down on the couch next to Dabi, slouching into the cushions and spreading her legs, all casualness as though she’s not right next to an A-rank villain. Her heart thumps rabbit feet in her chest at the proximity, close enough that she can feel the slight warmth (but still less than she’d expect from a fire user) from his body. How, in just a couple of days, has she become so used to his presence?
And—and she knows Dabi’s just trying to use her position to his advantage, of course he is, but for some reason, it doesn’t bother her. Not for this. Not when she caused an innocent kid to get murdered. “Alright. Fine. ” She’ll just use him right back, since she’s invested in finding out who the murderer is, too (and when she does find them, what’s she gonna do? Kill them, like a villain would?).
“I’ll gather a couple of leads over the next few days.”
“‘Kay,” Rumi says. Finally, she turns her head to look at Dabi. He meets her gaze, looking oddly… docile. His face is smooth, relaxed. “Also, do you always wear makeup?”
“What does it matter to you,” Dabi says, but he doesn’t sound mad or annoyed. Not that he ever really does with his flat affect.
Rumi shrugs. “The Commission, they… had a profile on you. Said you’re, like, dominant and super macho and all that. But you don’t seem like you care about that stuff.”
Silence. Then Dabi cracks a tiny smile, one so different from his usual smirks and manic grins. Rumi’s heart beats a little faster at the sight. “You don’t know, maybe I do.”
“I’ve met heroes with more toxic masculinity than you,” Rumi says. She feels a little cold at the realization that she keeps betraying her side like this. Not that— those assholes deserve her loyalty, but she shouldn’t be forgetting that Dabi is a wanted murderer. He’s not any better than them just for breaking gender roles. “Trust me, talking to Endeavor once is enough for a lifetime.”
Dabi’s face shutters, and suddenly it’s like Rumi is speaking to a mannequin. Seeing him now, it’s obvious just moments before he had been more open than she’s ever seen him. And something she said made him retreat back into his defenses (but why should she care? She doesn’t, obviously).
He stands, back to Rumi, and when he speaks, his voice is gruff. “I’ll contact you when I find something.” And he leaves, before Rumi can get another word in.
Things go just a little to shit after that, just a little.
Dabi doesn’t get to continue this little project because suddenly, the League is beating up some giant… person, and the creepy doctor who he knows is the reason he’s alive (or did he die all those years ago, and what remains is the shell of Touya?) is desperate to study him.
But having access to new, updated noumus gave him an idea on how to play with the new number one.
“Shelve the murder mystery for now, I have a task for you,” he says without any preamble when Mirko picks up his call.
“What, why?” Oh, Dabi can just picture her face. Nose scrunched up in frustration like an actual bunny’s. She’s so expressive and easy to rile up, he has to wonder why the Commission chose her for this spy job of all heroes.
Dabi glances out the phone booth he’s in. It’s late at night and no one should be around except him, but it’s never paranoia with his lifestyle. “I have the opportunity to test out a new form of noumu. I want you to bring a strong hero over here so I can see what it’s capable of.”
Quiet. Then Mirko says, “Alright. When?”
A predatory smile spreads over his face, slashes of white bright in the darkness. “Two days after the Hero Billboard event, down by the docks.”
Rumi just got someone killed, and now she has to do it all over again?
Dabi wants a strong hero, one who can hold their own against a noumu, at least enough so that he (and the Commission, she’s sure) can get an idea of how well it operates. All Might is out of the question, so who else could—
Well. At least it’s someone Rumi won’t miss, if he does end up dying.
The day of the Hero Billboard Chart dawns bright and clear. Rumi doesn’t care much for them—too much talking and gratuitous celebrity bullshit she’s never cared about. She didn’t become a hero to stand there and watch as people trip over themselves to worship her, but by now she’s accustomed to all the expectations that come with being a hero.
Discreetly rolls her eyes when Hawks decides to make an obnoxious entrance and goad Endeavor, but she didn’t expect much else with what she’s seen of him already. Rumi doesn’t pay much attention to the rest of the event, focused on getting a hold of Endeavor before he leaves.
Once they’re all let go, she marches straight over to Endeavor. Despite how he throws around his bulk, he could never intimidate her. She’s far too used to men like him expecting all women to cower before them just by appearing big, and she will never give him that satisfaction. “Congrats, Endeavor!” she says brightly, drawing his attention.
His brow furrows as he looks down his nose at her. “What do you want, Mirko?”
“Rude,” she admonishes, but she doesn’t really care. Everyone knows Endeavor’s a tactless asshole by this point. “I actually wanted to propose something. I’ve been hearing reports of a noumu up in Fukuoka. Thought you might be interested, since you’ve already taken one down.”
Endeavor grimaces. “You don’t like working with others, Mirko. And Hawks is based in Fukuoka, why not ask him?”
Rumi laughs, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re right about both, but I figured, why not test out the new number one? See what he’s capable of. Besides, I can cooperate with others when I need to.” She winks, leans in closer. “Just this once, okay?”
He crosses his arms over his chest, huffs smoke out his nose. His blue eyes are flinty. Familiarity beats at her mind, but Endeavor speaks before Rumi can think anymore of it. “Fine. If you’re right and there are more noumu, we need to take them out before they can do any damage.”
“That’s the spirit!” Rumi playfully punches him on the arm, ignoring the sharp look he gives her. “See you there tomorrow, number one.”