[ The boy looks back at him, or is he looking at the slabs of concrete and wood that remain of his house? His eyes are a fathomless thing, tinged red, either from the mutation or tears. Maybe both.

The memory fades there, a gradual washing of colors from the blotches of flesh and debris to the neon colors of the arcade, Crazy Taxi next level scene still humming along in the background. Shigaraki is looking at Ibuki with a wry smile. ]

If it was gonna show all of that, it could have finished it? I wandered for a while after, but no one wanted to help me then either. They took one look at me and said it was a job for heroes and ran off, but none of 'em bothered to show up. One lost kid ain't a big enough job for them to care when they could be saving a burning orphanage or whatever.

But eventually, my Master found me. He reached out to me when no one else would and taught me pretty much everything I know. I don't need him to tell me anymore now, though. I know who I am and what I want.

Hearing it from you ain't bad though. [ It's more than that, his smile relaxing into a more genuine one. By now, he's fielded compliments of all kinds, sarcastic ones, sycophantic ones, ones from some of the members of the League who look up to him in the patchwork sense that is their relationships. This is none of those things, at least to him. ]

Actually, it's pretty nice?