Dabi.

The name that I had chosen for myself. One that not only described my quirk, but who I was.

I was on the road to cremate my father and his dreams after all.

For the last ten years, I had buried myself into vigilantism. Oh, what a kick it was seeing the actual pro-heroes and police stumped after I had dealt with so many of the filth that littered in the dark corners of the streets. The view of my flames engulfing the screaming small-time villains brought forth a high within me; oh how glorious were their ends. In the pits of the underworld that I had discovered, were people who had been wronged the same way I had, whether it were their parents, friends, peers, teachers…their abusers….they had been wronged to the point of throwing away the dreams they had cultivated in the innocence of their childhoods. I was quick to notice those who had been abused, and many of them had never sought justice due to the fact that they had to go against those who they thought they loved. So I did that for them. Killed the abusers and the bullies. Oh, what a rush it was. Killing had slowly become my cocaine through the years. Those bastards deserved it after all.

I remember my first killing. A woman in her thirties, who had lived in the streets for most of her life, was shunned to its darkest shadows, due to her quirk that made her look like a monster in the eyes around her. She had been the kindest person to me, she had gained a few medical skills after working for one of those underground doctors, and had helped patch me up. Every time that I came back to our claimed hideout with new burns on my arms, she was the one who sewed and patched them up to the best of her knowledge. I had burnt skin that was attached to the more healthier patches of skin with the staples she was able to procure from her former boss. To match the way that the staples looked on my skin, I went on to add actual piercings on my ears and nose that another shady man provided in the underground. She encouraged me to dye my hair too, getting me some cheap demi-permanent black dye she stole from a run-down convenience store close to where we lived together.

When I was seventeen, I found out that she had some sort of beef with a lowly gang, which led her to get physically abused and left behind on the floor of our hideout bleeding from places I never thought were possible. She died in my arms that fateful day, and I had realized when she took her last breath that I had never asked her what her real name was. I only called her Onee-San all this time, while she knew everything about me, down to the torture I had suffered.

That had caused me to burn in anger, and those bastards were left on the ground as grey ashes, not a speck of their identifiable DNA left behind.

And while I was searing the scum off of the face of this earth, he had been training to be a hero.

The many times I had seen him on the news when he finally made his debut, made me wonder how he did it. The man had gone through the same torture that I had and yet, there he stood, facing the cameras with a smile that could make millions fall for him, assuring that he would be another one of the heroes that the public could depend upon. I pity the winged man; the man who probably could not have left his mother, alone under the claws of the Hero Commission. Otherwise, would Keigo have actually flown away to freedom, the way I had burned myself free from my own bonds? He was now the Winged Hero: Hawks. A name that, like my own, suited the man and his own goals.

Seeing his smile on the television on most days, filled me with thoughts of the good ol’ times.

As the hero climbed the ranks, claiming a spot in the top ten, I continued to dish out justice in my own way. In the process, I seeked to find as much information as I could on my previous family. Even though I had left them behind, I still knew what each and every one was upto. Fuyumi was an elementary school teacher, and Natsuo was in college. Both hadn’t even bothered applying for hero schools. And as for little Shouto. It seemed that the little pipsqueak had grown up to be a moody and rebellious teenager, still under the monster’s control. The kid had made it into U.A High, but was extremely opposed to using our father’s side. What a joke. The last I heard, the kid was growing into his own. I didn’t know if I was proud or jealous of the brat at times. The kid was one of the triggers to why I left after all.

He was also one of the kids who took down Stain.

Stain. The man who knew what made a true hero. The man who finally called out on the bullshit that the Hero Society was built on, the man who defied the ideals that had been set by the said society. His arrest and the video were viral enough to catch the eye of this vigilante; and with him, I saw hope. A way to take down Endewhore and his precious successor. The people were already questioning, and imagining what I could add into that chaos brought me joy; it would shatter the entire image of the Hero Society and bring down the monster who ruined my life.

And then I discovered the League of Villains.

The broker, Giran, was the man who approached me. The leader of the LOV, Shigaraki, was looking for new recruits. The man had previously approached Stain to join him, and had been unsuccessful as Stain got captured later on. He now preached the very ideals that Stain stood for. A rumor passing around had stated that he had approached one of the very heroes that Stain had saved on the day he had been captured and had realized what path he wanted to take. He now looked for men who stood for taking the Hero Society down the way Stain had. What a twist of intentions, indeed.

When the offer was made, I accepted it. This was the man who Stain had intended to work with after all.

There I am standing in the midst of a dungy, underground bar, facing the man. It seems he wasn't pleased by my presence, as he then opens his mouth.

“Kurogiri, warp them away.” Crusty orders the Smokescreen. “It’s like the two types I hate the most are here, a brat and a guy with no manners.” the handy-man points towards me as he finishes speaking.

Who the fuck does he think he is? My left eye twitches as Giran and the smokey-guy start convincing the whiny blue-haired child to let me and a girl still in her teens, clad in a uniform join the LOV. The look of bloodlust in her eyes is unnerving. She introduces herself as Toga Himiko, and then suddenly proclaims she wants to kill Stain. What in the actual fuck?

Giran makes me introduce myself, and for the first time in those years that I had been a vigilante, I was finally able to say it.

“Dabi. I go by Dabi now.”

Crusty decides to irritate the fuck out of me even more.

“No good,” he growls. “I want your real name.”

My left eye is twitching dangerously fast at this point.

“You’ll know it when you need to,” my voice is funnily calm and low. “I only wish to bring Stain’s ideals into reality. It’s why I am here. Till then, fuck off.”

That seems to push his buttons and before I know it, he is pouncing towards me, hand outstretched. I know exactly what the brat is capable of, and am about to use my fire, when Smokey Joe uses his quirk to create portals, our hands now hovering in the air away from us.

“I advise acceptance, not rejection, Tomura.” he says and the man-child huffs and walks out of the bar room that we are in. Hmm. I like the Smokescreen.

That day as I joined the League, I didn’t know if it was destiny or not. All I do know is that it was about to lead me back, back to him, in one way or another.

And I would be ready to take them all down.