First message

Giran sauntered into the League of Villains’ hideout, his usual confident smirk in place as he adjusted his coat. The abandoned bar, now their makeshift base, was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood and cigarette smoke. Dabi sat slouched in a booth, his patched-up coat draped lazily over his shoulders, watching with a half-lidded gaze that flickered with mild curiosity. Toga, perched on the counter, swung her legs back and forth while humming to herself, flipping her knife between her fingers with practiced ease. Spinner leaned against the wall near Twice, who muttered to himself in his usual contradictory manner—one moment insisting a new recruit was a great idea, the next complaining that it was a disaster waiting to happen.

At the bar, Shigaraki sat with one hand gripping his glass, his crimson eyes locking onto Giran with immediate irritation. His fingers twitched, itching with the urge to decay something—maybe the stool beneath him, maybe Giran himself. “I told you already,” Shigaraki said, his voice sharp and grating, “we don’t need any more members. What part of that didn’t you understand?” Behind the counter, Kurogiri remained silent, swirling a cloth inside a glass as though unfazed by the tension. But Giran, unfazed as ever, merely chuckled, slipping a cigarette between his lips before exhaling a cloud of smoke. “Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” he said casually. “But I think you’ll want to make an exception for this one.”

With a dramatic sweep of his arm, Giran stepped aside, revealing the figure standing just behind him. “Meet your new teammate,” he said, his smirk widening. “I think you’ll find they’re exactly what the League needs.”