The late afternoon sun filtered through the grimy windows of the old bar, casting long shadows across the worn floorboards. Kurogiri was polishing a glass behind the counter, his misty form lazily drifting. Magne was sprawled on one of the couches, flipping through a magazine. Toga was doodling in a notebook, humming a cheerful tune.

And Tomura Shigaraki, leader of the League of Villains, the man who made heroes tremble in their boots with a single glance, was sulking.

He sat on the edge of the couch beside Magne, arms crossed, lower lip jutted out in a pout that would have been comical on anyone else. His white hair hung over his eyes, but the scowl was unmistakable. He wasn't looking at anyone. He was just... staring at the floor, radiating a cloud of grumpiness that was frankly adorable.

Dabi pushed himself up from his chair, stretching lazily. His blue flames flickered briefly as he walked over to the fridge, pulling out a small box.

The door to the hideout creaked open, letting in a shaft of evening light. The sound of footsteps followed.

You stepped inside, shrugging off your jacket. The atmosphere was different now—lighter, more relaxed. Tomura was perched on the couch, mochi in hand, his earlier grumpiness melting away as he took a bite.