Saving Face

Chapter 1

DABI POV

He navigates himself through the cold, crying streets of downtown. I watch him capering along the dreary sidewalk up ahead of me. His skips and twirls careless as his bright red, high-top Converse bite the cracked paving, adding to a collection of various-sized scuff marks along both sides of each shoe.

The boy seems to be rather outspoken, wearing his personality around his neck in the form of a bright green and yellow striped scarf. Stray wisps of emerald green hair carving themselves around the warmth of its cozy fabric as they galloped along to the rhythm of his dancing footsteps. Now look, I'm no stalker, I'm just following him (I assure you somehow there's a difference). Honestly I don't even know myself why I bothered... I mean, a guy like him? He ain't doing shit on a Friday night. Maybe hanging with high school friends at the mall or going to the cinemas? Regardless, there's something about this boy that jumped out at me, call it excitement or suspicion but this boy's effortlessly plucked every feather of my attention in just the ten seconds it took for him to cross an alleyway within my sight.

In my daydreaming, we've made our way to his destination... All For One bar? The kid makes no stops, though, prancing his way up the steps and through frost-coated doors unhesitating. As if it's his natural territory?

The man's got taste, I suppose.

Noise erupts from within the foggy doors, and the unmistakable ring of a gunshot.

I silently slip through swinging double doors to see burly, half-drunken men and women strewn about talking and laughing in a lively fit, most seemingly unfazed by the 'disturbance.' The body of a silver-haired old man, head fallen unmoving atop the bar counter presenting itself like an unclaimed cake, blood drizzling down either side of neck and shoulders like velvet frosting.
Where things like this once sourced many looks of concern, the frequency of targeted murders in this bar has rendered drawn weapons and cocked guns a common occurrence and now only draws the publicity of a few curious glances before people are back on the booze and laughter. Come here enough and you soon learn why the bouncers aren't messed with and the cost of a drink isn't debated: AFO is soaked to its gold-polished hinges with not only booze, drugs and sex, but guns, maniacs and - of course - its highly successful mafia business.

I quickly look around and recognise most faces. All are regulars who either making AFO a second home for themselves, or are staying loyal to the place who birthed and grew its peoples' popularity. All acknowledge me with a tilt of the head or tip of the hat which I return absentmindedly as my feet carve their path over to Twice's permanent seat. My eyes run parallel to my course, observing the kid in the red kicks as he snakes over to his prey in the opposite corner to myself. His movements looking a lot more predatory than before.

"Hey man," Twice greets.

"You know who that guy is?" I nod my head over at 'Greenie.

"The little guy with the gun? Yeah I guess - no, not really - Name's apparently Izuku Midoriya. Shigaraki says he's working as a sort of body guard under Sensei's new business partner. Probably a trust thing. Don't wanna get involved too much."

I take a seat and Twice and I both watch the boy in silence as he stands just before the man's body who's features I can't see with his head laying face-down and unmoving.

"Who is that?"

"Gran Torino."

My eyes widen on their own accord. No shit I'm impressed: Gran Torino's part of the A-tier group of agents in Ground Zero, ranked top 20 on their leaderboard (They say numbering their highest 100 agents induces a want for improvement and reduces mistakes on missions, tapping into competition in order to achieve higher levels capability and focus.)

"Boom bitch. One high tier agent dead or alive for 10 free drinks of my choosing, is what I heard you say..."

The loud voice came from the smirking lips of Midoriya, I realise. He feigns menacing steps over to the bar and slumps onto a stool directly opposite bartender Kurogiri who huffs in defeat, aggressively wiping down the bar counter, eyes burning holes into the mahogany.

"I think you'll find what I said was 3 free drinks within reasonable cost, actually."

Face frowning at the immediate resistance, Midoriya tries bargaining, "How about 7 drinks then? Here, I'll be considerate-"

"I can make it 2 if you'd prefer?"

"5."

"2. I tell my employees no room for bartering. I myself am no exception."

"What about 3 for $20?"

"Midoriya. I can give you 1-"

"Okay, fine then, 3 for $30... 3 for $20! Please, I'm thirsty, Goddamnit!"