Quirkless Mastermind

𝗖𝟮𝟴:𝗙𝗿𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗹𝗲 𝗙𝗮𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲 𝗼𝗳 𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆

"HERE I COME, WALKING IN LIKE A NORMAL PERSON!"

The booming voice shattered the morning stillness, yanking me from the delicate balance of half-sleep that I'd grown accustomed to in my old creaking, dim shack. It wasn't the drip-drip of water from the ceiling, nor the occasional groan of the walls that unnerved me. No, it was him—All Might.

"Good morning, All Might," I greeted, with nonchalance.

"IT SEEMS YOU'RE AWAKE, CHILD!" he thundered, his cheerfulness clashing violently with the eerie calm of the room. It felt misplaced. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that misplaced emotions often hide something far more unsettling.

Though he smiled as if he were hosting a guest in his home, something was off—small, nearly invisible cracks in his mask. Anyone else might have missed them.

But not me.

For one, he had bumped his head on the doorframe. It seemed silly at first glance. But think about it. Why would someone build a home without taking their own height into account? All Might, a man towering over the average person, should've adjusted by now, right? Reflexively ducking under doorframes should be second nature. Yet he didn't.

Then, there was the neighbourhood. The bright lights from countless windows last night confirmed that this was no remote hideaway. Why would the world's most famous hero choose to live somewhere so... ordinary? No security detail, no reporters. Just empty streets and quiet skies.

And the furniture. Standard-sized, meant for an average person. But All Might's body was far from normal. Couldn't the richest hero of our time afford custom-made furniture?

None of it added up.

"Ayanokouji, my boy." His voice broke through my thoughts, a large hand settling on my shoulder. "You seem lost in thought. Something on your mind?"

"I was just pondering," I replied, masking my amusement. His obliviousness was almost endearing.

"Hoh... Always so introspective, I see. Well, no need to run that brain of yours on an empty stomach! Let's eat!"

With that, a servant entered the room, offering a warm smile.His smile seemed rehearsed, his movements too smooth.

"My name is Matsuo," he announced, unnecessarily formal. "I'll be your caretaker, Master Ayanokouji. Here's today's breakfast for you both."

The tray set before me was rich—vibrant reds from the tomatoes, golden yellows from the eggs. Real food. All Might, or rather, Yagi Toshinori, ate heartily, almost too eagerly, as if this routine were natural.

But I knew better.

And there it was—the final piece. The cutlery.

The plate before him was human-sized, much like mine. Yet his utensils—oversized, awkward, made to fit hands far larger than those of a mere mortal.

This house wasn't built for All Might.

It was built for Yagi Toshinori.

I finished my omelet and turned to him, watching his every movement.

"Yagi. The food was delicious. Thank you," I said, carefully.

His reaction was instant.

"MY PLEAS—" His voice cut off mid-sentence, his eyes widening. The mask of confidence faltered for the briefest moment.

"Something wrong, Yagi-san?" I asked, the barest hint of amusement curling my lips.

"I AM ALL MI—"

"No, you're Yagi-san."