Can We Be Heroes?

Chapter • 55 ????

“Shigaraki,” came thr calm, resonant voice that belonged to the purple mist. Kurogiri’s form rippled into shape, glowing eyes fixed firmly on the scene before him. “The master’s orders were clear. The boy is not to be harmed. He is—”

“I know what the master said,” Shigaraki cut him off, his tone sharp and very clearly irritated. Dust flaked from his fingers as he flexed them. “But look at him.”

He crouched again, tilting his head to study Monoma — the boy’s body trembling, his eyes burning with stubborn defiance even through the pain. “He’s got that same look. That hero spark of that damned hero. Makes me sick.”

Kurogiri’s mist pulsed slightly, uneasy. “You risk disobeying the master.”

“I’m not killing him,” Shigaraki muttered, his lips curling beneath the hand on his face. “Just teaching him what happens when pests forget their place.”

His hand shot forward before Kurogiri could stop him. Fingers pressed into Monoma’s dislocated shoulder.

Monoma’s entire body jerked. White-hot pain shot through him like lightning, but he clamped his jaw shut, refusing to make a sound. His teeth ground until blood filled his mouth, the veins in his neck standing out like cords.

Shigaraki’s grin widened. “Not screaming?” he whispered. “You think that makes you strong?”

He pressed harder, the sound of bone grinding echoing through the alley. Still nothing—just the faint, choked sound of air leaving Monoma’s throat.

“Come on,” Shigaraki hissed, fingers twitching near full contact. “Cry. Beg. Do something!”

But Monoma just stared up at him and then did something that completely infuriated him. He smiled through bloodied teeth.

“You little—!” Shigaraki’s voice broke into a snarl as decay began to flicker along his fingertips again.

“Enough!”

The purple mist surged forward, tendrils wrapping around Shigaraki’s arm and yanking him back just before the touch could spread further. The decay stopped inches from Monoma’s neck.

Kurogiri’s voice turned firm. “If you continue, the master will not be pleased. We are to bring him back alive, not in pieces.”

Shigaraki glared at the boy’s crumpled body for a long, tense moment. Then, finally, he stood, shaking his hand as if brushing away the urge.

“Fine,” he spat. “But next time he looks at me like that… I won’t stop halfway.”

He turned toward the portal, the mist already expanding.

Monoma lay there, barely conscious, blood trickling from his shoulder, his ankle dusted gray from decay — but still, his eyes burned like dying embers. And his mocking smile still shun.

Even as darkness began to pull him under, he whispered just loud enough for Shigaraki to hear. “...I’ll never bow to trash like you.”

Shigaraki stopped mid-step. His hand twitched. But Kurogiri’s mist held him down  before the villain could turn around.

“Open the warp gate already,” Shigaraki ordered, swiftly. “We’re taking him back. The master can do whatever he wants with his new toy.”

Kurogiri hesitated, the mist swirling uncertainly. “He’s injured. Moving him in this state may worsen—”

“Then let him worsen!” Shigaraki snapped, turned, grabbed Monoma by the collar with four fingers. The boy’s legs dangled, a soft groan escaping his throat as his half-decayed ankle brushed against Shigaraki’s boot.