At a nameless café somewhere in the city—
"Two coffees, please. And two of everything on this menu. Thank you."
After placing the order, All Might turned back around—
only to find Shigaraki staring at him with an extremely strange expression.
The look was so peculiar that even All Might, who had faced countless villains without flinching, felt a little uncomfortable.
"…What is it?" he asked.
Shigaraki slowly withdrew the look he had been using to size All Might up.
Then he rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"I was just wondering…"
His eyes drifted toward the menu.
"Do Pro Heroes make that much money?"
He paused.
"Because the stuff on that menu definitely wasn't cheap."
The moment those words landed, All Might found himself speechless.
If someone asked whether Pro Heroes made good money, the honest answer was—
yes.
Of course they did.
How could they not?
Becoming a Pro Hero required strict examinations, intense training, and passing through layer after layer of selection. Out of an enormous number of hopefuls, only a tiny fraction ever managed to debut successfully.
And as always, rarity had value.
More importantly, the profession of Pro Hero was an odd fusion of two incredibly influential roles: law enforcement and celebrity.
They were protectors.
They were public figures.
They stood on the front lines against danger while also basking in adoration beneath spotlights and cameras.
The social effect of that combination was enormous.
From the very moment the profession had been established, Pro Heroes had become one of the few careers that could truly be called both famous and profitable.
Government salaries.
Bounties from villain arrests.
Commercial endorsements.
Brand collaborations.
Merchandise.
Media appearances.
Money-making opportunities were everywhere.
But—
most people did not become heroes because they wanted to make money.
At least, not the real ones.
They did it because they wanted to protect others.
Because beneath all the glittering public image and glamorous packaging, the core of the profession remained unchanged:
Pro Heroes were the people who danced on the edge of a blade.
In a world where nearly everyone possessed the potential to become dangerous, where every person carried a Quirk that could turn them into a criminal, Pro Heroes faced death more often than almost any other profession.
if someone only wanted money, there were far safer ways to get rich.
And that was exactly why All Might found Shigaraki's question difficult to answer.
If he admitted too casually that Pro Heroes earned a lot, it would feel like an insult to those who sincerely risked their lives for others.
But if he denied it—
then he would be lying.
And that was something he couldn't do either.
So, after a brief and extremely awkward pause, All Might used the oldest technique known to conversational survival.
He changed the subject.
"Ahem…"
He scratched his cheek lightly.
"By the way, young Shimura…"
"How did you recognize me?"
He looked genuinely curious now.
"My current appearance is pretty different from the way you saw me before, isn't it?"
"This?"
Shigaraki leaned back in his chair.
"I usually don't identify people by their appearance."
He tapped a finger lightly against the table.
"I go by presence."
Then his gaze shifted over All Might's disguise from top to bottom.
And a look of open disdain immediately appeared on his face.
"Also…"
He clicked his tongue.
"What exactly was that supposed to be?"
All Might blinked.
"My disguise."
Shigaraki stared at him for a second, then gave him a deadpan look.
"That wasn't a disguise."
"That was a stalker costume."
He spoke with complete sincerity.
"Honestly, the fact that no one dragged you away on the way here and reported you as a suspicious person is already proof that your luck is incredible."
All Might's face darkened on the spot.
A stalker costume?
Was it really that bad?
And what did he mean, dragged away?
Wasn't that a little too harsh?
Seeing the expression on All Might's face, Shigaraki decided he had teased him enough for now and didn't press the matter further.
Instead, he asked the question he actually cared about.
"Anyway…"
He tilted his head slightly.
"What did you want from me today?"
That brought the mood back down to something more serious.
All Might's expression settled.
Then he asked, very directly:
"What do you think of Pro Heroes?"
That made Shigaraki glance at him in mild surprise.
He had expected many things.
An accusation.
A lecture.
A warning.
But not that.
So this was what All Might had wanted to ask?
Was he trying to use Shigaraki's answer to judge how dangerous he really was?
The thought passed briefly through his mind.
Then he began to think.
After a moment, he raised one hand and lightly tapped the table with his fingertips.
"The birth of Pro Heroes was inevitable," he said calmly.
"I don't deny that."
His tone was steady and analytical.
In a world where most people possessed superpowers, it was only natural that rulers and law enforcers would also need power. Otherwise, chaos would be unavoidable.
If you were a superpowered person, would you willingly allow an ordinary person to stand over you and command you?
If you had no strength, would criminals even bother listening to what you said?
Of course not.
The answer was obvious.
So the emergence of some form of superpowered policing had always been inevitable.
It was the natural course of things.
The only differences would be in name and structure.
And in this world, the institution called Pro Heroes was essentially that: a form of superpowered law enforcement.
"The role of Pro Heroes," Shigaraki continued, "is less about eliminating crime than it is about suppressing the occurrence of crime."
He paused for a beat, then went on.
"Because no matter how strong they are, no matter how many enemies a single hero can defeat…"
"They still can't stop every crime."
His gaze remained calm.
"They're human."
"Not gods."
"And compared to villains, their numbers are far too small."
That was the core of it.
If the system truly expected Pro Heroes to solve every criminal act by force alone, then it was fundamentally flawed from the start.
There were too few of them.
Even if each one could mow through enemies like a one-man army, they still couldn't be everywhere at once.
Their real value lay elsewhere.
They were a warning.
A living deterrent.
A pillar.
Something that made impulsive criminals feel fear before acting—
and made ordinary people feel safe.
Looking at All Might, Shigaraki continued his analysis in the same composed tone:
"The people in power know that too."
"That's why both the media and the ruling class deliberately shape Pro Heroes into symbols."
"Into idols."
"Into psychological pillars for the public."
He folded his hands loosely in front of him.
"That image creates a kind of invisible pressure."
"It tells potential criminals that even if they gain power, they still can't act however they want."
"Because the moment they step out of line…"
He smiled faintly.
"…those heroes will beat them into the pavement."
"So yes."
"I believe the existence of Pro Heroes is inevitable."
"It's the natural result of this kind of world."
"And it's one of the things keeping modern society stable."
All Might was silent.
Actually silent.
Because the words he had just heard were nothing like what he expected.
He had come here prepared to hear bitterness.
Resentment.
Condemnation.
After all, this was the same boy who had said in the police station, Even heroes can't always arrive in time.
And yet now—
the same boy was calmly explaining why the institution of Pro Heroes was necessary.
Why it existed.
Why it mattered.
The contrast was so sharp that All Might couldn't help staring at him for a second.
But before he could respond, before he could voice even a single thought—
Shigaraki spoke again.
His tone did not change.
It remained calm.
Measured.
Deliberate.
"But…"
He rested one elbow lightly on the table and looked at All Might with quiet clarity.
"I think the current direction of hero society is wrong."
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