Chapter 2: The Thread of Unluck

The alley was narrow, dark, and filled with the kind of atmosphere that could make a man question every life decision that led him there. Alaric adjusted his coat and straightened his hat, moving with the casual grace of a seasoned gentleman. His cane tapped rhythmically against the pavement as he walked, and with each step, he felt the creeping tension rise.

"You got the goods?" the shady man growled from the shadows, arms crossed, towering over the much younger Alaric. The man was bulky, his leather jacket worn and the scent of cigars hanging in the air. Behind him stood several similarly intimidating figures, all of them glaring at Alaric as though he were an insect they could squash at any moment.

Alaric smiled, the type of smile that suggested confidence, or perhaps overconfidence. "But of course," he replied, his voice smooth and velvety. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small folder. "Everything you asked for, Mr. Marlow. Detailed information on the League's latest movements. You'll find it enlightening."

Marlow took the folder with a grunt, flipping it open and scanning the pages. Alaric waited, maintaining his composed demeanor, but inside, the pit of his stomach churned. Please, please let everything in that folder be correct. I swear I triple-checked, but you never know with these guys…

Marlow's frown deepened, and that was when the first bead of sweat rolled down Alaric's back. "What is this?" Marlow's voice cut through the silence, harsh and menacing. "This is not what I asked for."

Alaric blinked, taken aback. "I'm sorry, what exactly were you expecting?" he asked coolly, though internally he was screaming. Oh no, oh no, oh no, why does this always happen? What did I get wrong this time?!

"You were supposed to give me info on the League's hideout! Not this crap about their movements." Marlow tossed the folder on the ground, and his subordinates started advancing, cracking their knuckles.

Alaric's heart skipped a beat. This is bad. Very bad. He glanced down the alley to see if there was any quick exit—there wasn't. His legs, however, had a mind of their own and began trembling violently. Before he could even think about his next move, his knees buckled, and he barely managed to catch himself in time. Now it just looks like he bent down to bow. At the same moment, a loud bang echoed through the alley as a bullet whizzed past where his head had been only seconds before.

Alaric groaned inwardly. Really? My luck chooses to save me by making me trip over my own fear? Fantastic.

Marlow's eyes widened as he watched the bullet hit the wall behind them. "Who the hell is shooting?!" he yelled.

In the chaos, one of the men accidentally bumped into a nearby trash can. The noise startled a cat baking in the sun on a second story window, and caused it to bump into a potted plant. It teetered, swayed, and then fell with impeccable timing, landing directly on Marlow's head with a resounding thud.

"Boss!" the men shouted, rushing to his side as Marlow stumbled, clutching his head in disbelief.

Alaric, still bowing, glanced up, equally astonished. Did… did that actually just happen?

People in the street began to gather, drawn by the commotion. Bystanders rushed over, trying to help, though Marlow's men were too busy shouting at them to back off. Alaric saw his chance. His legs might have betrayed him earlier, but now they seemed eager to cooperate.

"Well, adieu gentlemen!" He brushed off his coat with exaggerated grace, and made his way to the other side of the alley.

A sleek, expensive car waited for him, nondescript but classy—just the way he liked it. He slid inside, sighing in relief as the door closed behind him. "Drive home," he ordered, reclining in the back seat.

As the car pulled away, Alaric let out a long breath. That was too close. Note to self: Don't underestimate potted plants and bullets.

'Home' meant more than an unremarkable shack in the middle of the woods. But, unfortunately, in order to get to his 'home' he needed a portal or something. And his ride works within this rundown bar shack. As Alaric stepped inside and immediatly went to the back room, receiving some stares from the patrons and a small nod from the owner. Opening the door, he was immediately met with the woman he was looking for: an american by the name of Sherry. "Your later than usual, Lord Alaric." She got up and bowed elegantly.

Alaric looked down at her before nodding with an air of indifference. On the inside, though, he was really happy. Sherry really goes along with my love for the Victorian era. He internally shed tears of joy.

Sherry, in her beautiful, velvet gown stood back up. "'Home', I presume?" "Yes that would be appreciated, Sherry." She nodded and lifted a hand. A blue-green portal opened beside her. She bowed as he and his driver walked through.

What they saw on the other side was a sight to behold. A mountain cliffside with an extravagant villa half embedded into it, the other half free to the fresh air. Lush green meadows surrounded the place on all sides. They were nowhere near any form of civilization. I like it this way. I dont have to deal with anybody all the way out here. Alaric's temporary butler stood outside waiting for him. They walked in silence, the wind a gentle breeze. It was an elegant villa, lit with the warm glow of chandeliers.

It was a place that seemed to have been pulled from the Victorian era, like everything else Alaric has ever owned. Dark wood paneling, rich velvet curtains, ornate furniture, and lavish tapestries adorned the walls. Everything exuded wealth, power, and a touch of eccentricity—just the way Alaric liked it.

Sadly, it was not his. Sigh, if only.

The well-dressed butler walking by his side, bowed slightly, finally choosing to speak. "Mr. Alaric, welcome back. How was your business with Mr. Marlow?"

The servents of this household only call him 'Mr.' as opposed to the 'lord' or 'master' he receives from everyone else he knows. Not that he cares, of course! But this points to only one thing.

There is a lord of this house. A master of this house, and it is not him. It's not a bad thing, per say. But Alaric can't help but weep internally in jealousy at his friends fortune and his horrible misfortune. Even though the older man inherited this house through his family.

That is also the reason Alaric doesn't actually refer to this place as his home. Everybody knows that while he is welcome, nobody actually wants him there.

Alaric waved a dismissive hand, heading toward the grand sitting room. "Oh, you know how it is. A bullet, a potted plant, the usual." He sat down on a plush velvet couch, removing his hat and placing it on the side. "Nothing I couldn't handle, obviously."

The butler raised an eyebrow but said nothing, used to his master's friend's antics. Instead, he handed Alaric a silver tray with a cup of tea. "There is a letter for you, sir. From Kai Chisaki."

Alaric's hand froze mid-reach for the tea. "I'm sorry—who?" His voice cracked slightly, but he quickly masked it with a cough.

"Kai Chisaki, sir," the butler repeated, oblivious to the growing panic on Alaric's face. "He requests a meeting as soon as possible."

Alaric blinked, the tea cup halfway to his lips. He took a sip, trying to calm his nerves, and immediately choked. Tea sputtered everywhere as he coughed violently, nearly falling off the couch.

The butler stood there, stoic as ever, holding out a handkerchief.

This can't be happening. Not Chisaki. Not him of all people. The guy's a psycho! Alaric's thoughts raced as he wiped his mouth and straightened his posture. "When, uh, when did he want to meet?"

"As soon as possible, sir."

Alaric groaned inwardly. Of course, it's ASAP. Why wouldn't it be? He set the cup down, standing up and stretching with a forced grin. "Well then, let's not keep him waiting!" His voice was smooth and calm, but inside, he was anything but. Why do I do this to myself?

The meeting place was dimly lit, in an abandoned warehouse that screamed "shady dealings only." As Alaric stepped inside, he immediately felt the cold, unnerving presence of Kai Chisaki—Overhaul.

Chisaki sat at the far end of the room, wearing his signature plague doctor mask, flanked by his henchmen. His sharp eyes scanned Alaric as the latter approached.

Alaric kept his head high, adjusting his mask and cane. "Overhaul, I presume?" His voice remained level, but his heart hammered against his chest.

Chisaki nodded once, not showing any reaction to Alaric knowing who he is, gesturing for him to sit. "I'm here for information."

Alaric allowed a sly smile to grace his lips. "Of course. What do you want to know?" He took his seat.

As the conversation unfolded, Alaric provided only the bare minimum—little hints of the League of Villains' movements and internal structure. He didn't want to give away anything that would seem suspicious. Like All For One—wait... if it can help the heroes figure out that the ancient man is still, in fact, very alive, then... he doesn't see why he can't just, drop a hint. "Their goals seem chaotic at first glance. Stirring up the underworld, causing mass destruction—there's no pattern on the surface. But… they're gathering forces. The recent recruitments, small as they are, tell me one thing: they're aiming for something much bigger. A game-changer." Chisaki keeps a straight face throughout the whole explanation, making Alaric assume that he already knew all of this and was just confirming it.

Alaric smirks. Time for the mic drop.

"...and there is...of course that man. The very one who makes all of this possible in the first place."

Chisaki's face stiffens before relaxing. "Go on." He urges.

"Oh, you didn't know? I'm not surprised, the man is basically dead by now. And I don't just mean literally but also to the world. What, you didn't just think Shigaraki—young, impulsive, Shigaraki—could do all of what he's achieved so far on his own?"

"It is not much, what he has achieved."

"Yes. Though, while not much, it is still quite a bit for someone of his...personality, to achieve, even with help and guidance. No, they need someone to pull the strings for them. There is someone's pulling the strings for them." They lock eyes for two seconds, Alaric prolonging for dramatic effect. "Say, Chisaki-san...have you ever heard of All For One—"

Chisaki's interest was visibly piqued, but before Alaric could finish, a loud crash echoed through the room.

The doors swung open as Tomura Shigaraki and some of the League entered.

Alaric turned, eyebrows raised beneath his mask. Great, now the circus is in town.

"Who's this?" Shigaraki growled, glaring at Alaric.

Alaric casually adjusted his cane, which was now a gun in disguise. "Just a wonderful friend of dear Chi-Chi here!" He clapped his hands in wonder. Oh no, I can feel dear Chi-Chi glaring at me.

Shigaraki sneered, obviously not happy. He stepped forward, hand outstretched, clearly intending to disintegrate him. But before he could get close, Alaric lifted his cane, pointing it directly at Shigaraki's chest.

There was a click.

"Careful," Alaric warned, his tone playful but serious. "I don't do business with ashes."