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“Anan.” Shouta dropped out of a vent in the teachers lounge, landing on the balls of his feet in front of Thirteen’s desk. They were usually only on campus Tuesdays, Thursdays, and alternate Fridays because of everything they had to do maintaining and operating the USJ. It’d been even longer since they were last on campus due to a conference/training week that had been scheduled at the training ground.
Shouta had been waiting, maybe less than patiently. He had a wager to make, with pride and money on the line. It was important business.
“Aizawa.” Thirteen, out of their costume for the day (it was annoyingly cumbersome for just be-bopping around UA campus, and they weren’t teaching any students that day), stared up at the underground pro, utterly unphased.
Across the room, Hizashi looked up from his book to eye his husband suspiciously for a moment before leaning over to nudge Nemuri’s arm to draw her attention from the essay she was glaring at, red pen clutched in her fingers. Snipe, Higari, Ecto, and Kan all looked up as well, easily able to sense chaos and the calm before the storm.
“You, me, twenty ghost peppers, ten each.” Shouta rattled off. “Last one standing gets two hundred yen.” Anan eyed him for a second, gaze narrowed as they weighed their options. In the background, Hizashi sighed. Not at the immaturity of his husband making this bet (though multiple staff were about to fill in bingo card squares, perhaps even multiple squares), but at the fact that they probably weren’t going to be able to kiss the idiot until the next day.
Hizashi wasn’t opposed to pranks, but did Shouta have to drag him into it like this?
Nemuri knew exactly why the blonde was put out, and had no problem snickering at her friend’s pain. Or Shouta’s pain here in a few minutes when the heat of the peppers really set in. Sometimes the woman really loved her job.
“Where did you even get those?” Ecto asked.
“Trade secret.” Shouta told him without breaking eye contact with his target of choice.
“...can your trade secret get me some of those?” Snipe asked. “I’ve been meanin’ to make some good salsa for a while.”
“Of course.” Shouta agreed easily. Anything for his friends (especially if it meant chaos).
“He’ll have some left over.” Anan smiled, meant for Snipe though they also refused to break eye contact with their challenger. “I bet he can’t get past three. Five hundred yen and bragging rights, and we have a deal, Eraser.”
“You’re on.” Shouta reached out to shake their hand, he was nothing if not a good sport (shh don’t listen to Nemuri, she lies), and the Sanctity of The Bet must be respected at all costs.
Kan pulled out his phone and started recording as Shouta pulled a chair up to the astronaut’s desk. Ecto and Nemuri hit multiple group chats, alerting the masses (the other teachers, the motley crew group chat, and perhaps Izuku, because Nemuri was mean like that). Nemuri pulled up her camera app as peppers were split between two plates Snipe set on the desk between them.
The gunslinger started a countdown, holding an arm out between the two viciously grinning pros as a makeshift barricade until he hit zero. Then he raised his arm straight up in dramatic flair, announcing the start of the contest.
Shouta was an underground pro- the king of the underground even. He’d been half raised by Nedzu, dealt with his idiot friends for years, and adopted the city’s most infamous mystery of a vigilante to boot. There were few tougher than him and his poker face knew no bounds. All that to say, Thirteen was wrong about him not getting past three, though it did take that many for his face to start turning red and him to start sweating. Still, pepper after pepper, the man refused to break.
Except he didn’t account for one thing. Thirteen may look small and sweet compared to him and their hero resume didn’t have underground work on it, but it was no less impressive and they were no slouch when it came to being tough.
They were also a secret spice fiend. They usually preferred spice that had actual flavor and not just pure heat, but they also enjoyed challenging themself to higher and higher heat levels. It wasn’t something that they broadcast, it was mostly just a hobby they indulged in in their free time (or with their sister, who was also a spice fiend), but it came in clutch right now.
Because Shouta didn’t like heat like that; he could eat it, sure, but he thought he was actually challenging one of his colleagues and the astronaut themed hero knew it. By the sixth pepper he was starting to visibly struggle while Thirteen’s demeanor, aside from the body’s usual responses to eating something that level spicy, was cool as a cucumber.
Shouta made it further than they were expecting- halfway into his ninth pepper before he called it quits to the entire room’s (larger population, now that the word had gotten out) delight and glee. Thirteen just smiled sweetly at him as they continued to snack on the rest of their ten peppers, even reaching over to snag Shouta’s last full pepper to really drive the point home while he downed a glass of milk provided by Lunch Rush.
“It’s always fun taking your money, Aizawa.” They chirped, holding their hand out expectantly for the under to drop the agreed upon five hundred yen into. “If you ever want a rematch, let me know.” With that, they stood and sashayed their way out of the teacher’s lounge to their private office, the uproar of nearly every other teacher in the school (fondly) giving Shouta for his loss the best victory music anyone could ever have.