Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I hate teleportation.

One moment, we were listening to Aizawa-sensei's briefing. The next, I was being flung through a swirling black hole of warp space that smelled like wet socks and burnt miso. When my boots hit the cracked pavement of the Ruins Zone, I didn't even get time to steady my stance.

“Watch it, Bakugou!” I barked.

A glint of steel came from above—a villain, springing from the shadows, blade aimed straight for Bakugou’s back.

"Tch—!" I moved on instinct.

My body lunged forward, catching the weapon’s full arc with my side. I felt the heat of impact, the sudden surge of Yin and Yang energies twisting inside me—and then—

Flash.

Pain, light, and then... weird. Something shifted. No, something changed.

The next second, I was crouching on all fours. The villain staggered from my counterattack, stumbling into a pile of rusted girders.

Bakugou whipped around, face twisted in a snarl. “Oi, what the hell was—"

He froze. His crimson eyes widened like someone had just punched him in the brain.

"…The hell?"

My ears twitched. My tail fluffed up involuntarily. I glanced down.

Ah.

Well, that’s... new.

Where there should’ve been the familiar contour of my martial arts uniform hanging off my wiry frame, there was instead an extremely naked blue-haired girl staring back at me. Her chest—not small, by the way—bounced from the sudden movement, utterly unrestrained. My wolf ears laid flat.

“…I see,” I muttered, nodding to myself, adjusting to the new weight distribution. “Transformation effect. Probably a side-effect of overlapping Yin-Yang resonance under stress. Logical.”

“WHY ARE YOU SO CALM ABOUT THIS?!” Bakugou screamed, his face redder than his explosions.

Instead of answering, I raised my palm. Dark mist swirled in my hand, coalescing into a black cloth-like wrap around my chest and briefs that shimmered slightly with Yin energy. Not out of modesty—let's be clear—I needed to keep the center of gravity stable. These things jiggled too much.

I rolled my shoulders. Twenty-six point four percent muscle mass loss. Still within optimal combat range.

“Tch. Focus on the enemies, not the tits,” I said flatly, launching forward into a sliding kick that swept another villain off his feet. “We’re in the middle of a fight.”

“THAT’S EASY FOR YOU TO SAY!!”

Kirishima, who’d landed nearby, blinked once at my transformation—then grinned with a sparkle in his eyes.

“That’s so manly!” he shouted, rushing to my side, hardening his arms with his quirk. “Even transformed, Rin’s still fighting at full throttle!”

“Not a transformation. Just... permanent biological alteration,” I corrected while palm-striking a villain in the solar plexus.

"STILL MANLY!" Kirishima cheered.

I grunted and ducked under a swinging mace, driving a knee into the attacker’s gut. His body folded like a futon.

Bakugou, still exploding with confusion (literally), blasted three incoming villains with a roar.

“WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO YOU?! YOU—YOUR—THOSE—”

“They’re called breasts. Focus, Bakugou.”

“YOU CAN’T JUST SAY THAT SO CASUALLY!”

Another wave of villains charged from behind the rubble, shouting nonsense about how the League would be victorious. I didn’t have time for this. I spun, drawing a blade-shaped illusion from my Yin energy and slashing through their ranks with efficient precision.

I felt lighter, swifter—but also unbalanced. I'd need to rework my center stance if this became permanent. But… if it did? I wouldn’t complain. My body was just a vessel. So long as I could still fight, still protect, nothing else mattered.

“Rin’s still Rin,” I muttered to myself.

Bakugou yelled something about not understanding anything anymore.

Kirishima gave another manly yell and charged beside me like we were in some shounen battle manga.

The chaos of villains, quirks, and confusion swirled around me—but in the center of it all, I stood unshaken.

I adjusted my glasses, tail flicking as I leapt forward again.

“Let’s clean up.”

—————————

The sounds of sirens and distant cleanup faded behind me as we walked the cracked hallways of U.A.'s infirmary. Villains apprehended. Casualties avoided. Mission… if you could even call it that… complete.

My side ached faintly from the initial attack, but most of the damage had already healed thanks to my Yang energy's auto-recovery. Still, Recovery Girl insisted on a formal check-up.

Bakugou was walking ahead of me, fists clenched and jaw locked tighter than a rusted steel trap. Kirishima stayed beside me, his usual cheerful demeanor dampened into a furrowed brow and worried glances.

“…You okay, Rin?” he asked, voice quiet but laced with concern.

“Yes. Vital signs stable. Muscular recalibration… mostly adjusted. Still slightly unbalanced, but manageable with retraining,” I replied, absently flicking my tail.

“You sound like a damn robot,” Bakugou muttered.

“Do I?” I blinked. “I feel fine.”

He whipped around, face twisted in something between horror and confusion. “You turned into a girl and you’re just—fine?!”

“…Yes.”

“That’s not—That’s not how it works, dammit!”

“I still have my quirk. My skills. My path doesn’t change,” I said plainly. “So logically, the body is simply another variable.”

Bakugou stared at me like I’d grown a second head. Kirishima, bless his gentle heart, just gave me a shaky thumbs-up.

Recovery Girl finished her scans and chewed her lollipop with a soft sigh. “Rin-chan… I don’t mean to alarm you, but based on the energy flux and what I’m seeing here—well, this might be a permanent transformation.”

I tilted my head. “Understood.”

“No protest? No panic?” she asked, brow raised.

“None. If this is the new standard, then it’s simply time to train under the new parameters.”

Recovery Girl chuckled. “You’re a strange one.”

Bakugou exploded. “STRANGE?! SHE—SHE JUST—SHE’S GOT—AND SHE’S—AAAAARGH!”

He stormed out of the room, dragging his palms down his face like the world no longer made sense. Kirishima followed him, gently patting his back.

Then, the sound of small mechanical wheels approached.

“Good afternoon, Rin-chan.” Principal Nezu’s voice chirped as he entered, a wrapped package in his paws. “I heard about the… unusual circumstances.”

I gave a respectful nod. “Principal Nezu.”

“I’ve had the school tailor fast-track a new uniform for you.” He handed over a crisp, folded set of the U.A. girls’ uniform. “You may no longer fit into your previous set. Regulations and all.”

“Understood. Rules are rules,” I replied, accepting it with both hands.

The fabric was soft, lighter than the boys’ version. The skirt felt impractical for combat, but I would compensate. Adaptation was key.

Bakugou was waiting near the exit, arms crossed and foot tapping, while Kirishima tried to talk him down from yet another meltdown.

As I adjusted the new uniform and stepped out, their reactions were… noticeable.

Bakugou’s eyes locked on me, widened, then darted away with a frustrated grunt.

“You look good!” Kirishima beamed. “I mean, not like that! I mean—uh—it suits you! In a cool way!”

I gave a small nod. “Thank you.”

Then, I clapped my hands together.

“Bakugou. Kirishima. Come to my home.”

They both blinked.

“Hah?! Why would I do that?!” Bakugou growled.

“You escorted me safely. That is an act of honor. I will repay it.”

“I don’t need repayment—”

“I insist,” I cut him off. “Declining would be disrespectful.”

He growled again, sparks lighting between his palms. “Tch… Damn wolf…”

“I’ll come!” Kirishima said cheerfully. “I’ve always wondered what your place is like!”

Bakugou sighed like a man defeated by the universe. “…Fine. But only ‘cause you’d probably stalk me otherwise.”

“I would simply send you seventeen reminder texts,” I replied honestly.

Kirishima laughed. Bakugou groaned.

And so, with the ashes of the USJ Incident behind us and the chaos barely beginning to settle, we left the school grounds together. I, now in a new body, with my wolf ears flicking from the soft breeze and a tail swaying against the hem of my skirt, led the way home.

—————————

We arrived at my home at exactly 15:30.

The sun was warm, the spring breeze carried the scent of blooming plums, and the wooden gate creaked familiarly as I pushed it open. The house stood as it always had—a proud blend of Chinese siheyuan symmetry and Japanese minka simplicity. The courtyard stones were still damp from the morning rain, and the distant clack of wind chimes whispered through the air.

Kirishima looked around in awe. “Whoa… your place is amazing! It’s like… stepping into a kung fu movie!”

Bakugou gave a low whistle before catching himself and immediately scowling. “Tch. It’s just… big.”

“Thank you. It’s home.”

The moment we stepped through the engawa, the front door slammed open.

“Riiiiin!” came the sing-song voice of my mother, Hana Loong.

In less than a second, a tall, graceful woman with long jet-black curls, wearing a designer blouse and sunglasses perched on her head, glided toward us like a supermodel on a runway—because she literally was one.

Then her amber eyes locked onto me—and widened.

“Eh? Oh my god, Rin-chan… is that you?!”

She was already circling me, eyes glittering, hands hovering near my cheeks.

“You’re so pretty now! So pretty! Like me when I was seventeen! No—maybe even cuter?! Kyaaah~!”

“…Transformation due to energy flux,” I said flatly. “Unavoidable. Temporary or permanent unknown. Assessment ongoing.”

My tail flicked once behind me, but I kept my face still.

Mom didn’t seem to care about any of that.

“Oh, this is perfect! Just perfect! I’ve always said you got your cheekbones from me, but now your whole face—mwah! It’s totally model material! We are going straight to the studio—no arguments!”

“No,” I said firmly.

“Ehhhh? Why not?”

“I need to train. And maintain my weapons. I am imbalanced now. Focus is critical.”

“But Rin-chaaaan~! Just one little photoshoot? For Mother’s Day? Hmm?”

“No.”

Mom pouted, hands on hips. “You’re no fun. At least let me take a few selfies for my followers. You’d look amazing in the spring collection.”

I remained silent.

Then her gaze snapped to my guests for the first time. “Oh! You brought friends?”

She brightened even more, which I did not know was possible.

Kirishima gave a polite bow. “Ah, good afternoon, ma’am! I’m Eijiro Kirishima!”

“Bakugou Katsuki,” the other muttered, scratching the back of his neck.

Her expression shifted slightly at the name. “Bakugou… hmm. Bakugou?”

She narrowed her eyes behind her designer glasses, leaned in close.

“You wouldn’t happen to be related to Masaru Bakugou, would you?”

Bakugou blinked. “That’s my old man.”

“Oh my god! I knew it! He used to do scent and accessory branding for one of our fragrance lines back in the day! Real creative type—glasses, skinny, soft smile? You’re… very different from him.”

“…Tch,” Bakugou growled, cheeks flushing ever so slightly.

“Not in a bad way!” Mom laughed. “You’ve got your own style! Real grr, you know?”

I gently inserted myself between them before my mother could start comparing muscle mass or cheekbones. “Mother. I will prepare tea. Please do not scare them.”

She winked. “No promises~”

After guiding Bakugou and Kirishima to the central sitting room with tatami floors and a low lacquered table, I handed them both cold barley tea and excused myself to help in the kitchen.

The familiar rhythm calmed me.

Water boiling. Knife against board. The scent of rice steaming. I began slicing lotus root while our housekeeper chopped spring onions nearby. Mom had already vanished upstairs—probably to dig out baby photos for blackmail purposes. I would intercept her if necessary.

From the kitchen doorway, I could hear Kirishima and Bakugou talking.

“Dude, your mom’s a riot,” Kirishima laughed.

“She’s nuts,” Bakugou muttered.

“She said you looked grr,” Kirishima teased.

“SHUT UP.”

I focused on the soup stock.

Yes… everything was still the same, even if my body had changed.

My home was steady. My blades were sharp. My training would resume tomorrow.

Balance could be regained.

And tonight… there would be dinner.

—————————

After dinner preparation, I changed into my training clothes. I have to get use to this new body soon, so training is in order,
The baggy black pants fit as they always did, but the upper body…

After a few punches and quick session with my wooden dummy, I frowned slightly.

It was inefficient to leave things flopping about.
The solution was simple: I wrapped my chest firmly with sarashi, making sure it was tight enough to avoid hindrance but loose enough not to restrict breathing.

After securing the final knot on the sarashi, I stood before the full-length mirror leaning against my wall.
The girl reflected back at me — royal blue hair tied neatly into a high ponytail, wolf ears twitching lightly atop my head, deep blue eyes staring with unwavering focus.

A small breath escaped my lips.
No hesitation. No fear. Just... unfamiliarity.

I shifted my weight, lowering into Horse Stance, legs spread wide, thighs burning slightly as I sank deeper. My hands moved naturally into a guarding position, fingers curled like the claws of a wolf ready to strike.

"Focus," I muttered under my breath. My own voice sounded a little lighter now — a subtle change — but it didn’t bother me.

From Horse Stance, I smoothly transitioned into Bow Stance, my left foot stepping forward, body aligning. My movements had always been sharp and precise, but now there was a new sensation — a slight shift in center of gravity, an unfamiliar sway in the chest area despite the sarashi.

A flicker of frustration crossed my expression, but I tightened my core, adjusted, and flowed into Cat Stance.
Light. Ready to pounce.
I could hear the faint rustle of the fabric, the beat of my own heart, the softness of my own breathing.
Everything was amplified — and somehow, it felt more alive than before.

I narrowed my eyes, pivoting swiftly into Rest Step Stance. One foot lightly kissing the floor, weight coiled in the other leg, ready for evasion or a sudden counterattack.
The world blurred at the edges — just me and the silent rhythm of my body.

Finally, I rose onto one leg, lifting my arms into Crane Stance.
Balance. Stillness. Sharpness. It was soon interrupted.

“Nii-chaaaaaaan!”

The voice pierced the quiet like a flashbang.

Then—

THUD.

“—Oof.”

Small arms wrapped around my waist like a missile made of glitter and sugar. I staggered back half a step, instinctively grounding my weight before I toppled over. The fluff of pigtails buried itself against my bare, sarashi-bound stomach.

“Natsumi,” I murmured, lowering my leg slowly from Crane Stance.

“I missed you sooo much! I heard there was an incident at school and Mom said something weird happened and I was like, ‘Is Onii-chan okay?!’ and then Koko wouldn’t tell me and I was—eeehhh?!”

She finally pulled back and looked up at me.

Big brown eyes.

Pause.

The spark of realization struck her like lightning.

Her jaw dropped.

Her mouth formed a perfect “O.”

“...You’re so pretty now!” she squealed, bouncing in place. “Onii-chan! You’re even more of an onee-chan!”

“…I suppose,” I replied, stoically patting her head. My tail gave a slight wag despite my composure. “No injuries. Transformation is manageable.”

She puffed her cheeks. “That’s not the point! You look like a cool kung fu princess now!”

Before I could respond, the front door opened again with a much softer creak this time.

“Rin-nii… I’m back.”

Kokoro stepped in, his book bag hanging off one shoulder, hair slightly damp with sweat—probably from rushing home. He had two classmates in tow: one boy with glasses and a neatly ironed blazer, the other a cheerful-looking girl with her hair in a side ponytail.

Kokoro froze in the entryway.

His friends looked past him, saw me.

I was still in my black baggy training pants. My upper body was clad only in a tightly wrapped white sarashi. Beads of sweat glistened across my collarbone. My high ponytail swayed with every subtle movement. Wolf ears twitched atop my head, and the low flick of my tail probably didn’t help.

“…Ah,” I said.

Kokoro went stiff.

His classmate with glasses turned the color of tomato soup. The girl covered her mouth with both hands and whispered, “Wah… she’s like a character from a martial arts dating sim…”

Kokoro turned to them with growing horror. “This—this is normal! I swear! This is normal training gear! She’s not… not weird or anything!”

I blinked slowly. “Why would it be weird? It’s efficient. Flexible. Heat-regulating. No interference during evasive maneuvers.”

“Y-Yeah,” Kokoro stammered, “but not in front of guests…!”

The other boy coughed awkwardly. “N-No, it’s, um… very dedicated. S-strong martial arts spirit.”

Natsumi tugged on my hand with a giggle. “She always looks like this when she’s training. Don’t worry! If you see her spin-kick the roof tile off the dojo, then you can panic.”

Kokoro dragged a hand down his face, visibly dying inside. “Why today…”

“Want me to wear something else?” I offered.

He looked up in a panic. “No! I mean—yes! I mean—please put on a shirt before you roundhouse kick someone unconscious by accident again!”

“…Understood.”

I picked up the training robe hanging nearby and slipped it on without another word. As I tied it around my waist, the boy with glasses actually sighed in relief. The girl mumbled something about “mysterious senpai vibes,” and I pretended not to hear it.

Kokoro ushered his friends toward the tea room, muttering embarrassed apologies the whole way.

Natsumi giggled again and whispered, “Nii-chan, you’re super popular now~!”

“…I’ve always been popular. Among knives.”

She didn’t stop laughing.

As the door to the dojo slid closed behind me, I exhaled softly and returned to my training stance. My balance had improved slightly. The sarashi held firm. The center of gravity was shifting—not perfectly aligned yet, but I would adjust.

—————————

Dinner time arrived like a stampede of footsteps and voices. The long dining hall, built to seat more than twenty, was filled with the scent of grilled meats, roasted peanuts, spices, and steamed rice. The air buzzed with chatter, the clink of porcelain, and the laughter of younger cousins weaving in and out of the crowd. Guests from nearby homes—fellow martial artists, disciples of the dojo, and a few old family friends—had trickled in too, uninvited but welcome as always. This was normal in our house. Chaotic. Loud. But filled with warmth.

I moved quietly among the people, setting down plates and chopsticks, slipping between seats like a shadow. My tail flicked absently behind me.

“Your tail’s wagging a lot tonight,” Mom noted from the side, her sharp eyes catching everything even as she ladled curry into a massive clay pot.

“...No, it doesn’t,” I replied flatly.

“It does,” she smiled knowingly, wiping her hands on a towel. “That’s good. You’ve always been so quiet, Rin, but now…” She glanced around the table—at Kirishima laughing with Natsumi, at Bakugou grumbling while pouring tea with one eye on the curry pot. “I’m glad you’ve made friends. You had none back in Junior High, remember? Poor thing. Everyone either hated or envied you.”

My tail and ears dropped at once, like a puppet’s strings had been cut.

“…I never understood why they were angry,” I murmured, the memory drifting in like a storm cloud. “I didn’t even do anything.”

“You were too perfect,” Mom shrugged, planting a kiss on my head between my ears. “People fear what they admire but can’t match.”

Before I could reply, Kokoro marched past like a mini-general and shoved a steaming beef satay skewer into my hand.

“Eat, Rin-nee,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”

My tail shot straight up again. So did my ears.

“…Mn.”

The smoky, charred flavor hit my tongue with a burst of lemongrass and chili. I savored it.

Everyone began taking their seats. Kirishima and Bakugou flanked me like sturdy red-and-blond bookends. Kokoro sat directly across from me, his cheeks stuffed with rice already, while his two classmates—Kaito and Ririka—sandwiched him, gawking at me with wide, sparkly eyes.

Why are they so eager to sit across from me? I’m not special. I’m just Rin. I chew my food and train and maintain my blades. That’s all.

Natsumi plopped herself next to Kirishima with a determined little “hmph,” clearly avoiding Bakugou’s seat like it was a cursed object.

Kirishima noticed and smiled brightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect ya, little lady!”

“You’re so nice and sparkly, Kiri-nii!” she beamed.

Mom sat near the head of the table, on the right side of the main seat—Dad’s seat. She clapped twice. “Alright everyone, dig in before the sambal cools!”

The spice war began shortly after.

Bakugou reached for the devil sambal belacan the moment I spooned it generously over my rice and beef rendang.

“You into spicy too, huh?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I said between bites. “Spice enhances the soul.”

“Tch. Finally, someone who gets it. Everyone else I know’s a weakling when it comes to heat.”

But then he took a heaping spoonful and—

“…Hff—!” His eyes widened just a fraction. Not enough for a normal person to notice.

I did.

“You okay?” I asked.

“YEAH, I’M FINE, SHUT UP,” he barked, grabbing a glass of water in the least subtle way possible.

I blinked, calmly took another spicy bite, and added a few drops of ghost chili oil.

“Bakugou-nii,” Kokoro said helpfully, “you don’t have to compete with my sister. She was born eating chili crab.”

“I’M NOT COMPETING.”

“You are,” I said.

“I’M NOT—!”

He hacked, wheezed, then swallowed.

“…Hah. Just keep watching. I’ll beat you at your own spice game, wolf girl.”

Ah, I see. This is how Bakugou expresses friendship. Through suffering and war declarations.

Acceptable.

I nodded, “Understood. Then I’ll enjoy my food at my own pace.”

The door suddenly burst open.

“我回来了!” (I’m back!) a familiar deep voice called.

Dad stepped in wearing his hero coat draped over one shoulder, the kanji “龙风”(Dragon Gale) glowing faintly against the fabric. But his strong stride faltered the moment he caught sight of me.

He blinked once. Twice.

Then—

“哎呀，我的祖宗咧……!”(HAIYA! MY ANCESTORSSSSS!!!!)

He grabbed the back of a chair and nearly collapsed.

Mom rushed over, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t faint, dear. She’s fine. Stronger than ever.”

“But—but—but—my bloodline! The Namikaze legacy! My son!”

“Still here,” I replied.

He blinked at me, tears welling in his eyes. “I had such hopes… for a male heir… joss paper, incense, lion dance legacy…”

“You still have Kokoro,” I offered.

“But you were the best!!”

Before he could spiral further, the second figure stepped in.

“Yo~ Rin! I brought snacks—HOLY CRAP.”

Auntie Rumi—Mirko, Japan’s No. 5 Pro Hero—froze, one ear twitching in disbelief.

She looked me up and down once, then burst into laughter. “BWAHAHAHA! No way! You actually changed genders!? Girl, you look amazing!”

“…Why is that funny?” I asked.

Rumi slung an arm around me, grin still wide. “Because now you can do girl power ass-kicking! C’mon, it’s way cooler.”

“…But I was a boy. Can it still count as girl power?”

She blinked.

“…Heck yeah it does. You got the boobs now, the vibe, the power. You’ll be flipping jerks in the air and giving empowerment speeches by next week. Trust me.”

“…I don’t know any speeches.”

“We’ll work on that.”

I nodded slowly.

But a question lingered in my mind.

Do girls… have unique powers in battle? Special energy that flows differently?

It was unfamiliar.

And therefore, it was something I needed to understand.

I would train. I would learn. I would discover this "girl power" Auntie Rumi spoke of.

But first—another satay skewer.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

I stood in front of the mirror, straightening my new U.A. uniform.

The skirt didn’t feel strange. Not because I was used to it, but because I had already accepted what happened. No hesitation. No fear. Just practicality.

My undergarments were crafted entirely of Yin-energy: a smooth sarashi across my chest and matching briefs. Durable. Breathable. Efficient. The muscle loss from the USJ incident had thrown off my internal balance slightly, but the sarashi helped. Left unchecked, things bounced and swayed too much — it disrupted my center of gravity during swift directional changes.

Mom fussed beside me, her hands holding up a pair of glossy black thigh-highs like a prized accessory. “Rin~! These would go perfectly with your look. Fashionable and fierce!”

“…They impair leg movement,” I replied without looking at her.

“Not if you wear the stretchy kind! Come on, just once—”

“No.”

She pouted but let it go.

I ignored the stockings and slipped into my favorite pair of sneakers instead — light, responsive, easy to move in. If I had the choice, I wouldn’t wear shoes at all. But U.A. had rules. Uniform standards. Society had expectations.

…Not that I ever really cared about those.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed the door to my room open just a crack — a tiny pair of hands gripping the edge.

“…Natsumi.”

She squeaked and ducked behind the wall, but I could see her ears twitching.

Slowly, she peeked in again, eyes sparkling like stars as she stared at me. “Rin-nee... you look sooo pretty…”

“…Mn.”

“I want to be like you when I grow up!”

“…Which part?” I blinked, genuinely confused. “The martial discipline? Control of inner energy? Weapon mastery?”

She giggled. “Nooo~! I wanna be cool and tall and elegant with shiny hair and scary eyes that make bad people go ‘eep’!”

I tilted my head slightly. “…That doesn’t sound efficient.”

“It’s awesome!!” she cheered, then disappeared down the hall with a squeal of admiration.

I finished tying my ponytail.

The mirror reflected a girl with royal blue hair, deep blue eyes, and a stoic expression. Wolf ears perked up. Tail still. My presence didn’t feel much different. I was still Rin Namikaze. Just… slightly shifted.

Downstairs, the scent of grilled fish, garlic chive omelets, and soy-sauce glazed tofu filled the house.

By the time I arrived in the dining hall, the trio of girls — Mom, Natsumi, and Auntie Rumi (who stayed the night after declaring she was “too hyped to leave”) — were already chatting loudly around the table.

Kokoro stood near the stove, just finishing the plating. He wore a simple apron over his uniform shirt, his hair neatly brushed, dark bags under his eyes.

“Breakfast is ready,” he announced, placing the final dish on the table with careful precision.

I sat beside him. “Thank you, Kokoro.”

He flinched a little. “Mn.”

His gaze flicked to me. And then away. There was something… subtle, something restrained about the way he held his shoulders. I had seen that posture before — from young martial artists pushed too far too fast.

He hadn’t said it aloud, but I could feel it in the silence.

Now that I was officially a girl, he was the only son. The only male child in a traditional, culturally steeped family. One with legacy. Expectations. Comparisons.

…I didn’t understand it fully. But I remembered the way others used to speak to him in the past. “You’re Rin’s little brother? Must be tough.” Or worse, “Bet your sister helps you with everything, huh?”

Kokoro never wanted to be a hero. His eyes lit up when he spoke about myths, dynasties, and old manuscripts. He wanted to be a History and Culture teacher.

I wondered if Mom and Dad realized how heavy that weight must feel.

I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t good with words. But I made a quiet mental note to walk him to school later.

At least once.

—————————

I arrived at school twenty-three minutes early. The corridor was still half-lit, the morning sun barely peeking through the windows. I liked it like this—silent, still, and empty. It gave me time to center my thoughts. Training, lessons, weapon maintenance schedule… everything followed a strict routine.

The classroom door slid open with a soft click.

I stepped inside, took my usual seat by the window, and waited.

Eventually, the other students trickled in—but not in their usual patterns. The girls were first to arrive in a pack… and they didn’t just walk in.

They stormed in.

"Whoa, did we walk into the wrong class…?" Ashido-san blinked.

"No, look, it's Rin-kun—wait, Rin-chan!?" Hagakure-san squealed, half-visible.

In an instant, I was surrounded.

Ashido’s golden eyes sparkled as she circled me like a hawk. “Is this real!? You’re so pretty now! Wait, your skin is flawless! What’s your secret?!”

“I... wash?” I replied plainly.

“And that hair!” Hagakure gasped. “It’s like, shimmering sapphires in the sun!”

I blinked. “I only tied it up as usual.”

The two of them made noises of appreciation, something about “girls’ time” and “makeovers,” but I must’ve tuned out halfway. My mind wandered to polishing the twin blades I had finished forging last night. I needed to adjust their grip balance.

“…Rin-san, are you feeling well?”

Yaoyorozu-san had approached silently with a steaming teacup. “Your body’s gone through something extraordinary. If there’s any pain or discomfort, I can recommend a good doctor or herbalist.”

I took the tea with a bow. The scent was elegant—Golden Tip Emperium.

“Thank you. I am healthy,” I said. “My only concern is adapting to the new center of gravity.”

“That's very… you,” she smiled softly.

Jirou-san was sitting on her desk nearby, pretending not to listen. But I noticed her glance at my chest once, then look away with a slight frown.

Was she… comparing?

She suddenly plugged her jacks into her desk and turned up her music.

Asui-san bounced lightly beside me, her tongue flicking once.

“Rin-chan, repeat after me,” she said with a playful croak.

“…What for?”

“Just do it. Say: ‘Tsu.’”

“…Tsu.”

“‘Yu.’”

“Yu.”

“‘Chan.’”

“…Chan.”

“Now say it all together: Tsuyu-chan!”

“…Asui-san.”

Her shoulders dropped. “Ribbit. So close…”

Then Uraraka came bouncing over.

“Rin-chan, you’re soooo cute now!”

I tilted my head. “You used to call me Rin-kun.”

“Y-Yeah, but you’re a girl now, so—”

“I didn’t change that much.”

She blinked. “Huh?”

I looked down at myself, then back at her.

“…My appetite, routine, and philosophy are unchanged.”

She sweatdropped. “That’s… not what I meant…”

—————————

Homeroom began with Aizawa-sensei shuffling in, cocooned in his capture scarf and dark aura as usual.

“I have an announcement regarding a student’s condition,” he muttered, sipping coffee with dead eyes. “Due to a quirk incident during USJ, Namikaze Rin’s gender has been… altered. Permanently. This is official. Everyone is to treat her accordingly.”

A few gasps. Some whispers.

“…This is unnecessary,” I said.

“It’s procedure,” he replied.

“I don’t understand. Why must I be treated differently? I am still me.”

“You are. But public schools are full of idiots.”

…Fair.

Mineta-san leaned toward Kaminari-san and whispered a little too loudly. “Bro. Rin looks like a deluxe model of his mom! I’m telling you, if she was on a magazine cover with those ears and that tail—”

“I KNOW RIGHT? I’d pay just to see a—”

BANG.

My hand moved before I could think. A palm strike sent Mineta flying across the room with a squeak. Kaminari barely had time to blink before my roundhouse caught him mid-sentence.

CRACK.

“OW—WHAT THE—!?”

Bakugou was also mid-lunge, but pulled back when he saw Kaminari spiraling into a desk.

“Tch. Should’ve let me do that,” he grunted.

“…You were about to,” I said, brushing my skirt down.

“Yeah, but you’re too damn fast, stupid wolf girl. And tighten that skirt. It's flying like a flag.”

I looked down. True. Slight breeze. I adjusted it.

“…Why did I strike them?” I asked, more to myself.

“They were ogling you,” Jirou-san said simply, arms crossed, nodding approvingly.

“But… that’s normal boy behavior, isn’t it?”

“They’re not just ‘boys’ now,” Tsuyu said calmly, sipping her juice. “They’re ‘idiots.’”

Bakugou snorted. “Welcome to girlhood, dense mutt.”

I looked down at my palm, still faintly tingling from the impact.

…Was this… “girl power”?

—————————

The morning classes passed with the smoothness of a sharpened blade through silk.

Math, hero theory, English... all manageable. I was able to follow along while taking note of the new gravitational balance my transformed body imposed during desk time. Sitting now required a different sort of poise. My tail needed to coil into the hollow groove of the chair to prevent numbness. My posture, previously rigid and militant, was now slightly adjusted—my back straighter to account for the newly gained weight on my chest.

I hadn't noticed until Jirou-san jabbed me with her earjack mid-class and whispered, “You're slouching. It'll hurt your back.”

“…Ah.”

I corrected it immediately.

By the time the bell rang for lunch, my body was vibrating with hunger.

We gathered at our usual corner of the cafeteria—Kirishima-kun, Bakugou-kun, Ashido-san, Hagakure-san, and Sero-san. The table was lively with conversation, trays clacking and laughter bouncing across the polished walls of U.A.'s mess hall.

I sat down with my fifth tray of spicy beef ramen, chopsticks already poised.

"Yo, Rin! You really went all out again, huh?" Sero whistled.

"That’s her fifth serving," Kirishima added, blinking. "Is that normal for you, bro—I mean, sis? Uh, what do we call you now?"

"Rin," I replied simply. “I must replenish lost muscle. I’ve lost approximately 26.4% of my total mass since the transformation. Recovery begins with nutrients.”

“Twenty-six point four percent? You measured that!?”Ashido leaned closer, eyes wide.

“Of course. I calibrated my strikes this morning and found an inconsistency in kinetic delivery speed. Further tests confirmed it.”

“...You scare me sometimes,” she muttered.

From the table behind me, I heard a firm clearing of the throat—Ahem!

“Rin-kun!” Iida-san boomed, his glasses flashing like twin headlights. “You are in violation of school attire protocol!”

I blinked. “Which part?”

“Your shirt—your sleeves are rolled, and you’ve unbuttoned your top collar! This sets a poor example and could lead to unnecessary misunderstandings in a coeducational environment!”

I tilted my head.

“I am consuming spicy food. The spice elevates my body temperature, increasing sweat output. This is a necessary ventilation measure. If left unchecked, my body may—”

“Rules exist for a reason!” Iida retorted, chopping the air.

“Here, lemme fix that. You gotta leave at least the top button done if you don’t wanna attract stares.”Ashido-san giggled and scooted over, her hands already moving.

“Yeah, yeah! Us girls gotta watch each other’s backs now, Rin-chan!”Hagakure nodded enthusiastically next to her.

“I see…” I paused and allowed Ashido to button the collar carefully. “Girls have greater experience with female etiquette. Very well. I will follow your guidance.”

I sipped the ramen broth quietly, feeling the fire slither down my throat. Perfectly balanced. Not hot enough to make me cry, but enough to keep the wolf in me alert and sharp. I tilted my head toward the girls at the table beside ours.

“I have a question,” I said between bites.

Ashido and Hagakure looked up mid-conversation.

“Regarding female etiquette,” I continued, “Is it appropriate for me to wear sarashi instead of a bra on a daily basis?”

Both girls froze.

“Sarashi?” Ashido repeated, blinking.

“Yeah, like bandages?” Hagakure tilted her head. “Isn’t that kinda… old-school?”

“My mother said it maintains posture and offers protection. I also find it easier to train with.”

“Well… it’s technically okay, I guess,” Ashido said, tapping her chin. “But if you're doing it long-term, you might wanna get some actual support. You do have curves now.”

Hagakure nodded, even though I could only see the bobbing of her sleeve. “Especially if you do high kicks a lot. One wardrobe malfunction and it’s game over!”

“…Wardrobe malfunction?” I repeated. “That sounds fatal.”

“Not that kind of fatal,” Ashido laughed. “Just… reputationally.”

“Hmm.” I nodded. “I will consider reinforced bindings.”

Hagakure beamed. “There’s the spirit!”

Unbeknownst to me, a shadow had been slithering nearby.

Mineta.

He was at the far end of the table, hiding behind his lunch tray, though his chopsticks hadn’t moved. His eyes were locked on me, glazed with something unnatural—obsessive. His breathing was shallow. His face flushed. Drool slid slowly down the corner of his lip.

He was trying to look under my skirt. Again.

I did not notice. Why would I? Mineta was not a threat. Not even a speck of concern in the grand battlefield of my mind. My focus was on ramen, protein intake, and training logistics.

But someone else noticed.

Bakugou’s chopsticks snapped mid-bite. He stood up slowly.

Without a word.

Without any warning.

BOOM.

When I looked up, Mineta was no longer at the table. There was a trail of smoke and a faint cry in the distance. He would not be returning to class for the rest of the day.

“…Was there a threat just now?” I asked.

Bakugou scoffed, folding his arms. “Yeah. Took care of it. You're welcome, dense mutt.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely, and resumed eating.

Lunch Rush’s food was as immaculate as always. The noodles had perfect texture and heat. The beef slices were soaked in spice-laced broth, tender enough to pull apart with a single bite. This was my fifth bowl—and I was only just approaching satiation.

Ashido and Hagakure were now watching me eat in awe, their conversation paused as I inhaled another mouthful of chili-slathered beef.

“Is she human…?” Hagakure whispered.

“How are you not exploding from all that food?” Ashido asked.

“I have lost mass. I must restore it. Increased food intake supports that. Besides, Malaysian people eat spicy food as a baseline. This is standard.”

“...But you’re gonna get so thick if you keep eating like that,” Ashido said, poking her own cheek.

“I require mass to regain muscle definition. Subcutaneous fat is temporary.”

They both looked at me like I had just delivered a PhD thesis during lunch break.

“Okay,” Ashido said slowly, “I think Rin-chan is still Rin-kun after all…”

“Just with better skin and fluffier ears,” Hagakure giggled.

I twitched an ear. “Fluffy?”

They nodded.

“…I need more broth,” I declared, standing up with my tray.

Somehow, this was going to be an interesting semester.

TO BE CONTINUED

------------------------

Rin in her new UA Uniform

Chapter Text

My arms were outstretched in a T-pose.

Not for training.

Not for a kata.

But for Hatsume Mei.

“Ohhh~! This is so exciting! Rin-chan, stand still! I need to get the exact measurements of your pelvic line—! Don’t clench your core too much! Natural posture, natural!”

“I am not clenching. This is my normal state.”

She circled around me like a predator inventor, tape measure in one hand, holographic sketch pad strapped to the other arm, and a pair of crimson goggles blinking wildly as she scanned my body from every angle. My tail stiffened slightly—her intense enthusiasm was causing mild discomfort. The room smelled faintly of oil, solder, and ozone. Engineering lab. Mechanical sanctum.

“I feel like a mannequin,” I commented.

“You’re better than a mannequin,” Hatsume-san beamed. “You’re a living, breathing, wolf-themed data point! You’ve got flexibility, speed, and—ooh, did you know your femur to shin ratio is almost identical to a cheetah’s? Very optimized for kicking!”

I blinked. “That explains a lot.”

We were in the U.A. Development Studio, where Mei Hatsume did her eccentric miracles and explosive failures. She had been summoned to help me with a serious matter: my costume. Or more precisely, my lack of one. The old uniform—a traditional male martial artist’s top and loose hakama-style pants—no longer fit properly. The proportions were off. It tugged at the wrong places. My hips had changed, and so had my center of balance. Everything felt slightly... disjointed. Impractical.

“I want something practical,” I told her earlier. “Mobility-focused. Chinese style. Reinforced around the legs for kicking. No extra accessories. No flash.”

“You wound me,” she gasped, dramatically placing a hand on her goggle lens. “No flash?! This is your hero look, Rin-chan! Your brand! Your battlefield expression!”

“I don’t need expression. I need results.”

Mei grinned.

“Then we’ll experiment our way into results! First—prototype one!”

She pressed a button. The nearby mannequin twisted on its platform, and metal panels opened from the walls. Arms extended, clamping something onto the stand—

“...What is that?”

“It’s functional!” she cried.

It was not functional.

Prototype One was a glowing, pink-trimmed qipao-meets-bodysuit abomination with jet-propelled kneepads and a mini air-compression tank strapped to the lower back.

“Explain the air tank.”

“Boosts jump force! Adds verticality!”

“Unnecessary. My quirk handles that.”

“Next one!”

Prototype Two: black and red sleek armor plating over a tight, high-collared crop top. Short shorts. My eye twitched.

“I wear no legwear for mobility, but this... is excessive in the other direction.”

“Style meets function!”

“The fabric cuts into the hip joint. That’ll limit rotation. Also, my tail has no opening.”

“Oops. Next one!”

Prototype Three resembled a hybrid kung fu robe with carbon-fiber sleeves and long draping sashes that extended from the elbows. She excitedly pulled on one, demonstrating how it could whip around like a chain.

“Cool right? Weighted ribbons!”

“…They will snag in close quarters.”

“Not if you learn to control the flow like a dancer!”

“I’m not a dancer. I am a martial artist.”

“Next next next!”

We kept going.

Prototype Four had detachable shoulder drones for no reason.

Prototype Five had a wolf-shaped helmet with a voice modulator (“You can sound like a beast in battle!”).

Prototype Six looked promising. Black kung fu top, modern fabric, reinforced high-collar. Long coat design. Pants were snug around the upper thigh for flexibility and loosened near the knees for kicks. Lightweight kneepads integrated into the inner lining.

Then—

“You added a giant glowing sash with my name in neon kanji across the back?”

“Branding!”

“No.”

Hatsume spun her tablet with a flourish. “Look, Rin-chan. You want Chinese style. You want no fluff. But also—this is a hero costume. It has to say something. It’s part of you! Your first impression in a real battle. Don’t you want to look cool?”

“I want to win.”

“But coolness is part of victory! The morale! The flair! The camera angles!”

“…Camera angles are not part of my combat routine.”

Mei pouted. “Fine, fine. But I’m not giving up. We’ll keep testing fabrics, adjusting the leg reinforcements, and fine-tuning your tail slot.”

“That last part sounds strange.”

“You’ll thank me later. Oh! Also—built-in sweat vents for heat management during spicy food battles!”

“…Noted.”

By the time I left the lab, I had eight prototypes rejected, three in active revision, and one that accidentally caught fire because the tail slot connected to a thermal exhaust vent.

Progress.

Trial and error.

No end result yet… but Mei was energized, her laughter echoing behind me as I stepped out with measurements completed, hopeful blueprints saved, and an increasing appreciation for designers.

…I still don’t understand fashion, but perhaps design is a kind of martial art too.

One where explosions are acceptable.

—————————

The next day, I headed back toward the Development Studio, fully expecting another few rounds of trial and error with Hatsume-san. I did not expect an entourage.

“You really got that freak to redesign your costume?” Bakugou growled beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes twitching with suspicion. “What kind of trash did she put you in this time, huh? I bet it's got like ten boosters and a rocket launcher stuck to your tail.”

“Is this… concern?”I blinked, tilting my head at him.

“Hell no! You’re just gonna embarrass 1-A again wearing some weird martial arts pajamas.”

“I see… This is how you show care,” I nodded in understanding. “Thank you, Bakugou-kun.”

“I’M NOT YOUR FRIEND.”

“But… you came to dinner two days ago.”

“That was because you guilted me into it and your spicy food was acceptable, got it?!”He twitched.

“Man, you two are always a riot. But seriously, I wanna see this costume, Rin! If you’re getting a new look, it’s gotta be manly—uh, I mean… awesome! Not, like… excessive, y’know?”Kirishima laughed behind us, slapping his own shoulder.

“I asked for something simple. Functional. Martial.”

When we arrived at the lab, Hatsume-san was already bouncing in place with goggles on her forehead and both hands waving us in like a hyperactive flight controller.

“Welcome, welcome! Rin-chan, I finalized the design! You are gonna LOVE it—heck, I wanna marry you after this one! Maybe make a few babies—robot babies, obviously, but still!”

“…Marry me?” I echoed.

“Ignore her!” Bakugou shouted. “She always talks like this!”

“Does she?” I asked. “She seems very committed.”

“Just change already!”

“Okay.”

I did as told.

Right there.

Bakugou's eyes widened. Kirishima choked on air. Hatsume blinked once. Then grinned.

“Wait—WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” both boys yelled in unison.

“I’m putting on my hero costume.”

“YOU’RE STRIPPING NAKED IN FRONT OF US!”

“I still have undergarments. Sarashi and briefs.”

“THAT DOESN’T—?!”

I stepped into the new outfit piece by piece, calmly and precisely.

First came the deep royal blue base: a high-collared, sleeveless combat dress with twin slits running from my hips to just above my knees. The chest window was modest yet prominent—a diamond shape revealing just a bit of skin, no more than a summer sparring outfit would show. The golden accents curled like stylized clouds across the fabric edges, elegant yet minimalistic. The dress draped in light fabric, split at the sides like a twin-tailed flag.

Then came the toeless, thigh-high leggings—seamless, breathable, and perfectly snug. I felt the air on my soles. Freedom.

Finally, the anklets.

Gold, embossed, and light as a feather—but dense enough to carry momentum. As I clipped them around my legs, a faint pulse of energy moved through them—my Yin and Yang channels responding instinctively. Construct energy flowed from the rings like soft threads of moonlight and sunfire. I nearly gasped.

My ears perked. My tail wagged. Flick-flick-flick. Even my stoic face broke into something dangerous.

“…Beautiful,” I whispered, eyes wide, a faint blush forming. “She understands. Hatsume-san, you’ve captured my love language…”

“Hearts!” Hatsume cheered, dramatically drawing a heart in the air with her fingers. “The anklets can store construct energy, let out chain bursts, and even hold a temporary phantom weapon. Try kicking!”

I did.

One high arc.

No wind resistance. Full momentum. Clean execution.

My kick reached two heads higher than my previous top.

Perfect.

“Is this… what Auntie Rumi meant by ‘girl power’?” I mumbled aloud. “This form… It improves my kicking ability. The outfit increases combat potential. Is this what being a girl adds in battle? This advantage in movement, form, and design? It’s… efficient.”

“You’re missing the point again…” Kirishima muttered, red in the face.

“THIS ISN’T GIRL POWER! THIS IS—!!! YOU’RE—!! UGH!! YOU SHOWING TOO MUCH SKIN! HATSUME!”Bakugou exploded, literally.

“But I was a boy two days ago,” I said plainly, adjusting my sarashi beneath the top. “You never cared before. Why now?”

“BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT A BOY NOW!”Bakugou threw up his arms in despair.

“Ah. Is that what Aizawa-sensei meant by ‘people will treat me differently now’…? How illogical.”

“I think she looks amazing. And if her opponents are too distracted by the sleek muscle visibility and high leg slits to fight properly? That’s a tactical advantage, baby~!”Hatsume skipped in between us, arms around both boys.

“Put on a cloak. Or a trench coat. Or SOMETHING.”Bakugou was seething.

“Unnecessary. The climate indoors is well-regulated.”

“Man, I need to go punch a rock or something…”Kirishima sighed, massaging his forehead.

Despite all the chaos, I felt it.

This outfit—this design—was right.

It was mine.

Functional. Honoring my Chinese heritage. Balanced between offense and mobility. And the anklets… oh, the anklets. They were perfection wrapped in golden utility.

I was ready.

…Even if I still had no idea why Kirishima-Kun and Bakugou-Kun was turning so red.

—————————

After changing back into my school uniform—yes, the standard, regulation one, although I did have to roll my sleeves again for ventilation—we made it back to the classroom just in time.

Aizawa-sensei stood at the front, wrapped in his sleeping bag like a very grumpy spring roll.

“Listen up. The U.A. Sports Festival is coming.”

Everyone in class suddenly snapped to attention like soldiers receiving a war briefing.

“It’s your chance to get noticed. All the top Pro Heroes will be watching. Don’t waste it.”

The moment he said that, electricity surged through the classroom—figuratively and literally. Kaminari got too excited again.

“LET’S GOOOO!!!” he screamed, zapping himself into brief unconsciousness.

Midoriya-kun's muttering intensified.

Uraraka-san sparkled.

Todoroki-kun blinked once.

Bakugou-kun said, “Tch. Who cares.”

I nodded beside him. “Indeed. Quite boring.”

He twitched. “Don’t agree with me when you mean it.”

Homeroom ended.

During recess, I was quietly munching on my tenth protein bar at my seat. I had to rebuild my lost muscle mass—26.4% to be precise. My tail flicked left and right with rhythmic concentration.

Then Ashido-san crashed into my desk like a pink tornado of gossip energy.

“Rin-chan~! We're talking about how the Sports Festival will get us noticed by the top Pro Heroes!”

Behind her stood Kirishima-kun, already sweating, and Sero-san, who had the air of someone bracing for turbulence.

I nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, many Pro Heroes will attend. They always do.”

Ashido beamed. “You sound so chill about it! Aren’t you excited to be seen by the pros!?”

“Not particularly.”

“HUH?! Why?!”

“Because I’ve already met many of them.”

They blinked.

“…What?”

I held up a finger. “Auntie Rumi. She is my favorite. Sometimes she joins my training when she visits. Her kicking form is exquisite.”

“Wait… Mirko?!” Kirishima’s jaw dropped.

“She taught me parkour on the roof when I was six. Also gave me advice on thigh strength.”

Ashido gasped. “You trained with the Rabbit Hero?!”

I held up another finger. “Also, Tensei Iida-san visits occasionally to help me with homework.”

Iida-kun choked on his tea behind me.

“…TENSEI IIDA?!” Sero shouted.

“Yes. He still comes over if I’m stuck on advanced calculus or moral philosophy.”

A third finger.

“Gang Orca—Uncle Sakamata—visits sometimes for beer. He drinks with father on the porch.”

Sero looked like he was about to faint.

I continued, genuinely pleased to share. “Ah, and Edge Shot-San sometimes visits with my mother to talk about magazine collaborations. They invited me to a ninja boot camp once.”

“Edge—?!”

“It was very educational. Also, Best Jeanist fixed my collar once during dinner.”

“YOU MET JEANIST TOO?!” Kirishima wailed.

“He is very particular about thread angles. He adjusted my buttons with thread precision. I did not move for 3.2 minutes.”

They stared at me in silence.

“Why are your mouths open?”I blinked.

“Rin-chan… you’re… you’re not just born with a silver spoon… you were birthed into a golden buffet!!”Ashido grabbed her head and threatening to pull her hair out.

“Oh, you mean my upbringing?” I nodded. “It was very normal. My family is quite humble.”

“YOU LIVE IN A THREE-COURTYARD MANSION WITH A WATERFALL IN THE BACK.”

“Humble.”

“YOU HAVE A PRIVATE DOJO, A SHRINE, AND A TRAINING GOLEM MADE OF JADE.”

“Secondhand jade. We are not extravagant.”

“This isn’t fair…!”Kirishima collapsed dramatically.

“You’re seriously telling me all this like it’s normal…”Ashido wiped her face.

“Is it not?”

“No!!”

“Hm. Curious.” I tapped my chin.

Then Ojiro-san passed by, saw us, and waved politely. “Hey, Rin.”

I nodded. “Ojiro-san, I look forward to facing you in the sports festival.”

He tensed. “I… I suppose. Like the tournaments, right?”

“Tournaments?”

“You beat me in four national martial arts tournaments in a row…”

“…Did I?”

“You used me as a broom to sweep the mat… once.”

“I’m sorry. I do not remember the faces of my opponents. I was focused on victory.”

He sighed deeply and walked away like a defeated war veteran.

Ashido stared in horror. “You just… you just casually said the most demoralizing thing ever…”

“But I was honest. I look forward to facing strong new opponents. That’s the most exciting part.”

Kirishima groaned, burying his face into his desk. “She’s a talented soul who knows not the pain of us mortals…”

“I do not understand your sentiment. You are strong. If you train harder, you will reach greater heights.”

They both screamed into their hands.

Just then, Yaoyorozu-san walked by, pausing when she heard my words. She nodded wisely.

“Indeed. One must strive for continuous improvement. Excellence is an evolving threshold.”

“Precisely,” I said, glad someone understood. “The mountain rises as you climb. Therefore, your steps must rise with it.”

Ashido’s eye twitched. “I don’t know if I want to climb anymore…”

Yaoyorozu tilted her head. “Was that not motivational?”

“They’re crying, Yaoyorozu-san.”

“…Oh my.”

—————————

The final bell rang. Homeroom ended. I had packed my things, finished my thirteenth protein bar, and was ready to leave—when I realized I couldn't.

The hallway outside our class was a battlefield.

I stood by the door, blinked once, then tilted my head.

“…Obstruction.”

“Yeah, no duh,” Bakugou muttered beside me, arms crossed, a tick mark already forming on his forehead. “Dumbasses from other departments are clogging the way.”

I scanned the crowd. Students were shoulder to shoulder, peeking, whispering, craning their necks into Class 1-A like we were zoo exhibits.

“S-sorry, no autographs!”Ashido-san leaned out and waved sarcastically.

“Is this what celebrity feels like?”Sero whistled.

“Tch. They’re scoping us out. Want to size up the ‘hero class that fought villains’ before the big event.”Bakugou scoffed.

I took a step forward, preparing to push through.

I had faced villains. I had fought national champions. I had bested Ojiro-san four times, possibly more. A corridor crowd was a minor obstacle.

Then—

“Wait,” a voice said. “Let me say something first.”

The crowd parted slightly, revealing a tall student in the blue uniform of the General Department. His expression was calm but sharp, like a blade hidden under polished manners.

“I’m from Class 1-C,” he said, “General Department. A lot of us here… we have a chance to transfer into the Hero Course. If we do well in the Sports Festival.”

“I see.”I nodded once.

“And if we do well… some of you might be transferred out.”He continued, eyes narrowing.

“A correction: if you do well.”I tilted my head.

The boy’s eye twitched.

“I’m here to declare war.”

“You’re in a hallway. Watching.”I blinked.

“What?”

“You are here. Watching. Not training. If you are so concerned about transfer, perhaps you should use this time to train, not loiter. Tardiness in effort leads to tardiness in result.”

The crowd murmured.

I heard a sharp “PFFT—” from Kaminari behind me. He high-fived Sero.

Then—

“Oi!” a louder voice cut through the air like a slap.

A new student stepped forward from the rear of the crowd, his chest puffed like an angry rooster. Blond, smug, from Class 1-B.

He pointed at us dramatically.

“I came to see the oh-so-famous Class 1-A,” he sneered. “The ones who got to fight real villains and now think they’re so great!”

We stared at him.

“Don’t get cocky!” he snapped. “The Sports Festival will show who really deserves to be future heroes! Don’t you dare embarrass us!”

I blinked.

He was pointing at me.

“Especially you, recommendation student.”

The moment the words left his mouth, I felt it.

The shift.

The stares.

The murmurs.

Like a needle threading through my skin, I could feel the way their eyes changed. Recognition dawning. Confused whispers rippled through the hallway like uneasy wind.

“Wait... isn’t that…”

“I know that name…”

“He was that kid… the martial arts prodigy… wasn’t he a boy?”

“Wait, she’s the same person? That’s him?”

My ears twitched. My tail stiffened, then lowered. My body… stopped moving.

I was frozen.

Like time folded in on itself, the hallway became a mirror—of memories I thought I left behind.

Junior high. The hateful stares. The whispers. The jealousy. The looks that said, Why him?
I should be unfazed. I had endured worse.

But my breath caught. My hands trembled.

I felt… small.

Weak.

Defenseless.

Like I was 13 again, standing alone on a podium and no one was clapping.

Why was I shaking?

“Hey.”

A hand grabbed my wrist. Strong. Warm.

Bakugou.

He didn’t say anything. He just yanked me out of the room with a snarl at the others.

“Back the hell off, extras.”

He shoved through the crowd like an explosion waiting to happen, dragging me behind him. The hallway parted faster than a scared animal. No one dared stop him.

I followed without thinking.

When we were far enough from the crowd, he stopped. Still gripping my wrist. Still scowling.

I stared at the floor.

“…Thank you, Bakugou-Kun.”

He flinched like I slapped him.

“Hah?! Why the hell are you thanking me?!”

“You protected me.”

“I DIDN’T DO IT FOR YOU, DAMMIT!”

“I see. But thank you anyway.”

“I—!! You—!! Shut up!!”

He turned his face away, ears red. Not his hair—his ears. The tips were practically glowing. I watched them twitch with an almost hypnotic fascination.

“…You’re blushing.”

“I’M NOT!!”

I blinked. “Strange. Your temperature has increased and your cheeks are slightly tinted. These are symptoms of—”

“IT’S A SIDE EFFECT OF BEING PISSED OFF!!”

I nodded slowly. “Ah, I see. Anger blush.”

“THAT’S NOT A THING—”

I bowed slightly. “Even so… thank you. You are very kind, Bakugou-Kun.”

He nearly exploded on the spot.

He’s such a good friend.

TO BE CONTINUED

-------------------------

Rin's New Hero Outfit

Chapter Text

The stadium buzzed with energy, the open sky above shimmering with sunlight and expectations.

I stood alongside my classmates, dressed in the regulation gym uniform... modified.

My sleeves were rolled up past my elbows. My pants legs, neatly cuffed and secured with small cloth ties just below my knees. And most importantly—my feet were completely bare, soles pressed against the warm ground.

"Yo, Rin-chan! How was the week?" Kirishima-kun asked, stretching beside me, arms behind his head. “You adapting alright?”

“It was a fine week,” I nodded. “Two weeks since my physical change and I have recalibrated all of my techniques. I now move better than I ever did.”

“Nice! I knew you’d rock it!”

Indeed. It had taken some time to adjust to the shift in muscle center and weight distribution, particularly with the new softness in certain areas… but now, even in this unfamiliar form, I was prepared. Balanced. Efficient. I had meditated barefoot beneath a waterfall for 13 hours to test if my Yang energy output could achieve pressure-piercing intensity.

(Conclusion: Yes. The waterfall exploded.)

My toes curled and uncurled on the stadium track. Exposed to air. Free. Unburdened by Nike™.

Then—

"RIN-CHAN!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?"

Ashido-san’s voice thundered across the prep area. She was pointing at me like I had just stolen a sacred artifact.

“I am optimizing my mobility,” I answered dutifully. “Shoes obstruct the Yang output through the soles. Without them, I can expel force in direct opposition to my movement for enhanced thrust.”

"Your feet are gonna be all—ugh—rough and rugged!! You’re not some middle-aged martial artist hermit! Put on some shoes!!"

“...But the structure of the human foot allows better tactile feedback and balance when unshod. Also, by applying barefoot techniques, I can flatten my arch and increase velocity with less impact fatigue—”

She wasn’t listening.

She was glaring.

And then she glanced behind me.

My ears twitched.

My tail twitched.

I turned—slowly—toward a presence approaching from behind.

Mineta-san.

Kneeling.

Tongue extended.

Eyes sparkly like cursed gemstones.

Approximately two inches from the back of my heel.

My leg moved on instinct.

With a single stomp forward and a backward thrust, I shot a concentrated beam of Yang energy into the ground, propelling my leg back at blinding speed. The motion was sharp. Controlled. Tactical.

There was a thud. A crash. And the satisfying sound of impact against reinforced metal.

The exit gate to the first event now had a visible dent the shape of Mineta’s body.

He slid down the metal with a cartoon squeak.

"......"

I lowered my foot.

“Hm. Not full penetration. My strength has not returned to previous levels,” I mused aloud, solemnly. “It appears this body has a ceiling on muscle mass potential. A grim day. A grim... existence.”

Ashido-san gawked at me. “That’s what you’re worried about right now?! Not the fact that Gremlin No. 1 tried to lick your foot?!”

I blinked. “His behavior is… unusual. But Mineta-san appears capable of enjoying the simplest things in life. I admire that. A pure heart.”

“DO. NOT. ENVY. HIM.”

Ashido-san’s entire aura darkened. Her eyes burned like dying stars fueled by vengeance.

“If Mineta-San’s corruption touches you—so help me—I WILL KILL EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM AND THEN KILL MYSELF!”

"Ah. That would be counterproductive," I noted.

"YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND! YOU’RE STILL TOO PURE! THIS IS JAPAN! YOUR FEET HAVE POWER!!"

I looked at my feet.

“…They do?”

A sharp gasp echoed from behind. Kaminari had heard her yell and turned, eyes wide with realization. “...Wait, if she’s barefoot, that means—!”

Ashido lunged at Kaminari with a flipkick that nearly shattered air. “NO. YOU. DON’T!”

Kirishima was laughing so hard he dropped his pre-workout drink. Sero had already begun filming. Iida was trying to give a speech about sportsmanship, though nobody heard him over the chaos.

Meanwhile, Bakugou-Kun stood nearby with his arms crossed, looking at the Mineta-shaped dent in the door.

“Tch. Idiot deserved it.”

"...Which one?" I asked curiously.

“Both.”

I nodded sagely. “As expected from Bakugou-Kun. A man of justice.”

He went red in the ears. “SHUT UP!”

Just as Bakugou was busy yelled at me, the gates opened.

The wind rushed in, sweeping across the stadium like an invisible tide, carrying with it the scent of polished track lanes, burning spotlights, and approximately forty thousand human bodies cheering all at once.

I walked forward with the rest of Class 1-A, bare feet padding gently against the synthetic track.

The Freshmen Stage of the U.A. Sports Festival had officially begun.

“Whoa,” Kirishima murmured beside me, blinking up at the sheer size of the crowd. “This place is huge…”

"Indeed," I nodded. “This is my first time in this stadium without cleaning it beforehand.”

"...You what?"

"When I was 10, I cleaned the toilets here as a volunteer for extra martial arts credits. It was an enlightening experience. The men's restroom was less frightening than I anticipated."

"...You… volunteered to clean stadium toilets…?"

"Yes. I also got a free bento."

Ashido was looking at me like I’d just committed war crimes. “You were a toilet-cleaning prodigy too?!"

I tilted my head. “Is that rare?”

Before she could scream, the roar of the crowd rose again. The first-years of all departments flooded into the stadium from their respective gates—General Studies, Support Course, Business Course. Our fellow freshmen. Our fellow competitors.

The three sectors formed up into neat rectangles of students, like separate armies awaiting the first cannon shot.

And then—

“HELLLLLOOOO, FIRST-YEARS!!” a sultry voice boomed through the loudspeakers.

Midnight-sensei, dressed in the standard very-questionable-for-educational-environments referee uniform, leapt onto the central floating platform with the agility of a panther and the fashion of a dominatrix.

“As the Chief Referee for the First-Year Division of the Sports Festival,” she announced, cracking her whip for absolutely no functional reason, “I now ask the selected student representative to come up and give your opening statement!”

She turned toward us, smile gleaming.

“Bakugou Katsuki-kun from Class 1-A! Come on up, darling~!”

The moment those words left her lips, I felt something shift.

Kirishima, Ashido, Sero, and I all turned to look at Bakugou-kun.

He was already stomping forward.

"Go, Bakugou!" Kaminari shouted encouragingly.

"Try not to threaten the world this time," Jirou muttered.

I observed carefully. Bakugou-kun’s walk was heavy, like a lion approaching the arena—not hesitant, but proud, assured. His arms were shoved deep into his pockets and his chin lifted like he was about to challenge the sky itself to a fistfight.

He stopped before Midnight-sensei, barely glancing up at her.

Then, without a moment's hesitation, he said into the microphone—

“I’m gonna win. That’s all.”

The stadium collectively paused.

Then—

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”
“WHO EVEN ARE YOU?!”
“CLASS 1-A THINKS THEY’RE HOT STUFF NOW, HUH?!”
“WHAT ARROGANT PUNKS—!!”
“I’LL WRECK THAT PINEAPPLE-HEADED GRENADE JERK!!”

The General Course. The Support Course. Business. Even Class 1-B. All at once, they exploded with rebukes, accusations, declarations, and furious glares.

The air buzzed with a very potent mix of hostility and inferiority complexes.

“…He did it again,” Izuku muttered under his breath, sweat beading down his face. “He made us all targets...”

"...Are we under threat now?" I asked, ears twitching.

"YEP," Kaminari groaned.

“...This is the same energy as that time I punched a wild bear and all its bear friends came after me.”

Everyone turned.

“You WHAT?!” Ashido shrieked.

“It was in the mountains behind our house. It was blocking the path to my snacks.”

“That—THAT EXPLAINS NOTHING—"

Bakugou came marching back with his usual don’t talk to me or die expression.

“Nice speech, Bakugou!” Kirishima offered with a grin.

“Shut up, Shitty Hair.”

“I am impressed,” I added genuinely. “You declared your intent with clarity and aggression. Like an alpha wolf challenging the moon.”

“…I didn’t say anything like that.”

“But the spirit was there.”

He looked away. His ears were red.

“Whatever. I don’t need praise from a barefooted weirdo.”I blinked.

“…I will take that as friendship.”

“I SAID IT’S NOT—DAMMIT—!!”

And then—

BOOM!!

The fireworks signaled the beginning of the first event.

Midnight cracked her whip dramatically again. “Ladies and gentlemen! Get ready for the Obstacle Race! All first-years! Line up behind the starting gate!”

“Oh,” I muttered, stretching my legs slowly. “It begins.”

“YEAH!!” Kirishima grinned, bouncing on his heels. “Time to show them what we’re made of!”

“…I am nervous…” Izuku mumbled.

Ashido cracked her knuckles. “Alright, Rin-chan, focus! Just follow my lead and we’ll blow their minds!”

“…I believe your excessive speeches will hinder your stamina,” I noted softly.

Ashido side-eyed me. “Say that again when I step on you.”

I nodded. “Understood. I will prepare for stepping.”

As the massive gate before us began to creak open with mechanical force, I lowered myself into a stance.

“This will be a four-kilometer-long obstacle course around the festival stadium. Participants are allowed to use their Quirks freely to try and win, as long as they do not leave the race course. THE JUICY PART IS!!!!! ONLY the first forty-two competitors that finish advanced to the second event.”Present Mic Sensei is rather excited to announce the rules.

The entire stadium held its breath.

Obstacle Race… Begin.

The gates blasted open.

“GOOOO!!” Midnight’s voice cracked like thunder across the stadium.

In an instant, a stampede of Quirk-powered freshmen surged forth.

But I didn’t run.

I launched.

With a concentrated hiss of light from behind my legs, Yang energy blasted out from my shins and heels like twin jets, kicking me forward with blistering speed. My forearms flared with the same golden energy as I planted both fists behind and fired again—BOOM—projecting myself further in a blur.

The wind tore past my face. The cheers of the audience blurred into distant background noise.

First obstacle: Robo Inferno.

Three giant robots—at least twenty meters tall—shook the earth as they stomped toward us. Limbs like cranes. Eyes glowing red.

Students scattered.

I soared.

My right foot skimmed across a falling chunk of steel debris as I propelled myself again with a Yang burst.

At the apex of my leap, I reached backward.

Two crescent moons of violet light shimmered into existence, coalescing into the elegant shape of my Yin-Constructed Katanas.

They hummed in my grip. Light but solid, flexible but sharp.

The world slowed.

The first robot swung an arm down at me. I angled my body, twisted in the air—

—SLASH!

One blade arced upward, cutting through the exposed joint. Sparks flew. The limb missed me by inches and smashed into the ground like a meteor.

I landed on its shoulder, crouched, and fired a pulse of Yang from my right heel to dash forward again. My left blade pierced the outer casing of its neck as I passed.

Shiiinnk.

The head tilted.

The robot crumbled behind me.

I felt no joy. This was expected. Repetitive drills. Efficiency.

Ahead, I noticed Todoroki-san calmly raising his hand.

His foot touched the ground. A line of white frost exploded forward—

“...Tch.”

The temperature dropped. My breath fogged.

He had created a glacier, a massive horizontal wall of jagged ice stretching across the entire arena. Many students were trapped, slipping, sliding, or frozen still in place.

I increased the Yang circulation in my chest, trying to compensate for the temperature disruption. My lungs tightened. My timing faltered.

Temperature manipulation. Annoying.

I dashed forward again, this time using the ice wall’s uneven peaks as a pathway. But the cold slowed my core. My blood felt sluggish. My foot placement became erratic—just slightly.

I passed several frozen students, Kirishima-kun shouting in the distance as he tried to punch his way through. Sero-san was skiing awkwardly with his tape.

At the end of the glacier, I spotted Todoroki again—calm, precise, sliding elegantly across his own ice trail like a sovereign.

I refocused.

Yin blade sheathed.

Yang burst: LEFT PALM. Angle: downward. Result: Upward launch.

I flipped forward, heels blazing with Yang propulsion, landed ahead of Todoroki by exactly 1.7 meters.

He blinked in surprise.

Then smirked. “...Not bad.”

“Low temperature weakens my inner regulation. I am sub-optimal.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He raised another wave of ice. I deflected, slashed the thinner spikes away with my remaining katana.

Obstacle Two: The Ravine.

A bottomless pit stretched ahead. Only a network of ropes and tightropes crisscrossed the divide.

Many students halted.

I did not.

I leapt.

A pulse of Yin extended from my hands, forming a thin glowing chain anchored to a distant pillar. I used it like a grappling line, swung once, twice, and flung myself to the other side. The chain dissipated in soft violet sparks.

Todoroki landed beside me seconds later via ice bridge. Bakugou-kun? He exploded past both of us, face twisted in fury.

“Heh. See ya, extras!” he growled, rockets flaring.

I fired a Yang burst to catch up.

Final Obstacle: Minefield.

We entered a field filled with pressure-sensitive mines buried under a layer of dirt.

Bakugou flew. Todoroki created ice paths over the danger zones. I…

I chose the reckless option.

I lowered my stance, toes splayed. My wolf ears twitched.

I listened.

With enhanced hearing, I tracked the subtle clicks beneath the dirt, sensing the location of every mine within a five-meter radius.

Every step became a calculation.

A step to the left. Burst forward. Hop over. Skid. Propel. Slash. Sidestep.

I sliced through a falling drone that had gone rogue. The explosion behind me kicked up dust, hiding me briefly from view.

I emerged from the smoke just behind Bakugou and Todoroki.

Then I saw Midoriya-san.

He was… carrying a mine.

“…That is dangerous,” I muttered.

He threw it behind him.

A chain reaction. An enormous BOOM lit up the field.

Midoriya was catapulted into the air by the blast, soaring far past all of us.

“…Creative,” I admitted.

We all ran harder.

In the final hundred meters, I tried to surge ahead—firing all remaining Yang reserves through my shins in controlled pulses. But my footing slipped just once on a stray ice patch.

Todoroki surged ahead.

But it was not enough.

Midoriya crossed the line first.

The crowd roared.

Then Todoroki.

Then—

“…Third,” I whispered as I skidded to a stop at the finish line.

I looked down at my trembling fingers. Sweat dripped from my chin.

“…Unacceptable. My tempo was disrupted. My technique needs refinement. Physical mass remains unchanged. Need protein. Need time.”

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, DEKU?!”Bakugou screamed in frustration as he crossed fourth, eyes glowing with fury.

“You all did amazing!!” Recovery Girl cheered.

“You got third? Rin-chan, that was insane!! You were flying around like a barefoot ninja!”Ashido reached me seconds later, panting, hands on her knees.

“I am barefoot.”I blinked.

“…I know.”

I sat down slowly.

“…I must conduct further training.”

“Rin-chan, you just ranked third in a race against a bunch of superpowered kids, and your only takeaway is ‘I need to train more’?!”Ashido squinted.

“I also need beef.”I nodded.

Bakugou muttered death threats to the air while pacing.

Todoroki simply stared at Midoriya with narrowed eyes.

Midoriya... was currently a pile of limbs and dirt, being congratulated by Present Mic.

The first event had ended.

But the war had just begun.

TO BE CONTINUED

-------------------------

Rin in her gym clothes

Chapter Text

The stadium buzzed like a hive of overexcited bees. Screens lit up with names, ranks, and points. Midnight stood atop her podium, twirling her whip as she announced the rules for the second round with her usual flare:

“It’s time for the Cavalry Battle!”

Teams of four. Horse formation. Points to be stolen. Ten million for Midoriya-san, the crown jewel.

The moment she finished, chaos erupted.

Students scrambled, alliances were made, begged for, or broken. It was like a warzone of social negotiation.

I stood still.

It would have been more efficient to act solo. That would allow optimal movement, energy control, and eliminate reliance on external rhythm—

"Oi. You. Wolf Girl."

I turned.

Bakugou Katsuki stood before me, arms crossed, an aggressive grin twitching at the edge of his lips.

“You’re on my team.”

“…I was going to form my own.”

“Yeah? With who?”He scowled.

I looked around. Students scattered. Eyes shifted away the moment I met theirs. Fear? Distrust? Recognition? The same feeling as two weeks ago… the same gazes from middle school.

“…Never mind. I will join.”

“Tch. Thought so.”

Somewhere deep in my chest, something trembled. Not fear. Not regret.

…A weird impulse.

“Rin-chan~! You’re with us too? This is gonna be so fun!”Ashido-san came skipping up next.

“I’ll be the front horse. Unbreakable shield, yeah?”Kirishima-kun gave a toothy grin and flexed.

Our team had formed.

Bakugou Katsuki – Rider.
Kirishima Eijirou – Front support.
Ashido Mina – Side support (left).
Namikaze Rin – Side support (right).

We huddled behind the staging wall. Bakugou tapped his foot impatiently.

“Alright, strategy. You two got anything?” He glanced at Ashido and Kirishima.

“Uh… punch hard?”Kirishima scratched the back of his head.

Ashido giggled, raising a finger. “We could… run around a lot?”

He sighed in exasperation. “Useless. Both of you.”

They both blinked at us like innocent woodland creatures.

I blinked too. “Had it been me… I would have gone solo. Faster, more agile, fewer variables. Why is that not allowed?”

Bakugou growled. “Because this is a team event, you muscle-brained martial-maniac.”

“…I must be lacking grace.”

“No, you’re lacking common sense,” he snapped. “This ain’t a battlefield, it’s a stage. We’re being watched. So we win smart.”

I paused. He was correct. In a sense.

“…Continue.”

Bakugou pointed to each of us in turn.

“Kirishima at the front. Your hardening’s the best defense. You’ll shield from head-on attacks.”

“Roger that!” Kirishima cracked his knuckles.

“Mina, you’ll slime up the ground beneath us. Just enough to lower friction so we glide faster.”

“Got it!” Ashido struck a pose. “Call me Slippy Steppy~!”

“…Don’t,” Bakugou said flatly.

Then his eyes flicked to me. His voice dipped into something colder.

“You. Boost us.”

“Specify.”I tilted my head.

“You’re gonna pulse your Yang blasts downward to propel the team forward. Short, controlled bursts. No recoil. Think like an engine. But if I jump, you shield Mina and Shitty Hair from the blowback using your Yin stuff.”

“…Acceptable.”

“Good. And I’ll be up top, ready to blow any loser who comes close sky-high. No one's taking our headband.”He grinned.

“Will your explosions not unbalance our rhythm?”I folded my arms.

“Only if you’re bad at keeping up.”

“…Provocative.”

“This is kinda awesome. We’ve got a battle plan like pros!”Kirishima clapped.

“With Rin-chan on the team, we’re like a rocket train of pain!”Ashido gave me a thumbs-up.

“We’re gonna crush the rest. Especially that Deku bastard.”Bakugou smirked.

I glanced up at the stands.

Ten million points… that much attention must be uncomfortable.

Even so… my body was calm.

All that remained was execution.

The countdown hit zero.

A wall of sound thundered from the crowd as our team launched forward like a fired cannon.

“Straight for Deku!” Bakugou barked, explosions crackling at his palms.

“Affirmative,” I said calmly, and pulsed a burst of golden Yang Energy through the back of my shin. The resulting shockwave hurled us ahead with controlled propulsion. Ashido-San’s acid slick on the soles helped us glide with minimal resistance, and Kirishima-Kun’s arms braced like a prow breaking through water.

Bakugou rocketed into the air, aiming for Midoriya-San’s headband—ten million points flapping in the wind.

But I could already tell: this would not be easy.

I narrowed my eyes. “Midoriya-San’s team formation is dynamic,” I muttered, analyzing the battlefield as Bakugou sailed upward.

“Hatsume Mei-san’s jet pack stabilizers are propelling them from below while simultaneously adjusting wind pressure. Uraraka-san is nullifying their weight. Tokoyami-san’s Dark Shadow is providing autonomous shielding and striking capabilities. Their maneuverability is high. Their reach and defense are higher.”

“I know, dammit!!” Bakugou snapped midair.

Fwip.

Our headband vanished in a flash of motion.

“Tch—What the hell!?”

A blur of yellow and blue zipped past us—Monoma Neito from Class 1-B, smug and waving our band like a trophy.

“Yoo-hoo!~” he taunted, spinning the headband on his finger. “Class 1-A—so quick to flaunt their strength, so easy to predict. We've been watching every single one of you since the obstacle course. Observation is key.”

He leaned forward on his team, grinning with venom. “Especially you, Bakugou Katsuki. You’ve got the biggest mouth here—and the weakest foresight. Tell me, doesn’t it feel sad, losing to a villain every year?”

My right wolf ear twitched.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY!?” Bakugou's voice thundered, so loud it rattled my ribs.

His body trembled with unrestrained fury. His pupils were dilated. Sweat pooled at his brow. Irregular breathing.

“You need to calm down,” I said softly.

“I AM CALM!!!”

“Incorrect. Your bodily reactions indicate—”

“I SAID I’M CALM, DAMMIT!!!”

“Uh, bro, maybe deep breaths—?”Kirishima winced.

“Change of plans. We’re killing that guy first.”Bakugou’s eyes burned.

As soon as the order was barked, we pivoted. Yang bursts jetted from my legs and arms, guiding our team on a sharp, drifting arc toward Team Monoma. Ashido helped slide us smoothly across the ground like blades on ice.

Bakugou lunged again—but Monoma matched him. An explosion flared from his palm—That is Bakugou’s explosion.

“He… copied my Quirk!?”

“He must have touched you,” I said. “He requires physical contact. That is the likely trigger condition.”

Bakugou grit his teeth and attacked again.

But Monoma raised his hand, now coated in a layer of hardened skin—That is Kirishima-Kun’s Quirk.

“Just how many Quirks did you copy!?” Bakugou-Kun snarled.

“Five’s the limit. Copy, hold, and use. It’s all in the timing. And you were the one who lit the fire, Bakugou. You shouted your little declaration. Now, welcome to war.”Monoma grinned.

He pointed toward Bakugou with a smug look.

“I should thank you for making Class 1-A the punching bag of U.A.”

I reached into my inner flow.

“…Understood. We must now adjust.”

I stretched my hand outward and coated myself and Ashido-San in a shimmering veil of Yin Energy. The constructs layered over us like silky armor.

“He will not be able to replicate our Quirks now.”

Monoma flinched as his eyes darted over our team. “H-Hey! That’s not fair! You’re too observant!”

I tilted my head. “…I do not understand the basis of your complaint. I simply followed logical deduction.”

“THAT’S THE PROBLEM!”

Bakugou didn’t wait for more words. He exploded forward again, this time feinting high and diving low. Monoma’s copied Quirk flared—

But Bakugou curved around, predicting the blast, and with a vicious snarl, grabbed two headbands from Monoma’s team.

“REEL ME BACK!” he roared.

“Understood.”

I cast my hand upward—Yin Energy Chain: Void Rope. It coiled around his torso and yanked him back to our formation. Our rhythm held.

He landed with a growl. “We're not done.”

Mina’s acid poured in wider arcs. “Everyone hang tight! Speed mode engaged!”

Another blast from my Yang pulse. The combination of acid slip and propulsion sent us darting like a comet.

Monoma’s team couldn’t react fast enough.

“NOW!!” Bakugou cried, slamming forward in a full-body lunge. His fury honed into precision.

Clash.

Energy crackled. Quirks collided.

Monoma couldn’t keep up.

With explosive force and anger-fueled precision, Bakugou tore the last headbands from Monoma’s head, leaving only rags behind.

“N-No fair… you… you brute...!”Monoma gasped.

“I told you, I’m placing first. No one’s standing in my way.”Bakugou’s eyes flared.

And then, without skipping a beat, he turned his burning gaze to the horizon.

“To hell with waiting. Next is Deku and Shoto.”

“…He really is not calm,” I murmured.

“DIEEEEEEEEEE!”Bakugou-Kun yelled as he flew straight towards Midoriya-San and Todoroki-San.

“TIME’S UPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!”Present Mic-Sensei’s voice echoed through the tournament.

Bakugou-Kun’s body froze mid-flight as the countdown reached its merciless end. Gravity reminded him of reality.

He fell with a loud THUMP, face-first into the dirt.

“…FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!” he howled like a banshee. I could almost feel the despair radiating off of him like an aura of cursed energy.

I stepped forward, brushing my uniform clean and raising a hand.

“Bakugou-Kun, taking second place is nothing to be scoffed at. Your combat strategy exhibited layered progression, and your team defeated five enemy formations, including Class 1-B’s frontline unit. In raw score-based metrics, your tactical effectiveness ratio should exceed—”

“MHHFF!”

A sudden smack of warm palms silenced my mouth.

Kirishima-Kun and Ashido-San had clamped their hands over me in a synchronized motion.

“Rin-chan! Not right now!” Kirishima-Kun hissed with a nervous chuckle, his smile forced as sweat dotted his temple.

“You must live on!” Ashido-San whispered dramatically in my wolf ears like we were in some sort of tragic death scene.

“Why would one avoid compllime—mhhhhhpppp.” My words came out muffled under their hands as I tried to finish saying “compliments.”

I was simply trying to tell Bakugou-Kun the statistical truth about his dominance in the match.

“MUSCLE BRAIN!!! I DON’T NEED YOUR CONSOLING!!!!!!!!!!” Bakugou roared from the dirt, face red with rage and humiliation.

“But you are my frie—”

“LIKE HELL I AM!? WE ARE NOT!!” he barked with the fury of a volcano erupting mid-tsunami.

“No! Rin-chan got friend-zoned by rage!”Ashido-San gasped.

“I did not initiate a romantic advance,” I said blankly, blinking slowly. “I was merely acknowledging his statistical value as a teammate and offering emotional equilibrium.”

“That might be worse, actually…”Kirishima gave a low whistle.

Bakugou twitched, turning his head to glare up at the sky, fists clenched into craters in the earth.

Meanwhile, Midoriya-San stared at us from afar, eyes wide in worry. Todoroki-San, on the other hand, remained cool and composed, ice literally forming under his feet as he stepped back from the commotion.

A loud buzz echoed from the speakers, bringing all attention to the screen.

Final Rankings for the Cavalry Battle:
1st Place: Team Todoroki
2nd Place: Team Bakugou
3rd Place: Team Shinso
4th Place: Team Midoriya

The top four teams would proceed to the final tournament round.

“We’re in.”Ashido-San wiped sweat from her brow.

“That was nuts… But, Rin-chan, thanks for the propulsion boost! You really held us together out there.”Kirishima-Kun grinned.

“Combat integrity is paramount.”I gave a single nod.

Bakugou didn’t move. His aura screamed "DO NOT APPROACH OR DIE," yet I still approached.

“You performed with excellence,” I said plainly. “However, your explosive aggression lacks measured cadence. I recommend a practice routine with rhythm drills—perhaps in 3-3-5 tempo formations?”

“SHUT. UP.”

“…Understood.”I backed off calmly, tail swishing side to side behind me with the elegance of a reed in wind, despite the tension in the air.

“Rin-chan’s tail says she’s happy, but her face says she’s being scolded by a porcupine,” Ashido whispered.

“She looks like a puppy who brought the wrong stick,” Kirishima nodded solemnly.

“Should I bring him the correct stick next time?” I asked.

They both stared at me, defeated.

As the crowd roared above and the digital brackets for the final tournament began to scroll across the big screen, one truth became clear—

The final battle was drawing near.

And I would need to face it with everything I had.

—————————

"Rin~"

I was meditating.

The room was silent, save for the quiet breath rhythm echoing through my lungs. My body floated in a delicate balance of Yin and Yang—darkness and light flowing through my meridians in preparation for the next battles. The final round of the Sports Festival was still two hours away. Outside, the recreational segment of the event buzzed with music, food stands, and cheering from the crowd.

Then—

BANG BANG BANG!

The tranquility shattered like fragile porcelain.

“…What is it, Mineta-San, Kaminari-San?” I asked as I slowly opened the door, never lifting my head fully from meditation posture.

Kaminari-San grinned ear to ear, practically vibrating.

Mineta-San's nose was already bleeding.

“You have to wear this!!” they shouted in perfect unison, hoisting up a bright orange cheerleader costume with our school crest embroidered on the hem.

I blinked once.

“…Why?”

“It’s compulsory for the girls!” Kaminari chirped.

“All the other girls are wearing it already!” Mineta added with a voice soaked in nosebleed-induced excitement.

I stared at the outfit. Then at them. Then back to the outfit.

“…Are you certain this is part of the tournament requirement?”

“Yes!!”
“No!!”
They responded at the same time. Suspiciously.

It took… a lot of convincing. By “convincing,” I mean Sato-San bribed me with a limited-edition Shaolin Sesame Pork Bun, and Yaoyorozu-San—already in costume—explained, rather tersely, that it would be more troublesome to start a protest now than to just wear the thing.

So…

I wore it.

The noonday break came to a close, and with a blaze of fireworks and music, the Sports Festival resumed.

Class 1-A’s girls appeared on the field… in matching cheerleader uniforms.

I stood there, arms at my side, expression stoic despite the whirlwind of emotions from others.

I still had no clue why we were doing this.

The bright orange top was snug, baring the midriff. The skirt was short—shorter than optimal for martial maneuvering. I tugged at the hem once, awkwardly. It didn’t help. My wolf tail twitched behind me in slight irritation, although my face remained blank.

“I knew it,” Yaoyorozu-San muttered behind me, arms crossed with the fury of ten thunderstorms. “I trusted them. I designed this uniform. WHY DID I TRUST THEM!?”

She shot daggers at Kaminari and Mineta from the field.

Ashido-San twirled next to me, striking a pose. “Well~ at least we look super cute, right Rin-chan?”

Uraraka-San laughed sheepishly. “Y-Yeah, it’s not that bad… I mean, everyone’s already watching us anyway, right?”

I nodded once. “Correct. Visibility was already at 87% due to our high-profile match-ups and previous performances. Attire variance will only affect that by a marginal 4.2%.”

“That… actually makes me feel better?” Uraraka said with a nervous chuckle.

And then—

I looked up into the stands.

My father—Ryusuke Namikaze—was rising from his seat like a god of wrath ascending from the underworld.

“MY SON!!” he roared so loudly even Present Mic faltered.

“THE FACE OF OUR ANCESTORS! OUR SACRED DOJO! THE ANCESTRAL TECHNIQUES—!”

He was halfway over the railing before my mother, Hana Loong, caught him by the collar.

“Dear, she’s clearly a girl now. Also, look how cute she is~” she said sweetly, holding up her phone to record me.

“YOU’RE NOT HELPING—!”

Further down in the stands, Bakugou-Kun was already standing with a stormcloud over his head. His fists sparked furiously.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU MORONS MAKE HER WEAR!?” he bellowed at Mineta and Kaminari, who were busy getting tackled by Yaoyorozu with a clipboard labeled "Crimes and Punishments."

“Easy, bro, easy! It’s just a bit of fun!” Kirishima said, grabbing Bakugou by the arms from behind.

“DON’T ‘FUN’ ME! THOSE BASTARDS MADE RIN WEAR A SKIRT! I’LL KILL THEM!”

“She wears a skirt literally all the time!” Kaminari shouted as Yaoyorozu started dragging him off-stage.

“THIS IS DIFFERENT!”

From the field, I raised a hand. “Bakugou-Kun, your pulse rate is increasing again. Please avoid premature cardiovascular strain before the matches.”

“YOU—!”

“Also, I cannot kick properly in this outfit,” I noted. “I must switch uniforms for optimal combat range.”

“SOMEONE GET HER A TRACKSUIT, DAMN IT!!!” Bakugou shouted like a furious command to the heavens.

Ashido-San leaned in beside me, eyes sparkling. “He’s so~ protective. Are you two like—”

“No,” I said before she could finish. “He is simply extremely emotional. I have observed 7 distinct states of rage from him this week alone.”

“...I think that’s love,” Uraraka whispered.

My ears twitched.

“Incorrect. Love is irrational. Bakugou-Kun is simply irrational. Thus, conclusion: rage.”

Ashido fell to the ground laughing.

I remained standing, hands folded.

In the distance, I saw Midoriya-San trip over his own feet as he noticed me in uniform. A small nosebleed trickled from him before Iida-San handed him a towel and began lecturing about dignity.

Soon, the stadium began to quiet.

The screen flickered to life.

“U.A. Sports Festival Tournament Round... Begins Now!”

A new arena. New match-ups.

I tugged the cheer skirt again.

TO BE CONTINUED

-----------------------------

Rin in cheerleading outfit

Chapter Text

The arena was humming with anticipation.

The midday sun bathed the stadium in warmth, and the giant screen above us blinked as Midnight-Sensei strode confidently to the center stage, black whip cracking beside her as fireworks popped in the air.

“Now then, my precious little students!” she called out with a flirtatious wink. “Before we begin the Tournament Event, we’ll be doing a little draw to determine matchups—”

As the crowd surged with excitement and students began preparing for their matches, I exhaled deeply, Yin and Yang flowing evenly through my body. Before Midnight-Sensei could even begin the all-important drawing for the tournament brackets, a calm hand was raised into the air.

“…I would like to withdraw.”

Gasps echoed across the field like a telenovela twist.

It was Ojiro Mashirao, his tail drooping like a wilting daikon. The expression on his face was stoic, humble, and somehow filled with enough internal monologue to narrate a documentary on dignity.

“I… I wasn’t myself during the Human Cavalry Battle,” Ojiro-San confessed with a bow. “I was manipulated—controlled by another’s Quirk. I don’t even remember how I fought.”

A soft “ehhh?” rippled from the audience.

“This tournament is supposed to showcase our true selves—our effort, our strength. But I wasn’t me,” he said. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

Toru and Ashido-San were at his side in a blink.

“But you still placed in the top four!” Toru said, or at least I think she did. It was hard to tell where her mouth was.

“Yeah, Ojiro-kun! Don’t throw away your shot!” Ashido chimed in, waving pom-poms in her cheer outfit like a sparkling anime commercial.

“I’m saving my dignity,” Ojiro replied, tail thumping solemnly like a temple bell.

That’s when I stepped forward.

As his long-time rival in national martial arts competitions, it was my solemn duty to provide stoic, spiritually sound, martial arts-infused counsel. Naturally.

“Ojiro-San,” I began, clasping my hands together. “Life is a trial, not a tournament. The battlefield of the heart cannot be conquered by memory alone, but by intention. The moment you step onto the tatami—conscious or not—you embody the spirit of the martial path.”

People blinked.

“You say you weren’t yourself,” I continued. “But even in the depths of Quirk-induced fog, your body remembered the way of the fist, the art of the tail. That, Mashirao-San, is the true proof of a martial artist.”

Toru began to clap.

Mina joined in. “Whoa, that was super deep!”

“It was like listening to a really dramatic kung fu movie!” someone else muttered.

But Ojiro-San just… groaned.

“…This is why I didn’t want to say anything,” he muttered into his hands.

“…Did I do something wrong?” I whispered, my ears twitching in confusion.

“You just gave a ten-minute monologue about the path of enlightenment and beating someone unconscious,” Kaminari whispered behind me. “You kinda made him sound even more guilty.”

“Was that not comforting…?” I mumbled, ears drooping a little.

Bakugou-Kun yelled from the stands, “YOU STARTED MENTIONING BLOOD FLOWS ON THE BAMBOO FLOOR, I THOUGHT YOU WERE RECITING A CURSE!”

“…That was the name of the scroll in my family dojo…” I blinked.

Meanwhile, another hand went up.

Nirengeki Shoda from Class 1-B bowed stiffly. “I would also like to withdraw. I don’t deserve the spot. I was carried by others.”

Midnight-Sensei twirled her whip. “Ohhh~ Honorable boys today, huh~? Fine! Your humility is kind of hot—I mean, appreciated! Request approved!”

Ojiro and Nirengeki nodded to each other solemnly. Brothers in Dignity™.

Midnight turned to the scoreboard. “That means two spots are now open! We’ll pull the fifth place team to fill in—Team Kendo!”

Kendo-San stood up. “Actually, we’d like to pass the chance to Team Tetsutetsu. They worked really hard.”

“WHAAAAA!?” Tetsutetsu shouted, springing up like a toaster waffle.

“We believe in fairness,” Kendo said with her usual, calm smile. “And a solid punch to the face.”

“YOU’RE THE BEST, KENDO-SENPAI!!” Tetsutetsu bellowed with tears in his eyes.

Midnight clapped. “Alright, new line-up! Tetsutetsu and Ibara Shiozaki will be replacing Ojiro and Nirengeki! And now…”

With a flourish, she pulled a scroll from her… cleavage.

“Let the tournament pairings be revealed!”

One by one, the names lit up on the screen:

• Midoriya Izuku vs. Hitoshi Shinsou
• Todoroki Shouto vs. Tenya Iida
• Fumikage Tokoyami vs. Momo Yaoyorozu
• Mina Ashido vs. Yuga Aoyama
• Eijiro Kirishima vs. Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu
• Katsuki Bakugou vs. Ochaco Uraraka
• Rin Namikaze vs. Mei Hatsume

“...I’m facing Hatsume-San?” I blinked.

“Oh? That’s me~!” Mei Hatsume popped up from behind the nearest stack of wires and exploded springs, her goggles glittering like disco balls. “I’m so excited to have a real test subject—I mean, opponent!”

She practically skipped over to me and began circling like a tinkerer inspecting a new chassis.

“Hmm, okay okay, strong frame, nice balance, posture’s excellent, and those ears and tail might be aerodynamic if I attach a propulsion booster—!”

“…You want to attach what to my what?”

“Namikaze-chan~! This is perfect!” she squealed. “I’ve been wanting to test some anti-energy gear on someone with an actual energy Quirk! You’re like the ultimate crash dummy~!”

“…I am not a dummy,” I replied.

“Ahahaha! Don’t worry, I’ll only mildly explode you~!”

“…Please do not.”

Ashido-San put a hand on my shoulder.

“Be careful out there, Rin-Chan. That girl’s crazy. Smart, but crazy.”

“I will maintain safe distance,” I nodded.

Kirishima-Kun clapped his hands together. “Yo! She might be wild, but you’ve got this. Just use that ninja-like calm of yours!”

Bakugou-Kun, still fuming from earlier, grunted.

“Hmph. Don’t lose to a damn mechanic. She’s not even a real fighter.”

“…Understood.”

“Oh, nothing! Just thinking out loud~” she giggled as her left boot launched a puff of smoke and extended three inches.

“...She’s going to try and tech you to death,” Ashido whispered beside me. “Do not let her attach anything.”

“She would not,” I said. “Would she?”

BOOM. One of her backpacks spontaneously combusted. Hatsume-San just laughed. “Aww, that one only lasted thirty seconds. That’s 12% better than last time!”

“…This will not be a normal fight,” I murmured.

“YOU’LL BE FINE!” Kaminari yelled.

“AND YOU LOOK ADORABLE IN THE SKIRT!” Mineta added from the dirt where he had been stuffed into a trash can.

I sighed, ears twitching again.

Machines.

Technology.

Jetpacks.

—————————

The prep room before the match was meant for silence, focus, and quiet contemplation.

But instead—

"Hold still, Rin-Chan~!"
"Hatsume-San, why are you on top of my shoulders!?"

I was kneeling in the corner, eyes closed, meditating—until Mei Hatsume pounced like a pink-haired raccoon and started strapping things onto me like I was a DIY Christmas tree.

"I brought these just for you!" she beamed, tightening a belt with three panda-head capsules hanging from it. "Support items! Custom made! For fairness!"

“Why are they all panda-shaped?”

“Because you're Chinese!”

“…I am also Malaysian.”

“I know! I Googled it!” she sang, pushing a giant rice-ball-shaped shield into my arms. “But pandas are sooo much more marketable! Trust me, I ran surveys!”

She then gasped with the drama of a telenovela villain and grabbed my high ponytail.

"Rin-Chan, I'm sorry, but for maximum aesthetic impact, I need to change your look. Twintail buns. Trust the process!"

Before I could react, she yanked out my ribbon, twisted my hair into two neat buns like a certain space princess, and stuck a mechanical paper fan in each.

“There! You’re now battle-ready with my Dynasty Defender™ line!”

I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like a fusion of a kung fu girl from a cheap video game and a festival mascot.

…There were even little golden bells on the boots.

“...You want me to fight in this?” I asked blankly.

“You’ll look adorable and intimidating! Great for PR!”

This… was going to be a disaster.

Match 4: Mei Hatsume vs. Rin Namikaze

The stadium roared as we stepped into the ring. Or rather, I stomped awkwardly, metal sandals jingling, while Hatsume bounced in with spring-loaded knees and a 360° rotating drone above her head.

“LET’S GOOOOOOO!” Present Mic shouted.
“And next up, it’s the martial arts prodigy Rin-Chan versus the tech tornado, Mei Hatsume!”

From the stands, I could hear someone scream, “SHE LOOKS LIKE A PANDA PRINCESS!!”

I didn’t look, but I felt my father’s spiritual pressure spike violently.
“WHO DARES PUT MY SON IN TWINTAILS?!”

Mother's camera shutter: clickclickclickclickclick
Mineta: “THIS IS THE GREATEST DAY OF MY LIFE!!!”
Bakugou: "YOU'RE GONNA DIE TODAY, MINCE MEAT!!!"

I took my stance. Balanced. Calm. Buns jingling lightly.

“Hatsume-San,” I said solemnly. “Let’s have a fair match.”

“Oh don’t worry, Rin-Chan~” she winked. “This will be spectacularly fair!”

DING!

She vanished in a puff of glitter smoke.

“EH?!”

FWOOOOM!

One of the panda capsules on my belt suddenly deployed a retractable shield that slammed into my face and pushed me ten feet back.

"Oops!" Mei said through a megaphone from atop a spring-legged drone. "Prototype A27 still misfires on activation. Noted!"

I dashed forward, sweeping low—Tiger Fang Step.

She bounced over me with rocket-boosted heels and began narrating.

“Here we have the Hatsume Hover-Heels™! Capable of limited levitation and evasive mobility! See how they let me dodge even Rin-Chan’s legendary wolf-step strike!”

"Stop narrating mid-fight!!"

I flipped back and launched a dark energy kunai—Yin Construct: Phantom Blade!

It hit a balloon she’d dropped from the sky. Inside it was confetti. And coupons for Hatsume-brand elbow braces.

She cartwheeled past and launched another demo:
“My Panda Defense Parasol™ opens automatically upon sensing aggression!”
WHACK! A red parasol launched out of my back gear and spun in my face.

I blinked. “Did it just slap me?!”

“Yes!” she beamed. “That’s a feature!”

I tried to grab her. Wolf Step: Crushing Lotus—!

She cartwheeled over me again, this time flinging dozens of pink powder balls.

"Smoke screen: Cherry Blossom Edition! Smells like peaches!"

"Why would you make tactical smoke smell like fruit!?!"

"I wanted to appeal to the consumer's senses!" she chirped.

I coughed. I slashed. I dashed. I even used a controlled Yang Burst: Moon Palm, aimed only to disarm—not injure.

But she dodged everything.

Every.
Single.
Attack.

I began to sweat—not from exhaustion, but sheer emotional frustration.

My ears were flicking wildly.

I was Rin Namikaze. Winner of national martial arts tournaments. Descendant of a legendary Chinese warrior line. Wolf-themed heroine of tactical combat.

And here I was…

Being defeated by retail promotion.

After ten minutes of running, narrating, launching items, and one extremely confusing inflatable emotional support panda drone, Hatsume raised her hand, grinned—

“Okay! My quota's done! Everyone saw my babies in action!”

—and walked out of bounds.

DING DING DING!

“THE WINNER IS… RIN NAMIKAZE!” Present Mic announced.

I stood there. Panting. Covered in glitter. Smelling like peach shampoo. Hair buns still jiggling.

“…She didn’t even fight me.”

My arms drooped. My lips unconsciously formed a pout.

I… pouted.

I never pout.

But I pouted.

And that’s when the stadium exploded in noise.

“KYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAA!!!”
“DID YOU SEE THAT? SHE POUTED! RIN-CHAN POUTED!”
“IT’S THE END OF DAYS!!!”

Cameras flashed like lightning. A dozen drones buzzed past. I shielded my eyes.

“MINETA-SAN! STOP TAKING PHOTOS!”

“I’M IMMORTALIZING HISTORY!” Mineta howled, surrounded by phones and tripods. “I SHALL MAKE THIS MY DESKTOP BACKGROUND, MY LOCKSCREEN, MY GRAVESTONE INSCRIPTION!”

Bakugou appeared behind him like a spirit of vengeance.

“…Die.”

Mineta turned slowly. “Eh?”

BOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

The shockwave leveled half the bleachers.

From the crater, a smoldering Mineta’s voice squeaked, “W-worth it…”

Meanwhile, I was still standing in the ring.

Hair in buns. Dignity in shambles. A panda parachute tangled around one ankle.

“…What just happened?”

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The waiting room was quiet when I entered. The clunky panda-shaped gadgets on my body made plonk clink krrrk noises as I walked—like a malfunctioning wind-up toy returning from battle. I could still smell peaches.

“Finally,” I muttered. “These bells are torment incarnate.”

I began detaching the “support gear” one piece at a time. The Dynasty Defender™ gauntlets clunked to the floor like useless armor. The panda belt tried to reattach itself mid-removal.

“Stay down,” I whispered.

“Rin-San?” Iida-San blinked as he looked up from a cup of tea, sitting rigidly upright like a soldier on standby.

“Oh, Rin-Chan~! Back from your panda parade?”Uraraka-San sat beside him, stretching her arms with a small groan.

“It was an ambush,” I replied solemnly, dropping a glittering fan onto the bench like a discarded war relic. “A psychological trap. I lost before I even stepped into the ring.”

“But you won, didn’t you?”Uraraka giggled.

“I survived.”

I plopped down next to them, stretching out my legs. The panda sandals squeaked.Iida adjusted his glasses with a look of earnest concern.

“Still, congratulations on advancing, Namikaze-San. I fear I was not as fortunate in my match.”

“You lost to Todoroki-San, didn’t you?”I tilted my head, wolf ears twitching.

“Yes. I attempted to rush him with Reciproburst, but his ice came too quickly. I was frozen in under six seconds.”He nodded grimly.

“Hm. That does track,” I said bluntly. “Elemental advantage. He’s a bad matchup for speed-based close-range types like us. Cold reduces kinetic response by 38%.”

“…That is a very precise number,” Iida said.

“I measured it during winter training.”

“Iida-Kun, you still did great though. It’s not like fighting an ice prince is easy.”Uraraka hummed.

“I am not upset by the loss,” Iida said. “I simply must better account for variables. Like how his control over his Quirk is terrifyingly refined.”

“His heart remains… frosty.”I nodded.

“Pfffft.” Uraraka broke into soft laughter. “Was that a pun?”

“Unintended.”

The door creaked open behind us, and Midoriya-San entered, breathless and slightly disheveled as always.

“There you guys are! I was looking all over!” he said. “Rin-Chan, are you okay?! You were glowing and then pouting and then—”

“Alive,” I said simply. “Emotionally damaged, but alive.”

He scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Right. That’s… good?”

“By the way,” he added, turning to Uraraka, “the fifth and sixth matches just finished.”

“Oh?” she tilted her head. “Who won?”

“Ashido-San defeated Aoyama-San by breaking his belt,” he said. “Apparently, it misfired and blinded him instead.”

“She danced circles around him,” he added with a chuckle. “And then Tokoyami-San beat Yaoyorozu-San. It was over in seconds—he used Dark Shadow to pin her before she could create anything.”

“Poor Momo,” Uraraka murmured. “She’s so smart, too…”

“She probably needed more time,” I agreed. “Tactics require prep.”

“That’s the nature of the tournament, unfortunately.”Iida adjusted his glasses again.

A moment of silence passed. Uraraka’s smile began to fade.

“…Guess that means it’s my turn soon.”

She looked down at her hands.

“Against Bakugou-Kun.”

“Do not fear,” Iida tried, “he may go easier on you because you’re a girl—”

“No,” Uraraka said firmly. Her voice was steady, but quiet.

“No, he won’t. Bakugou-Kun doesn’t hold back on anyone. Especially not in a fight.”

“…Correct,” I said, nodding. “He respects strength too much to pull punches. I would do the same.”

“Out of honor.”I paused, then added.

“Thanks, Rin-Chan.”Uraraka smiled at that.

Midoriya fidgeted a bit, obviously thinking of something.

“Actually,” he began, “if you’d like, I can give you some notes? A strategy for how to fight him—?”

“Thanks, Deku. But I’ll be fine.”Uraraka shook her head.

“O-oh?”Midoriya blinked.

“I need to do this my way. Win or lose.” She looked up, eyes burning with quiet resolve. “I want to see how far I can go with my own strength.”

For a moment, the room fell quiet. Then, Iida placed a respectful fist over his chest.

“Spoken like a true hero.”

“I will cheer for you with great intensity!” I added.

Midoriya just looked at her in awe.

Uraraka stood and began walking toward the door. She turned back, flashing a peace sign.

“See you guys later. Deku… I’ll meet you in the finals, okay?”

Midoriya’s face went full tomato.

“Y-YEAH!”

As she left, I leaned toward Iida.

“…Does he have a fever?”

“Emotionally, yes.”

Midoriya was still frozen in place, hands trembling slightly.

“…She’s amazing,” he whispered.

I nodded once. “Yes. I approve.”

Then the panda boots honked, and the last gear finally fell off with a loud thud.

“…I can feel my soul returning to my body.”

—————————

I was seated cross-legged on the bench, sipping a small bottle of honey chrysanthemum tea I had brought from home. My wolf ears twitched. My tail was still. I had finally stripped off all of Mei’s "panda power-ups" and restored my hair to a proper high ponytail after a good fifteen minutes of combing. Peace had returned.

Or so I thought.

“...Hn?”

My heartbeat skipped when Bakugou-Kun’s image appeared on the screen.

He strode into the arena with that signature scowl—shoulders high, hands twitching at his sides like they were impatient to explode something, or someone.

For some reason, my heartbeat accelerated.

I looked down at my chest. “What...?” I tapped it. “Is the tea too sweet?”

The moment Uraraka-San walked into frame, the announcers exploded with noise. Present Mic-Sensei was halfway through a joke when Midnight-Sensei dropped her hand.

“BEGIN!”

Uraraka moved first. Swift, light on her feet. Like a feather in a windstorm.

Then BOOM—Bakugou’s Explosion slammed the ground, halting her advance.

“He’s not holding back,” I murmured.

Another blast.

But when he reached down—only her jacket.

I leaned forward slightly.

She’d faked him. Clever.

But Bakugou turned, reflexes honed by years of battle instincts, and blasted her mid-attack. The shockwave even made the camera shake. My wolf ears twitched again.

“Ouch,” I muttered. “He’s sharp.”

Uraraka tried to rise again, stubborn, bleeding. Bakugou dashed in and fired another Explosion. Then another. The force of it left scars in the arena floor.

Some of the crowd started yelling. “Too much!” “Take it easy!” “She’s a girl!”

“...Idiots,” I said flatly.

On the screen, Aizawa-Sensei’s voice cut in cold.
“Bakugou’s not to blame. He sees her as a threat and is fighting accordingly. That’s what a real hero does.”

Exactly.

I nodded.

Bakugou wasn’t doing this out of cruelty. That was respect. Brutal, overwhelming respect.

“Damn muscle brain,” I muttered his nickname for me softly.

Suddenly, Uraraka stood tall.

“Thanks for not holding back…!” she yelled, blood on her lip.

My ears perked. Her voice still carried strength.

And then—her trap.

The arena above darkened slightly. I looked up instinctively, forgetting it was a screen.

A meteor shower of debris, floating with her Quirk, rained down from above. Ingenious. Distraction by chaos. A frontal attack in the confusion.

For a second—I thought she had him.

But Bakugou raised both hands, grit his teeth, and let out a roar.

KABOOOOOM!!!

A massive Explosion tore through the falling rubble. Smoke engulfed the arena. The rubble disintegrated in mid-air. Dust. Ash.

The camera tried to focus.

Uraraka was down. Still trying to stand.

My ears lowered.

Her hand trembled as she pushed against the cracked arena floor. Her leg buckled.

My heartbeat slowed.

“…Uraraka-San…”

She collapsed.

Midnight-Sensei rushed over and signaled the end.

“Ochaco Uraraka is unable to continue! Winner: Katsuki Bakugou!”

The audience was stunned. Some applauded. Others whispered. Bakugou didn’t gloat. He didn’t even smirk. He just turned away, fists clenched, jaw tight.

I exhaled slowly. Then frowned.

“…That idiot,” I muttered. “He didn’t smile even once.”

My tail flicked.

That match had stirred something inside me. Not just admiration.

Was it respect?

Jealousy?

…No. I placed a hand over my chest again.

Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.

“Annoying…”

I tried drinking more tea. It didn’t help.

Outside the waiting room, I could hear the buzzing of the crowd, the shouts, the roar of the next announcement. But all I could think about was Uraraka-San’s eyes—unwavering even as she fell. And Bakugou-Kun’s back—unmoving, silent, filled with rage and pride.

I stared at the black screen in front of me.

“…I guess I’m next soon.”

I stood, cracked my knuckles, and brushed the last bits of fluff off my uniform.

And then I blinked.

“...Why is my tail wagging?”

I grabbed it and held it down. It resisted.

“Stop that.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The quarterfinals came and went faster than expected.

Shiozaki-San was a graceful fighter, elegant and composed—truly like a saint in a green garden. Her vine Quirk was versatile and spiritual, a beautiful match to her demeanor.

Too bad I was her exact natural predator.

Her vines reached out like holy whips, trying to bind me in the name of divine justice.

And I, who had fought wild tigers, rogue martial artists, and my mother’s fashion advice, was not so easily caught.

My Yin illusions confused her sight. My Yang blades sliced through her vines like paper. And when she tried to trap me in a net of thorny faith, I simply stepped through with a clone and kicked her real self in the side—gently. I tried to hold back. Really.

She flew across the ring like a maple leaf in autumn.

“Rin Namikaze advances to the semifinals!”

The crowd was a mix of cheers and oohs. I bowed politely and left the ring, my face as calm as ever.

Inside, though, I felt a little bad.

She even said, “Peace be upon you,” before leaving the stage...

—————————

Back in the waiting room, I wiped the sweat off my neck with a towel. My tail swayed idly behind me.

Thump... thump... thump...

I turned my eyes to the screen again.

The next match. Midoriya-San versus Todoroki-San.

Even before the bell rang, I could feel the tension across the arena. The kind of tension that could slow time.

Midoriya-San’s face was steel. Todoroki-San’s was ice.

And what came next was—

Boom. Crash. Rumble.

Destruction.

Todoroki-San’s ice created mountain walls, glaciers blooming like flowers mid-battle. Midoriya-San smashed through with his fingers, his arms, one bone at a time.

I winced every time his finger bent the wrong way.

“Midoriya-San will not get any offer letter.” I stated to myself.

But what really caught me... was that moment.

That one moment.

Todoroki-San, pushed to the edge. Fire flaring up his left side. The ice melting under his own heat.

It was the first time I saw it.

His left side... fire.

Not just cold and precision anymore. He was a storm of contradictions. Cold fury. Burning pride.

A yin-yang like myself. Yet... unlike me, he was trying to reject one side.

“Why…?” I whispered to myself.

Why would someone with that much power choose not to use it?

When the match ended, with Midoriya-San unconscious in a crater of ash and Todoroki standing in silence, the screen went dark for a second. My reflection stared back at me.

Hair slightly ruffled. Eyes still calm.

But my tail had puffed up.

“…I guess I’m next.”

I stood, adjusting my gloves.

Outside, the crowd roared for the semifinal announcement. Todoroki-San vs. Namikaze Rin.

I looked down at my hands.

Yin in the left. Yang in the right.

He has fire and ice. I have light and shadow.

But the difference between us…

I’m not afraid to use both.

—————————

The crowd was roaring, a sea of voices and lights beyond the edges of the arena. I stepped forward slowly, each footfall echoing like a war drum in my ears. The sunlight gleamed off the polished stone floor as I entered once more into the battlefield—my battlefield. Across from me stood Todoroki Shoto, already in his stance. His breath came in slow clouds, mist curling around his left side—his ice side. His expression was calm… too calm.

My wolf ears twitched slightly, angling forward. I watched his hands, his posture, his breathing. A slight shift in his weight—he was preparing ice again. Predictable. I regulated my breathing, feeling the faint flow of Yin in my fingertips and the subtle pulse of Yang in my legs.

I was ready.

The bell rang.

Crack—! Ice surged forward, a glacier racing across the arena floor like a beast. I leapt high, flipping over the crest of it, my anklets flaring with Yang energy as I twisted midair and launched a shockwave downward to shatter the rising spike meant to impale me.

He tried to freeze me midair, jagged ice spikes erupting like fangs, but my movements had already curved into a tight spiral—one hand forming a Yin construct platform midair as I kicked off it. I landed behind him with a sharp roll, blade fingers extended and aiming for his exposed flank.

But he twisted, ice forming in a sheet to deflect my strike. His technique… flawless. Controlled. Efficient. But there was no fire. No heat. No desperation.

My strikes increased in tempo—light jabs followed by heavy kicks, my Yang energy pulsing through my legs to give extra momentum. He responded with walls of ice and slick terrain, trying to trip me up, but I adapted quickly. I had to. His movements were narrowing—he was cornering himself. Or so I thought.

I spun low and swept his legs—but they were already iced to the floor. He raised a hand and summoned a spike from behind. I shattered it with a backward elbow charged with Yin, creating a feedback pulse that sent him stumbling.

I paused. My breath misted in the air. My tail flicked in agitation. My voice, quiet but edged like steel, rose:

“Todoroki-San. You’ve been holding back. Why?”

He said nothing.

“This is a battlefield. You disgrace this festival. You disgrace me. Are you afraid? Or do you simply not care?”I stepped forward, slow and composed.

Still, silence.

Something inside me twisted. A pulse. A shadow. A… pressure. I didn’t recognize it. But it felt old. And hungry.

『WhY... Is hE StIlL nOt uSiNg iT...?』

I froze, just for a moment. That wasn’t my voice. But it was. I swallowed. Push it down. Remember your teachings. Emotions cloud judgment. This is a test. All fights are training.

But that voice came again.

『He’s not fighting you. He’s insulting you. He pities you. Break him.』

I clenched my fist.

“USE. YOUR. FIRE!!” I shouted—something raw breaking from my throat. My glasses cracked slightly from the force. The stadium went quiet. My tail lashed violently, and my Yin energy surged. Todoroki flinched.

Still… nothing.

Very well.

I blurred forward, feinting left before a spinning kick arced toward his side. He blocked with a frozen arm. I followed up with a barrage—five strikes, alternating between Yin disruption and Yang shockwaves. The ice cracked. His feet slipped.

I swept low, shoulder-tackled him into the air, and launched a Yang pulse upward—he barely managed to shield with ice midflight. But I was already above him. My hands shaped a Yin construct—twin wolf heads—biting down as I struck.

He hit the ground hard.

Still. No fire.

Something inside me snapped.

『Crush him. If he won’t fight… make him.』

I blurred forward, fists like thunder. No more holding back. If he won’t respect me with strength, I’ll force him to. My strikes were brutal now—less like a martial artist, more like a storm. His defense broke. He went tumbling.

Only then, as the crowd gasped, did he try to rise, a flicker of heat finally pulsing from his left palm.

But it was too late.

I swept in low and struck his gut with a fully charged Yang-infused palm—he was thrown backward across the arena, skidding and finally stopping at the boundary.

Silence.

Midnight raised her hand. “Todoroki Shoto is unable to battle. Winner: Namikaze Rin!”

Applause. Cheers. Gasps.

But all I could feel was my own pulse in my ears. My heart was pounding too fast. My tail was bristled like a threatened animal’s. I tried to steady my breath… but that voice—that feeling—still lingered.

I looked up at the monitor showing my face. Calm. Stoic. As always.

And yet my hands… were trembling.

What… was that?

—————————

Back in the waiting room, I sat on the bench with a towel draped over my shoulders. The cheers and voices from the stadium felt distant now—like echoes down a long corridor. I stared at my hands quietly, watching the faint glow of lingering Yin energy pulse along my fingertips before fading into stillness.

What was that just now…?

That voice.

That… pressure.

My body remembered the sensation of striking Todoroki-San without hesitation. Each movement had been sharp, clean, brutal. But something inside me felt strange. The balance of Yin and Yang was… off. Like a single step thrown out of rhythm in a kata.

I tilted my head slightly. My ears flicked once. Then twice.

Was I… angry?

No. That wasn’t right. I don’t get angry. That emotion is inefficient. Like a teapot with no lid—it expends heat in all the wrong directions. My emotions are supposed to be still water. Focused.

Then… what was that?

I frowned slightly and poked my own cheek.

Still stoic. Still me.

I didn’t get to think any longer because the door slammed open with the force of a cannon blast.

“RIIIIIN~! My baby girl!!!” my mother’s dramatic voice rang like a stage performer mid-climax, and in she glided—literally glided, her platform heels defying friction and logic—as a cloud of designer perfume assaulted the air. Hana Loong, top fashion model and magazine editor, threw herself toward me with the elegance of a swan and the strength of a tiger. “You decimated that handsome boy! I haven’t seen footwork like that since my runway duel with Veronica at Milan Fashion Week!”

“Yo! That was totally sick, Rin!” boomed my father—Namikaze Ryusuke, Japan’s Number Fifteen Hero, whose neon-orange sunglasses were utterly useless indoors. He flung an arm over my shoulders with zero hesitation, nearly knocking over a chair in the process. “BOOM—POW—straight to the boundary line! You blasted that boy like I did to that volcano villain in ’06!”

I blinked. Once.

Then again.

“…Mother. Father,” I greeted, tilting my head. “You are not seated in the audience?”

“Of course not!” Mother chirped. “Your aura felt soooo off all of a sudden that I had to burst in backstage, darling. You were scowling.”

I frowned slightly. “I was?”

She nodded solemnly, placing a hand on her heart. “Like a heroine in a third-act twist.”

Father gave me a thumbs-up. “I thought you were about to go Super Saiyan Wolf Mode or something.”

“That’s… not a real transformation.”

“Yet!”

I blinked again. “But I won. So… is it not fine?”

Mother leaned down and cupped my face dramatically. “Sweetheart, it’s not about the win, it’s about your vibes!”

“…Vibes?”

“Yes!” she insisted, shaking me lightly. “You were glowing with righteous fury and bloodlust. So sexy—so powerful—I must commission a fashion line based on your rage.”

Father gave me a side-hug and whispered, “She’s been waiting years for you to express even one angry emotion, Rin. She thinks she finally broke through your stoic wall.”

I nodded slowly. “I do not remember feeling angry. I simply asked Todoroki-San to use his fire.”

“With the intensity of a betrayed anime protagonist,” Father grinned. “You even cracked your glasses.”

“Ah,” I touched the edge of my cracked lenses. “I see.”

I really didn’t.

But they seemed happy. Very… expressive. This level of excitement reminded me of when I won my second National Martial Arts Tournament at age twelve. Father burst into tears. Mother released an article titled "My Daughter’s Fists Are Mightier Than The Gods".

I had hoped such dramatic irrationalities would stop after that.

Apparently not.

“…Very well,” I replied, calmly folding the towel over my lap. “I will accept your excessive emotionality for now.”

My mother gasped. “Did she just sass me?! She’s learning! She has emotions!”

Father took out a phone. “Say that again! I need to record it for your future wedding montage!”

I tilted my head.

“…I believe I will go meditate now.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The final match began under a blazing sky and a roaring stadium, but the moment I stepped onto the battlefield, everything else dulled into silence.

My eyes locked with Bakugou Katsuki’s.

His expression was fierce as always—brows furrowed, crimson eyes locked on me like a predator. But I knew… this wasn’t aggression born from hate. This was how he respected someone.

A fight without hesitation. Without pity.

A fight worth having.

My wolf ears perked up involuntarily. My tail swayed slowly behind me.

He cracked his neck, letting out a half-growl of a chuckle.

“Tch. You better not hold back, four-eyes.”

“I won’t,” I replied simply, adjusting my cracked glasses and steadying my stance.

The moment Midnight’s whip cracked—BOOM—he launched forward, palm extended.

I sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the initial explosion aimed at my midsection. My nose twitched. He'd used nitroglycerin-sweat from his right palm. Concentrated. Sharp. Meant to destabilize my center of gravity. He wasn't aiming to test the waters.

He was aiming to win.

Good.

I spun low and drove a rising elbow strike toward his ribcage—he blocked with his forearm, but the impact still made him slide back a step. He grinned.

His right hand flared again, this time thrusting downward to propel himself up into the air in a burst of concussive heat. He twisted midair—BOOM—another explosion fired from his left, angling him like a rocket as he shot toward me feet-first.

I bent backward at the last second, the soles of his boots grazing the tip of my nose. My ponytail-turned-double-buns fluttered from the heat wave left behind.

I countered mid-dodge with a rotating kick, Yang energy infused at the heel. He blocked—but the concussive energy launched him toward the opposite end of the ring.

He landed on all fours, skidding and cracking the stone underfoot.

A long breath escaped my lips.

This pace… is what I desired.

Not a one-sided match. Not a staged demonstration. But a duel.

He grinned, wide and savage. “Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!!”

Another explosion.

I raised my left palm, Yin energy forming a dark ripple—an illusion wall that distorted his depth perception just long enough for me to disappear from his line of sight.

I circled around his flank and shot forward. A triple-step silent dash—step, step, slide—then a palm strike aimed at his kidney. He pivoted with a fierce snarl, firing an explosion right where I appeared, narrowly avoiding a full hit but still grazing my forearm.

I winced. Burn.

“Oi, don’t go soft on me, dammit!” he shouted, twisting and grabbing my wrist mid-flinch.

He pulled me into his explosion—one he set off beneath us.

We rocketed upward.

Spinning midair, I wrenched free from his grip and delivered a midair backflip kick to his jaw. His head snapped to the side with a CRACK but he recovered instantly, using his recoil to somersault and unleash another explosion at my back.

It struck—square across my spine.

I gasped—vision flashing white.

Pain surged down my arms.

But I spun, hooked my legs around his arm and flung him down like a comet toward the arena floor.

He caught himself—palms down, twin blasts cushioning the landing as the ground shattered beneath him.

I landed in front of him, breathing heavily, sweat dotting my forehead, my tail puffed up like a startled cat.

“Haah… haah…”

His chest rose and fell. He was sweating, arms trembling from overuse.

I was... strangely calm. No pain. No hesitation.

But—why is my heart… beating faster?

“Still not calling me a friend?” I asked.

“Tch. Only if you beat me, mutt.”He scoffed.

“I see…”I charged forward again.

We clashed in a storm of flame and light, limbs and explosions trading faster than the audience could follow.

A left jab from me to his temple—he ducked.

An uppercut from him to my chin—I parried and elbowed his side.

He spun, caught my leg, exploded against the ground to throw me up—I twisted midair, focused Yin to form an illusion of a second me—

He blasted it to bits.

Smart.

But the real me was already on him, heel to his shoulder, driving him down into the arena with a Yang-charged axe kick.

The ground cracked under him as he coughed from the impact.

I leapt back, stance poised.

He staggered up.

Blood at his lip.

Grinning.

“Now that’s… what I’ve been waitin’ for.”

And then—his left leg gave out.

Midnight raised her hand.

“Bakugou Katsuki is unable to continue! The winner is… Namikaze Rin!”

The crowd roared.

I didn’t hear them.

I walked toward him slowly. He glared up at me through sweat and bruises.

“I see,” I said quietly, kneeling beside him.

“…You’re strong, Rin.”

“Oh?”

“…Tch. Still not friends though.”

“…Hmm. Strange,” I said, pressing my palm to his shoulder to heal the minor burns.

“My heartbeat was out of sync during our match.”

Bakugou blinked. “What?”

I tilted my head. “Was that… affection?”

He flushed. “T-Tch—shut up, dumb mutt! That was just your adrenaline.”

“…I see.”

—————————

The sun was beginning to dip low on the horizon, its golden rays painting the arena in hues of crimson and orange. The cheers had quieted down to murmurs, then respectful silence as the platform slowly rose from the center of the battlefield.

There we stood.

Three figures—one surrounded by chains and wood like a captured demon king, another staring calmly ahead, and one more with his hands folded in front of her, wolf ears flicking slightly with the wind.

Todoroki Shouto stood on the third-place podium, his face passive, shoulders slumped—not from defeat, but from something else. Inner conflict.

Bakugou Katsuki, second place, was gagged and bound with almost comical severity: mouth restrained by a thick muzzle, arms and hands locked together in gauntlet-like clasps, body strapped to a wooden pillar with thick chains, all of it bolted to the second-place stand. His eyes, however, burned with unfiltered rage—not at me, but at Todoroki-san.

And I, Namikaze Rin, stood atop the first-place podium.

Victorious.

The wind brushed my bangs aside. My ears twitched slightly as I observed the two boys on either side of me.

Todoroki-san didn’t meet my gaze.

I tilted my head. Slightly.

He’s… still carrying something.

My tail flicked behind me, a small, unconscious motion. I was no longer furious. No. My rage had ebbed, replaced by a calm sea of understanding. I had let my emotions stray too far during the match, allowed something else to claw up from beneath my consciousness.

But now, with the storm over, I could see clearly.

Todoroki-san wasn’t my enemy.

He was his own.

Suddenly—BWOOSH!—

Golden wind swept across the platform, and a familiar figure landed before us with that theatrical grin and dramatic flair.

“All Might!” several voices cried from the stands.

Even Bakugou growled through his muzzle, eyes twitching at the sight of his idol.

“Students of U.A.! Heroes of tomorrow!” All Might bellowed, his voice ringing with pride and power. “You’ve all done exceptionally well! But now, it’s time to award our top three warriors for their dazzling performance in this year’s Sports Festival!”

He turned to Todoroki-san first. “Young Todoroki.”

Todoroki raised his gaze, surprised as All Might placed the bronze medal around his neck.

“You may not have used your full strength… but I see the courage in your heart. That… is something only you can overcome.”

Todoroki lowered his head. “…Yes, sir.”

Then All Might turned to Bakugou-Kun.

“…Young Bakugou.”Bakugou’s entire body trembled—furious, explosive trembles.

“Er… your performance was… spectacular. You gave your all, and for that, I award you—”All Might sweat a little.

He tried to put the silver medal around Bakugou’s neck.

Bakugou headbutted forward, attempting to knock All Might's hand away.

“WOAH, WHOAH! Calm down, young man!” All Might laughed, strapping the medal to the chains instead.

And finally, he turned to me.

I blinked as he approached. My tail curled slightly in anticipation. He smiled warmly, that sun-like grin softening into something more paternal.

“Young Namikaze.”

“…Yes.”

“You stood tall against overwhelming force. You held yourself back when needed… and let go when it mattered. Most of all—you never stopped moving forward. That… is a hero’s heart.”

He placed the gold medal around my neck.

I looked down at the glimmering disk. It was heavy.

Yet I felt… light.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

Then, turning to face the crowd, All Might raised both arms high.

“Let us not forget—the medals you see here represent more than victory! They represent effort! Growth! The spirit of the next generation of heroes!!”

The stadium erupted into cheers.

“And so I say, to every student who fought with their all—those who stood and those who fell…”

He threw one arm to the sky, a shining smile radiant as the setting sun.

“GREAT WORK!!”

The crowd’s cheer became thunderous.

In that moment, under the brilliance of the fading sunlight, I felt something warm in my chest.

A heartbeat—synchronized.

This… this was where I belonged.

And thus, the U.A. Sports Festival came to an end.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

Two days had passed since the Sports Festival.

The gold medal still hung quietly in my room, looped onto the handle of my blade cabinet—not out of pride, but because I hadn’t figured out where else to place it. I’d already returned to my daily routines, where the world made sense.

No roaring crowd.
No heartbeat disruptions.
Just movement. Flow. Breath.

I stood in front of the mirror, fingers tying the familiar royal-blue ribbon around my high ponytail. The weight of the world was different when my hair was in its usual style. Sleek. Efficient. Focused.

"School uniform, check," I muttered softly, smoothing out the fabric and straightening my collar.
"Sneakers... check."
"Time to jog."

The old sliding door creaked open as I stepped out of my family’s traditional home on the far western edge of Tokyo. My nose picked up the faint scent of dew and early-morning soba broth from the nearby shops. Ears twitched once toward the sound of temple bells in the distance. The sky was still the shade of eggshell blue, dappled with orange hues from the rising sun.

And then—I ran.

Each step was part of a familiar rhythm, my limbs moving in practiced harmony. The sidewalks blurred into a line. A dash of yang energy at my ankles sent me sailing over alleys and fences, zigzagging through the unmonitored construction zones like the wind itself had learned martial arts.

I greeted one old ojisan on his usual bench with a nod.
“Was that—eh? That wolf-eared girl from the TV!?”He blinked.

Ah. There it was.

By the time I hit the halfway point near the public library, the crowd had tripled. Girls—some in U.A. uniforms, some not—flagged me down with squeals and gasps.

“Senpai!!”
“Namikaze-senpai, can we get a selfie!?”
“Your moves in the finals were so cool!!”
“You’re so elegant… but also really scary…”

I tilted my head. Selfie? Hm. Why photos? Was this part of a new school regulation?

Still. I was not one to turn away a polite request.

I halted my jog, standing upright with military precision as phones were raised. My ears twitched at the sound of a hundred rapid shutter clicks. One girl leaned in too close and almost got headbutted by my tail’s reflexive flick.

“Do maintain a respectable distance. I am not edible.”I blinked slowly.

They laughed. I did not understand why.

Then came the offerings.

Meat buns. Steamed dumplings. Pork floss rolls. Glutinous rice with lotus leaves. Red bean cakes. Baozi. Fried radish cakes. Sesame balls.

All of it… Chinese food.

All of it… warm.

“Thank you,” I said, accepting each one into my arms like ceremonial scrolls.

By the time I resumed jogging, I had an entire bamboo steamer tray tucked under one arm and skewered meat buns lining my other like accessories.

I consumed them calmly as I ran, my stoic face unchanged. The amount, of course, was a light breakfast by my family’s standards.

My grandmother in Kuala Lumpur would prepare triple this on a normal morning. Seven trays. Thirteen types of kuih. Two whole steamed chickens. And if you said you were full, she would accuse you of being “too Western.”

…Warm memories.

I arrived at U.A. High’s front gate, licking the final flecks of char siu from my fingertips, having inhaled enough food to down a mid-sized boar. My energy was balanced. Yin and yang… full.

Students passed me by. There was murmuring, of course. But no crowd. Just respectful distance. Whispers of admiration. Awe. Some bowed.

"Good," I said under my breath. "Everyone is continuing their day.”

—————————

The classroom had the scent of processed metal and pine—likely someone just polished their costume gear again. The soft hum of the holographic projector spun to life, and Shota-sensei—sleepy eyes and tired expression intact—stood at the front with his arms crossed.

A set of graphs blinked onto the screen behind him, bars representing numbers and names, and a faint flicker of static clinging to the projection's edge.

“This is the tally of hero agency nominations,” Shota-sensei began, his voice dry and to the point, “based on your performance at the Sports Festival.”

I glanced up from my meal—today’s second breakfast. A baozi in one hand, red bean dango skewer in the other. I had rationed them carefully. These were tactical calories.

“Usually,” Shota continued, “the nominations are more balanced across students.”

He tapped the board, highlighting three towering bars on the graph.

“But this year, things are skewed. These are the numbers.”
He paused. “Todoroki—4,100 nominations. Namikaze—3,900. Bakugou—3,550.”

A few murmurs erupted across the classroom.

“Oiii! That’s crazy…”
“Namikaze-san really made an impact.”
“3900… that’s more than triple everyone else’s combined!”

My ears twitched slightly, but I was too focused on chewing the rest of the turnip cake in my mouth. The numbers were… interesting. Big. But I wasn’t sure what their relevance was.

I turned to Shoto-san.

He was calm, arms crossed loosely, his expression still and unmoved.

“Expected,” he said, his voice devoid of satisfaction. “Because of Endeavor.”

His tone was like ice, but not the fierce kind. It was the type you felt in quiet winter mornings. Distant. I tilted my head, licking stray sesame seeds from my thumb.

“Unlike you,” I said, “my father has no such influence.”

There were a few blinks around the classroom. Someone probably expected me to be more humble. Or modest. I was merely stating facts.

“My father is No. 15,” I continued, speaking in my usual serene voice. “A fine hero, yes. But he is not the reason for my nominations. He is known for declaring himself ‘The Glorious Humble Flash of Justice’ while holding a rice cooker.”

A pause.

“He has not inspired the hero world to see me as a worthy candidate. He has inspired... laughter. Often unintentional.”

I popped another dumpling in my mouth.

“And I don’t see this many nominations as a blessing,” I said plainly. “Being noticed only means being studied. Studied means countermeasures. Countermeasures mean vulnerability. A martial artist seeks not applause. A martial artist—”

FWMP.

Something soft and warm wrapped around my mouth.

Shota-sensei had moved mid-sentence, his capture scarf now coiled around the lower half of my face like a fuzzy muzzle.

“—mmhhfnnff,” I continued, stoic as always, though my words were now heavily muffled.
The scarf tasted vaguely of chalk dust and burnt wool.

“That's enough commentary, Namikaze,” Shota said flatly, not even glancing my way. “The point is: whether you were nominated or not, you’re all going to get workplace experience. That’s final.”

My tail swished once in muted protest.

Shota’s eyes swept across the room. “You all got an unfortunate taste of reality during the U.S.J. incident.”

Some faces stiffened. Iida-san lowered his gaze.

“But now, you’ll experience the day-to-day life of a pro. The dull, the demanding, and the dangerous.”

Just then, the door slid open with a smooth shunk.

“Yaahoo! Sorry I’m late!” Midnight chimed, giving the room a flirtatious wave as she stepped in, her heels clicking with every stride. “Ooh, still so tense in here~”

The temperature in the room shifted immediately.

Shota sighed. “I asked her to evaluate your hero names.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Because,” he added with all the authority of a man who had long since stopped expecting silence, “your futures will be shaped by the image your hero name projects. This is your first step. The world remembers names. The wrong name could kill your career. The right one could define it.”

I finally unwrapped my scarf-muzzle and placed my fingers together.

“Hmm…” I said aloud, “Rin Namikaze… will that suffice?”

“No,” both Shota and Midnight answered immediately.

The class chuckled.

I remained unmoved, blinking slowly.

As my classmates began pondering their hero names with sparkles and anxiety alike, I leaned back and nibbled thoughtfully on my last glutinous rice ball. Perhaps this part of the path... was one I needed to approach with more deliberation.

Pens scribbled furiously on name tags. Pages tore from notebooks with rejected names. Dramatic gasps echoed every time someone claimed, “THIS IS THE ONE!”—only to tear it in half a second later.

In the middle of the chaos, I sat. Stoic. Still. Chewing on the final bite of a custard baozi. The idea of another name eluded me.

“Wolf Hero: Rin.”

It was simple. Direct. I am Rin. I am a wolf. There is no deeper meaning to be found. Nothing else needed.

…Or so I thought.

“Aghhh, no way no way no way, Rin-chaaaaan!!”

Ashido-san appeared at my side in a flash, her hands gripping my shoulders as if I were a prize she was determined to shake some glam into.

“You can’t just go with that! You were the runner-up champion of the festival! You gotta pop!”

“I am not edible, Ashido-san,” I reminded her, blinking. “No need to shake me.”

“That’s not what I meant!!” she puffed, before turning around to rally backup.

“I agree with Mina!” Hagakure-san’s voice piped up cheerily from thin air—though her clothes and the occasional sparkles of light revealed her movement. “You’re cool, Rin-chan! But your name’s like… just rice! We want you to be rice with gravy and eggs and fried chicken and spring onions and—”

“I would eat that,” I said.

“C’mon, Rin-Chan! You’ve got the stoic grace of a martial artist, the power of Yin and Yang, the whole wolf aesthetic—you need something flashy but manly! What about…”Kirishima-kun leaned forward with a grin and scribbled on a notepad. “‘Iron Will Wolf!’”

“‘Crimson Crescent Fang’!” Sero-san added, swinging upside down from the ceiling like some sort of branding goblin.

“Ooh ooh! How about—‘Princess of Yin and Yang’!! You’re cute but deadly! It’s like… balance! Symbolism! ✨Feng Shui Vibes✨!”Ashido gasped.

“No,” I said calmly. “That is structurally and linguistically overindulgent.”

“What about ‘Shaolin Princess’?” Kirishima offered again with a sparkly thumbs up.

I stared at him.

“My family has no ties to Shaolin. We are a southern fist lineage rooted in Foshan’s internal styles and grounded stances. Shaolin is a different discipline.”

“Oh… my bad,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

“Then—‘Shadow Mk. II’?” Sero said.

“I am not an iteration of someone else’s shadow. That would be factually inaccurate and psychologically unsettling.”

“You’re so HARD to brand! Are you sure you don’t have like a secret name you wanna drop dramatically and we’ll all go, wooooahh~?!”Ashido collapsed dramatically onto her desk.

“I could share my childhood name.”

“YES.”

“Little Dumpling Fang.”

There was a pause. Kirishima choked on air. Sero fell off the ceiling. Hagakure snorted.

“Okay okay okay,” Ashido wheezed, “we’re back to square one.”

Then Bakugou-kun grunted from across the room, his cuffs still faintly smoking from where his hands had been forcibly restrained earlier in the day. He stared at me with his usual scowl, then muttered loud enough to cut through the chatter:

“Call yourself White Fang of Judgment or Moon-Splitting Demon Wolf. I dunno.”

I looked at him. The tension in his shoulders. The grit in his voice.

“I am not a demon. Nor do I split moons. That would be astronomically hazardous.”

“Tch, whatever. It suits your vibe when you go psycho.”

“I did not go ‘psycho.’ I simply became expressive.”

“Hah?! That was a damn spirit exorcism with fists!”

“Bakugou, Namikaze, keep the metaphysical debates to a minimum. Just write down your names.”Aizawa-Sensei, who had been quietly writing on the board all this time, sighed into his scarf.

I pressed my pen to the board. The ink bled calmly, as I wrote in clean, firm strokes.

「Wolf Hero: Rin」

That was it.

No fireworks. No drama. No explosive nouns or celestial metaphors.

Just Rin.

Ashido looked like she might cry.

“You’re gonna break the hearts of thousands of merch designers,” she whispered.

“If they are broken,” I said while fixing my collar, “they were fragile to begin with.”

“GAH—Stop it!!” she wailed.

After the last of the chalk had been wiped off the board and the noise of quirk-enhanced brainstorming died down, Aizawa-sensei gave us a final, scratchy-worded command before sinking back into his sleeping bag cocoon near the windows.

"Class dismissed. Take your time. Sort through your offers. Choose wisely."

I nodded.

I would.

As I returned to my desk, my bag already filled with food wrappers from this morning’s breakfast parade, I pulled out my letter stack.

Three thousand, nine hundred.

I blinked.

That is... quite a few.

Too many.

A pointless exercise to read them all. Quantity is meaningless. Quality is the path of least waste.

So, I filtered down. Only the top twenty agencies. Ranked pro heroes only. Efficiency matters.

One letter stood out, bearing the familiar official stamp of the Ryukyu Agency, one of Japan’s most respected hero offices. Ranked among the top ten heroes.

I raised a brow.

Auntie Ryukyu?

I didn’t meet her often. Maybe once or twice when Mother was dragged into coordinating some magazine shoots or helping stage a Tokyo Fashion Summit commercial. She was dignified. Powerful. Regal. I remembered her always trying to sneak out early while my mother cackled like a fox at the camera team.

The letter itself was longer than most. I opened it neatly, my eyes scanning the contents as I munched quietly on a dried plum bun.

—————————

To: Rin Namikaze
From: Ryukyu

Hello, Namikaze-san.

First of all, congratulations on your performance at the Sports Festival. It was terrifyingly effective. You fought like a professional, and I mean that quite literally.

I’m writing this letter… under pressure. Extreme pressure.

Mirko broke into my office through the fourth-story window. She didn't even open the window. Just... boom. Bunny-style. Now she’s crouched on my meeting table like a wild gargoyle, daring me to not write this letter.

Your mother, Hana, arrived five minutes later. Wearing six-inch heels and carrying a flash diffuser like a blunt weapon. I haven’t heard that much perfume in my life. She didn’t speak. She just… smiled. The smile of a woman who has plans and will make them happen .

So yes. I’m writing this letter.

Let me be clear.
This is not a hero experience field trip. This is not a week of “hands-on” training in crime response. If—and I mean IF —your mother gets involved, you’re looking at seven days of runways, cameras, ads, glamor poses, and probably being forced to wear something with glitter. Mirko’s already arguing about putting you in a “combat-ready bunny suit.”

There will be violence. But not the villain kind. The social kind.

That said… I’ve seen what you can do. If you still want to come, then fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Best of luck.

--Ryukyu
(currently under siege)

—————————

I folded the letter neatly. Ryukyu was a precise writer. I respected that. Her warning seemed sincere.

I see. This was... a test.

She wants to test whether I can handle multiple forms of adversity—villains, yes, but also fashion-based warfare. Perhaps a metaphor for balancing public image and heroism.

...Challenge accepted.

“Yo, is that who I think it is??” Kaminari-san leaned over so far from the next desk his entire torso might as well have migrated. “Rin-chan, is that from Ryukyu?!”

“R-R-Ryukyu?! She’s in the top ten! Top! Ten!! And she works with so many beautiful heroines... and models... and beautiful models... and—”Mineta-san scrambled up like a startled hamster.

“Confirmed,” I replied, still chewing calmly. “I have accepted her offer. Her letter was... inviting.”

“Inviting?! THAT’S AN UNDERSTATEMENT!!” Kaminari wailed, grasping his hair. “Dude, this is gonna be amazing—there’s gonna be outfits, new angles, lens flares—”

“New looks? I only have one hero outfit. Why would I need new ones?”

Mineta and Kaminari both looked like they might cry.

“You don’t understand what you’re capable of...” Kaminari whispered.

Ashido-san and Hagakure-san practically skated into my peripheral vision, holding hands and nearly vibrating with suspicious energy.

“Rin-chaaaaan~” Ashido purred.

“You have to accept the Ryukyu offer,” Hagakure echoed.

“I already have.”

“YESSS!!” they both squealed, high-fiving each other so fast it sounded like two castanets colliding.

I turned back to my desk. “I don’t understand what is so exciting about internship paperwork. I am merely expecting patrol shifts, emergency response simulations, and perhaps some minor villain suppression tasks.”

“OH, SWEET RIN...” Ashido sniffled.

At this point, Kirishima-kun and Sero-san were holding Bakugou-kun back by his shoulders, dragging him across the floor like a rabid lion in a muzzle. He was snarling, teeth gritted, veins pulsing on his forehead as his eyes locked onto Mineta and Kaminari like they were living targets.

“I SWEAR I’M GONNA BLOW THEM UP—LET ME GO—THOSE PERVERTS—STEALING HER LETTER WITH THEIR EYES—”

“C’mon bro, chill! You can’t kill ‘em just for looking!”Sero held fast.

“Focus on your own internship letter, man! Look, you got, uh... Best Jeanist again, right?!”Kirishima was sweating.

“I’M GONNA RIP OUT THEIR SPINES WITH MY TEETH—”

I sipped from a thermos of tea and calmly opened the next letter in my stack.

Ryukyu’s warning felt unusually dramatic, but I would maintain my expectations.

Auntie Ryukyu is a professional.

Surely the internship will be too.

...Surely.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

I arrived at the grand front of Ryukyu Agency, a polished glass tower flanked by twin dragon statues carved in brushed obsidian, holding my travel belongings slung over a stick like some kind of wandering martial artist monk from a kung fu film.

My attire for this momentous first day of internship?

A baggy off-white T-shirt.
A pair of equally baggy charcoal pants cinched lazily at the waist.
Sneakers that looked average—though, truth be told, the whole outfit probably cost over 100,000 yen because every piece was gifted by Mother… who had a very warped idea of what “casual” meant.

Still, I liked the loose fit. It was… nostalgic. Comfortable. Like armor made of memory.

But I was not ready for the battlefield that lay ahead.

Not even remotely.

Eight hours.

That’s how long the battle lasted last night.

Eight full hours of my mother pacing, preaching, posturing like a general rallying her troops. Her weapon? Fashion. Her army? Logic, manipulation, and a horrifying amount of photo references.

“I am not a model,” I had stated firmly. “I am a student. A hero. I fight villains. I heal people. I do not pose in sunflowers.”

“And what is a hero without visibility?” Hana Loong had retorted, adjusting her glasses with the glint of a seasoned war tactician. “Do you think heroes thrive in obscurity? Mt. Lady, Uwabami, Midnight—these women are icons.”

“I do not wish to be an icon.”

“You do not get to choose if you are seen, darling. Only how you are perceived.”

I had tried to resist.

Even when she brought up Stars and Stripes.

Even when she mentioned Ryukyu herself.

But then—

“But what about Mirko?” she said.

I froze.

Mother smiled.

“She’s not a model. She doesn’t need to be. And yet every time she’s on screen, people pay attention. She doesn’t just wear her strength. She shows it. That, Rin, is power.”

That was the end of my resistance.

...I agreed.

I agreed only because it was Mirko.

Still, I had expected... more combat?

When I stepped through the entrance and into the pristine lobby, I was greeted not with the scent of gunpowder or disinfectant like at U.A., but rather orchids and sandalwood. Subtle, clean, and refined. Like a place where heroes wore perfume instead of armor.

The receptionist was smiling at me as if she were about to offer tea and cookies, not files and incident reports.

I did not have long to process the overwhelming... softness of it all before a blur of blue, white, and uncontainable energy skipped into my space like a comet with legs.

“Hi hiiiiii~! You must be Rin-chan! I’m Hado Nejire, your senpai! Welcome to Ryukyu Agency~!”

I stared at her.

So loud. So bubbly. So blue.

“...Hado-senpai,” I replied after the moment of silence, bowing respectfully. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Awww, you’re so formal! But you’re sooo cuuuute toooo~! I can’t believe you’re the child of THE Hana Loong! I’ve read like, every single issue of Mystica Weekly since I was thirteen!”Nejire’s eyes sparkled.

“I see,” I said, utterly unsure how to respond. “Thank you...?”

“Come on, I’ll show you to your room and give you a tour and—oh! Have you heard about Dragoir’s Summer Line shoot? I bet you’ll look soooo good in the new Moon Lotus Set! We could match! Oh, oh, do you wear heels?! Do you have favorite colors?!”She spun around like a top.

“I... prefer flats. And navy. Also, I believe we should start patrols after orientation.”I blinked.

Nejire giggled like I’d told her a joke.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! You’ll get to the hero stuff! But first things first—training for a stronger mind, right? That’s what Ryukyu always says~!”

I tilted my head. That sounded familiar.

Ah. Yes. Mother’s words.

"This is all part of training the mind, Rin. Being perceived. Being controlled in perception. That's strength, not vanity."

I nodded. “Understood. I am ready.”

Meanwhile, in her office upstairs, Ryukyu was holding her head in both hands as she stared at her agency’s calendar. She had survived villains, disasters, government interviews, and a high-speed rooftop chase against Nomu. And yet nothing filled her with dread like the words Dragoir Summer Line Photoshoot — Week 1 circled in heart-shaped pink pen.

“That woman,” she muttered. “She’s going to turn my agency into a photoshoot set. Again.”

A knock.

“Enter,” Ryukyu sighed.

A sidekick poked her head in. “Ma’am, the new intern has arrived. Rin Namikaze. Nejire picked her up.”

“...Did she bring the stick?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ryukyu closed her eyes.

“I thought so.”

The sidekick hesitated. “Also… some of the girls downstairs said they were expecting, um, a boy? I think some of them didn’t watch the Sports Festival. Should I explain?”

“No,” Ryukyu sighed. “They’ll figure it out.”

She looked out the window.

“She’s too innocent,” she muttered. “That’s the problem. Too simple. She’ll believe anything her mother says. She’ll think this is normal. Acceptable.”

She didn’t say it aloud, but she was worried.

What if the magazines ran a feature on Rin?

What if the netizens found out the truth?

What if someone twisted the story into something cruel?

She pressed a palm to her forehead.

“She still wears boys’ clothes,” she groaned. “She doesn’t even know.”

Downstairs, Rin was being shown an entire wall of outfits by Nejire, who was already brainstorming matching eyeliner palettes.

“Hado-senpai,” I asked, blinking at the fluorescent garment in front of me, “does this have utility functions?”

“Hmm? Oh! No, no, it just looks cute!”

“I see... But where are the shoulder guards?”

“Ehehe~ It’s a sundress, Rin-chan~!”

“…I was told there would be combat.”

Nejire giggled again, practically bouncing.

“Oh, there will be combat~! Just not the kind you're used to!"

—————————

It was 10:00 a.m.

I stood behind the white curtain of the private dressing booth inside Studio 3B of the Ryukyu Agency’s in-house fashion wing. The air was saturated with the scent of artificial lavender, thick as smoke on a battlefield. I was not in my hero costume. I was not armed. I was not even in training attire.

I was in a swimsuit.

Correction: I was in a Dragoir custom-designed white and gold floral cheongsam-inspired swimsuit with flowing sarong and matching fan.

I could feel my wolf ears drooping slightly under the fashionable beach umbrella. My tail… had gone stiff. I hadn’t moved from behind the curtain in two whole minutes.

"Rin-chan~! You done changing?" came Nejire-senpai’s chipper voice from beyond the veil. “We’ve got light in the perfect position! Come on out~!”

I peeked through the curtain.

There were three light reflectors, five ring lights, a mounted camera rig, two drones, and—ah yes—the gargoyle duothemselves.

Hana Loong, in a black silk blazer and sunglasses large enough to count as tactical shields, sat on a high director’s chair beside the photographer, legs crossed, clipboard in hand like a CEO about to fire someone. My mother dearest.

And crouching on the lighting rig, squatting like a literal predator, was Mirko, chewing a protein bar and glaring with laser focus.

“…Hurry up, pup,” Mirko barked. “We don’t got all day.”

“W-We really don’t,” mumbled the poor cameraman, whose hands were shaking slightly under Hana's ever-tightening gaze.

I stepped out.

The world stopped.

Literally. Everyone stopped moving. Nejire gasped. The assistants gaped. Mirko's chewing paused for half a second. Even the camera seemed to click on its own out of sheer reflex.

Mom slowly lowered her sunglasses.

“…Perfect,” she said, voice laced with dangerous approval. “She inherited my hips. But that waist—Ryusuke’s. Mm. Combination works.”

“Can we not analyze my genetic structure on set,” I murmured, my face stoic despite the storm of discomfort roiling inside.

Mirko leapt down with a thump, inspecting me like a drill sergeant checking uniform creases. She tugged on my sunhat, adjusted the hem of my sarong, then—without warning—slapped my thigh.

“You’re stiff,” she said bluntly. “Flex the legs. Channel your Yang. Look like you can crush a villain, not like a noodle caught in headlights.”

“…Understood,” I said, ears twitching.

By 11:00 a.m., we were rolling.

Outfit 1: Dragon Surf Chic
Location: Artificial beach set, complete with fake waves and sand that somehow cost more than my monthly dorm utilities.

Posing… was difficult. Not because it was hard. No. The problem was that I kept defaulting to combat stances.

“Rin-chan~! Can you… maybe relax the shoulders a little?” Nejire suggested delicately.

“Lower your center of gravity! Don’t fight the camera!” shouted Mom.

“You’re not about to roundhouse kick the sea breeze, kid,” added Mirko.

I tried.

I really did.

But every time the lens turned to me, my instincts screamed prepare for impact.

—————————

By 1:00 p.m., we broke for lunch.

“Eat light,” Hana warned. “You’re wearing the Seafoam Radiance Wrap next.”

I sat in the corner with a bento prepared by the agency, filled with dainty things like tamagoyaki, seaweed rolls, and half a quail egg. It was delicious.

I devoured it in four minutes.

Then I pulled out my emergency second bento—the XL deluxe meat combo—because I am a growing wolf and I need calories.

A crew member shrieked when I unwrapped the grilled pork belly.

“She’s eating meat in that outfit?!” someone whispered.

Mirko, smirking from her seat on top of a water cooler, gave me a thumbs-up.

“That's my girl.”

—————————

By 2:30 p.m., we began shooting Outfit 2: Sky-Scale Flare, a flowy off-shoulder dragon-inspired dress with a gradient of soft blues. It sparkled. It had a ridiculous slit up to my thigh. It was… surprisingly light and did not hinder movement.

I did a backflip for fun between poses.

Mom screamed into her clipboard. “YES! YES! SHOOT THAT! PRINT THAT!”

The photographer nodded furiously, snapping photos like a man possessed.

Nejire clapped. “Wow, Rin-chan, you looked like a wind spirit!”

“…I just felt tense in the knees,” I said.

—————————

By 4:00 p.m., Outfit 3: A “Modern Street Princess” look.

High-waisted pastel shorts. Off-shoulder crop top with gold embroidery. Long coat billowing behind me like a cape. Sunglasses. Heels. I had Golden heels.

“Where are the villains?” I asked Nejire, who was snapping selfies beside me during break.

“Huh? Villains? Oh Rin-chan, that was yesterday! Today’s all about lighting and angles! Oooh, do that pouty look again!”

“…I do not know what pouty means.”

“That one! That face! That confused face! I love it!”

I wasn’t sure whether to thank her or retreat into the nearest bush.

And my expression?

Blank. Stoic. Unmoving.

“I LOVE IT,” Mom howled. “This is the anti-expression trend I’ve been waiting for. She’s giving me lethal elegance. We’ll name it ‘Unbothered But Armed.’"

Mirko grunted. “She’s embarrassed but trying not to show it. Pup’s got pride.”

—————————

By 6:00 p.m., we were done.

Well. Three out of five outfits.

Mom had to call it off after the third because the light was gone and the cameraman looked like he was going to faint. Apparently, I was “too photogenic,” and every shot required extra editing prep.

Nejire helped me out of the last outfit, humming as she folded the fabric like sacred relics.

“You did so gooood, Rin-chan~! I bet the summer issue is gonna break records!”

“I only did my duty,” I replied, exhausted, hair slightly frizzed from the fan machine, tail limp like a wet noodle.

Behind me, I could hear Mom already planning Fall Collection: Yin Bloom.

I have made a terrible mistake.

And yet… I accepted this internship fully expecting a week of villain-hunting.

What I got was a warzone of cameras, compliments, chiffon, and dangerously powerful women who had far too much say in my wardrobe.

Still…

If this is “training for a stronger mind,” then I suppose I have passed Day One.

Barely.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

Ah… finally.

The air was cool, the sky clear, and for the first time since my internship began, I was in my hero outfit, not some cursed sleeveless qipao with trailing silk tentacles that made turning corners a tactical impossibility.

I stretched lightly in the morning sun as we gathered just outside Ryukyu’s agency. My combat dress fluttered softly in the breeze, the golden cloud accents glinting gently in the light. The anklets hummed faintly—Yang energy pulsing like a warm heartbeat.

“Today,” Ryukyu announced, standing in her human form with arms crossed, “is patrol duty. Observation and support only. No confrontation, no chasing suspects, and definitely no self-initiated fights. You’re a guest, not a full agent.”

I nodded solemnly. “Understood.”

“I heard that same tone yesterday before you walked into a fog machine and struck a pose by reflex,” she added flatly.

“…It was reflex training,” I muttered.

Nejire giggled as she bounced beside me. “This’ll be fun! We’re checking out the lower districts for anything fishy—like that Stain guy everyone’s talking about. But mostly, just normal stuff!”

Ah, yes. Hero Killer Stain. The elusive vigilante-turned-villain whose ideology was spreading like wildfire on certain corners of the internet. Ryukyu and her team had quietly joined the increased patrolling effort. It was our primary assignment. A serious mission.

That meant—

“No cameras?”

“No mother,” Ryukyu sighed with quiet relief.

I nodded with renewed resolve.
This was a real mission.

—————————

10:17 AM.

Our first encounter was… an old lady.

“Young miss!” she called from across the street, raising a small paper bag in one hand and a cane in the other. “Help an old woman get to the drugstore! These legs aren’t what they used to be!”

I jogged up to her immediately. “Of course.”

She clutched my arm like I was a walking support beam. “Ohoho~ Such strong arms! And those ears—how adorable!”

My tail flicked at the compliment, despite my stoic face remaining neutral.

We walked at the speed of creeping tectonic plates, crossing two streets in fifteen minutes. Every few steps, she offered unsolicited advice about my posture, my diet, and asked if I had a boyfriend.

I said I didn’t.

She looked disappointed.

At the end of our journey, she gave me a reward—a lovingly wrapped daifuku, warm and soft.

“Eat while it’s fresh, dear. The mochi will make your soul happy!”

I bowed. “Thank you, Grandma.”

Behind me, Nejire was snapping pictures.

—————————

11:04 AM.

Mission two: Cats.

“My kitties won’t come down!” a frazzled woman in her sixties wailed, pointing up into the skeletal branches of a park tree. “They were chasing each other and now they’re all stuck!”

All.

There were five.
Five cats.

I looked up. My ears flattened. My tail twitched.

Cat.

Cat.

Cat.

Cat.

Enemy Commander.

I felt my primal wolf instincts scream inside me. My ears said run. My pride said fight.

…My martial spirit said climb the tree.

“Cats,” I whispered.

“Rin-chan?” Nejire asked, concerned.

“…They mocked me when I was five,” I said, eyes narrowing.

“Oh. Childhood trauma?”

“They stole my steamed buns… and my dignity.”

Still, my body moved before my hesitation could stop me. I leapt gracefully up the tree, chakra-stepping across its thick branches like a dancer. The first cat hissed. I hissed back.

With practiced parkour and calculated precision, I ascended the gnarled trunk. But each feline hiss, swatted, and grazed my honor with tiny, murderous paws. One of them leaped onto my back and kneaded me like a pastry.

“…What the hell?” Ryukyu muttered as she watched from the ground.

I grabbed the first one by the scruff. It meowed.

Two more tried to retreat. I manifested a small Yin shadow net. Caught.

The fourth one slapped my face with its tail.
I endured.

The final one tried to jump. I caught it mid-air.

Eventually, I descended the tree with one cat on each arm, one on my shoulder, one on my head, and the fifth sitting smugly on my back like a warlord returning from conquest.

The old lady cried tears of joy.

“You’re amazing!” the lady gasped. “Here, for your trouble—”

Box of taiyaki.
Bag of senbei.
A thermos of roasted barley tea.

“…I am beginning to sense a pattern.”

Nejire wheezed behind a bench, laughing and filming. “Rin-chan, you looked like a cat-themed delivery truck!”

—————————

11:30 PM.

Third encounter: A small girl in pigtails, crying near a vending machine.

“My papa’s gone! He said stay here but he’s not back!”

I kneeled beside her, gently brushing her hair aside. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you find him.”

As I escorted her down the block, she began patting my head. With her tiny hands. The exact same way Natsumi did when she was proud of me.

“You’re like a big sister doggie~!”

I felt my entire being crack like glass in slow motion.

Even Nejire covered her mouth and squeaked, “Oh my god I can’t!”

Eventually, we found the girl’s panicked father searching nearby. He bowed in apology and offered me a warm bento set from his lunch stall.

I had no choice but to accept.

“Thank you,” I said stoically, though my tail wagged three times before I caught myself.

—————————

12:10 PM.

Fourth request. An elderly man with a cane stared up at a public bulletin board.

“Can’t reach it…” he mumbled, trying to tack a notice up on the highest corner.

“I can do that for you.”

I didn’t even use my powers. I simply rose on the tips of my toes and pinned the flyer with perfect form.

The old man squinted up at me. “Weren’t you that kid from the martial arts tournament a few years back?”

I nodded.

“You’ve gotten prettier.”

“…”

He gave me a bag of steamed meat buns.

By the end of the patrol, I had collected:

• 1 Daifuku
• A box of Taiyaki
• A bag of Senbei
• 1 Bento
• 4 Meat buns
• A tiny flower the girl gave me “for luck”
• A list of new matchmaking requests from the neighborhood seniors

Nejire had taken 83 photos, 3 videos, and 2 accidental cat selfies when they stole her camera bag.

Ryukyu reviewed the day’s report in the van as we rode back.

“Good. No incidents. Stain wasn’t sighted. Civilian assistance was optimal.”

“Rin. You did well today.”She glanced at me.

“But I did not fight.”I blinked slowly.

“You served. That’s half the job.”She shook her head.

“…It was not bad.”I nodded once.

“Tomorrow we’re doing interviews!”Nejire grinned at me.

“Interviews?”

“With a real magazine!”

“…Is it hero-related?”

“Depends how you pose!”She winked.

I felt the cold touch of doom again. But lunch first.

—————————

The afternoon sun hung lazily over the streets of Tokyo, its rays filtering through alleyway gaps like golden noodles dropped between chopsticks. Patrol duty was usually a chill time for me—perfect for digesting a hard-earned lunch (four bowls of curry rice, three skewers of meat, and a suspiciously fluffy dorayaki from Nejire-senpai).

Ryukyu-senpai had waved me off with a knowing smile, and Nejire-senpai, giggling as usual, gave me a thumbs-up. “Don’t get kidnapped by a villain~!” she teased, floating midair like a butterfly on too much caffeine.

“I’ll be back in precisely 43 minutes,” I replied with a salute. “Unless I trip. Then add three.”

With that, I jogged toward the distressed call of an old woman echoing between the buildings. It was high-pitched, raspy, and vaguely reminded me of the time I walked in on Grandma Hana watching drama serials while eating spicy pickled mangoes.

“Help me! Oh, heavens above! Young hero, save me!”

Naturally, I followed.

What I found, however, was… not an old woman.

“Where did she go…?” I murmured, ears flicking at full attention, nose twitching like a professional sniffer dog on caffeine withdrawal. The alley was too quiet. The smells—garbage, rusted metal, old tofu from a nearby trash bin—but no blood, no fear, no—

Scrrrrchhkkk.

A knife scraped along the wall like nails on a chalkboard. I spun around and saw her.

A girl, probably my age, dressed in a regular high school uniform with the blazer tied lazily around her waist, shirt messily tucked in (if at all), and two lopsided blonde buns like she’d lost a fight with a pair of egg beaters. And she was dressing herself. Slowly. Leisurely. Right in front of me.

There was mud—or something like it—pooling around her feet. A transformation quirk, maybe? That would explain how she mimicked the old woman’s voice. But it was school hours. Why wasn’t she…?

“Oh,” I said out loud, as the realization clicked into place. “You’re truant.”

Her eyes gleamed like a cat’s under moonlight.

“Riiiiin~,” she sang, dragging the knife along the wall with a smirk. “You’re even cuter up close…”

…There was no killing intent. No aggression. No hatred. Just a girl. With a knife. Playing with it like a fidget spinner from hell.

Still, that’s vandalism.

“Please refrain from damaging public walls,” I said, arms crossed. “Defacing property decreases the aesthetic value and financial integrity of neighborhood environments. It can reduce the property value by approximately 12.5 percent, according to urban development statistics.”

She tilted her head. “You’re funny.”

“I’m serious.”

She took a step closer.

I held my ground. I didn’t sense any bloodlust. My quirk didn’t flare. My instincts didn’t scream. Just the gentle ping of ‘weird girl with questionable life choices.’

“You should be in school,” I continued, tone firm yet polite. “Education is the cornerstone of structured society. It offers career opportunities and emotional fulfillment—”

Himiko circled me slowly, eyes glimmering with mischief as her fingers glided up my arm. My wolf ears twitched, my tail swished—nervously. Not that I had anything to hide. My hero uniform had shorts under the skirt. Pure functionality.

“You talk so stiff, like a robot.” She tugged lightly on my skirt slit. “And why’re you wearing a sarashi instead of a bra~? With those?”

“I trained in Chinese martial arts. Support garments must be secure, and bras create unnecessary bounce and thermal discomfort under rapid motion,” I replied matter-of-factly.

“That's not cute at all!” she whined, eyes wide in horror and admiration. “Are you like, a muscle girl under there!? Huh? Are you a tomboy? Wait—don’t tell me… You’re a boy!”

“Was. Biologically. My physical form was altered post-USJ incident. It’s a long story.”I nodded.

“You’re so weird~ I love it! You’re like a hot durable puppy! I wanna keep you!”Himiko clapped her hands, eyes sparkling.

“I’m a wolf,” I corrected instinctively. “Subspecies Canis lupus familiaris hybridis spiritualis.”

“So technical~”She giggled.

Then, as if we hadn’t just had a conversation that could shatter the social norms of five different high schools.

“Let’s talk about cute boys, okay?! You must have a crush, right? Or are you into girls now? Or both? What’s your type? Tall? Dangerous? Bloody?”She leaned in with stars in her eyes.

“I have not conducted romantic analysis. My priority lies in hero training and keeping my family fed,” I said. “Also, I believe crushes are a neurological misfire caused by hormonal fluctuations and societal overexposure to idealized affection.”

“You’re like a talking textbook~ I wanna break you—just kidding~ Let’s be besties!”She just blinked, her lips curling into a gleeful grin.

A surprisingly warm feeling rose in my chest. Her aura wasn’t evil. Just… chaotic. Offbeat. Like a fox spirit trying to prank a shrine maiden and accidentally adopting a wolf instead.

“Very well. I accept your friendship,” I replied. “But you still need to stop skipping class.”

“Boooo~ Can we exchange numbers?”

"...Sure."

Then—

“Rin~! You done being weird yet?” Nejire’s voice rang out from the other end of the alley.

I turned just slightly to respond, but when I looked back—

She was gone.

“Eh?”

Not a trace. No scent. No mud. Nothing.

I stared for a solid five seconds. Even my tail drooped in confusion.

“…Fast girl,” I muttered. “That wasn’t her quirk. She’s just evasively efficient.”

“Ooooh~ spooky alley! Did you fight a ghost? Or flirt with a ghost? Wait, did youbecome a ghost?”Nejire floated over, looking around.

“Negative. I may have acquired a new… eccentric associate.”I shook my head.

“Did they try to stab you?”Nejire squinted, suspiciously.

I paused.

“…They tried to friend me.”

“Oh no,” she deadpanned, eyes wide. “That’s worse.”

“We’ll need to check if she returns to school tomorrow.”I sighed.

And maybe I’ll pack a second sarashi. Just in case.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

Morning in Hosu was crisp, cool, and filled with the scent of grilled squid from the food stalls down the street—also the scent of ink. So much ink. So much… paper.

I had faced villains. I had faced high-level simulations. I had even, just two days ago, faced a strangely charming knife girl with a suspicious fascination for my abs.

But this?

This was different.

This was true terror.

“…This is only ten percent of Ryukyu-senpai’s total paperwork?” I murmured, staring at the mountainous stack before me. My wolf ears drooped as I adjusted my glasses, tail sagging like a defeated flag in a bureaucratic war.

Ryukyu, calm as always in her civilian attire, smiled serenely while sipping her tea. “It’s good training. Pro heroes need to handle administration too.”

Nejire waved from the couch, twirling her hair. “I offered to help, but I made a biiiig mess of it last time~!”

“Because you signed one of the reports with a crayon drawing of a jellyfish,” Ryukyu deadpanned.

“It was adorable, wasn’t it?”

I exhaled deeply, eyes scanning the first document.

“Request for Secondary Dispatch Analysis – Form B-4b”
…The name alone bored me to tears.

Still, I pressed on. I was raised with discipline. The Namikaze family did not run from adversity. My father always said, “Paperwork is the hidden blade of society!”

Though I’m now convinced he was just making excuses to dump his reports on Mom.

“Processing… Estimated revenue projection if patrol time in sector 9A is adjusted from 90 to 75 minutes and redirected to sector 9C…” My pen moved in precise strokes. “Taking average call volume density, travel delay index, and prior incident frequency… Ryukyu-senpai, with this adjustment, you could improve response efficiency by 6.7%.”

Ryukyu blinked. “That… is correct.”

“Also, this cost evaluation form has three redundancies in phrasing. If reworded using standardized bureaucratic shorthand, we could reduce reading time by 34%.”

She blinked again. “…Correct again.”

Nejire peeked over my shoulder. “Whoa~ you even wrote in fancy business kanji!”

I nodded solemnly. “I watched a documentary on fiscal administration once. For fun.”

“You’re… terrifying,” Ryukyu muttered under her breath, flipping through the finished stack.

I paused, pen hovering. “But I feel dead inside.”

“Welcome to adulthood,” Ryukyu said without missing a beat.

I slumped forward, face pressing into a completed report.

—————————

Interview Time – Ryukyu Agency Conference Room

“Okay, Rin-chan~!” Nejire chimed, placing a mic headset over my ears. “Time to give your thoughts on your first hero internship experience~!”

I straightened my back automatically, ears perked. “Ah. I have prepared a three-minute structured answer divided into four segments: expectations, field experience, emotional analysis, and future development.”

The reporter blinked. “Eh… we were just gonna ask how it felt…”

I began anyway.

“Segment One: I anticipated encountering active field scenarios, including potential villain interactions and civil support tasks. However, I did not anticipate the weight of administrative responsibilities. Segment Two: During field operations, I successfully navigated coordination with senior heroes, including a tactical field decision involving crowd control by leveraging existing architecture—”

The reporter’s soul visibly left her body.

Nejire, who was supposed to be guiding me, had started making balloon animals from the mic cables.

Ryukyu watched from the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

By Segment Four, I concluded with: “In summary, the internship program thus far has taught me that heroism is not only about direct engagement with adversity, but also about long-term societal infrastructure—”

“Thank you Rin-chan that’s enough!!” the reporter squeaked, wiping her brow. “We’ll, uh… edit around that.”

I blinked. “But I wasn’t finished—”

Nejire slipped a jellybean into my mouth. “Sshh. Candy time.”

I chewed slowly.

—————————

Later That Night – Ryukyu’s Office

I stared blankly at the moon outside the window, my fourth cup of green tea in hand, now fully aware why Auntie Rumi—Mirko—refused to open her own agency.

She once told me, “I don’t do desks, kid. They’re the real villains.”

Back then, I thought she was joking.

Now I understood.

“Rin,” Ryukyu called gently, handing me one last folder. “This is the villain incident report from yesterday’s patrol. We’ll be heading out tonight. Try to rest.”

I took it with numb fingers. “Yes, Ryukyu-senpai.”

My ears drooped again.

Ryukyu watched me go, then muttered softly to herself.

“…It’s scary how good she is at this.”

“Terrifying,” Nejire agreed, slurping from her bubble tea straw. “She even spell-checked the villain’s fake name.”

Suddenly, my phone buzzed.

[Message from: Toga (???) – “Hey bestie~♡ Are you in Hosu? It’s such a great place to make friends! Let’s hang out! Don’t worry, I brought snacks (they're a little stabby~)”]

I blinked.

“…When did she get my number?”

I stared at the heart emoji. Then the knife emoji. Then the sparkle emoji. Then back at the heart.

“…Definitely not deleting this,” I muttered, slipping the phone back into my pocket.

Night had settled over Hosu like a silent predator, wrapping the rooftops in eerie stillness. The streets glimmered with the golden hush of streetlights, a deceptive calm hanging in the air.

I was halfway through meticulously folding my freshly laundered hero uniform, my tail swaying with precision behind me, when the door burst open.

“Emergency alert!” Nejire shouted, her voice lacking its usual whimsical lilt. “Reinforcement request—Hosu district, ward seven!”

Behind her, Ryukyu was already pulling on her hero coat, her usual composed aura now sharpened with urgency.

I stood, dress half-folded in my hands, blinking. “Is this a joint-op? Did Endeavor’s agency call for backup?”

Ryukyu nodded grimly. “They didn’t say much, just that the situation has escalated beyond expected levels. Civilians are trapped, multiple unknown enemies confirmed. Possibly more than just your average villains.”

That caught my attention.

Unknown enemies. Multiple.

I tightened the sash around my waist. “Understood. Let’s go.”

—————————

Ten Minutes Later – Hosu, Ward Seven

Smoke.

The kind that clung to the inside of your nostrils.

The air was thick, filled with the sharp scent of burning concrete and twisted steel. It stung even my nose.

We landed on a rooftop overlooking the scene—and what we saw nearly made Ryukyu and Nejire freeze.

Below us, shadows loomed in the firelit chaos. One of them moved with a jerking twitch, its skin grey and stretched over muscle that seemed… wrong. Like something glued together in a hurry.

It wasn’t human. Not anymore.

A Nomu.

My eyes widened, but not with fear. Recognition. A chill ran down my spine.

“That’s…”

“You’ve seen this before?”Ryukyu turned to me.

“Once.” My voice was quiet, my hands clenched at my sides. “During the USJ incident. One of them nearly killed All Might. I only saw it at the end… when it was already broken.”

I could hear it now. The garbled breathing. The animalistic shrieks in the distance.

Ryukyu swallowed, her eyes narrowing. “And now there are multiple.”

“Nejire,” I said sharply. “Do not engage recklessly. These are not normal villains. They don’t feel pain. They don’t hesitate.”

“But they can be hurt, right?” she asked, floating beside me, her smile thin.

I nodded. “Yes. But hurting them isn’t the problem. Stopping them is.”

Ryukyu took a breath, shifting into her dragon form—towering, powerful, and majestic in the moonlight. “Then we stop what we can and protect the civilians. Rin, stay close—”

“I’m not afraid,” I replied calmly, adjusting my anklets. “But I’ll be careful.”

I dropped into the alley first, ears alert, tail still as I surveyed the battlefield. Screams echoed from a nearby street—then something crashed through a wall.

A Nomu stumbled out.

It turned to me.

It didn’t have eyes.

But somehow, it knew where I was.

WRAAAAGH!

It charged.

Ryukyu shouted from above, “Wait for us—!”

But I was already moving.

—————————

Three Seconds of Impact

I dodged low, letting it swing above me, and struck the back of its knee with a focused Yang-imbued palm. The strike cracked the pavement, but the Nomu barely staggered.

“…Heavy,” I muttered. “Heavier than the one at USJ.”

It turned with a grotesque twist of its body, lashing out with clawed hands.

I blocked with my forearm, grunting as I was launched backward into a pile of broken street signs. Dust flew up around me as I stood, wiping blood from my lip.

“Confirmed: stronger. Possibly upgraded.”

Nejire landed beside me, her hair waving like a flag in the wind. “Rin-chan, are you okay?”

I nodded. “I’ve had worse. Mom once launched me into a tree.”

Ryukyu landed behind us, fists ready, her draconic form radiating controlled power. “Focus. We disable it together.”

The Nomu roared again—and then a second one appeared behind it.

My ears twitched.

“Correction: multiple hostiles,” I said, blinking.

Nejire whimpered. “This… this is going to be a lot of work.”

Ryukyu grit her teeth. “We split. I’ll take the big one. Rin, you and Nejire disable the second—”

The second Nomu darted toward us like a charging boar.

I grabbed Nejire’s wrist. “Jump.”

She lifted us both just in time to avoid being trampled.

“Too close,” I muttered. “Its speed exceeds expectations.”

We landed again on another rooftop. The Nomu leapt after us.

It had wings.

Of course it had wings.

“Do these things come with DLC now?” I muttered.

Nejire gasped. “You know, now that you mention it—”

“Not the time!”

—————————

Back on the Ground – Ryukyu’s Battle

Ryukyu wrestled with her own Nomu, grappling its arm before flipping it over her shoulder with a roar. The thing crashed into a billboard, taking half the wall with it.

“Where’s its quirk core?” she muttered.

She’d read the reports Rin gave. If they were bio-engineered, then the quirks were implanted, possibly removable—but where?

It got back up.

She growled. “Alright. You wanna play rough?”

And she leapt in again.

—————————

On the Rooftop – Aerial Combat

“Nejire, barrage it from the left! I’ll intercept from below!”

“Got it~!”

Nejire spiraled through the air, waves of energy spiraling from her palms.

The Nomu flinched.

My chance.

I dropped down, a glowing Yin construct blade forming in my hand. Not for cutting—too unethical. Instead, I swung at its wings.

Direct hit.

One wing exploded in a splash of torn tissue and bone.

The Nomu shrieked—and dropped like a sack of bricks.

We landed beside it.

It writhed, already trying to regrow.

“That’s not fair,” I muttered.

Nejire floated beside me, panting. “Can it still fight?”

“Yes.”

“But it has no wings!”

“It doesn’t need them!”

The Nomu suddenly sprung at me—teeth bared.

I ducked and uppercut it with a full Yang palm strike, lifting it off the ground and into a streetlamp.

Crack.

It was unconscious.

Maybe.

I really hoped it was unconscious.

—————————

Moments Later

The fires had died down. Civilians were evacuated. The Nomu were down… for now.

Ryukyu stood with her arms folded, glancing at the wreckage, then at me and Nejire—both bruised, but alive.

She exhaled.

“…That wasn’t what I expected.”

I nodded. “They’re monsters. Not villains. Fighting them feels like trying to punch a problem out of a medical lab.”

Nejire rubbed her forehead. “I didn’t like that. They didn’t even scream properly…”

Ryukyu narrowed her eyes. “We’ll need to report this directly to the Commission.”

I stared at the fallen Nomu.

My tail twitched with unease.

The battlefield didn’t feel like a victory.

It felt like a warning.

Smoke swirled faintly in the ruined street as I stood over the fallen Nomu, its twitching limbs finally still. Ryukyu and Nejire were still inspecting the perimeter, but my eyes were drawn—no, pulled—toward a familiar set of voices coming from a nearby alley.

Dragging their tired feet into the flickering firelight were four figures.

“...Midoriya-san?” I blinked, ears tilting upward. “Todoroki-san? Iida-san…?”

And a Pro Hero being pulled by rope behind them.

No. Not just a Pro Hero.

The man was bound, unconscious, bloodied—but unmistakable.

Stain.

The Hero Killer.

What were they doing here?

“Todoroki-san, let me pull him,” Iida said, limping forward. His voice was hoarse and burdened.

Todoroki shook his head without hesitation. “You can’t. Your arm’s too damaged. You’ll worsen the injury.”

“But I… I caused this mess in the first place.” Iida’s voice trembled with guilt, the weight of his pain unspoken yet carved into every syllable. “I should be the one to atone.”

Midoriya placed a hand on his shoulder gently. “No one could’ve handled this alone, Iida-san. Stain’s Quirk makes a one-on-one fight near impossible. We survived because we worked together.”

The pro hero they rescued—Native, I remembered his name—staggered against the wall, still trying to stay conscious.

It was then that the roof above them cracked.

BOOM.

A grey blur shot down like a cannonball.

Gran Torino, face wrinkled with irritation and relief, planted his boot squarely on Midoriya’s face, knocking him flat.

“You hard-headed brat! I told you to stay put!” he barked.

“Ggrrrfffhh…!” Midoriya mumbled, legs flailing as he flopped against the pavement like a stunned fish.

“Tch. But at least you're not dead. That’s something.”Gran Torino exhaled.

Then came the next wave—Endeavor’s dispatched heroes. They arrived in a small squad, weapons raised, tense.

They froze at the sight of Stain bound on the ground.

“You captured him?” one of them gasped.

“No way—” said another. “Those kids…!”

Midoriya stood, bowing. “We’re sorry. We didn’t intend to… but—!”

“I acted out of vengeance,” Iida said, bowing deeply. “I behaved unlike any hero should. I offer no excuse.”

“But you’re also our Class President,” Todoroki interrupted, his gaze firm and cold like forged steel. “You better pull yourself together before Aizawa-sensei hears this.”

“Y-Yes.”Iida blinked—then exhaled shakily and nodded.

I should’ve been scolding them.

But instead, I watched with a strange silence. My ears twitched.

A gust of wind. A shadow overhead.

Something moved above us.

Gran Torino’s eyes widened. “GET DOWN!”

A blur of wings—no, that same Nomu from before, the one I’d downed—came screeching through the sky.

It moved unnaturally, erratically—its body still torn but functional.

Its claws closed around Midoriya, yanking him off the ground.

“Midoriya-san!” I shouted, already moving.

Gran Torino leapt with a hiss of compressed air.

Todoroki raised his palm, flames blooming from his left side.

But before any of us could reach him—

A snap.

A gleam.

Stain.

His eyes opened.

With a motion as fluid as water, he slipped from his binds. A blade extended from his sleeve—hidden. Forgotten.

He darted forward faster than anyone could react—licking a trail of blood from the Nomu’s claws, blood that dripped from the cheek of a wounded female pro hero.

The winged Nomu froze midair.

Paralyzed.

Stain’s Quirk had activated.

Midoriya dropped.

Gravity stole his breath.

And just as he began to fall—Stain moved.

The Hero Killer leapt, stabbed, and drove his knife into the Nomu’s skull.

The beast let out a guttural, twitching cry—then plummeted into the earth below with a sickening crunch.

Midoriya was falling fast—

Stain caught him.

Blood trickled from his mouth, his limbs shaking, but he stood—holding Midoriya in his arms like a battered, righteous knight.

“I fight… for justice,” he growled.

We all froze.

Even the injured pro—Native—stared in disbelief.

Stain dropped Midoriya to his feet, taking a step forward, the blade still in hand. “This society is tainted. Polluted by fakes. Criminals wearing capes. Only those willing to give everything for others deserve to be called heroes.”

I should’ve moved.

But I stood, my wolf tail flicking once behind me.

Fascinating.

His presence was… heavy.

But not in the way of malice.

In the way of conviction.

Then, from the east end of the street—Endeavor arrived in a storm of heat and smoke.

His eyes locked on the bandaged figure.

“Hero Killer.”

His palm ignited.

Gran Torino quickly raised an arm. “Don’t. Not yet.”

Stain’s mask slipped.

It fell, revealing his face in full.

He had no nose.

His eyes were bloodshot, madness and purpose dancing within them like a hurricane.

And yet… he walked.

One foot. Then the next.

“Only the strong… Only the worthy… have the right to call themselves heroes. Anyone else—must be purged.”

Each word was heavier than stone.

He raised his blade.

“The only one who can kill me…”

He exhaled.

“…is All Might.”

Then—it hit.

A wave.

An aura.

Like blood-soaked thunder wrapped in raw rage.

A malefic presence crashed down over the entire street.

One of the pro heroes collapsed.

Todoroki fell to his knees.

Iida followed, breath caught in his throat.

Midoriya shook violently, eyes wide with fear.

Gran Torino flinched, tense, sweat trailing down his brow.

Even Endeavor… took a step back.

But me?

I stared.

Unflinching.

Unmoved.

No… not unmoved.

Excited.

Something inside me shifted.

He’s strong. Genuine. A predator surrounded by sheep.

This man… was prey to no one.

“Fight him,” the voice inside me whispered. “Fight him at his peak. No holding back. No rules.”

My fingers tightened.

My tail twitched in anticipation.

I wanted to—

“Rin-chan!” Nejire tugged on my sleeve, her voice panicked.

The trance broke.

Stain coughed, blood spewing from his lips.

And then—

He fell.

But even unconscious—he did not fall over.

He stood.

Rigid.

Impossibly upright.

As if his body refused to admit defeat even when his mind slipped away.

No one dared move.

Not even Endeavor.

I stared, heart pounding.

That was not a man.

That was a storm wearing flesh.

And part of me…

...wanted to be struck by lightning.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The end of June came quicker than I thought it would.

With only a week left until the end-of-term tests, Class 1-A had fallen into chaos.

“I’m doomed…” Kaminari-san groaned dramatically from his seat, slumping over his desk like a lifeless battery. “Why is there always a test right after some huge disaster?!”

“Right?! We had USJ incident, internships, hero-killer attacks, Nomu sightings—and now they expect us to study?”Ashido-san slammed her head against her own desk.

“Truly… this semester has been a trial. One that has left our minds… battered.”Tokoyami-san crossed his arms, eyes narrowed under his shadowed brow.

“Aww, I didn’t know your soul could get exam fatigue too, Tokoyami-san,” Ashido-san chuckled weakly.

“Well, don’t forget—there’s an exercise test too. That’s gonna be reaaal tough for you low scorers.”Mineta-san leaned back in his chair with a smug grin.

“Shut it, grape-head.”Ashido-san and Kaminari-san both turned toward him like a hydra aiming to bite.

“Don’t give up, Kaminari-san, Ashido-san. I want us all to go to the forest lodge together.”Midoriya-san sat up at his desk nearby, smiling gently.

“Indeed! I shall assist in your academic efforts! The path of the hero is not only strength, but intellect!”Iida-san nodded vigorously.

“…If I had just attended classes normally, I wouldn’t have such low grades,” Todoroki-san added from his seat, voice flat.

“Dude. You can’t just say stuff like that.”Kaminari-san stared at him in disbelief.

Across the room, I sat cross-legged on my desk, a red bento box in my lap.

Sniff—

Haa… Ma made me extra spicy rendang today. The oil glistened like magma on the tender beef. My ears twitched from happiness.

And then—

FOOM.

Two shadows loomed behind me.

Ashido-san and Kaminari-san stepped closer.

“Hey, Rin-ch—”

The smell hit them.

Both reeled back like I’d unleashed a tear gas grenade.

“OH MY GOD—MY EYES—!”

“WHAT IS THAT?! IS IT A WEAPON?!”

“...Rendang,” I answered between bites, expression unmoved. “Extra spicy. Mom's recipe.”

“It's melting the air!” Kaminari-san shouted, fanning his face.

“Your lips are literally glowing red! How are you eating that?!”Ashido-san gagged.

“Because it’s food.”I blinked.

They gave me looks.

“You’re crazy strong and crazy smart, Rin-chan. How’d you even place third?! You don’t even look like you pay attention in class!”Ashido-san folded her arms, still clutching her nose.

“I don’t,” I said plainly.

“...Huh?”

“I usually do mental training simulations,” I clarified, chewing as I looked up at the ceiling. “Or think about food.”

The silence stretched.

“Then how the heck did you get third?!”

“I’m good at English and Math,” I said honestly. “...I don’t know why.”

They both collapsed emotionally beside my desk.

“You’re killing us, Rin-chan…”

“You’re like a cheater but not even trying to cheat…”

“…I’m not cheating,” I muttered, confused. “You can have my notes if you want. They’re… covered in sketches of knives, though.”

Meanwhile, Yaoyorozu-san raised a hand shyly nearby. “Um, if anyone needs help, I’d be happy to assist with studying. Though… I’m not very confident in the exercise part of the exam.”

“Oh, then count me in!” Ojiro-san said with a polite nod.

“Me too,” Jiro-san added, tapping her earjack against her notebook.

“Same here!” Sero-san grinned.

Yaoyorozu-san’s face lit up with pride. “O-Of course! I’d love to help!”

…I stared at her.

So that’s what you do when you have friends over.

You… help people. And they… thank you.

My chest tightened.

…I want to help too.

I want to invite people to my home.

Before I could stop myself, I turned to Kirishima-kun and Bakugou-kun.

“You two,” I said. “Study at my house.”

Kirishima-kun blinked. “Oh? That sounds manly—sure!”

Bakugou-kun scoffed. “Tch. Pass. I don’t need—”

I turned to face him fully. My tail flicked. My wolf ears stood tall.

I narrowed my eyes just a bit.

“Come.”

Bakugou-kun’s lip twitched.

He looked at me.

Then at Kirishima-kun.

Then back at me.

“...Tch… fine.”

“OOOOOOHHHHHH!!!” Kaminari-san cried. “HE TOTALLY FOLDED! BakuRin is real!”

“You’re totally henpecked, dude!” Mineta-san cackled. “You got dominated!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” Bakugou snapped, grabbing them by their collars and bonking their heads together.

“W-We’re sorry!”

“D-Didn’t mean it!”

“We were just joking!”

“WE’RE JUST RIVALS, GOT IT?!”Bakugou snarled, cheeks a shade of red that rivaled my rendang.

He slammed a palm against the wall—right behind my head—arm over my shoulder.

Silence.

Everyone stared.

I blinked up at him.

“...Bakugou-kun?”

“SH—!” He realized the position he was in.

His face went nuclear.

The class exploded.

“OH MY GOOOOOOODDDD—!”

“SCANDAL!”

“I NEED TO RECORD THIS—!”

Mina and Tooru appeared at my desk like gossip gremlins, grinning ear to ear.

“Rin-chaaaaan~ can we come too?”

“Yes,” I said, not realizing their intent.

Bakugou looked ready to scream.

“No—!”

I turned to him again.

He froze.

“…Fine. Whatever.”

—————————

My home isn’t anything special.

At least, that’s what I thought.

But the moment we stepped past the moon gate and onto the wide stone path lined with soft moss and bamboo lanterns, I felt the shift in atmosphere behind me. Again.

“Woah…” Kirishima-kun breathed out, his voice already full of wonder for the second time.

Ashido-san and Hagakure-san were less subtle.

“WAIT—WHAT?!” Mina practically yelled, mouth agape. “You live in a movie set!?”

“I thought this was just gonna be, like, a chill little courtyard house or something!” Hagakure-san added, spinning around with invisible jazz hands. “This is like—if a historical drama married a ryokan!”

I tilted my head.

“...It’s a regular siheyuan-minka hybrid,” I replied simply, walking ahead barefoot across the smooth tiles of the corridor. “We just maintain it well. Mama likes traditional architecture.”

The garden in the center was framed by low wooden walkways and old pine trees. Wind chimes made soft tinkling sounds as the evening breeze rolled in. To the west, the kitchen was lit warmly. Further back, you could hear the faint bubbling of the indoor koi pond near the meditation room.

“I feel like if I touch anything, a monk will scold me,” Mina muttered.

Kirishima gave a low whistle. “Still blows my mind. This place is manly. Not ‘macho’ manly—like elegant manly.”

“…I think that’s just old Chinese.”

Inside, I changed into my usual at-home wear. Open cotton jacket. Sarashi. Baggy dark pants.

Simple. Functional.

I sat cross-legged on the tatami floor, notebooks and flashcards set up in front of me. Mina-san and Hagakure-san took the spots to my right and left. Bakugou-kun and Kirishima-kun dropped in on the other side of the low table.

Bakugou immediately leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, and gave me that sharp-eyed look.

“You actually gonna teach, or just sit there looking like a wandering monk?”

“I will teach,” I replied. “But I will not help you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re rude. Not a gentleman.”

“…Tch.”

I turned back to Mina and Hagakure. “Let’s go through History first.”

They both groaned at once.

I handed out the cards.

—————————

The first night was loud. Very loud. Mostly because I had to clarify that no, the twin dragons etched into the screen panels did not come to life at night, and no, the weird sound from the dojo was not a ghost, it was just the old wooden dummy creaking.

Mina screamed anyway.

The second night, things calmed down.

Sort of.

I was reviewing verb conjugation with Hagakure-san when I felt it again.

That presence.

Someone was watching.

Peeking from behind the wooden pillar at the end of the corridor…
Eyes sharp behind glasses… arms folded… judgmental as only a little brother can be…

Kokoro.

He was glaring daggers at Bakugou-kun.

Every now and then, I’d see him lean around to get a better angle—squinting like he was trying to read Bakugou’s soul.

“...He’s sitting too close,” Kokoro muttered under his breath. “Too casual. Hmph.”

I glanced over, confused. “Kokoro?”

He straightened up instantly.

“I-I’m just passing through! Not spying!”

He turned heel like a soldier and marched toward the kitchen.

Strange.

Later, I tried to pat his head.

He dodged me.

I blinked.

“...You okay?”

“I’m a big boy now, Nii-chan! You can’t just pat me like I’m some toddler!”

“…But you always liked it.”

He blushed and ran faster. “T-That was when I was a kid!”

“…You’re thirteen.”

“I’m practically fourteen!”

I stared.

I still didn’t understand.

The third night, Bakugou got into an argument with a bamboo whisk.

To be fair, he tried to make tea and broke the first cup.

“It’s ceramic, not a training dummy,” I said gently.

“THE HANDLE’S STUPID.”

“…I see.”

“You don’t see!”

Meanwhile, Natsumi was gleefully offering homemade snacks to Mina-san and Hagakure-san, who were fawning over how adorable she was.

“Natsumi-chan, you’re SO cute~!”

“Heehee~ Thank you, Onee-chans!”

“...Still call me Nii-chan,” I reminded.

“Yup! Because you still eat like one. And your room smells like a boy’s locker room.”

“Hey.”

“It does,” Kokoro muttered.

Ashido laughed too hard.

The fourth night, I noticed something.

Whenever I praised Mina-san or Hagakure-san for remembering something, their faces lit up.

Whenever I explained a question patiently, they smiled.

They kept asking me questions, and I… I liked answering.

Even if they got things wrong, they tried again. And they didn’t tease me for my monotone voice or quiet expressions. They listened.

And when Hagakure-san got 8 out of 10 correct on the quiz I made, she threw her arms up and shouted “I’M A GENIUS!” before tackling me with a hug.

“You’re the best teacher, Rin-chaaaan!”

I think I panicked a little.

Maybe this is what it feels like to have friends.

The fifth night, Bakugou sat a little closer again.

Kokoro was ready to declare war.

I patted his head when he wasn’t paying attention. He yelped.

“H-Hey!”

“…Got you.”

“Nii-chan, stop it…”

But he didn’t move away.

And I saw his shoulders relax.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The written exam was over.

I passed. Everyone in Class 1-A passed.

Apparently, a week of intense review and forced memorization through sheer food bribery did wonders.

Ashido-san was so happy she tackled me again.

…I don’t understand how this is appropriate “celebration etiquette,” but it didn’t hurt, so I let her.

Now, we stood outside.

Beneath the early summer sun, the school field shimmered with heat. A mild breeze stirred the air, but it wasn’t enough to dry the thin sheen of sweat clinging to everyone’s brows.

We were lined up in full uniform—hero costumes off for now, just in our training gym gear. The teachers were gathered at the front, a semi-circle of pro hero experience and brutal grading standards.

Aizawa-sensei stood before us, looking as tired and sleep-deprived as usual, his hands buried in his pockets.

“I’m sure some of you think you know what today’s test will be,” he began in his usual deadpan drawl.

“Robots, right?! Gotta be robots!”Ashido-san leaned toward Kaminari-San and grinned.

“Classic U.A.! Time to show off our quirks!”Kaminari-San gave a thumbs-up.

“You’re both wrong,” Aizawa said without missing a beat.

Suddenly, his scarf twitched —

POP!

Out jumped something small and white and unreasonably fluffy.

“Good morning, students!!” Principal Nezu’s voice rang out like the world’s most sinister tea kettle.

Ashido-San screamed. Kaminari-San fell over.

I took another bite of my meat bun.

Hmm. Pork and chive. Slightly too much garlic. But the dough texture was perfect.

“As our dear homeroom teacher was about to say,” Principal Nezu beamed, standing atop Aizawa-sensei’s shoulder like some battle-hardened Pokémon, “this year’s final exercise test has undergone significant changes due to recent events.”

He clasped his paws behind his back and began pacing on air.

“With the increasing villain activity, we’ve decided to enhance your field readiness. From now on, U.A. will be implementing real-life combat scenarios. No more practice dummies or predictable patterns— you’ll be fighting actual pros. ”

A long pause.

Then—
“ EEEEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHH?!? ”
Half the class shouted in unison.

“WHAAAAAAAAT!? BUT I WANTED TO FIGHT COOL ROBOTS!!” Mina wailed.

“I ALREADY FAILED IN MY HEAD!” Kaminari-San sobbed into the dirt.

“...This meat bun is really good.”I blinked slowly, chewing.

“H-Hey, Rin… do you even hear what they’re saying…?”Kirishima-kun, standing beside me, sweatdropped.

I nodded.

But the bun came first.

Nezu pulled out a clipboard with a ding! that sounded suspiciously like an anime sound effect.

“We’ve already decided the pairings and teacher matchups,” he said gleefully. “So let’s begin, shall we?”

I glanced sideways. Ashido-San was clutching her head like the world ended. Kaminari-San was lying down pretending to be dead. Yaoyorozu-San looked like she’d accepted death already. Midoriya was vibrating.

“As expected, Todoroki Shouto and Yaoyorozu Momo will be facing… Aizawa-sensei,” Principal Nezu announced.

“Try not to make me expel you.”Aizawa-sensei sighed.

Mina gasped. “THAT’S A THING AGAIN!?”

Nezu ignored her.

“As for Midoriya Izuku and Bakugou Katsuki—” he paused dramatically. “You will be facing All Might .”

“...Huh?”
“HUH?!”
“ HUH?! ”

The two of them said it in perfect harmony. Izuku actually dropped his notebook. Bakugou’s eye twitched.

“I expect you both to cooperate ! That means no random explosions, young Bakugou!”All Might grinned.

“LIKE HELL I’LL—!!!”
“Bakugou-kun, calm down—!”

Aizawa-sensei stepped forward again, dragging his scarf off Principal Nezu like a man accepting his fate.

“The rest are as follows:”

• “Kaminari Denki and Ashido Mina versus Principal Nezu.”
  (Ashido collapsed.)
• “Aoyama and Uraraka versus Thirteen.”
  (Ochaco gave a shaky thumbs-up.)
• “Koda and Jirou versus Present Mic.”
  (Koji nearly fainted.)
• “Tokoyami and Asui versus Ectoplasm.”
• “Mineta and Sero versus Midnight.”
  (Mineta started crying.)
• “Shoji and Hagakure versus Snipe.”
• “Iida and Ojiro versus Power Loader.”

“And finally,” Aizawa turned to me, “Namikaze and Kirishima versus Cementoss.”

“…Okay.”I blinked and finished my meat bun.

“W-Wait. Against Cementoss ?! But—! He’s like—WALLS! INFINITE WALLS!”Kirishima-Kun let out a confused mix of relief and panic.

“I paired you two together because you both fight like shounen protagonists with no plans.”Aizawa-Sensei gave us the blankest stare.

“Wha—HEY! I sometimes think things through!” Kirishima-Kun yelled.

“I once used a mop as a weapon.”I tilted my head.

“That’s not strategy, Rin,” Aizawa-Sensei sighed.

“But it worked.”

“That’s luck .”Aizawa-Sensei deadpanned harder.

“I WANTED TO GO TO SUMMER CAMP! THIS ISN’T MANLY AT ALL!”Kirishima-Kun buried his face in his hands.

“…What’s wrong with Cementoss?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“He makes walls everywhere ! Endlessly ! He's like an RTS game map editor! You can’t brute-force your way through a guy who is the stage!”Kirishima-Kun pointed at me in pure disbelief.

“…I’ll bring more buns.”

“THAT’S NOT A PLAN!!”

We would be transported via U.A. buses to the uninhabited city training zone.

There, the final exam would begin.

One chance.

Win or fail.

I looked down at the meat bun wrapper in my hands.

—————————

The city was empty.

Rows of hollow buildings, cracked pavement, and eerily still air welcomed us as the buses parked at the perimeter of the uninhabited training zone. What used to be a bustling simulation ground now felt like a ghost town waiting to be filled with the sounds of battle.

As we disembarked, each pair split off with their designated teacher toward their testing area.

Cementoss-sensei led Kirishima and me to an unfinished plaza—concrete structures still in mid-construction, steel girders twisted like vines, support columns jutting out from the skeleton of buildings like grey teeth.

Fitting, I thought.

This was his domain.

He stopped, turned to us, and raised one large hand.

“Your test is simple. Win by either escaping the battlefield or capturing me using the handcuffs provided. Time limit: 30 minutes.”

He tapped the sleek, glowing black bands around his wrists.

“These are compact weighted limiters developed by Mei Hatsume. They’ll lower our combat ability to ensure fairness.”

My tail bristled slightly.

I still remembered the Sports Festival.

The noise … the smoke … the exploding panda robot armor that grabbed my tail —

I twitched.

Kirishima noticed. “Yo… you good?”

“…I have beef with the inventor,” I said quietly.

“...Fair.”

“Begin.”

Recovery Girl’s voice echoed through hidden speakers.

The test had officially started.

Cementoss immediately raised both hands.

The ground responded like it was alive.

Walls erupted .

Sharp, thick, reinforced blocks shot up like massive stone petals blooming in reverse. One wall, then another, then another—it was like standing in the world’s meanest hedge maze with no exit in sight.

Kirishima cursed. “HE’S BARRICADED HALF THE AREA IN TEN SECONDS!”

“Mm.” I nodded, retrieving a small pot from my storage talisman. “I expected that.”

“…Wait…what’s with the pot—?”

FOOMF.

A flicker of silver-gold light danced from my fingertips as I poured yin energy into a simple construct—an invisible stove under my pot. A second flick, and purified water condensed mid-air and dripped into the container.

Then I casually unwrapped a block of instant noodles and dropped it in.

“...ARE YOU COOKING NOODLES!?”

I gave him a flat look. “Battle preparation.”

“ THAT IS NOT PREPARATION! ”

“I need fuel to engage at full capacity. You should eat too. We’ve been standing for ten minutes.”

He looked like he was about to scream.

Kirishima eventually recovered from his mini-meltdown. I handed him a small onigiri from my side pouch. He bit it without question. His trust was admirable.

“I swear , Rin-chan, you’re the most unpredictable person I’ve ever met,” he mumbled.

I slurped a noodle. “Unpredictability is an advantage. As the Art of War says—‘Move swift as the wind and closely-formed as the wood. Attack like the fire and be still as the mountain.’”

“…You just wanted noodles.”

“Correct.”

I did, however, have a basic plan. Not because I needed one.

Because he needed one.

“Cementoss is a long-range type. His strength lies in terrain manipulation, not speed,” I said, crouched low as I activated my Yin Veil—camouflage and noise dampening layered over us.

Kirishima narrowed his eyes. “So we corner him?”

“No. He doesn’t move. He defends. We mislead.”

I held out a kunai-shaped construct of pure yin. It shimmered faintly, the illusion magic humming with potential.

“You run forward, make as much noise as possible. Punch walls. Be loud. Be you.”

“...That sounds like a decoy.”

“You are.”

“THANK YOU FOR BEING HONEST, AT LEAST.”

“I’ll move through the underground rubble. The veil keeps me hidden. When he focuses on you, I’ll flank. If he seals my route, I’ll destroy the foundation supports to collapse it and change the terrain.”

Kirishima blinked. “You can plan.”

“I usually don’t,” I said simply. “It’s boring. No creativity. But I adjusted for your sake.”

“…Thanks…?”

“You’re welcome.”

And so we began.

Kirishima dashed forward, yelling something about “Manliness!” and “No wall can stop me!” and “FOR THE SUMMER CAMP!”

The ground exploded around him as Cementoss summoned wave after wave of thick slabs, trying to trap him like a rat in a stone cage.

He punched them with a force that echoed like thunder. Shards flew, cracks splintered across the concrete.

“I’M GONNA PUNCH THROUGH UNTIL I SEE A WINDOW OR SOMETHING!” he roared.

Meanwhile, I quietly slipped between shadows and collapsed support beams, slurping my now-empty noodle broth and wiping my mouth with the back of my glove.

So far, the test was going exactly as planned.

…Well, sort of.

Cementoss sighed from somewhere up high.

“ You’re wasting your talents, Namikaze-san… ” he muttered aloud, almost to himself. “ You could be a brilliant strategist. Instead, you’re using your quirk to cook ramen. ”

From the rubble, I answered back.

“ According to ancient wisdom—‘One who excels at warfare compels others and does not allow himself to be compelled.’ ”

“...What does that even mean in this context!?”

“I'm fighting in the way I like. Therefore, I am winning.”

“THAT MAKES NO SENSE!!” Cementoss yelled, sounding exasperated.

“…Pass.”

The word came with a long, drawn-out sigh.

Cementoss stood there, arms crossed, his weighty limiter bands steaming faintly with heat. Behind him, the battlefield was a fractured maze of broken walls and scattered debris. Kirishima was flat on his back, panting like a dog after a marathon, his fists bruised but still clenched in victory.

I sat cross-legged on a remaining slab of unshattered pavement, one hand idly holding a steamed meat bun I had pulled from my spatial pouch.

Munch. Munch.

“…You didn’t have to make an illusion of a collapsing building on me, you know,” Cementoss grumbled, wiping concrete dust from his brow.

“I did,” I said calmly. “It was efficient. Kirishima-kun’s straight charge distracted you. The illusion made you hesitate. That hesitation allowed me to sneak behind you.”

“…You cuffed me while eating a meat bun.”

“Battle fuel.”

“…Right.”

Another sigh. Cementoss pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked like he was reconsidering his career choice.

“ She’s cute though, huh? ” Kirishima said between gasps, flashing a grin. “Manly too. She’s got both.”

My ears twitched.

“…Huh?”

I turned slowly to him.

“‘Cute’…?”

“Yeah! Like, the way you just calmly outplayed the whole test with that deadpan face and were eating the whole time like it was a tea break—it was cool! But also kinda… y’know…”

He scratched his cheek, embarrassed.

“…Cute.”

My tail stiffened into a straight line behind me. My ears gave an involuntary twitch again, flicking forward.

I blinked once.

Then again.

“…I was not trying to be cute,” I said flatly.

“Yeah, but that’s what makes it even cuter.”

“…”

Why is my face…warm?

I touched my cheek.

Hot.

My internal temperature was elevated by approximately 2.3 degrees Celsius. Not from exertion.

Strange.

Was “cute” a type of praise…?

I didn’t understand.

Back home, compliments were usually about efficiency, performance, or honor.

“You cut that fruit with deadly precision.”

“Your poise during tea pouring is that of a monk’s.”

“Good job kicking that robber into the pond.”

But cute ?

That was something Natsumi got called.

Not me.

I frowned slightly and looked away.

“…I am not cute,” I mumbled under my breath.

Which, of course, only made Kirishima snort.

“See? That was cute too.”

I growled a little, low and confused.

Cementoss coughed, muttering something under his breath as he glanced sideways at me with a vaguely haunted look.

“…She’s denying it again. That’s also cute. Seriously…”

He rubbed his face. “She’s smart. Too smart. I know she handicapped herself on purpose.”

I paused mid-bite.

“…I was matching your adjusted output to ensure test validity.”

He looked straight at me.

“If you hadn’t been matching me, you would’ve wiped the floor with me in under a minute. You and I both know that. That Yin phase-step maneuver of yours could’ve passed through three of my walls without losing momentum.”

“…But then Kirishima-kun wouldn’t have had the chance to shine,” I replied quietly.

Kirishima gave me a startled look.

“Hey… You did that for me?”

I nodded once, expression unreadable as usual. My tail, however, waved calmly behind me.

“You said you wanted to go to summer camp. I took that into account.”

Kirishima stared.

“…Man. You’re a real bro.”

Then he chuckled.

“Or… sis. Bro-sis. Sis-bro. Whatever.”

“…I am still Nii-chan at home.”

“I figured.”

As we headed back to the rally point, Cementoss kept glancing my way like he wasn’t sure whether to scold me or praise me. In the end, he just sighed again—his third sigh in ten minutes.

“…Cute. Cute and dangerous,” he muttered, almost to himself.

I looked over.

He quickly turned his head.

Suspicious.

Very suspicious.

Still, I ignored it and resumed munching.

My stomach was happy. My plan worked. My teammate passed.

And someone said I was cute.

…

Weird day.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The observation room was cool. Sterile. Quiet.

...At least it was quiet, before the screen flickered to life.

On one side of the screen, Midoriya-San was darting between crumbling walls, shouting something back to Bakugou-Kun, who in turn just exploded through half a building, roaring like a beast unleashed. The camera struggled to follow the two of them as they zigzagged, collided, and somehow managed to turn coordinated chaos into a strategy.

Sparks flashed. Concrete rained. The very air crackled with tension.

My eyes narrowed. A meat bun paused halfway to my mouth.

I didn’t even notice Uraraka-san sitting next to me at first, equally engrossed in the other half of the screen where Midoriya-San’s face twisted in determined anguish. I could tell she wasn’t even blinking.

A moment of silence. Then—

“Rin-chan~”

A shiver ran up my back.

Ashido-san’s singsong voice. Never a good sign.

I turned slightly—and nearly fell off the bench.

Surrounding us like curious forest spirits were the rest of the girls of Class 1-A. Hagakure-san’s gloves floated suspiciously close to my ears, Jirou-san leaned casually on the back of my seat, Yaoyorozu-san had that calm, curious smile, and Asui-san blinked slowly, like she was watching tadpoles do something fascinating.

"You're really focused on Bakugou-kun, huh~?" Ashido-san teased, her pink face far too close to mine.

I blinked. Slowly.

"Yes. His fighting pattern is erratic, but layered with strong instinct-based prediction. Very complex. Worth studying."

“Suuuure,” Jirou-San drawled, her earjacks twitching like tails. “That intense stare you had? That wasn’t just ‘I admire his quirk control’ energy.”

“…Incorrect assumption,” I said plainly, taking a bite of my meat bun.

“You guys are reading too much into this…”Uraraka-San sank further into her seat beside me.

“Oh?” Yaoyorozu-San tilted her head, eyes glinting with subtle interest. “You were staring quite intensely as well, Uraraka-san. I thought maybe you and Midoriya-san were—”

“No! I mean, no! There’s no way I have a crush on Deku! I mean Midoriya-kun! I respect him, that’s it!”

Her hands waved rapidly in front of her face like she could swat the words out of the air.

I swallowed my bite calmly.

“This notion is unreasonable,” I stated. “I am… was a boy. I am supposed to find a female partner. Bakugou-kun is a boy. There is no logic in this.”

“Ehh? But you’re a girl now, Rin-chan,” Hagakure giggled. “A really pretty one!”

My ears twitched.

“Still, romantic pursuit is not within my priority matrix. I have to increase my mastery in both Yin and Yang control, refine twenty-three styles of internal martial art, and… collect more antique weapon replicas. No time for ‘crushes’.”

“That’s what someone with a crush would say,” Ashido poked my cheek.

“False logic.”

“So… neither of you are in love?” Tsuyu tilted her head, her voice as casual as ever.

“Absolutely not,” Uraraka and I answered in perfect unison.

...

We blinked at each other.

That was... uncanny.

Then we looked away, flustered for entirely different reasons.

The room filled with giggles and knowing smirks. The girls dispersed slowly, whispering like they had just witnessed a rare animal display bonding behavior in the wild.

“Wow. That was… intense.”Uraraka exhaled.

“Yes. Like Bakugou-kun’s quirk output after he ricochets from a triple explosion arc.”

She gave me a strange look, but I didn’t question it.

We sat in silence again, eyes fixed on the screen, where Bakugou and Midoriya were arguing over a plan… and then executing it perfectly in tandem, like rivals forged in fire.

“...He’s annoying,” I muttered.

Uraraka nodded. “...But cool.”

“...And reckless.”

“...But determined.”

Another pause.

We both let out synchronized sighs.

Then looked at each other again.

...

“Let’s never talk about this,” I said.

“Agreed,” Uraraka replied, voice firm.

I returned to my meat bun.

...Strange. It didn’t taste as satisfying as usual.

Weird.

—————————

The classroom air was… heavy.

Kaminari-San and Ashido-san had their heads slumped on their desks, like wilted flowers under the midday sun. Sero-san had his forehead pressed dramatically to the chalkboard with a mournful “uuuuuugh” that hadn’t stopped for ten whole minutes.

“I’m never going to see the forest… the bugs… the trees…” Kaminari-San mumbled like a ghost who died of academic failure.

“I wanted to splash in a river… eat grilled meat… flirt with cute boys under the stars…”Ashido-San sniffled.

“You failed because you flirted too much,” Sero-San added from the chalkboard.

“You failed because you yelled 'DELUXE THUNDER SHOCK' and electrocuted yourself!” Ashido-San snapped back.

“I thought it’d work!!”

The classroom door opened with a quiet click.

And Aizawa-sensei came in with his usual deadpan face and a stack of booklets under one arm.

"Sit down," he said, voice as dry as the Sahara. “I have your test results.”

Everyone snapped to attention—well, except for Kaminari-San, who practically crawled into his seat like a man on trial.

Aizawa-Sensei’s eyes swept across us slowly. “Some of you have failed.”

A groan echoed around the room.

“So it’s true…”Ashido-San and Kaminari-San simultaneously slumped.

“However.”

The word hit like a needle popping a balloon. All the noise stopped.

“All of you will still be going to the forest lodge.”

“...EHHHHHHH!?”

The entire class jumped out of their seats.

Even I blinked, the shock interrupting my calculation of how many meat buns I needed to pack for a forest trip.

“But sensei, you said—!” Denki started.

“The threat of exclusion was a logical ruse,” Aizawa said, completely unfazed. “Designed to bring out your full potential.”

“That’s messed up!” Mina cried. “You made us cry!”

“I don’t care.”

“SO CRUEL!”

“So the failure was... calculated to optimize effort through psychological pressure?”I raised a hand.

“Yes,” Aizawa-Sensei replied simply. “Though some of you still failed the practical. Kaminari, Ashido, and Sero, to be precise. You three will undergo harsher training during the lodge trip.”

“Nooooo… summer vacation…!”Kaminari fell backwards in slow motion.

“Why didn’t I study how to not get thrown like a ragdoll!?”Ashido-San pounded her desk dramatically.

“PRINCIPAL WAS SLAMMING KAMINARI AND ME WITH METAL BEAMS!”
“You can just break them.”I added.

“I’M NOT YOU!”Ashido-San cried.

“Because you were breakdancing on the battlefield,” I offered, chewing on dried squid. “It was impressive, but inefficient.”

Aizawa handed out a stack of booklets, moving down the rows.

“These are your Forest Lodge Survival Guides. Inside is a list of all the items you’ll need for the training camp. You have until departure day to acquire them.”

I opened mine. The first page said:

REQUIRED ITEMS:

• Thermal sleeping bag
• Bug repellent
• Tactical survival rations
• Emergency rescue flare
• ...and 34 other items.

Huh.

I had 90% of these already. Tactical planning was a lifestyle.

Still, judging by the growing chorus of groans, the rest of the class didn’t.

“Some of this stuff is hard to get,” Yaoyorozu frowned, flipping through the pages. “Especially the thermal sleeping bag.”

Toru waved her arms. “Let’s go shopping together!”

Ashido gasped. “YES! We can go to the big outlet in Tokyo Dome City! They have a whole survival section!”

“I don’t have much money left…” Kaminari muttered.

“I saw a clearance sale flyer!” Iida raised a determined fist. “We shall find the most cost-efficient stores and procure these items as a team!”

Jirou sighed but smirked. “Fine. Might be fun, I guess.”

I tilted my head. “So... we are initiating a coordinated resource-gathering operation?”

Mina grabbed my arm, sparkles in her eyes. “Rin-chan, we’re going on a group shopping trip! With the whole class!”

“...Oh.”

I flicked my tail once in consideration.

“Will there be... snacks?”

“LOTS!”

“Then I approve.”

—————————

Kiyashi Ward Shopping Mall—colossal, bustling, and filled with every item a hero-in-training could need… and far too many distractions.

I stood a few steps from the others, staring at a small food cart nestled between a survival gear store and a boutique for custom hero accessories. The scent of deep-fried tempura and buttery mochi danced through the air. My ears twitched. My stomach rumbled.

“...Karaage… melonpan… grilled squid…”

The display case shimmered with golden glory, and for a moment, everything else faded.

But then—
A faint warmth tugged at my chest.

I blinked.

This sensation…?

Odd. I was surrounded by classmates—friends. Ashido-san was arguing with Kaminari-kun over which brand of mosquito net was more “manly.” Yaoyorozu-san had led a group of girls to a gear shop. Even Iida-kun had his arms full with maps and receipts, narrating with passionate energy to no one in particular.

So why… did my chest feel tight?

It wasn't hunger. That, I could identify instantly.

It was…

Loneliness.

A sense of being present, yet separate. Like standing on the edge of a festival, watching others dance in the lantern light without joining in.

Before I could diagnose this strange emotional virus, a familiar voice reached me.

“I think I’ll get some bug spray… and a small tent, maybe…”That was Uraraka-san.

“I’m thinking of getting heavy wrist weights,” replied Midoriya-san. “To keep up with my training.”

I turned slightly to watch them. Just two classmates having a casual conversation… yet Uraraka-san’s face was redder than usual.

“Uhh—I-I’ll go ahead first!!”

Hup.

Suddenly, I was being dragged by the arm. Fast. Very fast.

“What is the meaning of—?”

Uraraka-san’s grip was strong for someone her size. Her steps erratic. Her expression: flustered.

“I… I can’t believe this… Am I really…!?”

“You’re glowing red,” I observed. “Did you overheat?”

“Th-that’s not it!” she wailed, dragging us into the shade beside a fountain. “It’s not fair! He just talks so casually and it makes my heart all weird and floaty and I can’t handle it!”

“Symptoms consistent with… infatuation?”My tail swayed slowly.

“I think I have a crush on Midoriya-kun…”She groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“I see.”I sat beside her on the bench.

“You’re taking this pretty calmly, Rin-chan.”Uraraka peeked at me.

“Because I do not understand why this is alarming.” I reached into my bag and unwrapped a melonpan. “Statistically, emotional affection between classmates is highly probable. You are within acceptable behavioral parameters.”

“B-but you… don’t you have anyone you like!?”I paused mid-bite.

“Wait… do you!?”Her eyes widened.

“…No,” I said, a bit too quickly. “I am… incapable of such frivolous diversions.”

“Rin-chan.”

“I was supposed to like girls,” I added. “Objectively. That is what my programming—upbringing—dictated. But Bakugou-kun is… very explosive. Occasionally compelling. Has good instincts.”

My voice trailed off as I stared at the ripples in the fountain.

“I respect him,” I muttered. “I would like to fight him again at full strength. That is all.”

Uraraka-San leaned forward, squinting at me suspiciously.

“Riiin-chaaaan… you totally have a crush on him, don’t you!?”

“I do not.”

“You do!”

“I am calm. Logical. I am unaffected.” I crammed the rest of the melonpan into my mouth. “Thith ith a mathfunction.”

“You mean malfunction?”

I swallowed. “...Yes.”

We sat in silence for a moment. Her cheeks still red. Mine… perhaps slightly warm.

“This is so weird,” she murmured. “But… also kind of nice? Being able to talk like this…”

“Mm.” I nodded slowly. “Mutual denial. Efficient bonding process.”

We looked at each other, then laughed.

It was… surprisingly cathartic.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

Summer had officially begun.

But U.A. being U.A., that meant only one thing: we weren’t getting rest. We were getting boot camped.

Shota-sensei entered the classroom with his usual exhausted stare, sleeping bag half-zipped, and hair like a tortured cactus. “Change of plans,” he muttered. “Your original lodge destination’s been altered. You’ll only find out when you arrive.”

A collective groan swept through Class 1-A. Iida-kun raised his hand, flustered. “That’s highly irregular, Sensei! Are there safety protocols in place? Emergency response frameworks?”

“There are,” Aizawa replied curtly. “You just don’t get to know them.”

And that was that.

—————————

Day of the Trip
Location: U.A. Front Courtyard

Two massive buses stood idling like mechanical dragons outside the school gates. Class 1-A and 1-B milled about with luggage, snacks, and varying levels of enthusiasm.

Monoma Neito made the mistake of trying to get a word in.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the trauma-prone Class 1-A—”

WHAM.

Itsuka-san’s iron palm met the back of his head with a soft smack. He hit the ground with the grace of a folding chair.

“Enough, Neito. We're here to train, not embarrass ourselves."

I admired her decisiveness.

Our bus pulled away first. I claimed my spot.

Not in the bus.

On top of the bus.

Seated cross-legged like an ancient monk, wind blowing through my high ponytail, ears twitching to the whistling air currents—eyes closed, fingers touching in a meditative seal. Perfect balance. Heightened awareness. Soul-calming vibrations from the chassis below.

A state of serenity only disturbed by—

“RIN-CHAAAAN!!!”

I cracked one eye open.

Below, in the window of the bus, Ashido-san was practically screaming through the glass.

“What the hell are you doing up there?! You’re gonna catch wind and flash someone!”

My tail flicked, lazily. “I am practicing focused equilibrium atop a moving vehicle to refine my center of gravity under changing terrain velocities.”

“YOU’RE WEARING THE SCHOOL SKIRT, RIN-CHAN!! JUST BRIEFS! BRIEFS!!”

I looked down at my legs. Indeed, the skirt flapped violently in the wind like a flag of questionable virtue. But nothing critical was visible. I had calculated the wind resistance precisely to—

“DO YOU HAVE NO SHAME!?”

“I have discipline.”I tilted my head. 

Meanwhile, behind our bus, Class 1-B’s vehicle followed steadily. Through the front glass, I spotted Itsuka-san with her jaw slightly slack, gazing at me from her seat. She gave me a respectful nod.

Acknowledged.
Mutual understanding between martial artists.

Back inside the bus, Aizawa stood with arms crossed at the front of the aisle, speaking into the intercom. “We'll be stopping in one-hour intervals for breaks. Use the time wisely to hydrate and stretch.”

Nobody listened.

Kirishima was arm-wrestling Sero across the aisle. Kaminari was sneakily shocking people with static charges. Iida had somehow armed himself with a whistle and was trying to restore order like a desperate mall cop. Jirou had her earjacks plugged into her phone and was ignoring everyone.

Aizawa sighed. “Let them have their fun. Their days of fooling around are numbered…”

Then he turned and looked out the front windshield toward me, meditating like a stubborn cloud spirit on the roof of a moving bus.

“…Where the hell is Namikaze?”

—————————

One hour later, the bus finally pulled to a halt near a dusty rest area lined with vending machines and a restroom hut. The air was still and dry, like the prelude of a coming storm. I unfolded my legs from my meditation posture, letting out a soft breath through my nose.

“Still on the roof…” I heard Aizawa-sensei mutter under his breath as he stepped out.

Below, my classmates stretched their legs and chatted away, still oblivious to the trial ahead.

“Eh? Wait a sec…” Kaminari looked around, scratching his cheek. “Where’s Class 1-B’s bus?”

“They were behind us, right?” Ashido squinted into the distance.

Before anyone could speculate further, a faint gust of wind carried in a pair of dazzling presences—two women dressed in colorful, feline-themed hero costumes. One had voluminous brown hair and a manic sparkle in her eye, the other short blue hair and a more composed demeanor. A little boy trailed behind them, visibly disinterested.

“Heya, kids!” the brown-haired one shouted with a huge wave. “We’re—!”

“—The Wild, Wild Pussycats!” Midoriya blurted out, eyes sparkling like he was looking at a poster come to life. “That’s Mandalay and Pixie-Bob! They specialize in mountain rescue and survival support!”

Pixie-Bob struck a dramatic pose. “Correct~! And we’ll be your hosts during this very intense summer boot camp!” She pointed dramatically toward the looming mountain in the distance. “Your destination is the base camp on the other side of that mountain. You have until 12:30 to get there. Anyone who doesn’t… doesn’t get lunch~!”

I heard nothing past that.

“No lunch.”

The words hit like a gong inside my skull. I blinked. My stomach echoed with the ghost of that emergency calorie bar I ate on the bus.

No.

Absolutely not.

There are many things I can ignore in life—shame, awkwardness, complex emotions…
But not lunch.

Without a word, I dropped from the top of the bus, ankles absorbing the impact with a soft thud.

My fingers flared with golden Yang energy, legs humming with power.

Then I bolted.

“Wait—Rin-chan!?” Ashido shouted.

“Rin-san just zoomed into the forest!” Uraraka exclaimed.

My body blurred into a single golden streak, the forest canopy splitting above me from the sheer momentum. I soared past trees, leapt off rocks, spun through midair. Birds screeched and fled. A boom echoed through the trees behind me as my landing launched a cloud of dust high into the sky.

I’d already reached the halfway mark.

Back at the trailhead, Mandalay blinked in shock. “Did… did that one already leave?”

Pixie-Bob squinted after the explosion. “Yep. She’s gone. Well! Guess we’ll start now!”

Suddenly, the ground rumbled.

“Time to move~!” Pixie-Bob giggled and slammed her hand into the dirt.

The earth trembled, and before my classmates could react, the ledge beneath them collapsed into a massive earthslide, launching Class 1-A screaming into the maw of the Beast’s Forest below.

—————————

Two hours later, Deep in the Forest...

I had taken down four of the clay beasts already—well, dodged them mostly. Not worth the calories to destroy. Instead, I harvested useful dirt, refined it with dark Yin energy into stable ceramic-quality clay, and molded it into makeshift bowls. They baked quickly under controlled heat bursts of Yang from my palms.

A breeze passed. My nose twitched.
...My emergency miso base was boiling.

“Rin!?” came a voice behind me.

“Oh! Hey, Jirou-san. Want some?”

She blinked. “Are you seriously cooking right now!?”

“Strategic recon nourishment,” I explained flatly, stirring in sliced seaweed. “We all have our duties.”

Throughout the six-hour hike, I encountered the others here and there—blowing away beasts, panting from exhaustion, jaws dropping when they found me casually enjoying another meal or shaping utensils from leftover clay.

“YOU’RE EATING AGAIN!?” Kaminari shrieked somewhere around hour four.

“No,” I corrected. “This is a light snack.”

—————————

Time: 3:20 PM
Location: Forest Lodge, Class 1-A Campgrounds

Class 1-A finally arrived.

Battered, sweaty, covered in claw marks and leaves, but alive.

Pixie-Bob clapped her hands, mouth wide open in gleeful surprise. “Wow!! I thought it’d take you guys way longer to get here! You even made it before 4PM!”

Mandalay gave a proud nod. “You adapted quickly to our Earth Beasts. That was impressive.”

Pixie-Bob turned to a select few. “Special props to Midoriya-kun, Iida-kun, Todoroki-kun, and Bakugou-kun for immediate action. I can tell you’ve all had combat experience with villains. Great job!”

Then her gaze flicked to me, seated on a boulder with a clay cup of herbal tea.

“...And you. Um. Rin-chan.”

“Yes?”I perked up, ears twitching.

“Can you please be more of a team player next time?”Pixie-Bob made a face.

“I was a team player,” I replied, setting my tea down. “I was recon, mapping clay beast territories, resource zones, and determining the safest traversal paths. Also feeding myself to remain operational.”

“That’s not recon, that’s camping!”

“The art of warfare states: ‘An army marches on its stomach.’”I tilted my head.

Pixie-Bob blinked. “...Did she just quote Napoleon?”

“I thought that was Sun Tzu,” Jirou whispered behind her.

“I think she made it up,” Uraraka added.

I sipped my tea again. My ears flicked, tail curled into my lap.

“Um… Mandalay-san?” Midoriya’s voice broke the post-arrival buzz.

The poor guy was still trying to catch his breath from the six-hour hike while attempting to politely raise his hand like we were back in class.

Mandalay, who was crouching near a steaming pot of curry, looked up curiously. “Hm?”

Midoriya’s green eyes shifted toward the small, sour-faced boy leaning silently against a post. He had a baseball cap tugged low and was noticeably not mingling with anyone, arms crossed like a fortress.

“That boy… is he your son, maybe?”

Mandalay chuckled softly, wiping her hands on a towel. “Oh no. That’s Kota. He’s my nephew.”

“Nephew?” Izuku repeated, his brow softening. “I see… Um, hello!”

He took a step forward and offered a friendly wave.

Kota stared at the gesture with the expression of a dead fish. Then, with robotic precision, he marched right up to Izuku…

…and punched him square in the crotch.

The entire camp went dead silent.

“Aaaaaaaaaugh—” Izuku squeaked out like a deflating balloon and crumpled onto the ground, eyes wide, hands clutching himself in agony.

Tenya gasped. “Midoriya! Are you alright?!”

He spun toward Kota and adjusted his glasses furiously. “Young man, that is highly inappropriate conduct toward someone offering you kindness! Apologize this instant!”

“I don’t need friends. I hate heroes. All of you act so cool, but you’re just… corny.”Kota glared upward, completely unfazed by Iida’s righteous fury.

Then he turned and walked off like a one-boy rebellion, arms shoved into his pockets.

I raised a brow. “…Was that supposed to be an insult?”

“Corny…?” Ashido blinked. “Is that the new ‘cringe’?”

“Is he okay in the head?” Kaminari whispered to Sero, who shrugged helplessly.

Aizawa-sensei sighed in the background, rubbing his temples like this was normal.

“Everyone,” he called out, “get your luggage off the bus and head to your assigned rooms. You’ve got ten minutes. Then report to the dining hall for dinner. Baths after. Relax while you can.”

The class gave a collective groan, but they complied quickly, dragging their gear up the stairs and filing into the rustic but cozy lodge. I found my room near the back—shared, it seemed, with Yaoyorozu, Jirou, and Hagakure. A fair balance of quiet and chaos.

I stacked my weapons neatly into a compartment under my futon and padded toward the dining hall, tail flicking low in relaxed hunger mode.

—————————

The dining hall was a warm, open space with wooden beams and long tables. The moment we stepped inside, the air hit like a bomb—thick with the smell of simmering spices, grilled meats, and roasted vegetables.

“Oh my god,” Ashido whispered reverently. “This is heaven.”

“It’s actual curry…” Kaminari wept. “And I see meat. Like, real meat. Not cafeteria meat!”

Pixie-Bob beamed from behind a long buffet. “Dig in, you adorable chaos gremlins! You’ll need the energy tomorrow.”

Plates were snatched, portions were heaped, and the room filled with the lively sound of chewing, slurping, and delighted exclamations.

I calmly scooped myself a balanced meal—two servings of curry rice, sweet potatoes, and grilled fish—and found a quiet seat by the window. My tail curled in anticipation.

My first bite was instant bliss. A savory, spicy flavor wrapped around the fluffy rice and danced across my tongue. I didn’t make a sound, of course, but my ears twitched and straightened in approval. This… was real sustenance.

Ojiro, sitting across from me, blinked. “Whoa. Your ears are like little antennae.”

“Biofeedback,” I replied between mouthfuls. “They respond to blood sugar levels.”

Ashido leaned over. “They also twitch when she’s full. Like a happy cat. But a dog. Wait—wolf?”

I didn’t respond. I was already onto my second bowl.

After dinner, Aizawa gathered us in the hallway outside the bathing area.

“You’ve had your fun,” he said in his usual monotone. “Tomorrow, your real training begins. Be prepared. You’ll be pushed harder than ever before. That includes physical training, quirk enhancement, and teamwork exercises.”

A beat passed.

“Also, don’t forget to shower. Some of you stink.”

“Was that directed at me!?” Bakugou snapped.

“Only if you think it applies,” Aizawa replied, already walking away.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

Ah, hot springs.
An optimal environment for thermal muscle relaxation, pore cleansing, and regulated cardiovascular cooling. The mineral absorption rate of natural springwater is highly efficient post-dinner, so it’s only logical to partake immediately after ingesting food.

Also, I had curry.

Which meant I really needed this.

I quietly followed the boys into the bathhouse. As per instruction, the facility was divided by a tall wooden wall—one side for males, the other for females. A simple architecture with a classic shoji-screen entrance. Functional. Efficient. Relaxing.

I stepped into the changing room after Todoroki-kun. The other boys were already there, some shirtless, some in towels, and all relatively loud.

“Kirishima-kun, I believe the mineral concentration on this side is higher due to runoff from the east ridge,” I muttered aloud, unbuttoning my shirt.

Then—

“WHOOOOOAAAA, HOLD IT HOLD IT HOLD IT!!!”

A sudden flurry of limbs crashed into me. I was tackled by Sero, Kaminari, and Iida simultaneously, as if I had triggered a national security alarm.

“Rin-chan! Wait!! You’re in the boys’ side!!” Kaminari wailed.

“I am a boy,” I replied flatly.

“NO, YOU’RE NOT!!” they all screamed in unison.

“…I was,” I added.

Mineta, who had somehow wedged himself under a bench, popped out with tears streaming down his face. “You’re the goddess of purifying chaos...” he whispered reverently, nosebleed already gushing. “Let her do what she wants…”

BOOOOOM!!

“DIE, PERVERT!!” Bakugou’s voice roared, and Mineta’s limp body sailed past me like a burnt marshmallow.

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

I had seen Bakugou shirtless before during training. It was… fine.
But right now…

His torso glistened with residual bath steam. There were beads of sweat dripping down the faint outline of his abs. Not even fully formed—just a promising definition of core musculature.

Why… is my heart rate increasing by 0.8x?

I’ve sparred with full-grown men with tattoos and back muscles like carved marble.
Bakugou’s aren’t even symmetrical. His posture is atrocious.

And yet—why!?

“Oi, Namikaze, what the hell’re you—”Bakugou suddenly glared at me.

His sentence cut off.

Blood trickled from his nose.

“…You too?” I muttered in disbelief.

Before I could finish rebuttoning my shirt—

“RIN-CHAAAAAAN!!!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH—!!!”

“YOU’RE COMING WITH US!”

I barely saw the ambush. Ashido grabbed my arm, Uraraka got the other, and Hagakure—somehow—floated behind and applied the mysterious “phantom push” to my lower back. My feet left the ground. I was yanked by the elbows into a pink vortex. Screaming. Giggling. The sound of feminine fury.

Ashido had me by the left arm. Uraraka by the right. Hagakure was probably gripping my head—I couldn’t see her, but the disorienting gravitational shift confirmed it.

“No—wait—what is the—Urahara-San, let go—ASHIDO-SAN I DO NOT AUTHORIZE THIS TRAJEC—!”

I had been abducted.

—————————

The girls’ side was an entirely different dimension. Steam curled softly against candle-lit walls, and gentle floral scents filled the air like a scene out of a romantic anime episode. Everyone was already immersed in the water—Yaoyorozu, Asui, Jirou, and even the elusive Toru, whose voice echoed mysteriously around her floating towel.

I dipped into the bath with practiced silence, body relaxed, but brain confused.

Still… strangely… not reacting.

I was deposited, ungracefully, into the girls’ side of the bath like a criminal tossed into prison. The steam fogged my vision as I surfaced and clutched my towel, looking around.

Six girls in total. All in the water already.

And not a single elevated heart rate in my body. No shyness. No urges. No “ooh pretty girls” instinct. Just warm water and confusion.

How… odd.

My body should respond to this situation. Shouldn’t it?

“Okay, girls’ meeting, stat!” Ashido declared, whipping a wet towel like a general’s baton. “We need to have The Talk with Rin-chan!”

“I didn’t consent to this,” I mumbled, inching toward a corner.

“You walked into the boys’ changing room like a shounen protagonist from the 80s!” Jirou said, looking both horrified and amused. “You’re lucky we stopped you before you traumatized Midoriya.”

“Not to mention Bakugou’s still trying to cauterize his nosebleed,” Hagakure added, laughing invisibly.

Yaoyorozu coughed delicately. “It’s quite evident, Rin-chan, that you require guidance on feminine conduct appropriate to your current biological sex.”

“Clarification: I am male,” I said, deadpan. “Current physical condition is inconsequential to identity.”

“Oh yeah? Then explain why none of this bothers you?” Ashido asked slyly, gesturing to the entirely exposed bath full of giggling girls and then herself, posing slightly to emphasise her… assets.

I looked…. I tried very hard. But this scene seems to be unable to provoke any reactions from my body. My mind is telling me that this is improper for a male to intrude the private space of the female population. But, I don’t FEEL like my mind is thinking…

They were all relaxed. Casual. Loose. Not a single one seemed bothered by my presence anymore. Even Yaoyorozu, who was normally quite conservative, simply leaned back with a sigh and motioned for a sponge.

My response?

“…Biological adaptation?” I offered weakly.

“Nope!” Uraraka chirped. “That was confirmation, thank you. You’re one of us now.”

“What?” I blinked. “No. You misunderstand. I simply possess an advanced state of discipline. I refuse to succumb to base hormonal—”

“You’re literally soaking next to Jirou’s naked back and not even twitching,” Tsuyu noted.

“You were totally chill, Rin-chan!” Uraraka chimed. “Even Yaoyorozu flinched the first time we saw her!”

“I-I was surprised by Mina’s… expressiveness, okay?”Yaoyorozu coughed into her towel.

“Ribbit… you didn’t even hesitate to come in. That means your brain doesn’t think like a boy’s anymore.”Asui blinked slowly at me.

“No,” I muttered, water sloshing around my shoulders, “this is a misunderstanding. A… calibration error. It is purely logical. Female forms no longer trigger any anomalous response. Thus, it is efficient.”

“You sure about that~? ‘Cause when we brought up Bakugou—”Ashido leaned in, eyes sparkling like a gossiping aunt.

My ears twitched. I slapped water over them instinctively.

“Ha! She twitched!” Jirou smirked, poking my shoulder. “Rin-chan, do you have a little crush~?”

“...No.”
"YES."
“Ehhhhhhh~” the entire bath chorus harmonized, echoing like a cult chant.

“This is irrelevant,” I stated, sinking further into the hot water. “Irrelevant and inefficient.”

“Awwww~ Look at how cute she is when she’s grumpy!” Uraraka whispered.

“Totally like a baby wolf pup,” Mina nodded solemnly. “We gotta raise her properly.”

“Wait, what?” I blinked. “Raise?”

“Yup!” Ashido splashed. “Welcome to the tutorial section of how to be a proper girl~!”

“I object.”

“Overruled~!”

—————————

For the next twenty minutes, I was trapped.

Subjected to discussions about skincare routines, seasonal fashion color palettes, the devastating utility of cute hairpins, and—worst of all—boy talk.

Apparently, there is an entire tactical field devoted to reading “signals,” “vibes,” and “subtle cues” from members of the opposite sex. None of it made any measurable sense.

“I prefer frontal confrontation,” I muttered dryly.

“Not in romance, you don’t!” Hagakure giggled. “You’ll scare the boys off!”

“I… already did,” I sighed.

It was… strange. I had never felt this kind of warmth. Not from a battlefield. Not from training. Just people—girls—talking about nothing, yet somehow it filled a silence I didn’t know I had.

“…Still,” I muttered. “I will not abandon my male identity.”

“You have already did,” Ashido leaned in conspiratorially, “Look at those! You’ve got killer hips.”

My soul exited my body.

—————————

On the boys’ side of the bath, I was told, there were… events.

Tragic events.

But let’s rewind a few minutes.

Because while I was in the girls’ bath being mercilessly lathered, exfoliated, and emotionally disarmed, an ancient and terrible instinct awakened on the opposite side of the wooden wall.

Minoru Mineta had begun twitching.

“You guys...” he whispered like a gremlin. “We’re not alone in here…”

“Huh?” Kaminari asked, blinking as he poured a ladle of warm water over his head.

“The girls are on the other side. Right now. Bathing. Naked. RIGHT. THERE.” Mineta pointed, eyes bloodshot with… misguided hope.

Tenya Iida’s glasses flared. “Mineta-kun. Stand down. We are gentlemen. Let us bathe with dignity!”

“No. No, no, NO!” Mineta cried, starting to vibrate in place like a dango on a jackhammer. “This is destiny! This is what I was born for! The wall is only seven feet tall! Seven! My quirk makes STICKY BALLS! I CAN CLIMB IT!”

“Mineta—” Midoriya tried to interject.

“STAND ASIDE, YOU PURITANS!”

With all the grace of a drunk monkey with a mission, Mineta hurled himself at the wall, adhesive spheres firing from his head with rapid succession as he began climbing like a feral goblin. Sero spat out his drink.

“HE’S ACTUALLY DOING IT!?”

“MINETA-KUN, CEASE! IMMEDIATELY!” Iida launched from the water in full engine-mode.

But then—

From the shadows, another figure appeared atop the wall.

Small.

Furious.

With righteous justice in his eyes.

“STUPID PERVERT!!”

Kota, the small nephew of Mandalay, flew in from the roof, drop-kicking Mineta’s face mid-ascent. The boy moved like a ninja, tiny feet of fury slamming into Mineta’s bulbous head, sending him tumbling back into the water below.

“AHHHHHHHHH! TRAITOROUS LITTLE GREMLIN!” Mineta screamed as he fell, disappearing into the splash like a cursed pebble.

The girls’ side erupted in cheers.

“Go Kota-kun!!” Ashido cried.

“Thank you, Kota~!” Hagakure added.

Then the boy turned—

And saw us.

The girls.

In full steamy ensemble.

His expression froze. So did his soul.

For a brief second, Kota’s brain went somewhere far away—possibly Nirvana.

Then he fainted.

Straight over the wooden wall.

“KOTAAAA!!” Midoriya shouted, leaping forward with green lightning crackling around him. His body moved before his mind, muscles coiling into action.

“ONE FOR ALL—FULL COWL!”

BOOM!

He caught Kota midair like a shounen prince saving a falling princess, sparks crackling across his skin, water flying everywhere.

“…You’re safe now,” Midoriya said gently.

Kota blinked.

And promptly fainted again.

—————————

That night, I was assigned to the girls' room. The males were quarantined into their own dormitory—likely for legal reasons.

Our room had futons, tatami flooring, and that distinctive "fresh pillowcase" smell. The windows were open to let in the mountain breeze, and someone had set up a snack corner in the middle with pocky, chips, and pink soda. I blinked at the scene.

“Wait... Is this a sleepover ritual?”

“Yup! Girls’ night!” Uraraka said cheerfully.

“I do not know this tradition.”

“Well, you’ll learn,” said Ashido, dragging me to my futon like a mother lion returning with her cub. “First rule of girls’ night: no sleeping before the tea’s cold.”

“…Is that metaphorical or literal?” I asked, confused.

“Both,” Jirou said, plugging her earphones into a speaker. “We’ve got music.”

“We’ve got snacks,” Tsuyu added.

“We’re doing hair and talking crushes,” Hagakure declared.

“…Crushes? As in, infatuations? Romantic projections?”I blinked.

“Oh my god, Rin-chan,” Ashido giggled, “you are such a grandpa in a teenage girl’s body.”

I opened my mouth to argue—

But the warmth from the hot springs was seeping into my bones.

My belly was full.

My tail was twitching gently.

And the futon… was really soft.

I curled under the blanket.

Warmth. Safety.

Chatter in the background.

Laughter.

It reminded me of home. Of my sister, Natsumi, rambling about her favorite magical girl show. Of Kokoro, sneaking his booklight under his sheets. Of Mama’s voice humming in the kitchen, and Baba’s awkward attempts at karaoke.

This was foreign… but not unpleasant.

I closed my eyes.

Sleep came quickly.

As I drifted off, I heard Yaoyorozu’s voice whisper:

“She’s already out…”

“Awwww, that’s adorable,” Ashido cooed. “She sleeps like a fox cub…”

“…Should we draw on her face?”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“…Let’s do her nails instead.”

The rest was silence.

TO BE CONTINUED

-----------------------------------

Rin in the hot springs

Chapter Text

I was already awake when the sky was still wearing its star-studded veil, seated cross-legged at the center of a clearing with only the songs of early cicadas and the occasional owl call for company. The grass was cool under me. The breeze was steady. My mind, honed to emptiness.

The moment the sun pierced the horizon, I opened my eyes.

Then Eraserhead-sensei showed up like a specter of exhaustion wrapped in a sleeping bag.

“Good morning, Rin,” he mumbled, sipping black coffee from a cracked thermos.

I gave a silent nod.

“…You’ve been out here since five?”

“Four fifty-eight, to be precise.”

He sighed. “Figures.”

By 5:30 AM, Class 1-A had assembled outside the training camp cabins. Most were still in the zombified half-dream state. Iida-kun was stretching. Midoriya was muttering. Yaoyorozu-san was fixing her hair into a practical ponytail. Bakugou-kun? Already angry. Probably woke up that way.

Aizawa-sensei stood before us like a grim priest of pain.

“Today, we begin reinforcement training,” he said. “You’ve all grown—emotionally, tactically. But your bodies haven’t caught up. That changes now.”

Kaminari gulped. “Wait… you mean this is gonna be, like… real training training?”

Aizawa ignored him. “Bakugou. Pitch.”

Bakugou grunted and stepped forward, lips curled in a scowl. He activated his Quirk, mini explosions cracking off his palm as he wound back and hurled the softball with a savage yell.

BOOM!

The ball disappeared into the sky with a sharp sonic snap. A few seconds later, the device chirped.

709.6 meters.

There was a collective blink.

“…Wait, that’s it?” Sero said.

“Wasn’t it, like, 705 last time?” said Kirishima, scratching his head.

“Yup,” said Jirou. “Barely moved.”

“Exactly,” Aizawa said with a cold smile that promised agony. “You’ve hit a wall. Your Quirks haven’t evolved much because your bodies haven’t kept up. This camp’s goal is to fix that. From now on, your job is to break your limits.”

I watched Bakugou-kun twitch. His teeth ground audibly.

“DAMMIT!”

Ah. The familiar sound of him taking this very, very personally.

—————————

“Rin. You’re next.”

I stepped forward.

“Unlike the others,” he said with a flat tone, “you haven’t been using your Quirk to its full potential.”

“Correction,” I responded calmly. “I use it within safe margins to prevent unnecessary stress on my cardiovascular system and maintain nutritional homeostasis.”

“That’s the problem,” Aizawa deadpanned. “You’re not going to evolve by being careful. You’ve leaned too heavily on physical ability. From now on, you’ll push your Quirk to the limit. Starting today, you’ll be learning large-scale construct formation and high-output energy modulation.”

I tilted my head.

“Ah… So you wish for me to expand my meridian flow to enhance externalized projection. Understood.”

He gave me a look that said, I understood none of that, but fine.

Pixie-Bob clapped her hands with unnerving cheer. “I’m assigning myself as Rin-chan’s support staff! Because guess what! The more energy she burns, the more food she needs!”

She dragged out a literal grill—a whole grill setup—and began preparing spicy meat skewers with the precision of a battlefield chef.

My stomach growled.

Ah. That’s right. Energy projection burned through glucose at an alarming rate. And my Yin-Yang Wolf Quirk consumed both sugar and fat reserves depending on the polarity.

This was going to get… hungry.

“Start with alternating pulses,” Aizawa instructed. “Yang, then Yin. No rests between. Fire toward the hills.”

I nodded, stepped into position, and took a breath.

Golden light flared around my body—Yang Energy, surging outward like a sunbeam.

BOOOOOM!

A narrow beam of light carved a smoking line into the distant rocks.

Then I twisted my stance.

A heavy, purple mist coiled around my fingers—Yin Energy.

CRASH!

A dark construct of compressed force slammed into the second hill, cracking it at the center like a cookie.

The rest of the class stared.

I repeated the cycle.

Light.
Dark.
Light.
Dark.

With every pulse, my appetite surged.

Pixie-Bob appeared like a kunoichi, thrusting a meat skewer toward my face.

“Open wide~!”

I bit down instinctively, still firing beams between chews.

“Rin!” Kaminari gasped between sets of electrostatic burst training. “How are you not dead yet!?”

“Her soul left her body like twenty minutes ago,” Ashido groaned, her slime-covered hands trembling.

Kirishima was sobbing into the dirt. “I wanna be a manly meat beam cannon too, but my muscles are crying blood!”

“Wahhh! Rin-chan, save us!” Kaminari cried.

“Ah,” I said between bites of grilled thigh meat. “Allow me to quote the Zhuangzi—『虛室生白，吉祥止止。』—‘An empty room produces light; stillness begets clarity.’ In other words, your excessive complaining is cluttering the qi of the training zone and undermining the efficiency of internal cultivation. Therefore—”

Pixie-Bob stuffed another meat skewer in my mouth.

“Mfffffh—”

“Shhhh~ eat more~ no quotes while you’re firing~”

Light.
Dark.
Chomp.
Repeat.

A rhythm was born.

“You hear that?” Jirou muttered. “She’s somehow giving a motivational lecture while chewing beef.”

“I’m hallucinating,” Kaminari whispered, eyes blank. “The energy beams are talking to me.”

“MY ABS HAVE ABS!” Kirishima screamed. “AND THEY ALL HURT!”

"She's... chewing and nuking mountains!?” Mineta yelled.

“That’s why we keep her fed. Otherwise, she starts breaking the minds of everyone in a one-hundred-meter radius.”Aizawa sighed.

“This is the most terrifying kind of support class I’ve ever seen,” Yaoyorozu muttered, clutching a clipboard she manifested to track calorie usage.

“Mm. Pixie-Bob-san,” I said, mid-bite, “a suggestion: please replace chicken with lamb. Higher in saturated fat—better replenishment for Yin-type expenditure—”

“NOOO!” the class cried.

Pixie-Bob giggled and shoved another skewer in my mouth.

“Focus, everyone!” Aizawa barked. “Rin’s the pace car. If she can keep going, you all can too!”

I raised one arm and blasted another beam into a boulder.

…It exploded.

“…I want to go home,” Mineta whimpered from the mud.

—————————

The sun hung lazily at the edge of the forest, casting gold-tinted shadows across the trees as a breeze wafted the smell of woodsmoke and desperation through our makeshift camp.

“Alright, kids!” Pixie-Bob declared with a flourish, holding a massive basket of vegetables above her head like a trophy. “Time for your next trial!”

Ragdoll zipped forward with a bright grin. “It’s time to feed yourselves! We’re not cooking for you tonight, nya~!”

A chorus of exhausted groans erupted from Class 1-A.

“You will make your own food using these ingredients,” Pixie-Bob continued, plopping baskets of root vegetables, rice, and spices onto the forest clearing. “Fire, water, preparation—everything’s on you.”

Iida-kun adjusted his glasses, his eyes gleaming with fiery purpose.

“This is clearly a test of survival skills! A simulation of post-disaster field operations! Excellent! Everyone, divide into teams and begin preparation immediately! I propose… we make CURRY!!”

"YEAHHHH!!" Kirishima pumped a fist. "Curry's manly and hot!"

“It’s also the only thing I can make without setting the forest on fire,” Kaminari mumbled.

“Okay, curry… we’ll need roux, carrots, potatoes, onions—meat… wait, do we even have meat?—should we use the powdered mix or make the roux ourselves…?”Midoriya started muttering rapidly under his breath, calculating water-to-rice ratios like his life depended on it.

“Hey, Shotoooo~ can you make fire for me~?” Mina, already holding a pot, looked around for help.

“That seems against the rules. We’re supposed to do this on our own.”Shoto Todoroki blinked slowly.

Before Mina could reply, Momo crossed her arms with a huff.

“Ashido-san, please don’t rely on someone else. This is a chance for you to improve your independence and practical survival skills.”

Shoto pondered this for a moment…

…and then pointed his left hand at a pile of wood. A small, neat flame flickered to life.

“Here.”

“Yay! Thanks, Fire Prince~!”

“…I have betrayed the curriculum,” Todoroki said with a completely flat expression.

Meanwhile, I had already constructed a three-zone firepit, sharpened bamboo skewers with my tail, and prepped all the ingredients in stainless steel bowls that I may or may not have materialized from my emergency utility pouch.

(Preparedness is part of the Dao.)

“Rin-chan, you cook too?” Tsuyu tilted her head, watching me with a curious blink.

“Yes,” I said, carefully stirring my pot. “Malaysian curry is a well-balanced nutritional dish—rich in turmeric, galangal, lemongrass, and coconut milk. Spices increase metabolic activity and enhance blood flow, ideal for post-training recovery. This version includes bird’s eye chilies, belacan shrimp paste, cinnamon sticks, and a secret blend of twelve herbs I carry for emergency ration enhancement.”

There was a pause.

“…Sounds exotic.” said Shoto, blinking in awe. “Spicy food can help blood sugar absorption, right?”

“Correct.”

“Can I try some when it’s done?”

I gave a nod.

“Sure. You may need a glass of milk.”

Iida was giving an emotional speech about how the act of preparing a meal bonds comrades together and instills humility.

“I believe,” he declared, one hand raised dramatically, “that currying favor with one’s peers begins with actual curry!”

“…That was terrible,” muttered Jirou.

At last, the sun dipped low and dinner was served.

Each team huddled together, bowls in hand, steam rising in aromatic clouds from the simmering pots.

“Alright!” Kirishima called out. “Let’s all try each other’s curry!”

“Mine’s extra sweet!” Ochako chirped.

“I made mine medium-spicy,” Midoriya said proudly, holding up his portion.

Kaminari looked at his with deep distrust. “Mine’s… crunchy. I don’t know why it’s crunchy…”

“…I made a vegetable-only version for those with dietary preferences,” Yaoyorozu offered graciously.

Then they all turned to me.

Or rather… my pot.

It was bubbling.

It was glowing.

The color was ominously red.

A heavenly scent rose from it. Rich. Bold. Fragrant. Dangerously spicy.

“This… this smells AMAZING,” Mina said, leaning in. “Kinda like a restaurant…”

“Kinda like a volcano,” Jirou muttered.

“Would anyone like to try?” I asked, dishing a ladle into a bowl and handing it to Kaminari.

“…Do it, bro,” Kirishima said, slapping his back. “Be a culinary hero.”

Kaminari sniffed it.

“…Smells legit. How hot can it be?”

He took a bite.

One second passed.

"HOOOOT!!" Kaminari screamed, steam literally rising from his nose. “MY TONGUE!! RIN-CHAN WHY—?! THIS ISN’T FOOD, IT’S A DEATH RAY!!”

“Oh no,” Midoriya gasped. “His Quirk activated—he’s short-circuiting!!”

Kaminari flopped over backward, his face red and his voice looping like a broken speaker. “Tasty… pain… tasty… pain…”

“Hmm,” I said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should have omitted the third chili infusion…”

“Rin-chan… that was the third infusion?!” Mina wailed. “How many were there?!”

“Six.”

“You… infused the spices?! That wasn’t even pre-packaged curry?!” Yaoyorozu looked horrified.

“I prefer to blend from scratch. Preservatives affect the purity of the flavor profile.”

The others all blinked at me in equal parts horror and awe.

Except Bakugou. He was eating a whole bowl without flinching.

“…Tastes fine,” he grunted. “Better than half the garbage here.”

I was unsure whether to take that as a compliment.

By the end of the meal, most of Class 1-A had chosen to eat their own curry, occasionally eyeing mine like it was a biological hazard.

Even so… I felt strangely satisfied.

As we cleaned up and prepared to return to the cabins, I looked at the empty pot beside me and muttered:

“Curry is the gateway to understanding another’s culture. Through spice, one finds unity.”

“You were this close to saying another quote, weren’t you?” Jirou muttered.

Pixie-Bob popped out from behind the trees.

“And that’s dinner~! Good job, everyone! Get some rest—tomorrow’s gonna be even worse~!”

The groans of a dozen souls echoed into the night.

And me?

…I was already thinking about breakfast.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The third day began with sweat, shouts, and the sharp sting of fatigue.

By noon, both Class 1-A and 1-B had been marched to a wide canyon-like training area carved between two cliff ridges. Towering pines lined the rocky slopes, their shadows dancing over obstacle courses, combat zones, and elemental pits. The air pulsed with exertion as students pushed their limits under the merciless watch of pro heroes.

“Quirk strengthening day…” I murmured, glancing around at the various stations. “Expected. Necessary. Unforgiving.”

“Reminds me of boot camp,” Kirishima-Kun laughed, dragging a weighted sled across scorched earth. “But with more explosions!”

Iida-kun, ever the engine of diligence, was shouting words of motivation somewhere in the distance while running laps backwards.

Aizawa-sensei—currently armed with a thermos of coffee and his standard death-glare—stood near a training ring, supervising Ashido-San, Kaminari-San, and Sero-San.

“Use your Quirks continuously until you’re at your breaking point,” he instructed, monotone and sharp. “Then keep going.”

“W-wait, what?! That sounds like a recipe for passing out!” Kaminari-San yelped.

“Exactly,” Shota replied with chilling calm.

He turned to Ashido-San, whose acid danced across rocks as she practiced dissolving and shaping large surfaces.

“Minimize the output time while maximizing corrosive surface spread. You’re wasting fluid with your current form.”

“Yes, sir!” Mina shouted, tongue poking out in focus.

Sero was swinging from tree to tree, practicing with multiple tape strands at once.

“Faster! Your pivots are too slow.”

Meanwhile, Denki tried overcharging a pile of iron rods. “Pika Pika… SHOCK—!!”

BOOM.

…And then collapsed, twitching with a fried smile.

“Yup, he shorted out again,” Kaminari muttered from the ground. “Totally expected this…”

“How many times do I have to tell you… don’t shock yourself into stupidity.”Aizawa dragged a hand down his face.

He then glanced over to Yuga and Uraraka, both of whom were standing at attention—but with nervous sweat trailing down their faces.

“You two,” he said, voice cold. “Barely passed your exams. Train harder. The real world doesn’t hand out participation trophies.”

“H-hai!” Ochaco squeaked, activating her Zero Gravity on boulders twice her size.

Yuga tried to smile, posing glamorously. “Ah, mon dieu, if I must suffer to protect the beautiful, then—”

“Just. Fire. Your. Laser.”

The day wore on with grueling intensity. Quirks flared across the training grounds: blasts, vines, acid, wind, ice, clones, tape, and even Shiozaki-san's thorny vines which had somehow snared a whole training dummy. The forest echoed with power.

But Aizawa’s next words stilled the air.

“Don’t forget why you’re here.”

All of us paused.

“That fundamental drive—your reason for becoming a hero—it’s what fuels your growth. Without it, no amount of training will matter.”

I glanced down at my anklets, gold-etched with swirling Yin-Yang patterns. My tail twitched once. To protect the ones I love. That’s what Mother had always said.

Midoriya raised a hand.

“Aizawa-sensei… will any more teachers be arriving later?”

Aizawa’s face grew darker.

“No,” he said. “We brought the minimum personnel to manage both classes. We have everything we need for this stage of training.”

Ragdoll, lounging nearby with her binocular goggles on her head, piped up cheerfully. “And besides! All Might isn't here on purpose~!”

“What? Why?” Mina blinked.

“We asked him to stay away,” she said more seriously. “He’s too high-profile. There are people out there who might target you just because you’re close to him.”

That hit the group hard.

I could see the tension in Midoriya’s hands.

But before it could sink too deep, Pixie-Bob bounced up in her usual whirlwind of chaotic glee.

“Whew! Enough gloom, gloom, gloom! Tonight! We’re having a test of courage!”

“What, like in those summer anime specials?” Hagakure squealed.

“Sounds like a haunted house in the woods kind of thing,” Kaminari grinned.

“Correct!” Pixie-Bob struck a pose. “Prepare to scream!”

“…Please don’t make me scream,” Aoyama whispered.

—————————

Evening – Campfire & Curry Redux

By sunset, the woods glowed in gold and ember tones. The evening chill crept into our skin, prompting everyone to gather and cook dinner near the base cabins.

Sparks from campfires lit the air as smoke and laughter rose into the sky. Each group huddled around their food stations.

Shoto Todoroki approached Midoriya, carrying a ladle and his usual unreadable gaze.

“You wanted to talk to All Might,” he said simply.

Midoriya, stirring his pot, glanced toward the distant ridge.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “It was about Kota.”

Shoto followed his gaze—and noticed the empty patch of forest.

“He’s not with Mandalay?”

“I think… he went back to his hideout,” Midoriya said. “He’s always running off on his own.”

He lowered his voice.

“I wanted to ask All Might how to talk to him. Kota doesn’t like heroes. He thinks Quirks bring pain. And… I can’t reach him with words.”

Shoto was quiet for a moment.

“…You’re trying to argue logic with a child who’s lost more than he understands. That won’t work.”

“Then what should I do?”

“Show him.”

“Huh?”

“Show him what heroes are really doing. Why they fight. What they protect. If you talk too much, he’ll think you’re just another adult giving fake speeches.”

Shoto stirred his own curry.

“You said he doesn’t like the idea of a society built around Quirks. So don’t tell him what it should be. Show him what it could be. People need to see change to believe in it.”

Midoriya stared at him, eyes wide.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “Shoto, you’re absolutely right.”

“I usually am,” Todoroki said flatly. “Try not to cry about it.”

Midoriya laughed—and I smiled slightly as I chopped lemongrass behind them.

Dinner was a welcome warmth. Class 1-A and 1-B had all come together to eat and recover.

Even if the curry still scared a few of them. Kaminari eye’d my pot with wary suspicion.

“…It’s glowing again.”

“Batch No. 3. This one has coconut milk.”

“Still glowing.”

“You’re welcome.”

—————————

After dinner and a long, scalding-hot shower that did almost enough to purge the Malaysian curry stains from half of Class 1-A’s souls, I emerged from the bathhouse refreshed—and, for once, oddly… uncertain.

The stars were beginning to pepper the sky in full, glinting like scattered diamonds as the chill crept in. I had already thrown on my usual navy-blue jacket, its high collar hugging my neck like a security blanket. My sarashi was wrapped tightly around my chest, as always—nothing new there.

But unfortunately, I dropped my pants on the wet floor…...

“Rin-chaaaaan~! So unfortunate~~~!” Mina’s sing-song voice struck like a pink missile from across the changing area.

“I will just dry it with my Yang Energy.”

“Which is exactly why I’m stopping you!” she said, holding up… a pair of shorts. Shorter than anything in my wardrobe. Possibly shorter than my understanding of modern fashion.

She waved the garment like it was a sacred artifact.

“You should try these out! They’re freedom! They’re sass! They’re perfect for a summer night game under the stars!”

“They are… lacking in surface area,” I pointed out, expression flat.

“Exactly! You’ll look cute, Rin-chan!”

“…Irrelevant.”

“Rin,” Mina said, stepping into serious best friend mode. “You wear sarashi, combat gear, and flowy baggy training pants. For once, let your legs BREATHE. It’s not like anyone here bites.”

I blinked once.

Then—somewhere in the deepest, most illogical corners of my psyche—a strange impulse stirred.

“Fine.”

“Wait—you said yes?!”

“I shall test their aerodynamic efficiency. Briefly.”

And that was how I, Rin Namikaze—the stoic, analytical, emotionally-impervious wolf—ended up walking out into the night with a high-collared jacket… and Ashido Mina’s black aggressively short shorts.

My ears betrayed me, twitching erratically.

My tail, too stiff.

I had no data for this sensation. Social discomfort? Embarrassment?

Unacceptable. It is weirdly comfortable because of the airflow but it felt weird wearing such a piece of garment.

I needed food.

But the briefing began before I could retreat to the leftover curry cache.

—————————

The fireflies were out again.

Their gentle glow floated among the tree trunks, like little spirits watching over us. The dense woods around the lodge had turned into a set straight out of a horror anime—thick fog, gnarled trees, distant owl calls. Somewhere in the distance, Pixie-Bob's high-pitched squeals of excitement echoed like a banshee.

It was officially Test of Courage night.

All of us stood in front of the forest entrance. Class 1-A on one side, lined up in pairs. Class 1-B on the other, wearing creepy masks and giddy expressions that screamed we’re gonna scare the soul out of you.

“I-I don’t know about this…” Kaminari whimpered.

But before he could turn and bolt, Aizawa-sensei appeared behind him like a ghost from Ju-on and seized him by the collar.

“You three—review lessons. Now.”

“EH?! Why?!” Ashido wailed as she, Sero, and Kaminari were dragged away into academic oblivion.

“You failed your afternoon training assignments. Remedial classes apply even during games.”

“Senseeeeeiii! That’s so cruel!!” Sero shouted, tape flailing behind him as he was pulled offscreen.

Ashido clung to the ground dramatically, reaching back toward us. “Rin! Don’t let him brainwash me with math!”

I blinked. “Math is good for you.”

“N̼̻̝̻̝̲͓̰̞̠̘̤̗̜͙Ơ͏̙̲̘̗̰͇͎̰̟̟̰͖͖̰̜̦͎̞͍͇̯͍—!”

And then she was gone. Tragic.

With the haunted trio gone, Pixie-Bob bounced in front of us with a bright flashlight beaming directly into her own face like a deranged camp counselor.

“Okay! Here’s how it’s gonna go, you little ghostbusters!” she chirped. “Each class gets to be the scarers and the scarees!”

“Class 1-B gets the first shift as the scarers! You’ll be lurking in the forest, trying to scare the pants off Class 1-A!”Ragdoll twirled beside her.

“Metaphorically!” Pixie-Bob added quickly.

Ragdoll continued, “Meanwhile, Class 1-A will be heading into the forest to find cards with your names on them. You must retrieve your card and return to camp to prove you made it through.”

“After fifteen minutes, we switch roles!” Pixie-Bob spun dramatically. “Then it’s your turn to haunt the trees, Class 1-A!”

“The class that scares the most students wins!” Ragdoll grinned with unnerving intensity. “But no physical contact! And no real Quirk combat! This is a test of courage, not a horror warzone!”

Several students looked mildly disappointed.

As the students shuffled into their groups and prepared to enter the moonlit woods, I stood at the edge of the clearing, my jacket rustling in the breeze.

“First pair up—Bakugou Katsuki and Namikaze Rin!”

“EH?! Why the hell am I going first?!” Bakugou barked, glaring at the clipboard in Pixie-Bob’s hands like it had personally wronged his ancestors.

“Oho~ I see sparks already!” Pixie-Bob winked.

I stepped up beside him silently, adjusting the collar of my jacket. The forest ahead was draped in fog, shadows twisting under moonlight. There were likely rudimentary illusions and minor traps planted by Class 1-B, but nothing of true threat. Still, my enhanced hearing caught rustles already echoing from within.

“Alright lovebirds, off you go!” Ragdoll chirped with a little wave.

“We’re not—SHUT UP!”

We entered the forest path together, the trees swallowing the light behind us.

For a moment, there was only the sound of our footsteps. Dry leaves crunched under my sandals, and Bakugou’s palms gave off a faint crackle every few seconds, his body subconsciously on guard.

I took a sidelong glance.

His face was red.

His eyes? Glued to—

…My thighs.

I blinked once. Logical deduction engaged.

Observation: Visual focus sustained for 3.5 seconds.

Analysis: He has not made lecherous remarks. Eyes did not drift. Face flushed, not predatory.

Conclusion: Attraction detected.

Subroutine triggered:

Directive: FLAUNT IT! HE LIKES IT! SHOW HIM YOUR JUICY SUCCULENT THIGHS—

No. Irrational. Improper. Unreasonable. Unnecessary. Indecent. I shall seal this memory.

That said… I slowed my pace.

Just slightly.

Let him catch up. Let the light catch the curve of the borrowed short shorts just right.

…He’s staring harder.

Fascinating.

I felt something warm bloom in my chest—unfamiliar and tingly.

Was this… fun?

“Oi,” Bakugou finally snapped, turning his head away with an angry flush. “Why the hell are you wearing that?! That ain’t even yours, is it?!”

“Mina-san insisted. Aerodynamic efficiency. Ventilation factor. I hypothesize a six percent reduction in heat retention compared to my standard gear.”I tilted my head.

“Tch… Dumbass logic…”

“I note you have not looked away once in the past two minutes.”

“I—! SHUT UP!!”My ears twitched smugly.

—————————

The first scare trap triggered: a bush rustled unnaturally and a crude puppet flopped out with a scream. Bakugou blasted it to bits before it even hit the ground.

I could have intervened using my Yin constructs to detect traps or pushed out a pulse of Yang to disable low-level illusions.

I chose not to.

“Ah,” I murmured, taking a deliberately slow step back. “I might… fall.”

Bakugou caught my elbow. I assessed his performances.

Hard grip. Steady hands.

Excellent upper-body strength. Muscles engaged, not trembling. No signs of training neglect.

His palm lingered a bit too long.

“…The hell are you spacing out for?” he muttered, turning away.

“I am conducting physical diagnostics,” I replied. “I might also require… a lift.”

“A what?!”

“Carry me.”

“HELL. NO.”

“Why not? You appear quite capable. I estimate your load-bearing capacity exceeds 60 kilograms. I am only—”

“DON’T SAY YOUR DAMN WEIGHT OUT LOUD IN FRONT OF ME!!!”

Curious. He’s panicking.

Face: red. Posture: tense. Voice: higher-pitched than normal.

Diagnosis: Tsundere.

New hypothesis: I am in control of this situation. I must exploit this advantage with surgical precision. Teasing Bakugou-Kun is rather… fun.

—————————

We moved deeper. More traps. More scares. I avoided them all—just late enough to almost trigger them, forcing Bakugou to shield or push me aside.

It was adorable how angry he got each time.

“STOP WALKIN’ LIKE A DAMN DOLL!”

“I am practicing the ‘damsel-in-distress’ trope. I read it increases pair bonding in simulated danger.”

“DID YOU READ THAT IN A CRAPPY DATING MAGAZINE?!”

“‘Simulated Romantic Scenarios and the Psychological Bonds Formed in Cooperative Fear Settings,’ volume four. Peer-reviewed.”

“YOU’RE OUTTA YOUR DAMN MIND!!”

My face remained blank, but my ears twitched with mischief. This… was intoxicating.

I was learning a lot about Bakugou-kun. His patience thresholds. His protective instincts. His adorable lack of counter-strategy when confronted by calculated femininity.

…And I was absolutely abusing it.

⸻

Eventually, we reached the midpoint marker. I picked up our name cards from a wooden stump shaped like a skeleton’s hand. A dramatic touch.

“Objective secured,” I noted.

“About time,” Bakugou muttered, still blushing and storming ahead. “If I’d known you were gonna be a damn princess, I’d’ve carried a throne instead!”

“Oh?” I said softly. “You would carry me?”

“I DIDN’T MEAN IT LITERALLY, YOU—!!”

The distant explosion ripped through the treetops like thunder breaking a lullaby.

BOOM!

Trees shook. Birds screamed and fled. The humid night turned suddenly... tense.

“What the damn hell was that!?” Bakugou snapped, dropping into a combat stance so fast I nearly slipped off his back.

My ears twitched. My tail went stiff.

“…Bakugou-kun,” I warned, scanning the dark treetops, the scent in the air. “Careful now. There are… presences. That shouldn’t be here.”

He clicked his tongue, already snarling, but I could tell his instincts were on full alert—like mine.

TO BE CONTINUED

---------------------------------

Rin in shorts

Chapter Text

From the darkness behind a tall cedar, a voice broke the tension like a twig underfoot.

“…You two really took the longest route possible.”

I blinked. “Todoroki-kun?”

He stepped out of the shadows with calm precision, his two-tone hair glinting under moonlight. Yaoyorozu-san followed behind, her elegant ponytail swaying with each cautious step.

“I thought you might have gotten lost,” Todoroki added flatly, arms crossed. “But then I realized… you were just slow.”

My tail dropped.

I felt cold.

Yaoyorozu covered her mouth, eyes wide—not in alarm, but in… judgment?

“Rin-chan… how could you…?” she whispered, cheeks rosy with shock. “That was a piggyback ride. And your shorts… and the way you leaned on him and let him touch your… thighs—thighs, Rin-chan!”

“...They’re just legs,” I said.

“I could see them clearly in the moonlight,” she snapped, voice cracking with embarrassment. “Indecent!”

Processing.

Attempting Memory Wipe...
“Bakugou’s hands… were on my thighs.”

“Stop,” I whispered to no one. “Begone, perverted thoughts.”

“Did you say something?” Todoroki asked, still peering at me as if doing a philosophical math problem.

I looked at him. He looked at me. We stared.

“…You’re training,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“You and Bakugou. The piggyback ride. It’s weight training.”

Yaoyorozu sputtered. “What!? No! Shoto-kun, weren’t you listening!? They were—flirting! She was flaunting!”

“…You can’t flaunt a training method,” Todoroki countered, nodding sagely.

“You two rich bastards are so damn innocent it hurts.”Bakugou turned to him with a snort.

I twitched.

My male dignity… it still exists… somewhere. I am Rin Namikaze. I am rational. Logical. Tactical. Trained by discipline and forged in blood and martial combat.

…

I have to prevent social death.

“Would you like me to carry you next, Yaoyorozu-san?” I said.

“W-what!? N-no, I wasn’t suggesting that it’s something anyone should be doing—!”

“Then why are you panicking like I broke a moral code?”

“I—I—I just never expected you to abandon your male virtue so quickly! It’s only been a month!”

“Correction: thirty-six days.”

“That’s barely any better!”

I crossed my arms. My face remained neutral. My ears were rotating wildly, and my tail was swishing behind me like a chaotic banner.

Todoroki was still staring at me, then at Bakugou, then back at me.

“Are you two in a relationship?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” said the Gremlin in my brain.

Bakugou, arms folded, grunted. “Tch. You all overthinking the dumbest crap.”

“P-Piggyback rides are not dumb!” Yaoyorozu huffed.

“They are when you start treatin’ it like some damn fairy tale kiss.”

“I never said that!!”

“You were thinking it!”

“Was not!”

I stared at the trio before me. Three classmates. One (Bakugou) overflowing with aggression and a side of blush. One (Yaoyorozu) descending into etiquette-induced shock. And one (Todoroki)… who believed this entire situation was part of a fitness program.

Three people. No one understood anything.

I am surrounded by the blind.

I am one of them.

We stood in that awkward circle of emotional confusion, and that’s when it hit us.

Literally.

A low mist began rolling through the undergrowth. It curled around our ankles, unusually dense. Thick. White. Too uniform to be natural.

My nostrils flared.

“…Anesthetic fog,” I murmured. “Non-lethal. Invasive. Breach imminent.”

Yaoyorozu and Todoroki immediately reacted, both pulling out compact masks from her creation pouch.

“We were distributing these—Rin-chan, Bakugou-kun!” Yaoyorozu called, handing them to us.

“Tch. Finally somethin’ useful,” Bakugou muttered, strapping his on.

The fog thickened behind us.

It was too quiet.

Not one scream from the test of courage.

The air pressure felt… wrong.

Still.

Heavy.

“…Something’s here,” I said.

“Something’s wrong,” Todoroki added.

“I agree,” Yaoyorozu said, hand already preparing to create more gear.

I looked at Bakugou. He was glaring at the fog like it had insulted his cooking.

I took one last glance over my shoulder at the forest.

From the dense white of the mist, a silhouette twirled into view.It didn’t run. It danced.

With a cheerful giggle, the figure pirouetted between the trunks, dress fluttering like petals on the breeze, arms spread in glee as if the world itself were her stage.

“Rin-chaaaaan~! I found you again~!”

I tensed. The voice—bubbly, erratic, intoxicatingly sweet—scratched at my instincts like a cat at a shoji screen. My tail bristled behind me, standing on end.

“…Toga Himiko.”

The fog curled away as she stepped forward, smiling as though we were meeting at a café rather than an ambush.

"Didja miss me~?"

Before I could answer, a sharp clink rang behind me—metal scraping stone. I turned sharply, but—

“Tch—Rin!!” Bakugou’s voice echoed through the mist.

I saw a flash of him reaching out—but then a gust of wind slammed between us, the fog thickening like a wall. Todoroki’s silhouette reached for him, but they were swallowed.

“Bakugou-kun’s blood is mine now~!” Toga sang, twirling a blade between her fingers. A small red stain shimmered on the edge—barely a nick from his earlier scuffle, but it was enough.

Bakugou, Todoroki, and Yaoyorozu… cut off.

I was alone.

“Now, now, Rin-chan~” Himiko said with a pout, “Let’s talk like the good friends we are, okay?”

I didn’t move.

“…Engaging in direct confrontation without authorization is against current hero training regulation 1A-5,” I stated, monotone. “Further conflict without a licensed pro-hero present is a breach of Clause 3-47 under the Hero Work-Study Restriction Act.”

Himiko blinked.

I continued, unbothered.

“Furthermore, while quirk usage is permissible under duress, lethal force without just cause is prosecutable under Quirk Abuse Regulation 12B. You are currently in violation of 7.5 articles, including—”

“Stooooop!” Toga wailed, hands covering her ears. “Rin-chaaan! Nooo! You’re stun-locking me again with that textbook brain of yours!”

She dropped into a crouch, face buried in her palms.

“You even did this back in the alley!! Ranting about laws and hero clauses like a beautiful robot lawyer with wolf ears!!”

My ears twitched slightly. I took a half-step forward.

“I did warn you about criminal repercussions,” I replied. “However…”

I lowered my stance. My tone softened, just marginally.

“…I also suggested your talents would be more suited for the entertainment industry. Your capacity to mimic emotion and shift personas is… profound.”

Her golden eyes peeked through her fingers.

“You really think I could be… an actress?”

“Affirmative. With the proper agency, training, and psychological support, you could excel. You exhibit skill equivalent to Method Acting Level Three or higher.”

“Woooow~ Rin-chan, you really are my number one fan~!”

She suddenly lunged—and in a blink, her body shimmered, rippled…

And became Bakugou Katsuki.

I froze.

Even the snarl on his face was perfect. Voice too, if a little higher pitched.

“Oi, four-eyes,” ‘Bakugou’ growled, stepping closer. “Why the hell are you blushin’, huh?”

Internal systems: ERROR.

Subconscious module: Gremlin Rin deployed.

“She transformed into Bakugou-kun~! He’s talking to us~! He’s teasing us~! This is a shoujo arc!!!”

I forced my body to retreat, arms straight at my sides.

“Y-You are not Bakugou-kun,” I said robotically. “This is… delusion. False data. Impure stimulus. The thighs incident is irrelevant.”

But Himiko leaned in—too close. ‘Bakugou’s’ eyes locked on mine.

“I carried ya once, Rin… wanna go again~?”

“—!”

Critical hit.

My tail shot straight into the air like a malfunctioning antenna. My ears flailed so hard they might’ve caught wind signals from outer space.

“You’re really fun to tease, Rin-chan~!” she giggled, shifting back to her usual self. Her cheeks were flushed with excitement—not bloodlust.

Just joy.

Simple joy.

“Ya know… the League told me to collect blood. That was my job today. But I don’t care about the League. They’re boring. Soooo boring.”

She twirled again, needle drawn lazily in one hand.

“I only joined ‘cause I heard you might be there. And lookie here~! It’s worth every boring lecture from Shigaraki! You’re worth getting arrested for.”

“…Toga.”

“Hm~?”

“Back then. When I said you had a chance… that wasn’t rhetoric. It wasn’t an act. I meant it.”

She stilled.

I stared into her eyes.

“There is a reformation program available under the Juvenile Quirk Offense Rehabilitation Act. Most overlook it. Many fail it. But you…”

I inhaled.

“You’ve demonstrated zero active bloodlust since the engagement began. I’ve detected no intention to kill. Only… fascination. Affection. Curiosity. These are not marks of a killer. They are symptoms of someone lost.”

Silence.

The fog swirled around us, like a stage curtain drawn halfway.

“…You still think I’m not… broken?” she whispered.

“Your instinct is to draw blood. But not to hurt. I can tell. You control it. Subconsciously. That’s more than most people will ever understand.”

I raised a hand.

“Which is why I say it again, Himiko Toga.”

Her eyes widened.

“I accept your friend request.”

She dropped the needle.

Literally. It clattered to the ground like glass.

“…Rin-chan…” she said, voice trembling. “You mean it…? Like really really mean it? Even if I’ve hurt people before? Even if I’m messed up?”

I gave a small nod.

“I know monsters. I fight them. You are not one of them.”

And finally—her walls crumbled. She burst into tears, covering her face with her hands, shoulders shaking from relief and disbelief.

I stepped forward and patted her head.

I had no idea if this was correct.

But her crying eased.

“…You’re really weird, Rin-chan,” she sniffled, pressing her cheek to my palm. “But I think I love you a little.”

“Please… do not.”

“Hahahahaha!”

—————————

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the mist…

“DAMMIT! We lost sight of her!” Bakugou roared, blasting apart another tree—only for Todoroki to freeze the falling debris mid-air.

“Calm down, Bakugou. We can’t engage without permission,” Todoroki muttered.

“They took Rin!” Yaoyorozu panicked, gripping her staff. “We need to—”

A crash.

A roar.

Nomu. Moonfish.

And chaos descended.

—————————

Back to Rin and Himiko.

“I have one request,” I said. “If we escape this chaos—turn yourself in.”

“...You think I’ll survive the cuffs?” she asked.

“With me?” I gave her a sidelong glance.

“I guarantee it.”

"Ne, Rin-chan~" she whispered, voice brimming with girlish glee, “...they’re gonna take your Bakugou-kun. Right out from under your tail.”

My tail froze mid-swish.

The forest around us stilled again, save for the low rustling of the corrupted leaves and a distant, irregular beat—like the forest’s very heart was panicking.

“…Repeat that,” I said flatly.

“Mmhm~ The League’s orders were to nab him. Something about ‘a symbol of potential,’ or whatever. But pfft—who cares about that? I just wanted to see you~” Her cheeks puffed cutely as she hopped beside me, skipping on one foot. “But if they take your explosion-kun, won’t your little heart go boom too?”

My mouth remained shut, but the twitch in my ear betrayed me.

Ting!

::『Authorization granted. Engage the enemy at will.』::

Mandalay’s voice echoed within my skull—loud, urgent, slicing clean through the fog like a divine decree.

Authorisation… granted.

“...Good,” I said. “I no longer need to hold back.”

“Ohhh~? That’s scary Rin-chan. Are you gonna explode?” she teased, leaning forward so her forehead nearly bumped mine.

“I don’t explode. I eliminate.”

Himiko laughed, clapping her hands like I’d just told her the punchline of a romcom.

“Then let’s go eliminate the plan~!” she chirped. “I’ll take you to their collection point. We stop ‘em before they can snatch Mr. Angry Paws.”

“...Thank you.”

“Ehh!? You actually said it!”

“…I do express gratitude. When warranted.”

“Hehe~ That’s what I like about you, Rin-chan!”

We darted through the woods, bypassing tree roots, crumbling underbrush, and shadowy illusions cast by quirks gone awry. My senses were sharp—focused. But even I wasn’t prepared for the howl that tore through the forest.

A violent, furious cry—something half-human, half-beast.

Dark Shadow.

We rounded a broken log and nearly collided with a maelstrom of darkness. Tendrils lashed like whips as the corrupted shadow rampaged, shattering trees like glass.

Moonfish lay crumpled nearby, his jaw forcibly ripped open.

“Oh, yikes,” Himiko muttered. “That’s not aesthetic.”

“Target: Tokoyami. Quirk: Dark Shadow. Status: Berserk.”

Just ahead, I spotted flickers of light—ice and flame colliding in bursts to quell the darkness. Bakugou’s explosions and Todoroki’s ice were coordinated with unexpected synergy.

They were holding it back—but barely.

Izuku, Mezo, and Tokoyami—injured, but standing. I recognized the tremble in Izuku’s legs, but also the unrelenting fire in his gaze.

Himiko gasped when she spotted him. “Eeeee~! Midoriya-kun looks so adorably broken right now~ I wanna hug him and stitch his wounds with hearts!”

“Resist,” I said. “He’s vital.”

“Aww… fine.”

Bakugou turned the moment he saw me, scowling. “Where the hell were you?!”

“Rerouting fog,” I answered, deadpan. “And intercepting one delinquent.”

“Dumb mutt, you better not be—” he stopped when he saw Himiko casually wave at him.

Todoroki nodded in greeting. “You’re with her now?”

“It’s complicated,” I replied.

“Understatement,” Izuku wheezed.

“I brought her to stop the abduction of Bakugou-kun,” I clarified.

“...Tch.” Bakugou turned away, irritated but not angry. “I don’t need savin’, dammit.”

“Untrue,” I said. “You are a key target. Disregarding defense would be irresponsible.”

“Hey, hey~” Himiko chimed in, twirling her knife. “Wanna know who’s coming next? I might have overheard~!”

“Proceed,” I said.

“Let’s see… Dabi, Spinner, Twice, Muscular—though he's gone boom now—then there’s Magne, and Mr. Compress~ He’s the marble guy.”

“Marble guy?” Izuku repeated.

A flash. A shimmer. A presence—gone.

We turned.

Bakugou and Tokoyami were no longer beside us.

“Where—” Mezo began, only for a voice to call from above.

“Looking for these?”

On a high branch, a masked villain with a magician’s flair held up two glinting spheres between his fingers—one red, one black.

“Bakugou!” I growled, surging forward instinctively.

The man smiled, leaping off the branch as Todoroki fired a wall of ice.

He dodged gracefully, rolling through the air with acrobatic flair. “Such unrefined power. You don’t deserve him. Katsuki Bakugou will shine brightest among us, not shackled by your narrow values!”

“You—!” Izuku stepped forward. “Give them back!”

“U.A. claims to teach freedom, yet dictates your every thought,” Mr. Compress announced. “You see only one way forward. But the world is wider, deeper! We villains—we offer options. Free will!”

“That’s not free will!” I snapped, voice sharper than ever before. “That’s coercion under chaos!”

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed. “Wait. If he took both of them…”

“Fumikage’s gone too,” Mezo murmured.

Mr. Compress did a mocking little bow. “Indeed! I was tasked with just Bakugou, but seeing that dark beast defeat Moonfish so thoroughly? I simply had to have him too.”

I moved.

A burst of Yang energy surged through my anklets—golden light streaking beneath my feet.

He didn’t see it coming.

My leg cut a wide arc through the air.

WHAM.

The magician was sent flying, crashing through three trees like a meteor, his mask cracking.

But the marbles remained gripped in his hand.

“Rrrgh—” he groaned, rolling to his feet. “Persistent mutt…”

“Correction: Protective wolf.”

I advanced, hair tousled, tail flared like a battle banner, a flicker of something far darker pooling behind my stoic gaze.

“Those are not your toys. They are mine.”

The others stared—shocked—not at the speed, but the tone.

Izuku whispered, “She… she really said ‘my Bakugou.’”

“Damn right,” Himiko added cheerfully. “She’s halfway to villainhood~ Just needs a cooler outfit.”

“Vanguard Squad,” Mr. Compress rasped into a comm bead, coughing up dust. “Target secured. Rendezvous point in five. Prepare for evac.”

My ears twitched.

The flames licked the treetops in the distance. The night sky above the forest glowed with chaos—explosions of fire and ice, bursts of energy, and warping shadows painted the battlefield. Every second counted. Every heartbeat carried the weight of someone's future.

"Don't just stand there!" I snapped, my voice like a cold blade as my body surged through the air, Yang energy wreathing my legs in golden light. “He's mine!”

The wind howled as I overtook the others, weaving through charred branches and falling debris. Himiko had pointed out the rendezvous point, and that was where I was headed—directly into the eye of the storm. I could feel it—Katsuki’s aura. It wasn’t just his energy. It was him. Something inside me… something darker… whispered that he belonged to me.

And no magician with a parlor trick was going to take that away.

Meanwhile, back where we had lost sight of Mr. Compress, Shoto had planted his feet, glaring into the darkness.

“He’s too far!” Shoto grunted, seeing the villain already making distance, leaping branch to branch like a practiced performer.

“No,” Midoriya growled, his breaths ragged, face smeared with soot and blood. “We’re getting them back!”

“Deku-kun, your arms—” Uraraka hesitated, eyes wide as she saw his mangled limbs trembling.

“I can still move my legs. That’s enough.” His eyes blazed with determination. “Ochaco, make me, Todoroki, and Mezo weightless. Tsuyu, you’ll launch us.”

“But—” Shoto started.

“No buts!” Midoriya shouted. “We can’t afford to hesitate!”

Seeing the resolve in his eyes, Uraraka nodded. “Zero gravity!”

“Leave the throw to me!” Tsuyu said firmly. Her tongue snapped out like a whip, wrapping around them. Then with a cry, she hurled them into the air like shooting stars.

Mezo used his extended arms to guide their flight path mid-air, eyes locked on the blur of Mr. Compress ahead.

I had reached the rendezvous point, just in time to hear Dabi’s voice.

“Compress, dodge.”

A wave of searing heat erupted as Dabi sent a blast of blue flames toward us. Mr. Compress turned himself into a marble midair, dodging expertly.

Shoto managed to redirect the flames with a quick sheet of ice, but Midoriya and Mezo were both hit—Izuku’s right arm and Mezo’s left seared by fire. The smell of burnt cloth and skin stung my nose.

“Twice incoming!” I shouted, as the copy-villain lunged at Shoto from behind.

His attack was met with a wall of ice—Shoto’s reflexes never ceased to impress.

But I didn’t have time to admire him.

“Wolf Fang Waltz.” My voice was low and lethal as I danced into battle with Twice. His clones came like waves, a storm of shifting faces and voices, overwhelming in number.

I spun, kicked, struck—Yang energy bursting with every blow, illuminating the forest like a firework show. Still, they kept coming.

And then the worst thing happened.

A Nomu. Monstrous, deformed, grotesque. It slammed down behind me, roaring.

“Seriously?” I whispered, tail twitching in fury.

Mr. Compress reappeared beside Dabi. “I’ve got the targets—let’s finish this farce.”

He reached into his coat... and froze.

“What…?”

Mezo smirked and opened his fist. “You dropped these.”

Two marbles gleamed in his palm.

“Ice,” Mr. Compress said smoothly, unfazed. “Well played. Unfortunately—” He removed his mask, revealing a long tongue with two very real marbles balanced on its tip “—I never said I carried the real ones in my hands.”

“No…” Shoto whispered.

Compress replaced his mask and sauntered toward Kurogiri’s portal.

“I like to give heroes a sliver of hope before I crush it. It’s a bad habit.”

Before anyone could stop him, a beam of light screamed through the trees.

“NAVEEEL LAAASER!!” Yuga Aoyama cried heroically from afar.

The laser struck Compress dead-on, shattering his mask and scorching his face.

“GAAH—!” he shrieked as the marbles flew from his mouth.

“No!” Dabi lunged.

“GET THEM!”Midoriya forced himself up, body shaking.

Mezo dove, grabbing the marble with Fumikage inside. Shoto reached out—his fingers nearly brushing the marble with Katsuki.

But a flash of flame intervened.

Dabi's hand snatched it away.

“No—!” Todoroki’s breath caught in his throat.

Compress deactivated the marbles. Fumikage and Katsuki emerged—Fumikage collapsing into Mezo’s arms.

Katsuki stood tall, scowling as if nothing had fazed him.

“Don’t follow me,” he muttered.

“BAKUGOU!” Izuku screamed, stumbling forward. “Don’t go—!”

Too late.

Dabi grabbed him. Compress and Kurogiri’s portal pulsed behind them.

“I’ll kill you if you resist,” Dabi muttered.

“Tch. As if I’d lose to clowns like you,” Bakugou growled. But he didn’t resist.

And just like that—

They were gone.

The firelight dwindled.

The battle was over—but the air was thick with loss.

Midoriya’s scream echoed through the forest, raw and visceral.

“BAKUGOUUUU!!”

His knees gave out beneath him, fists hammering the dirt in anguish. Blood seeped from his arms, mixing with the ash on the forest floor. Ochaco rushed to his side, her lips trembling, unable to speak. Shoto remained kneeling, one hand clenched tight, his ice-covered palm twitching ever so slightly. Mezo silently passed Tokoyami into Tsuyu’s care, lowering his head in quiet remorse.

And me?

I stood perfectly still.
Not a word.
Not a sound.
Not even the flick of an ear.

The shadows of the trees whispered around me, but I could not hear them. Not truly. I was somewhere else—inside.

"Failure."

The word repeated in my mind, sharp and metallic, like a kunai sliding across bone.

I had accounted for everything in my life:
What if I failed my entrance exams?
What if I lost in a sparring match?
What if I made a miscalculation in battle?

But those never came to pass. I studied, trained, fought—and overcame. Always.

But this?

This was not something I had prepared for.

I lost him.

Not just Katsuki, not just a classmate or peer—

My possession.

My ears twitched violently. My tail bristled, stiff and lashing behind me.

A pulse of heat shimmered across my body, my Yang energy stirring, but… uneven. Unstable.

“Rin-chan…” I heard Ochaco murmur gently, reaching toward me.

I didn’t respond. My eyes were still locked on the empty spot where Kurogiri’s warp gate had vanished.

Somewhere deep inside, something primal cracked open.

It was faint at first. Like the rustle of dry leaves. But it grew louder. A growl. A tremble. Something ancient in my bloodline. Something... wolfish.

Territory.

They had crossed into my den.

They took what was mine.

Bakugou… Katsuki… he was my friend, my rival, my—

My tail gave an uncontrollable lash.

My body burned, not from exertion, but from instinct.

This wasn’t the cold, calculated rage of battle. This wasn’t tactical fury.

This was feral.

Territorial.

I didn’t know I had this in me. I didn’t know I could feel like this.

But I did now.

The realization snapped into clarity:

They hadn't just kidnapped Katsuki. They’d taken a part of me with them. A bond I never labeled until now. Not quite love. Not just friendship. But something that made my soul howl at the loss.

“Rin?” Shoto’s voice, calm but wary.

I turned slowly, finally moving. My face, as always, was unreadable—but my ears were pinned back hard, twitching with rage. My tail swung low, sweeping debris from the forest floor.

“...I will retrieve him,” I said quietly.

“Rin-chan—” Midoriya coughed, his body folding again from the pain.

“He is mine,” I stated. “I marked him.”

Silence.

“What do you mean by ‘marked’?”Shoto blinked.

I didn't answer… a slight blush tinted on my face

I just knew that something had been taken from me. A bond that now burned like a torn nerve. My Yin energy pulsed low and cold, while my Yang energy flared uncontrollably around my legs.

I clenched my fists.

“Next time,” I said slowly, my voice laced with something sharp and cold, “I’ll crush every last one of them.”

For once, no one said anything. They must’ve seen it—something changing in me.

Even Himiko, who had quietly emerged from behind a scorched tree, gazed at me with glimmering, sparkling eyes.

“So this is the real Rin-chan,” she murmured. “Terrifying~... I love it.”

I barely heard her.

All I could feel… was that void in my chest.

And the weight of a promise clawing its way up my throat like a wolf’s cry under the moon:

Katsuki.

I will get you back.

You are mine.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The sound of a gavel echoed through the courtroom like a war drum.

“Court is now in session. Toga Himiko. Accused of one second degree murder, ten assault with a deadly weapon and three intended injury.”

A suffocating silence fell over the room as the defendant was brought forward.

Himiko’s wrists were bound, but her expression was calm—too calm for someone on trial for attempted kidnapping, multiple assaults, and a second-degree murder charge. Her head was tilted ever so slightly, that same eerie glimmer in her eyes. Not quite madness... not anymore. Something else. Something uncertain. Something human.

I sat in the front row, beside Mother—Hana Loong, magazine editor, model, and currently, my reluctant court chaperone. She wore her sunglasses indoors, perfectly poised even in the middle of a courtroom. She sipped quietly on a matcha latte.

“She’s not blinking,” Hana whispered beside me. “Not once. Honestly... that girl’s either brave or totally unhinged.”

“…Or both,” I replied flatly.

I glanced at Himiko.

Her golden eyes didn’t waver. Not even when her own parents stood in the witness box.

“She is a danger to society. She always has been,” her mother hissed, tightly clutching her purse like it was a shield. “She hurt animals when she was small. She bit her classmates. She talks about blood like it’s water.”

“We tried to fix her,” her father added, voice trembling with a mixture of bitterness and guilt. “Psychologists, medication… nothing worked. We disown her today not out of hate, but because we have exhausted our love.”

Himiko didn’t flinch.

Not once.

But I noticed her shoulders.

They had dropped just a fraction of an inch. The slightest dip. A silent resignation.

“…Again,” she muttered under her breath. “That makes twice. First time they disowned me was when I ran away. Second time’s just legal now, huh?”

M

y ears twitched. Mother’s latte paused mid-sip.

On the prosecution side, the charges were ironclad. But so was the defense. And that defense... was seated one row behind me, legs crossed, hands steepled under his muzzle.

Principal Nezu.

“For all the crimes she’s committed, let us ask a simple question.” His voice was cheerful yet piercing. “Why?”

The prosecution objected.

“Sustained,” said the judge. “Stick to legal defense, not philosophy.”

“But philosophy defines law,” Nezu countered with an unnerving smile. “And by philosophy, I mean intent. Toga Himiko’s record shows impulsive crimes, not premeditated ones. Her confirmed second-degree murder happened during a quirk outburst in self-defense when she was cornered. That doesn't excuse it, no, but it defines context.”

Gasps rippled through the room.

Tsukauchi stepped up next.

“She’s been cooperative since capture. No resistance. No aggression. She willingly provided intelligence on the League of Villains, including the coordinates of one of their hideouts. Which we verified.”

“Furthermore,” Nezu pressed on, “she’s expressed a desire—however unstable—of becoming ‘normal.’ If not normal, then useful. And under guidance, I believe she can be.”

“…You want to reform a villain?” the judge raised a brow.

“I want to educate a student,” Nezu corrected with a chuckle. “Even if she has blood on her hands.”

A beat of silence.

“…With all due respect, who will supervise this so-called reformation program?” the judge asked.

Nezu smiled.

“I believe that falls under the purview of U.A.’s finest homeroom teacher… Eraserhead.”

Cut to Aizawa standing outside the courtroom doors, sipping vending machine coffee.

“Absolutely not.”

“But Shōta,” Nezu’s voice played through the phone, almost musical.

“I’m not paid for this kind of headache.”

“You can push it to the one who brought her in~”

“…Rin Namikaze?”

A pause.

I sneezed.

—————————

Back in the courtroom, the judge sighed.

“Very well. In light of cooperation, age, and potential for reform—”

The gavel came down.

“—Toga Himiko will be placed under provisional U.A. custody as part of a supervised rehabilitation program. She is legally disowned by her birth parents. Wardship pending reallocation.”

Silence.

The courtroom doors opened.

Aizawa stood there like a man approaching his own funeral.

“Not it,” he muttered. “I’m not adopting anyone.”

—————————

“Absolutely not!” Father bellowed, gripping the wooden post of the family minka like it was his last line of defense. “We already have three children, a dojo full of weapons, and possibly a ghost in the east wing! Now you’re asking me to adopt a villain?!”

“A cute villain, sure, but a villain!?”He paused, wiping the sweat off his forehead.

The living room of the Namikaze-Loong household was chaotic.

“Nooo~ But she’s so adorable when she tries not to bite people!” chirped Natsumi, flailing in her oversized pajamas and clinging to Father’s arm with the tactical precision of a trained emotional saboteur.

“She only bit one person last week,” added Mother, calmly applying lip balm on the sofa. “That’s progress. Plus, think about it… We’d be trendsetters in villain rehabilitation. 'Fashionable Family Fixes Ferals'—imagine the magazine cover~”

Father’s eye twitched. “Honey, that’s not helping.”

Then, silently, like a shadow sliding into battle formation, I stepped forward.

Stoic.

Expressionless.

Deadpan eyes.

“…Father,” I began, “I’ve considered the legal frameworks, emotional outcomes, and long-term social reintegration paths. Himiko is psychologically vulnerable but shows clear signs of behavior conditioning potential. A Confucian lens suggests—”

“No.” Father snapped, already bracing himself.

“Then, perhaps, as Lao Zi wrote: ‘The softest thing in the world overcomes the hardest thing in the world.’ Like water against rock. Her heart may—”

“No! I know what you’re doing, Rin, and it’s not gonna work.”

There was a pause.

A shift.

And then… it happened.

I shuffled forward, arms behind my back, tail swaying side to side in deliberate rhythm. I leaned in, ever so slightly, lowering my gaze while my wolf ears perked just a touch.

“…Otou-sama,” I said in a tone almost childlike, but still terrifyingly blank. “Please?”

A pause.

Ryusuke staggered like he’d been hit with a flashbang.

“GHHH—! No, no, don’t you dare do that stoic spoiled daughter thing—you were my son five weeks ago!”

I blinked, leaned my cheek lightly against his shoulder, and tilted my head just so.

“…Am I not still Rin?” she asked softly.

Just ahead of us, Kokoro was lounging in his beanbag chair with his PS5 controller, eyes fixed on the screen with the dead stare of someone watching his worldview collapse.

“I’m surrounded,” he muttered. “Surrounded by estrogen and weaponry.”

I leaned in.

On him.

Directly.

My chest—notably developed chest—pressed down against his shoulders like an avalanche of plush betrayal.

“…Kokoro,” I asked flatly, “What is your opinion?”

His controller slipped from his hands.

His cheeks turned the same hue as his crimson T-shirt.

“B-B-Boobs!!” he squeaked.

“Language,” I warned, ears flicking.

“This—! This is supposed to be a cool household! What happened to male pride!? Rin-Nii was supposed to be the unshakeable sword saint! The ice-cold martial god of our generation! And now—now you're weaponizing breasts to win arguments!?”

He buried his face into the beanbag dramatically.

“…I miss old Rin-Nii…”

“Oh, darling, don’t act like your big brother weren’t going to crack one day. Welcome to the feminine side of the Force.”Mother burst into giggles.

“Onee-chan wins again!”Natsumi cheered.

Meanwhile, Father fell to his knees, defeated by a lethal combination of stoicism, daughterly charm, and feminine treachery.

“…Fine. Fine!” he muttered into the floor. “We’ll adopt the bloodthirsty gremlin…”

“Legally not bloodthirsty anymore,” I corrected.

“…We’ll adopt the reformed gremlin.”

—————————

Outside my home, the crickets chirped as the moonlight shone gently on the sliding doors.

Inside, Toga Himiko—her hair tied into slightly uneven buns, cheeks puffed slightly with surprise—stood just past the threshold, still wearing a probationary collar from U.A. Her eyes sparkled with something… foreign.

Hope.

“…This is really okay?” she asked.

I nodded once.

“I expect you to clean the dojo twice a week,”I said. “Touch any of my weapons without permission, and I’ll bury you in the garden.”

“…Ehehehe~” Himiko smiled. “Sounds like home already.”

Entering my home, Himiko’s eyes went all sparkly.

“WOOOOAAAH! RIN-CHAN! YOUR HOME IS HUUUUUUGE!”

“Negative,” I replied, staring blandly at the girl who had now legally taken up the family name. “It is of standard compound size within traditional Sino-Japanese architectural measurements.”

“Ehhhhhh~? You’re so cold, it’s adorable! Ehehe~!” Himiko chirped, arms stretched wide as she twirled around the tatami-lined corridor of our home. “And the floors are so smooth! Natsumi-chan! Let’s slide down the hall with socks on!”

“I already do that every morning!!” came Natsumi’s distant shout from the kitchen.

…I sighed. Deeply. Internally.

It had been approximately 14 hours, 36 minutes, and 12 seconds since Himiko Toga—now legally Himiko Namikaze—was adopted into our household. Her enthusiasm was as intense as it was unpredictable. Despite her record and unnerving cheerfulness, she had managed, somehow, to refrain from talking about blood or murder for a solid twenty minutes straight in Natsumi’s presence. A personal record, I suspected.

Still, she remained close—within three feet, to be precise. She didn’t say it, but I knew. She was afraid of being left behind again. Even wolves are pack animals.

And so, when I said, “We’re going to the hospital,” she simply nodded, grabbed her jacket, and followed.

—————————

Musutafu Central Hospital

The air in the hospital felt sterile. Clinical. Devoid of the weight that clung to my heart.

We stepped into the room and were greeted by the quiet murmurs of Class 1-A. The scent of antiseptic couldn’t mask the tension in the air. Everyone was here—minus Bakugou.

His absence rang louder than any alarm.

I saw Midoriya Izuku, bandaged and bruised, but eyes burning like embers under ash. Around him were Kirishima-kun, Todoroki-san, Yaoyorozu-san, Iida-san, and the rest. They were all doing their best… not to look at me.

Smart.

I remained at the back, next to Himiko, who was fidgeting with the sleeves of her borrowed hoodie. She knew better than to interrupt now.

“Tch… We can’t just sit and wait for the Pro Heroes to maybe get him back,” Kirishima was saying, fists clenched. “I’m not saying we charge in blind, but Yaoyorozu-san has the tracker. We can do this.”

“You’re being reckless!” Iida shot back. “We’ve already been warned by the school board and the authorities—what you’re proposing could get us expelled. Worse, we could jeopardize the mission to rescue Bakugou-kun!”

“That’s why we have to do it right,” Todoroki’s voice cut in, calm but firm. “I’m not saying this because of pride. I’m saying this because Katsuki is our classmate. We’ve fought beside him. And if it were you, Tenya… wouldn’t you want someone to try?”

Iida’s jaw locked. He had no retort.

“Oui,” said Aoyama, raising a tentative hand. “Maybe… just maybe… we should trust the adults this time. We've seen what they can do.”

I said nothing.

I just watched.

Listened.

Processed.

Because this—this chaos, this uncertainty—was the battlefield I had never trained for. Not against villains, not in the ring, not in textbooks filled with strategies and countermeasures. This was emotional war. Internal. Quiet. Crushing.

“We’re all upset. But if we go off on our own, driven by our feelings… we won’t be rescuers. We’ll be villains too.”Tsuyu’s voice, gentle but firm, broke through the tension.

Silence.

A long, heavy silence.

And then the door slid open with a soft click.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the doctor said, clipboard in hand. “I need to speak with Midoriya-kun alone. Please step outside.”

Everyone filed out slowly. No one made eye contact with me.

As we stood in the corridor, Kirishima leaned close to Izuku.

“We’re going tonight. Momo’s already preparing the gear. We’re not forcing you, but if you want in…” His voice dropped. “We’ll be waiting outside the hospital.”

That was all it took.

I stepped forward. Quietly.

“…I will join you.”

The words slipped from my lips like mist off a blade. Calm. Clear. Unnegotiable.

Kirishima blinked, then smiled with a spark of relief. “Knew I could count on you, Rin.”

“…Himiko,” I turned to my new adopted sister, “…I require a diversion.”

“Hehehe~ what kind?”She perked up instantly.

I reached into my sleeve and pulled out a small vial. My blood. Only a few drops—collected from sparring bruises, not cuts.

“Enough to change into me for fifteen minutes,” I said. “Long enough to eat dinner with the family, nod at Mother, complain about physics homework, and retreat to my room.”

Himiko grinned like I handed her the sun.

“Fufufu~ I shall become Rin for the night! Fear not, I will even pretend to be annoyed by Natsumi’s bedtime routine!”

“Negative. You must be mildly fond, not annoyed.”

“Got it~!”

I handed her the vial, and for a second… just a second… I hesitated.

She looked at me, suddenly serious. “Don’t die,” she said. “You promised I’d get to live a normal life now, right? So… you gotta come back and keep that promise.”

I nodded.

And then I turned, walking down the corridor with my hands in my pockets, tail flicking low behind me.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The wind was still, and the moon hung like a silent observer above us—half-formed, a pale crescent biting into the black of night.

I stood by the curb of an empty street, arms folded behind me, watching the soft amber glow of the streetlamps reflect off Kirishima-kun’s gelled red hair.

To my right, Todoroki-san stood with his hands in his pockets, his dual-colored gaze watching the approaching figures with his usual blank coolness. It was a practiced kind of detachment. One I found strangely familiar.

Mere seconds later, two figures emerged from the shadowed path leading to the hospital’s rear exit. It was Midoriya-San and Yaoyorozu-San. Midoriya-San was bandaged, limping slightly—his gait off—but his eyes… his eyes were steady. Yaoyorozu-San walked next to him with careful steps beside him, already pulling something out of her belt pouch.

Before any of us could speak, the air shifted.

“MIDORIYA!”

Like a bolt of lightning made of moral righteousness, Iida Tenya stormed onto the scene, glasses glinting with fury, his arm already mid-swing—

CRACK!

His fist struck Izuku clean across the jaw.

“O-ow…” Midoriya mumbled, stumbling back slightly as Kirishima and I stepped forward in reflex. But Iida didn’t continue. He stood there, panting, face twisted with emotion. Anger. Fear. Hurt.

“You—all of you—are about to make the same mistake I did at Hosu,” he growled, his voice rough. “Do you have any idea how it felt watching my brother be torn apart? How it felt knowing I endangered people because I let my feelings overrule the law?!”

His gaze swept across all of us, locking on me longer than necessary. I stared back blankly.

“You’re not considering the risks! You’re all hurt, under surveillance, and without approval! If anything happens… If anyone gets severely injured again—!”

“We won’t,” Todoroki-san said simply.

“Easier said than done—!”

“We won’t fight,” Kirishima-kun cut in. “We’re doing this stealth. In, out, no fights, no explosions. Just grab Bakugou and run.”

Iida hesitated.

“I only came to prevent combat,” Yaoyorozu-san added firmly, stepping forward with a compact case under one arm. “I’ll accompany you and ensure we stick to that rule.”

“…That’s not enough,” Iida muttered, looking back to Midoriya. “What about you? What makes you think this is okay, after everything?”

Midoriya wiped his chin, and when he looked up, there was no apology in his eyes.

“I know it’s reckless. I know it’s wrong.” He paused, voice steady. “But back then… during the training camp… I couldn’t save him. I was right there, and I still failed. This gut feeling I have—it’s the same one I felt when All Might saved me in Kamino as a child. It’s telling me—if I don’t go now, I’ll regret it forever.”

“…You’re all idiots.”Iida’s hands curled into fists.

“…Agreed,” I said. Everyone blinked at me. I looked away, tail flicking low.

“…But we are already past the threshold of logic. Emotion reigns supreme in this scenario. So long as you accept the consequences, I am willing to proceed.”

The silence lingered for a beat.

Then Iida groaned, turned away, and muttered under his breath, “I swear, if even Rin’s acting out of emotion, the universe is doomed…”

“Fine. I’ll go with you. Someone has to keep you all alive.”He adjusted his glasses and sighed.

—————————

Later, on the train.

Kirishima leaned across the train aisle, elbows on his knees, glancing at me.

“Yo, Rin-chan.”

“Yes?”

“…Why are you coming?”

“Yeah. I mean—uh, not that we don’t want you, it’s just… this doesn’t seem like your kind of thing.”Midoriya perked up from his seat beside Yaoyorozu.

“…You don’t usually involve yourself unless you’re certain of tactical superiority,” Iida added, though suspiciously trying not to sound too bitter anymore.

A pause.

A long pause.

I felt it.

Two pairs of eyes from either side of the cabin.

Todoroki-san. Yaoyorozu-san.

They were staring at me.

Not normal stares.

Knowing. Mocking. TEASING.

Abort. Abort mission.

“…I am merely fulfilling my responsibility as a classmate,” I said flatly, turning my head just enough to avoid their gazes.

“Riiight,” Todoroki drawled.

“Indeed,” Yaoyorozu said sweetly. “Just like how you were fulfilling your duty during the Test of Courage, correct?”

“I do not understand the implication,” I replied.

“Oh? Then allow me to clarify,” Todoroki continued in a voice that was far too casual. “You mean when you ‘accidentally’ made Bakugou carry you bridal-style across the forest because you twisted your ankle?”

“My gait instability was entirely manufactured. I mean—incidental.”

“You mean when you called him ‘Katsuki-Kun’ after he helped you up the hill? And refused to walk on your own for ten full minutes?”Momo giggled behind her hand.

“Negative. That was tactical roleplay.”

Midoriya’s soul had left his body.

“Wait wait wait,” Kirishima sputtered. “You made Bakugou—Bakugou Katsuki—carry you and call you ‘princess’!?”

“He did not call me princess,” I said, voice completely void of shame. “He called me an ‘annoying female disaster with delusions of nobility.’ Which, in my assessment, is close enough.”

“You… forced Bakugou to do all that?”Iida looked between us, mouth slightly open.

“He resisted. I persisted.”I nodded once.

“You were wearing Ashido’s short shorts too, right?”Todoroki smirked.

“Only because mine were being laundered. Coincidentally, they allowed optimal leg exposure for ventilation.”

“You posed with one leg propped on a rock and said ‘Kacchan, do my knees look regal to you?’” Yaoyorozu added with a straight face.

“…For context,” I said calmly, “it was an inquiry regarding aesthetic combat readiness.”

At this point, Kirishima had collapsed onto the seat and was wheezing.

Midoriya’s face was frozen in absolute horror. “She tamed him… Rin can subdue Kacchan…”

“…He allowed it because he was confused by my emotional stoicism. Wolves hunt when prey is distracted.”

“You’re terrifying,” Midoriya whispered.

“I am aware.”

—————————

We rode in silence for a moment, the mood now somewhere between comedic tragedy and existential dread.

“…I am not in love,” I stated.

“You absolutely are,” Todoroki said without looking up from his phone.

“Agreed,” Yaoyorozu echoed, trying not to giggle.

I stared ahead, the interior lights of the train flashing over my blank face.

The clattering hum of the train tracks had fallen into a rhythm, a mechanical lullaby that did nothing to calm the tense silence among our group.

Midoriya-san’s voice broke it first.

“Does… the rest of the class know about this?”

His voice was hesitant, but steady. The kind of tone used when you already knew the answer but needed to hear it out loud.

Todoroki-san didn’t lift his eyes from the passing darkness outside the window. “They know.”

Kirishima-kun gave a half-smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah… they weren’t exactly thrilled. I mean, Hagakure cried, Tokoyami tried to block the dorm entrance, and Aoyama offered us cheese as a farewell gift for some reason.”

“…They tried to stop you,” Midoriya murmured.

“They tried,” Todoroki replied, folding his arms, “but in the end… they understood. Some more than others.”

There was a pause.

Then Todoroki glanced back at us. “We still have time to turn back.”

“No way,” Kirishima said firmly, fists clenched on his knees. “Kacchan’s our classmate. Our friend. If I don’t help now, I’ll never forgive myself.”

Midoriya looked down.

I could feel the way his energy shifted.

He wasn’t trembling from fear. It was something heavier.

“…My mom cried.”

That caught us all off guard.

He gripped the hem of his hoodie, knuckles white.

“Before we left, I called her. She… she asked me why I was doing this. Why I couldn’t just trust the pros. Why I always had to push myself so far.”

No one interrupted. We just listened.

“She said… she was scared that one day, I’d get myself killed before I even got to live my life. That I was still her baby.” His voice cracked slightly. “But I told her something… I told her…”

He looked up, his green eyes glowing faintly in the cabin lights.

“That I’m All Might’s successor.”

Kirishima and Iida visibly flinched.

“I told her… I can’t sit back and relax. That I have to save people. That this is something only I can do. If I don’t do it… I’ll regret it forever.”

His voice steadied. The weight of his conviction was undeniable.

“…It’s too late for me to turn back now.”

We said nothing. We didn’t need to.

Two hours later.

Kamino.

A quiet ward nestled in Yokohama’s bones, where the city lights dimmed and alleys whispered secrets best left forgotten.

The GPS device in Yaoyorozu-san’s hand gave a soft blink and pinged.

“We’re close,” she said, lowering her voice.

“Alright, let’s go then—!” Kirishima-kun was already halfway off the sidewalk when Momo grabbed his arm.

“Stop!” she whispered sharply. “We’re right by the League’s location. If they see us like this, we’re done.”

“So what do we do?” Midoriya asked, eyes scanning the dim storefronts around us.

“We blend in,” Momo said, straightening her coat with a dignified nod. “We need disguises.”

“And by ‘blend in,’ you mean…?” Iida asked.

Momo didn’t answer. She simply turned and marched directly into a nearby Don Quijote store like a woman on a mission.

Ten minutes later, we stood in the alley behind the store, plastic bags in hand, the flickering sign of Donki glowing ominously above us like some deity of chaos.

“I still don’t understand why you didn’t create our disguises,” Todoroki muttered.

“I-I couldn’t do that!” Momo stammered, adjusting her fluffy hoodie disguise. “It wouldn’t help the local economy! We’re infiltrating a ward! The shops here need revenue!”

“…So you just wanted to go shopping,” Kirishima said flatly.

Momo turned scarlet. “I-it’s my first time buying clothes for friends, okay?!”

That… shut us all up.

Even I.

Which was a mistake.

Because now, I was dressed like this.

A jirai-kei dress.

Sleeveless. Skin-hugging. Too many lace frills.

Tights. Black, crisscross patterned. Unreasonably tight.

One glove long. One glove short.

A black mask covering my mouth.

High-heeled boots.

“…”

“…Rin?” Midoriya ventured carefully.

I turned slowly toward him, the dim lighting casting my shadow like a horror movie scene.

My eye twitched.

A twitch. An involuntary muscular spasm. This had not happened in years.

“I cannot lift my legs,” I said evenly. “The fabric is too restrictive.”

“You look…” Kirishima started, trying and failing not to laugh, “…awesome?”

“I look like a deranged fashion reject who got lost on the way to a visual kei concert.”

“Actually, you kinda do blend in with the local jirai-kei girls,” Midoriya added, nervously checking the street. “Y’know, emotionally unapproachable, vaguely threatening, like you might stab someone with a nail file?”

My mouth mask hid my frown.

Yaoyorozu was beaming beside me, adjusting my sleeves like a proud stylist.

“You look amazing, Rin-chan! The aesthetic is perfect. I’ve always wanted to coordinate clothes with friends!”

“Define ‘friend’ in this scenario.”

“You let me touch your arm without flinching.”

“…Fair.”

I tried walking. One heel wobbled. My knee did not bend. I very nearly collapsed into a garbage bin.

Todoroki caught my arm.

He was trying not to laugh.

“Do not speak,” I said in my coldest monotone.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was,” he admitted.

We regrouped behind a closed ramen stall, blending into the late-night pedestrian flow.

Iida wore a cap and trench coat ensemble, like some noir detective. Kirishima had a street punk jacket and fake sunglasses. Midoriya had on a hoodie and bandana, like a delinquent with bad asthma. Todoroki just wore a beanie. Of course.

Momo wore a frilly oversized sweater that somehow made her look like a lost idol.

And me?

I looked like someone who’d either commit arson or write poetry about it.

The perfect infiltration team.

“…This is the dumbest plan I’ve ever been part of,” I muttered.

The streets of Kamino smelled like oil, old rain, and silent tension.

We were keeping our formation tight, heads down, blending into the sparse pedestrian flow under the dull glow of city lamps. A few convenience stores flickered with life. Neon advertisements buzzed overhead.

And then—

“Oi, look!”

A man standing near a shop window gestured toward the television display overhead.

The screen was grainy, the volume low—but it was unmistakable.

U.A. High School. Public Apology.

We paused. Just for a moment.

Principal Nezu. Eraserhead. Vlad King. All three stood behind a podium emblazoned with the U.A. crest, surrounded by a sea of reporters and flashing cameras. Their expressions were grave.

“We deeply regret our failure to ensure the safety of our students during the training camp incident,” Nezu’s voice carried through the speaker. Calm, but heavy. “As the principal of U.A., the fault lies with me. And I will not run from it.”

Aizawa-sensei stood beside him, eyes weary, bandages barely removed. Vlad King, similarly injured, bowed low.

“We are implementing stronger security protocols across all sectors,” Nezu continued. “A complete re-examination of U.A.'s crime prevention systems is already underway.”

“We are not just reacting,” Aizawa added, “We are reforming.”

“Our students’ safety will not be compromised again,” Vlad finished, his jaw tense.

But the camera didn’t linger on them for long.

It turned.

To the crowd.

To the eyes watching.

Disbelief.

Scorn.

Disappointment.

“They say they’ll protect the kids now? After all that’s happened?”

“Too little, too late. They couldn’t even guard their top students.”

“My cousin’s kid was almost kidnapped at that school.”

“I’m pulling my daughter out of their program tomorrow.”

The U.A. faculty… were being treated like criminals.

Midoriya-san’s shoulders twitched. He looked up at the screen again, lips slightly parted, his green eyes wide with something that wasn’t just shock.

“…They’re blaming Sensei,” he murmured.

“They always blame someone,” I said quietly.

“But they don’t know what he’s done—what he gave up—for us!”

Midoriya’s fists trembled. I could see the knot tightening in his throat.

“He’s not perfect,” he whispered. “But he fights. He bleeds for us. He was nearly killed trying to protect us at the camp, and now…”

He gritted his teeth.

“And now the world sees him as just… another adult who failed.”

Kirishima slowly lowered his hood, watching the screen with narrowed eyes.

“This is bad,” he said grimly. “Public opinion’s turning. It’s like they’re waiting for U.A. to collapse.”

“They don’t want apologies,” Todoroki muttered. “They want someone to blame.”

“Humans are predictable,” I noted, folding my arms. “It is easier to direct outrage than to admit helplessness.”

Yaoyorozu was silent, her expression unreadable.

“Even if U.A. implements change… will the world trust it again?”Iida adjusted his cap, staring at the screen with dark eyes.

No one answered.

The broadcast ended, the screen fading back to its regular scheduled ads—a bright, overly enthusiastic jingle about melon soda.

But the mood had already changed.

Thick. Cold. Muted.

As if hope had just taken one step further away.

Midoriya exhaled slowly.

“…All Might can’t save everyone anymore.”

He didn’t say it with despair.

He said it with realization.

With weight.

“…So we have to be strong enough to save each other.”

I turned toward him, eyes narrowing slightly.

That was… the most emotionally intelligent thing I had ever heard him say.

“…Hmph.”

“Was that a compliment?” he asked, blinking.

“No. Your voice cracked halfway through. You sounded like a dehydrated goat.”

“Rin!”

“You should drink water,” I added flatly. “Hydration is crucial for optimal combat performance.”

Todoroki suppressed a cough that suspiciously resembled laughter. Kirishima elbowed Midoriya with a grin.

“Hey, man, at least she’s consistent.”

“I—! I wasn’t cracking—!”

“Goat,” I repeated.

“GOAT?!”

Despite the dark cloud hovering above us, the humor—even if brief—helped us breathe again.

We couldn’t afford despair.

Not now.

Kamino was just ahead.

And Katsuki Bakugou—our classmate, our friend—was somewhere inside that storm.

And so, with a flick of my too-high heel and a fresh wave of indignation over the sheer lack of mobility this outfit afforded me, I marched with the others.

TO BE CONTINUED

---------------------------------

Chapter Text

We stood on the cusp of enemy territory.

Again.

This time, not a forest ablaze with fear, but a decrepit warehouse wrapped in rust and weeds.

Yaoyorozu-san was crouched behind a trash-filled alley, peering at a tablet she’d produced from her bag. Her brows were knitted tightly, her voice hushed but clear.

"This is the place. Coordinates line up with the device’s signal,” she said. “But…” Her eyes flicked up toward the building. “They haven’t moved. Not once. Either they’re very confident… or…”

“…Bakugou-kun might not be here,” she finished reluctantly.

The wind seemed to grow colder.

No one spoke for a second.

It was Iida who finally broke the silence.

“This operation is a risk. Let us be clear—we are not trained infiltrators. If anything seems suspicious or dangerous, I’ll halt the mission immediately.”

I nodded faintly. Logical, as expected of Iida-san.

But Midoriya-san placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder.

“Thank you, Iida.”

Then he dropped into a crouch and started muttering. Something about possible entry points. Rooftop window. Sewer grate. Disguised escape tunnels. Grappling hook trajectories.

Typical.

I turned my gaze toward the warehouse—the supposed second evil lair. My arms folded over the irritatingly frilly chest of this cursed jirai-kei dress.

“Looks like a warehouse, all right.”Kirishima-kun muttered something as he scanned the perimeter.

“Front gate’s overgrown. They probably made it look abandoned on purpose.”Midoriya nodded, still low to the ground.

Hiding in plain sight. A tactic even the ancients would have considered cowardly.

I looked at the walls and imagined how easy it would be to shatter them with a surge of Yang energy. Just punch through, grab Bakugou-kun, and leave a message for Shigaraki to never breathe the same air as me again.

Simple. Direct. Efficient.

But the moment was broken by a pair of—

“Oi, cutie—!”

Two male voices. Slurred. Laughing.

I blinked.

Two men—clearly drunk—were staggering toward our group from across the street. And for some karmic reason, they latched onto me.

No. Not “onto.”

One grabbed my shoulder.

The other leaned his weight against my side, his breath foul with cheap whiskey and cigarettes.

“Yo, what’s with the getup, girlie? You cosplayin’ some yandere fashion model?”

“She’s got that ‘stab-you-in-your-sleep’ vibe. I like it~!”

My brain processed the situation.

My instincts screamed.

Every muscle in my body knew how to respond. A twist of the wrist. A palm strike to the diaphragm. A sweep of the leg, and they’d be kissing the concrete.

And yet—

I didn’t move.

My body.

Wouldn’t move.

I—!?

Mineta’s stupid antics had always been easy to handle. He was small. Predictable. Weak. But these were fully grown men—taller, heavier, and reeking of twisted intent.

I couldn’t breathe properly.

I couldn’t lift my arm.

And——

My lips moved. Quiet. Barely audible.

“...Bakugou-kun…”

I whispered his name.

Like a helpless maiden. A damsel.

"Hey hey hey~ Is that your boyfriend or somethin’? We gettin’ in the way of your midnight date?”

That—that broke it.

The shame. The heat rushing to my cheeks. My ears twitched violently.

“N-N-NO! H-He’s not my boyfriend! Nor love interest! We’re just—rivals! Friends! Best—shut up!”

My hand moved before thought caught up.

The drunks never saw it coming.

One flew into the nearest lamppost.

The other’s teeth scattered like dice across the pavement.

They screamed. Staggered. Fled.

The street went silent once more.

I exhaled.

The group blinked.

“…You okay?” Kirishima-kun asked carefully.

“I am now.”

Midoriya was squinting at me with that concerned sparkle in his eyes. Iida had stepped up beside me, standing tall and ready to intervene.

Todoroki looked at me. Long. Quiet. Like I was some equation he hadn’t solved yet.

“…You didn’t hit them immediately,” he said flatly. “That’s… unusual.”

I looked down at my gloved hands.

“…My body froze up,” I said after a moment. “I could calculate the counters. Predict their movement. But… my body rejected the execution.”

That wasn’t just combat instinct. That was something deeper.

Primal.

“I’ve never felt that before,” I admitted. “It was like… my instincts weren’t mine.”

Dark thoughts swirled beneath my ribcage.

Was it this body? This female body?

I remembered what it was like—before. Being catcalled meant being annoyed. Maybe angry. But never afraid.

But now… now their height mattered. Their touch crawled under my skin in ways I couldn’t explain. The strength in my limbs, the knowledge in my mind—it all meant nothing in that instant.

I didn’t like that.

I didn’t like that at all.

“I have to train more,” I muttered.

“Actually,” Yaoyorozu-san stepped in, voice gentle, “That’s a common reaction. I had friends in junior high who… well, they told me about similar situations. When you’re touched without consent, sometimes your body just—locks up. You can’t move, no matter how much you want to. It’s a trauma reflex.”

“Not weakness?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Not weakness,” she assured. “It’s… human.”

“…Right,” I said quietly.

She gave a little grin.

“Though, Rin~ You did whisper Bakugou-kun’s name just now~” she sang.

My tail flared like a lightning bolt. “That was a reflex!!”

“So you do call him when you’re in distress~?”

“I. Do. NOT.”

“He is your best friend—maybe more?”

“HE IS A LOUD, SPICY TOMATO GRENADE AND NOTHING MORE.”

Midoriya had buried his face in his hands. Kirishima was dying with laughter. Iida coughed discreetly into his sleeve, and Todoroki, as usual, simply tilted his head.

“I see,” he said. “Spicy tomato grenade.”

We eventually moved around the warehouse, avoiding the main road.

As we circled the building’s side and disappeared into shadow, I glanced over my shoulder one last time.

I would not freeze again.

If anyone tried that again—

I’d burn the street to ash before they even breathed my air.

—————————

We crept through the alley behind the warehouse, the scent of rust and stale rainwater hanging in the air. My ears twitched with every step on the gravel, and my tail swayed low, subconsciously keeping balance as we moved into position.

Midoriya-san crouched near a grime-covered window.

"Let’s not act recklessly," he said, green eyes scanning the edges of the building. "We’re just here to scout. No fighting unless we absolutely have to."

Logical. Sensible. And yet, a dull ache throbbed in my fingers.

They still wanted to punch through walls.

The window he pointed at was high up and smudged to oblivion. Shoto-san and Iida-san moved wordlessly into position beneath it, bracing themselves in formation.

Just as Yaoyorozu-san opened her mouth to suggest creating night-vision lenses with her Quirk, Kirishima-kun grinned and pulled something from his coat.

“Tada~! Got these online,” he whispered proudly. “Night-vision goggles. Legit military spec—probably. Not fake. I think.”

“…You think?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Heh, well, they had good reviews!” he beamed.

Iida crouched as Kirishima climbed up his back. Shoto did the same for Midoriya. Once stabilized, the two peered into the pitch-black warehouse. The rest of us held our breath.

Then—

Kirishima jerked.

“Whoa—!”

He nearly tumbled off Iida’s back, but caught himself just in time. “D-Dude… what the hell…!?”

“Kirishima-kun?” Yaoyorozu asked, startled.

“What did you see?” I followed.

He didn’t answer. His face was pale, brows furrowed.

“…Here.” He handed the goggles to Midoriya, who took them with hesitant fingers. Then he looked.

The color drained from his cheeks like sand in an hourglass.

“N-Nomu…!” he whispered.

The word struck like a bell in a silent temple.

“There’s three of them,” he continued, still peering in. “Inside huge tanks. They’re not moving. They’re being… grown? Or maybe… stored?”

My hands curled into fists.

So this wasn’t the League’s main base.

It was a factory.

A place to manufacture hell.

Just as the idea began to settle in, the air shifted.

The distant hum of vehicles turned to thunder. Then—a commanding voice through a megaphone.

“This is the police! Surround the area! No one is to leave the premises!”

I spun around, eyes sharp.

From the road behind us, dozens of heroes and officers appeared like phantoms, flooding the streets with precise movements. It was a raid—perfectly timed, perfectly orchestrated.

At the front of the convoy—

Mt. Lady.

She cracked her neck and activated her Quirk. Her body surged with power, towering over the scene in a heartbeat.

With a grin, she stepped backward—

And slammed her foot into the bed of a pickup truck.

“Hyup!”

The truck launched like a missile.

BOOOOM!!

The side of the warehouse caved in, metal shrieking and glass shattering.

Dust and smoke billowed into the night as the heroes stormed in.

Best Jeanist followed behind her, threads of denim weaving through the air like a net of fate. With a flick of his fingers, he bound two Nomu mid-charge before they even landed a hit.

Gang Orca leapt through the opening next, releasing a soundwave that stunned the third Nomu long enough for a squad of heroes to tackle it.

Then came Tiger, swift and unyielding, his body a blur. He disappeared deeper into the warehouse—and moments later emerged, cradling a limp figure in his arms.

“Ragdoll…!” Yaoyorozu gasped.

The feline Pro Hero looked weak, her eyes half-lidded, but alive.

Cheers and gasps rippled through the police line as they secured the area. For a moment, justice felt like it had weight again.

We stood in the shadows behind it all.

Just kids.

Just observers.

I felt Midoriya tremble slightly as he lowered the goggles. His expression flickered between relief and guilt.

“…They didn’t need us,” he said.

We began to retreat. The moonlight was dim, veiled by drifting clouds. A breeze passed through the shattered ruins of the warehouse, carrying the acrid scent of smoke and scorched metal. The Nomu tanks lay in ruin, their contents subdued or captured. We watched from the alley’s edge, backs pressed against the cool concrete. The operation was a success.

Or so we thought.

A chill swept through the air.

It wasn't the wind.

It was something colder.

A presence.

A figure emerged slowly from the blackness beyond the crushed warehouse walls. He walked as if strolling through a garden, uncaring of the debris, the police, or the pro heroes arrayed before him.

The heroes turned.

He was just a silhouette. Dark coat, silver hair… no, not just silver—ashen, like the aftermath of a wildfire.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice smooth like velvet dipped in poison. “I apologize for the state she’s in. Ragdoll, that is.”

“You…!”Tiger’s expression twisted.

“She’s not dead, if that’s any comfort,” the man continued. “She’s simply… comatose. I took her Quirk. Search, was it? Very useful. I’m grateful.”

He smiled.

It wasn’t a smile. It was an insult to the concept.

Best Jeanist reacted instantly. Denim fibers surged forward like fangs, binding the villain in a net of twisting cloth.

“Wait—Jeanist! That was too hasty—!”Mt. Lady’s eyes widened.

“We can’t give the villains any chance to retaliate!” Jeanist barked.

The villain did not flinch.

The threads snapped.

With ease.

As if he were simply brushing lint off his shoulder, he released a soundless blast of compressed energy.

BOOOOOOOOM!!!

The world exploded.

The warehouse vaporized into debris. Steel beams twisted like paper. Vehicles flipped. Fire and force ripped through the ground as if God Himself had scorned the earth beneath us.

We were far enough behind to avoid the brunt, but the force hit like a tidal wave. I braced with a grunt, my wolf ears flattening, tail whipping low for balance. Dust choked the sky.

He wasn’t done.

That man… no, that thing looked around at the stunned heroes, calm as morning frost.

“You’ve interfered with Tomura,” he said, almost… disappointed. “He’s beginning to think for himself. He’s leading. Isn’t that good?”

His voice held pride.

“But you’re still in the way. Always in the way. I suggest… you don’t bother us again.”

Silence.

Crushing.

Paralyzing.

Even the pros—Jeanist, Tiger, Gang Orca—stood motionless.

Behind me, I could feel Midoriya-san’s terror.

“I… I couldn’t even see it,” he muttered. “H-He just—he wiped out a squad of heroes… just like that…”

“Izuku…” Yaoyorozu whispered, clutching her chest.

Kirishima-kun trembled. “What… is he…?”

They all froze.

But me?

I felt heat.

No… not heat.

Lust.

Lust for power.

My lungs drew in the scent of scorched asphalt, charred metal… and him.

That presence.

That strength.

It was intoxicating. Like a forbidden liquor poured directly into my bloodstream. My heart pounded against my ribs—an ancient drum of something primal.

There it was again.

That voice.

The same one that whispered when I fought Todoroki-kun during the Sports Festival.

“There... there it is…”
“A real monster. Like you.”
“Fight him. Bleed him. Prove yourself.”
“This is what you were meant for.”

My vision tunneled. The edges of my mind crackled with black lightning. My tail stood stiff, trembling. My hands itched, burned.

I wanted to leap.

I wanted to tear through the air and meet that power.

I wanted to see who would break first.

Was it fear? Excitement? Madness?

I didn’t care.

I wanted it.

Until—

“OI!! OLD MAN!!”

A voice cut through the haze.

Bakugou.

He stood, shackled, but defiant—face bruised but spirit unyielding, glaring at the villain who obliterated the battlefield like he was just another punk to shut up.

“YOU THINK HE’S A LEADER!? HE’S A DAMN LEECH! TRYING TO FORCE HIS WAY INTO SHIT HE CAN’T EVEN UNDERSTAND!”

The villain turned his head slightly, acknowledging Bakugou’s voice.

In that moment, my trance cracked.

My ears twitched.

That voice…

Bakugou-kun.

That was—

That was my rival talking.

Snap out of it.
Snap out of it, Rin.

I clenched my fist, driving my nails into my palm until I bled.

The darkness retreated.

The voices dulled.

I bit my lip and stared hard at Bakugou’s silhouette, back straight even in chains. Even against that thing.

How dare I—

How dare I fantasize about fighting when he was still in danger.

I am here to save him.

Just then, a flash of light came crashing down from the sky.

The first shockwave between All Might and the man known as All For One had torn through the air like a divine hammer, smashing the very atmosphere. We ducked behind what remained of the scorched alley wall, the trembling earth betraying just how overwhelming their clash was.

Dust rained from above. Yaoyorozu-san gasped and held her hand over her mouth. Tenya-san had his hand clamped on Midoriya-san’s shoulder, his own fingers trembling with the effort to not run into the fray.

But Midoriya’s eyes were wide—locked on Bakugou.

And so were mine.

He was still shackled, still defiant, but his face had shifted. That cocky snarl was gone, replaced by something I hadn’t seen from him before.

Worry.

Not for himself.

For All Might.

And now… he appeared.

The man who called himself All For One turned to Bakugou, his voice a smooth, poisonous purr.

“Apologies, Katsuki. I hoped Tomura could bring you under control more gracefully. Still, it’s not a total failure.”

Behind him, the black ooze of Kurogiri’s warp gate rippled into form like a disturbed pond. From it emerged the Vanguard Action Squad, their battered figures stepping into the moonlight one by one.

Tomura Shigaraki appeared last, dragging one broken hand along the wall as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

All For One smiled with... something that was not quite affection.

“You’ve failed again, Tomura. But I’m not angry. I’m proud. You led your own assault. You began thinking for yourself. That’s important. You still have your people—and Katsuki, who’s… promising.”

He reached out, lightly patting Tomura’s shoulder like a father might a wayward son.

“Try again. As many times as you like. All of this… is for your sake.”

That sickening paternal tenderness made my tail bristle. The air reeked of manipulation, of twisted love used as shackles.

Midoriya-san clenched his fists, stepping forward a half-step.

“I… I can get him,” he whispered. “I’ll use Full Cowl. If I can just jump, grab him and run—!”

“No!” Tenya-san hissed, grabbing his arm. “You’ll die!”

“But he’s right there!” Midoriya-san barked back, desperate, agonized. “This time I can save him! This time—!”

BOOOOOOOM!!!

A new shockwave.

This time from above.

A massive figure crashed down like divine judgment, a golden comet of hope and wrath—

It was All Might. Once again.

“I AM HERE!!!”

His fist collided with All For One’s guard.

Stone shattered. The air detonated.

The villains were thrown back.

Even Tomura rolled away like a discarded doll. Bakugou was hurled into the wreckage, coughing, stunned. The force alone knocked the rest of us flat.

All Might’s voice thundered.

“I’ll take it all back. Everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve taken. It ends here!”

All For One, brushing off rubble, looked up with the calmness of a predator that had never known fear.

“You’ll try to kill me again, Toshinori?”

Their eyes met. A collision of eras.

“Yes,” All Might said. “But this time… I’ll end it. I’ll save him—I won’t lose another student like I did five years ago!”

The words echoed in the ruins.

All Might rushed in.

But All For One, without hesitation, extended his hand and unleashed hell.

A blast wave erupted, massive and terrible. It swallowed All Might whole, sent him flying, and tore through several buildings, collapsing them like matchsticks. Flames lit the sky. The heat seared our skin even from a distance.

“Hm,” All For One mused to himself. “Air Cannon and Springlike Limbs make a decent combo. Still... I’d like to mix in a few more power-ups…”

Katsuki, coughing from the debris, stared at the villain—eyes wide with horror.

“He… he blocked All Might’s attack… just with strength?”

His shackles rattled as he clenched his fists.

“He’s the real leader. Not Shigaraki…”

All For One turned to him, surprisingly gentle again.

“No need to worry. That blast wasn’t meant to kill him. Yet.”

He turned back to Tomura.

“Take him and go. It’s time.”

His fingers twitched.

Black tendrils erupted from them, digging into Kurogiri’s unconscious body like parasitic roots.

“Hey—HEY!!” Magne shouted, stepping back. “What the hell are you doing?! Just warp us out!”

But All For One’s voice remained unshaken.

“My Warp Quirk can’t bring you all to safety. But his can.”

His Quirk glowed.

A twisted, forced activation.

Kurogiri’s eyes glowed briefly—unnaturally—as the black liquid swirled and spun open wider.

“Go. I’ll hold him off.”

Tomura stared at the man.

There was something… fragile in his gaze.

“Sensei…”

All For One placed a hand on his apprentice’s head.

“You will grow stronger.”

He lifted into the air using Air Walk, just as All Might came charging back through the flames, fury in every muscle fiber of his battered body.

“ALL FOR ONE!!!”

They collided once more mid-air.

The sky broke open.

Another shockwave howled through the city like a banshee’s scream. Debris flew. My ears flattened. The entire alley cracked beneath my feet.

Mr. Compress, quick-thinking, activated his Quirk and compacted the unconscious Dabi.

“We’ve gotta go!” he yelled. “Now, Tomura!”

“Take the boy!”Tomura commanded.

It didn’t take long for Twice and Compress acted to close into Bakugou-Kun.

"Don't let him escape!" Twice howled, lunging at Bakugou with two perfect copies of himself, each grinning like lunatics.
Mr. Compress spun beside them, his fingers flicking with theatrical flourish, spheres in hand.

Explosions tore through the smoke.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOOM!

"Kacchan!!" Midoriya-san shouted, but the wall between us and him was thick—stone, flame, and fear.

Through the cracks in the crumbling debris, I could see him unshackled, fighting like a demon. His palms blazed with fire and fury, every blast pushing back Twice and Mr. Compress, who circled him like vultures. Magne flanked his side, swinging her massive magnet rod. Spinner closed in next, his serrated swords dragging sparks off the pavement.

But Katsuki wasn’t backing down. He roared, detonating the air in a spiraling shockwave that forced them all back.

“COME ON THEN! I’LL BLOW EVERY ONE OF YOU TO PIECES!”

All Might tried to get to him—his towering figure lunged toward the surrounded teen.

But, All For One was stopping him. Black tendrils exploded from All For One’s hand, wrapping around All Might’s arm and hurling him backward like he weighed nothing.

“You won’t be saving him, Toshinori,” All For One hissed.

All Might crashed through a bus stop and skidded across the asphalt, groaning, but rising again—his fire undimmed.

But we were running out of time.

Midoriya-san’s fists were shaking, eyes darting, thoughts racing. Every second, Katsuki’s odds worsened. He was fast—but not invincible. He wouldn’t last against so many—not while All For One was still standing.

“We can’t get to him…! We can’t fight All For One… We’re just—students…”

Silence fell.

Then he clenched his fists.

“But—! We don’t have to fight. We just need to save him. That’s what heroes do!”

He turned to us.

“There’s two people Kacchan will listen to… even when he’s being stubborn.”

All eyes turned to Kirishima and I.

“Me?”He blinked.

“Me. He is a good boy.”I nodded. It earned my classmates’ eyebrow raising.

Tenya-san adjusted his glasses, catching on.

“So we create a rescue line, not a battle line…”Midoriya-san’s eyes were already glowing with the green sparks of Full Cowl.

“We’ll launch into the air. Eijiro calls out. Rin and I reach for him. No fighting. Just a hand extended.”

Tenya-san revved his engines.

“A gamble... But with All Might here, the danger is minimized.”

I closed my eyes.

“I’ll push with my Quirk. I’ll cover you with Yin force to stabilize your movement and give you the forward momentum. I’ll be right behind.”

“Then let’s do it,” Eijiro said, slamming his fists together as his arms turned stone-hard. “Let’s go save our friend.”

GO!

Tenya-san blasted into motion with Recipro Burst, a blue streak across the alley as Midoriya and I clung to Eijiro’s arms. My wolf tail bristled with the energy I channeled—Yin force, condensed into a push of silent propulsion. The ground shattered behind us.

We smashed through the wall in an instant.

CRAAACKKKKK!

We burst into the battlefield like a four-person missile.

Shoto, already prepared, lifted his hand and an ice ramp exploded upward from the rubble, spiraling toward the sky. The frigid surface shimmered in the moonlight, slick and beautiful, like a bridge to destiny.

We hit the ramp and launched.

The wind howled around us as we soared.

Below, chaos.

Katsuki was still surrounded. Tomura lunged for him.

All For One turned. His hand reached for us.

“NO YOU DON’T!!”

All Might’s punch collided with his nemesis just as Midoriya predicted. The villain was hurled back, the air splitting from the collision.

We soared over the wreckage—far above it now.

Kirishima cupped his hands around his mouth.

“BAKUGOU!! GRAB ON!!”

“Bakugou-Kun! Come!”I reached out, palm open.

He looked up. Eyes wide.

His body twisted.

Tomura lunged again, screaming.

“You're mine! Don't you DARE—!!”

Katsuki grinned.

“You idiots…!”

KABOOOOOOM!!!

He detonated the air beneath his feet in a massive explosion. Fire coiled around him like wings as he launched into the sky.

The explosion surged him past Shigaraki, past Twice and Magne and Spinner—

Right toward us.

Our hands reached.

“Take it!!” I shouted.

“I got you, bro!!” Kirishima yelled.

Katsuki's hand slammed into mine—

And the other into Kirishima’s.

He was smiling.

That sharp, defiant smile of his. Just like always.

“Don’t drop me, dumbasses.”

We grabbed him.

And we escaped the battlefield—

Together.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

As soon as our feet hit the pavement—well, Bakugou's hit pavement. I landed with one foot on his back to ensure that—we thought we’d have a moment to breathe.

But then he opened his mouth.

“What the hell are you wearing?” he snarled, voice full of that ever-reliable katsudon-spiced vinegar. “You look like shit.”

…

I stared at him.

Flat expression. Still mask-faced. Wolf ears twitching erratically.

...

Did he just—?

Yes. He did.

Even for Bakugou Katsuki, that was an unfiltered bullet of blunt rudeness. And the worst part?

He was… right. Unfortunately.

I lowered my gaze to the cursed frilly nightmare hugging my body: a jirai-kei dress—black, sleeveless, too many laces and ties. Tights that felt like they were devouring my thighs. One long glove, one short, both partially fingerless like some knockoff Final Fantasy protagonist. High-heeled boots that squeaked. And not in the stealthy shinobi way.

“Yeah,” I muttered, deadpan. “It is shit. Combat efficiency rating: 12%. Mobility index: 4%. I am quite literally wearing death.”

“Then why the hell are you—?!” he started.

I punched him in the face.

Not hard enough to knock him out. Just enough to knock him into a crate. My straight face did not falter.

“That’s for saying what I already knew.”

“GAH?! Rin-chan, wait—!” Midoriya flailed helplessly.
“This is not the way to solve interpersonal disputes!” Iida chopped the air frantically.
“Rin, you’ll damage his jaw structure!” Kirishima tried to pull me back—his hand bounced off my shoulder like I was made of steel.

"Do you know," I said, standing over the stunned Bakugou with one heel pressing his chest, "I was almost molested in these clothes? Two drunkards. Middle of a mission. Witnesses: Midoriya-san, Iida-san, Yaoyorozu-san, Todoroki-san, Kirishima-kun. All saw it. None forgot. I only wore this..." I paused. "...to rescue you."

From the side, Yaoyorozu whispered to Todoroki.

“She says only, but... there may have been another reason.”

“Mm. It is a rather specific aesthetic. I suspect she may have... wanted to look good. For him.”Todoroki’s face was as cool as ice.

I heard that.

“I did not,” I stated immediately. “I do not dress for anyone. Fashion is a battlefield. I am a soldier.”

Yaoyorozu and Todoroki both raised a single skeptical eyebrow.

I kept stomping on Bakugou.

"Unforgivable. I saved you, I changed gender, I tolerated heels, and you insult my infiltration disguise."

“You shouldn’t be in a dress at all!!” Bakugou snapped back, pushing himself up with a scowl. “The hell kinda idiot fights in frills?! You tryin’ to die or somethin’?!”

“Again,” I said, adjusting the mask that had slipped slightly from our chaos, “I wore it for you.”

“You got boobs now, deal with it!” he barked.

“That’s rich, considering the only reason I have them is because I took that blast for you at USJ, or you'd be the one with a bra size, Bakugou-chan.”

That shut him up for a second.

“And you think I got used to this? Skirts are irrational. 'Rin-chan' is emotional warfare. And after tonight?” I said with a glare. “I’m filing this entire infiltration as combat trauma. I never asked for any of this. I didn’t want to be a girl. But I did it. For a friend. For a rival. For you.”

The wind blew.

“R-Rin-chan, I think Bakugou-kun’s just bad at expressing grati—”Midoriya tried again.

“I DIDN’T ASK YOU TO SAVE MY LIFE!!”

…

…

Silence. Even the wind paused.

Bakugou’s words landed like a bullet.

“I NEVER NEEDED SOMEONE TO SAVE ME!!”

And there it was.

The thing I didn’t know I feared hearing until I heard it.

Something cracked inside me.

I couldn’t even feel it at first.

My fist didn’t clench. My face didn’t twitch. Not a single ripple of muscle moved.

But…

drip.

A single tear rolled down my cheek.

My first.

“Hm,” I said, staring down at him from my high-heeled perch. “So this is... disappointment. Interesting.”

Bakugou's eyes widened. Just for a moment. But I caught it. He took a step towards me.

I stepped back. My tail flicked stiffly behind me. My ears were flat against my skull.

I turned away.

“I didn’t do it because you asked me to,” I said. “I never needed your permission.”

And yet… I suppose I did expect something.

Something more than this.

Guess I expected too much.

—————————

I didn’t even remember walking home.

I didn’t register the world around me. I don’t even know how I got three full bags of greasy, artery-destroying, cholesterol-defying garbage food in my hands. My childhood dietary discipline shattered in one night.

Burgers. Fried chicken. Fries with the cheese lava drizzle. Ramen burgers.
Every food that I, Namikaze Rin, solemnly swore off at age thirteen—the day I chose the path of martial enlightenment and nutritional precision—was now being violently devoured by my mouth, teeth, tongue, soul, and trauma.

Crumbs spilled. Sauce smudged my chin. Grease soaked through the cursed lace dress.

I walked right in the front door.

Like I wasn’t supposed to be in my room, meditating in a lotus position, breathing in incense and serenity like a good little prodigy. That’s what Himiko was doing upstairs. In disguise. As me.

I walked past Natsumi. My little sister blinked up at me, holding her favorite idol magazine.
I walked past Kokoro. He was still in his reading pajamas, glasses fogging from shock.
I walked past my parents. Mama froze with a glass of wine in her hand. Papa dropped his hero catalog.

No one said anything yet. I didn’t give them a chance.

I slammed my bedroom door behind me.

CRASH.
THUMP.

A squeak.

“A-Aah! Rin-chan?!”

Himiko was mid-meditation on my bed—legs crossed, ears straightened, tail clipped in, posture perfect. Her eyes jolted wide at the thunderous entrance, nearly losing balance.

She blinked once. Twice. Looked me up and down.

“…Nice outfit,” she grinned.

I froze.

My pupils shrunk.

I shook.

“YOU THINK SO TOO!?!?”

“THAT MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT SAID IT LOOKED BAD!!”I tore into another burger like a savage.

Grease dripped onto the carpet. My tail bristled. My ears twitched with static fury. I chomped so hard the sesame seeds disintegrated under pressure.

“Mmhmm~ It’s soooo cute. Fits you like a dark magical assassin princess~”Himiko, still sitting cross-legged, just tilted her head, utterly delighted.

I screeched into the bag of fries.

“HE HAD THE AUDACITY TO CRITICIZE MY LOOKS—BAKUGOU, YOU FUCKING SPITEFUL EXPLOSION-BASTARD!!”

My voice echoed through the walls. I didn’t care.

My head was too cloudy. Fog thickened in every corner of my brain, heart, soul. Only one word, one curse, reverberated over and over.

Bakugou.
Bakugou.
Bakugou.

The first time in my entire life, I showed anger at home. True, raw, emotional backlash. So much that even my stoic mask shattered.

And the rest of the house noticed.

Downstairs, my mom slowly placed her wineglass on the counter.

“…That voice. That was Rin……?”

“Her voice cracked. That doesn’t happen. She’s broken.”Kokoro looked toward the ceiling.

“So... we’re killing someone?”My dad cracked his knuckles with a grin unfit for a man in a dad apron.

“Affirmative,” Kokoro replied. “I’ll draft the plan.”

Back in my room, I slumped to my knees, glaring at the wall as I stuffed the last half of a wing in my mouth.

“I cooked for him,” I muttered.
“I invited him for summer study groups.”
“I SHARED MY FOOD. ME. MY. FOOOOOD.”

My fingers trembled.

“MY KINDNESS… MY GENEROSITY… my…”

My ears lowered.

“My… heart?” I whispered.

I blinked. Then I violently shook my head.

“No. No. That’s insane. That’s unscientific. I’m a BOY.”

Even if I had a female body, I had the discipline of a monk! The heart of a warrior! The principles of Confucius! I did not—I repeat—NOT…

“Give him… my…”

A flash of Bakugou’s scowl entered my mind.

“I-I—THIS IS INDECENT! I NEVER G-G-GAVE HIM MY—!”

I tossed the burger into the air.

“THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!!!”

“BAKUGOU MOTHERFUCKING ASSWIPING FUCKING CUNTTY LITTLE PIECE OF SHIT FUCKING KATSUKI!!!!!”

I screamed into my pillow.

—————————

POV Shift: Himiko’s POV

Ahhhhhh~ ♥ Rin’s having a full-blown emotional breakdown, and I’m sitting here… front row seat. No commercials. No filters. Just her, in full meltdown mode.

It's so rare. Like seeing a unicorn cry. If the unicorn was a cute wolf girl in a punky dress devouring twelve thousand calories worth of salt and rage.

Her tail was thrashing like a puppy in a tantrum. Her ears kept twitching like broken satellite dishes. Her cheeks were flushed, her voice was trembling, and her words were getting progressively more unhinged.

It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

She’s pacing now, muttering insults. Her eyes have that wild gleam. Her fists are clenched like she’s trying not to destroy something. Her entire aura is screaming "angry girlfriend energy."

Rin-chan… you're so cute when you're heartbroken.

I know you don’t know it yet, but the way you're stomping around, growling out his name like he's your worst enemy and your one true love at the same time...

You’re totally acting like an underappreciated girlfriend angry at her boyfriend.

And I’m the only one who gets to see it.

...Best. Night. Ever.

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

I cried through the night.

Didn’t care who saw. Didn’t care that Himiko was sitting on the edge of my bed, legs swinging and phone in hand, clearly recording. She even added fake commentary like, “Here we see the wild Rin-chan in her natural habitat: denial, delusion, and devastation.”

I didn’t care.

Because none of it mattered.

Not my reputation. Not my image. Not my warrior’s dignity.
Not when I was caught in the eye of the storm I couldn’t fight through—

—An identity crisis.

A full-scale collapse of the self. A boy, born and raised with resolve, with discipline, with martial pride—
Now reduced to a weepy girl, sniffling in a jirai-kei dress covered in sauce stains, lace clinging to skin, tights sagging, and both gloves uneven and sticky with fries.

And Himiko—
She didn’t leave.
She didn’t interrupt.
She just… sat there. Watching.

I knew she was filming. I heard the soft click of her phone, the little chime from her absurdly pink recording app.

But I couldn’t bring myself to care.

Why would I?

When I had so much bigger things to be broken over?

This wasn’t just about a stupid insult. This wasn’t just about a pretty dress, or my ruined pride. This… was something I didn’t have the vocabulary for. Something clawing from inside me, digging through the cracks in my skin, trying to tell me—

That I, Namikaze Rin, the boy prodigy, the martial artist of steel will and iron discipline—

I let myself be seen. By him.
I lowered my walls.
I reached out.

And what did I get in return?

A flipped finger. A scoff. A dagger through all the effort I never admitted I made.

I rolled onto my side on the floor, hugging the half-empty food bag like it was a lifeline. Tears kept falling, not out of pain, but from… something deeper. Something new.

A sharp, dull ache in the hollow of my chest.

—wore a frilly, lacy, feminine outfit…
—for Bakugou Katsuki.
—Because I wanted him to notice me.

And he flipped it off like it was garbage.

Like I was garbage.

…

At some point, my body just gave up.
Tears slowed.
My breathing returned to its usual rhythm.

But not peace. Never peace.

Just… a numb void.

The sky outside shifted into early dawn, grey and cold.

The lace and silk stuck to my skin with dried sweat and salt. I peeled it off, one layer at a time, sluggish and robotic, like I was performing an autopsy on a corpse I used to inhabit.

I tossed the whole outfit into the corner of the room.

It landed in a crumpled pile of frills and failure.

And I walked out of my room.

Naked.

Not because I forgot.
Not because I was distracted.
But because… it didn’t matter anymore.

Not my body.
Not my gender.
Not modesty.
Not pride.

I just walked.

Down the hall.

To the bathroom.

Like no one else existed.

—————————

Kokoro's POV

I came out of my room to brush my teeth, yawning and rubbing my eyes. I thought maybe I heard Rin-nee’s voice last night, but I figured it was just another dream.

I stepped into the hallway, and there she was.

Naked.

Completely. Naked.

Hair loose. Eyes dead. Not even flinching.

And I, Kokoro Namikaze, died that day.

“NII-CHAN—!!!” I screamed, voice cracked and high.

My brain broke.

My soul left his body.

My glasses fogged instantly as blood shot from his nose.

I passed out. Face-first. Like a tragic, innocent sacrifice.

Rest in peace, little brother.

—————————

Back to Rin’s POV

The bathroom light flickered softly above me.

I stepped into the shower.

Let the water hit me.

Let it hurt. Cold at first. Then hot enough to sting.

I sat down, bare knees pulled up, arms resting on them. My long hair clung to my back, falling over my shoulders like wet vines. I didn’t even bother tying it up again.

It flowed around me—messy, tangled, heavy.

Just like my thoughts.

Or rather, the lack of them.

Because for the first time since yesterday… my mind was silent.

Empty.

Not even anger. Not frustration. Not even that bittersweet scream of “BAKUGOU, YOU FUCK” running laps in my skull.

Just…

Silence.

I tilted my head up and opened my eyes.

And there she was.

Me.

In the mirror above the sink.

My own reflection stared back at me, half-obscured by steam, strands of wet blue hair draped across my cheeks.

Emotionless.

Expressionless.

Back to normal.

But what stared back wasn’t me.

It was a stranger wearing my skin.

Sunken eyes.
Cheeks flushed a pale, pathetic pink from too many tears.
Lips cracked and colorless.
Hair wild and sticky with dried sobs.

I didn’t even look strong anymore.

Just tired.
So… so tired.

I reached up and touched the mirror with the back of my fingers. Cold.

“I don't know who you are…” I whispered.

The girl in the mirror didn’t answer.

Of course she didn’t.

Because she was me.

And I didn’t have answers either.

—————————

I sat at the dining table.
Steam rose faintly from my rice bowl, swirling like fog—thicker than the haze in my mind. The chopsticks in my hand moved with mechanical precision. Pick up. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.

One. Two. Three.

I don’t remember what I was eating.
I don’t care what I was eating.
Probably eggs. Cold by now. Maybe congee. Probably something nutritious.

Something Mom would make when she’s worried.

But that’s not important.

Nothing is important.

My eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused. The empty wall became a movie screen playing a highlight reel of my idiocy. Me saving him. Me cooking for him. Me punching him. Me crying over him.

“I never needed someone to save me.”

The words still echoed.

That one line sliced deeper than any blade I’ve ever held. Deeper than any bruise I’ve ever taken. My soul felt raw. Hollow. Like someone had scooped out my insides and left a robot shell in its place.

Click. Chew. Swallow.

From beyond the threshold of the dining hall, I heard faint whispering.

They thought I couldn’t tell.

My senses may be dulled, but not dead.

—————————

Third-Person POV

Hana Loong, the once-lively fashion model, now in fuzzy slippers and a house apron, peeked from behind the wall, her violet eyes scanning her eldest daughter—no, son—no, daughter? Whatever Rin was now, Hana had never seen this. Not even after USJ.

“She’s not even blinking,” Hana whispered.

Beside her, Ryusuke Namikaze, Japan’s former No.15 hero, clenched his fist. His usually easygoing expression was furrowed with concern, mustache twitching like it wanted to punch something.

“I’m gonna murder that Bakugou brat.”

“You don’t even know the full story,” Hana hissed, though she didn’t actually disagree.

From below them, crouching behind the same wall, Kokoro held a bag of frozen peas to his face, one eye twitching from the trauma.

“I saw the full story. It was naked and horrifying,” he mumbled.

“Hush,” Natsumi whispered from the top of his head, balancing on his back like a squirrel. “You’re lucky to witness a once-in-a-lifetime event. Rin-nee showing emotion is like a comet crash.”

Himiko, of course, was standing next to them, sipping juice from a straw. She had her phone out again, but this time she wasn’t recording. She was watching.

Smiling.

Like she was witnessing the rare blooming of an endangered species.

“She’s hurting. It’s kind of beautiful.”

The entire family turned to glare at her.

She didn’t care.

—————————

I blinked.

Once.

The taste in my mouth was bland. Did someone use less salt? Or was it me? Did my tongue lose sensation?

I looked down.

My bowl was empty.

The cup of tea beside it was untouched. The steam had long gone.

I pushed it away.

Stood up.

Walked silently past the wall, past the stiffening presences behind it. My ears twitched faintly—an involuntary signal. They were there. All of them. Watching me like I was some kind of display in a zoo.

But I didn’t say anything.

Didn’t acknowledge them.

Didn’t care.

I climbed the stairs. Each step felt like paper under my feet.

When I closed my door, it didn’t slam. It clicked.

—————————

Back in the hall

Ryusuke sighed. “We’ve lost her.”

“No,” Hana said, tightening her robe. “But someone’s about to lose their teeth.”

Kokoro whimpered, partly from trauma and partly in fear that his mom was about to go full dragon mom mode.

Himiko, still sipping, gave a dreamy sigh.

“Rin-chan is entering her brooding phase. Maybe I should write a diary entry. ‘Day One: Rin-chan looks like a broken glass doll, yet still manages to be more composed than all of us combined.’”

TO BE CONTINUED

Chapter Text

The scent of gun oil and whetstone shavings soothed me better than any bath ever could. The rhythmic strokes of my cleaning cloth across a polished blade echoed softly in my room, blending with the faint mechanical hum of my maintenance tools. A full row of my precious collection lay before me—knives, swords, twin tonfa, and a guan dao with my name etched into the haft.

My face, visible in the reflection of a kukri blade, looked like shit. Bruised cheek. Slightly puffy eyes. The ghost of tears past.

I looked like someone who lost a war.
Correction: I looked like a teenage girl who lost a war about her own teenage girlhood.
Which, if you think about it too hard, is far worse because I was a boy.

My ears perked at the creak of the front gate.
Two heavy, distinct sets of footsteps.
One slow and dragging.
The other light, hesitant.

Teachers.

"Fuck me sideways."

I quickly sheathed the kukri and turned to my next weapon. If I kept my hands busy, maybe they’d leave faster. Maybe I’d survive this.

A polite knock on the sliding door.

“Namikaze.” Aizawa-sensei’s voice. Dry as old leather.

“Yo, young lady—”
“—Rin,” All Might added awkwardly, possibly trying to combine ‘young Midoriya’ and ‘Rin’ and producing a sentence he would live to regret.

I turned slowly in my chair.

The air chilled several degrees.

“Would you like to repeat that, Toshinori-sensei?” I asked, ever so pleasantly, setting down my blade with a gentle click. My wolf ears twitched, tail curling ever so tightly around the stool leg.

Aizawa blinked once. He was trying very hard to assess if I was sharpening my spear for villain deterrence or... educational commentary.

“Apologies, young Namikaze.”All Might coughed into his fist.

Correct. I nodded.

“How can I help you, senseis?”

My voice was calm. Polite. Slightly laced with arsenic.

They both stood there, staring at me like I’d grown another head.

“You... seem different.”Aizawa spoke first.

I went back to polishing the edge of my butterfly sword.

“Really?” I said, tone flat. “I am functioning at 97% capacity. The remaining 3% is cosmetic. My combat capability is unaffected.”

They stared at me some more.

I kept going. “Do not worry. I am perfectly healthy. No blood loss. No organ failure. No public scandals.”

“That wasn’t what we—” All Might started.

“I do not wish to talk about it.” I said, slicing off the conversation cleanly.

A pause.

A long, terrible pause.

Aizawa finally asked the question they had to ask, like pulling teeth from a landmine.

“...Is everything alright, Namikaze?”

I looked up from the dagger I was oiling. My expression remained neutral.

Inside?
I was already building a mental checklist.

1. He asked if everything’s alright.
2. Everything is not alright.
3. The cause rhymes with “Bakugou.”
4. Therefore, he is indirectly asking about Bakugou.
5. Therefore, he must be on Bakugou’s side.
6. Therefore, he is my enemy.
7. Therefore, I must remain civil... for now.

I set the dagger down. Slowly. Precisely.

“Everything is... functionally tolerable.”

All Might scratched the back of his neck. “You know, sometimes it helps to talk about... certain things. Like... friends. Or maybe classmates.”

Classmates.

Claaaaaassssmates.

I looked up at him.

Dead in the eye.

I smiled. A small, eerie smile. My ears stood perfectly still.

“Sensei. Do not say words like ‘friends,’ ‘classmates,’ or anything that starts with a ‘B’ and ends with ‘gou.’ I am not emotionally stable enough to guarantee your continued survival if you do.”

Aizawa’s mouth twitched. Either amusement or genuine fear.

Probably both.

All Might cleared his throat and did a little retreat step toward the door.

“...Right. Understood. We were just... uh, wondering if your parents were home?”

I stood up slowly, brushed invisible lint off my shirt, and walked past them without another word.

Behind me, both men exhaled like soldiers who just walked past a sleeping dragon.

—————————

I set my parents down on the tatami like well-behaved hostages and took my seat beside them with military discipline. My tail flicked once. Just once. That was all I allowed myself.

Aizawa-sensei didn't waste time.

“We’re here to inform you of Principal Nezu’s plan. Due to the increasing attacks on students, U.A. will transition to a full boarding school model. All students will move into on-campus dormitories starting next week.”

Click.

That was the sound of something in my brain snapping.

… Excuese Me? WHAT. THE. FUCK?

Boarding school?

Dormitory?

Living... together?

Shared space.
Communal bathrooms.
Unfiltered hormonal teenagers.
One of them being that—

Pompadour-pissing, ash-blasting, permanently-scowling, mother-slandering, grenade-arm-wearing, pomeranian-brained, ego-swollen, alpha-posturing, anti-social, socially-stunted, motherfucking crusty-ass-socks-leaving, spoiled fried calamari looking, screaming-in-all-caps, HELL-SENT PARASITE ON LEGS—

—Bakugou Katsuki.

I blinked and stopped myself to think further. Tilted my head slightly. My ears gave a small twitch. My inner martial artist nodded stoically. Statistically speaking, such an arrangement enhances social cooperation, peer bonding, and mutual development under controlled environments. It would likely be beneficial in terms of—

NOPE.

Another voice crashed into my mind like a pink chainsaw. Feminine. Furious. Feral.

EW. Sharing a living space with that sweaty, temperamental, glorified loudspeaker of a Pomeranian? Living in the same building? Eating at the same time? Breathing the same oxygen?! ABSOLUTELY NOT. DISGUSTING. HIDEOUS. I REFUSE. I HAVE RIGHTS—

I inhaled sharply, eyes twitching.

What the fuck was that voice just now?! Why did it kept coming back?

I shook my head subtly.

Calm down. Breathe. I am a trained martial artist. I can control myself. Yin and Yang. Inner balance. Center. Return to zero.

But even as I tried to silence it, I squeezed my eyes shut.

No. Stop. Refrain. Repress. I am trained in emotional regulation and martial discipline. I have stared down opponents who shot spikes from their mouths. This is nothing. Nothing!

But, the venom bled in again.

...No wait, it is everything, because—

This is all because of him. That explosion-loving shit stain in human form. That middle finger masquerading as a person. That barking testosterone tube whose only love language is verbal assault and emotional negligence. That Baku-fucking-gou. If not for that ticking timebomb wrapped in a school uniform, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t be in this state—

My hands clenched on my hakama pants.

I wouldn’t be turned into a girl—

I wouldn’t be crying in a dress like a stupid Disney princess who lost her fucking glass slipper—

I wouldn’t be polishing my blades like they were all I had left—

I WOULDN’T BE THINKING ABOUT HIS STUPID, SMUG FACE EVERY FUCKING SECOND—

BAKUGOU KATSUKI YOU ABANDONED CEREBRAL EXPERIMENT, YOU DISEASED TOASTER OF A HUMAN BEING, YOU STAINED NAPK—

“—Rin?”Himiko tapped my shoulders.

I snapped back to the present.

“Sorry, did you say dorms? Wait, wait, hold on, hold the goddamn phone, rewind that real quick. My kids, plural, are moving out?”Dad raised a hand.

“Correct, sir. Both Young Rin and Young Himiko are among those transferring. In Himiko’s case, it’s also because she’ll officially be joining Class 1-A this term.”All Might nodded.

“WHO’S GONNA MASSAGE MY SHOULDERS WHEN I GET BACK FROM WORK?! My spine won’t decompress itself, you know!”Dad’s hands slapped his forehead like twin thunderclaps.

I blinked again.

A very peculiar, bubbling feeling began swelling in my chest.

What... is this... this sudden urge to yell at my own father? This is the man who raised me, who taught me everything I know... And yet—

My face twitched. I stared at my dad as he dramatically clutched his back like some old grampa.

Why is he acting like such a whiny baby in front of guests?! You’re the No.15 Pro Hero! "Dragon Gale!" You’re supposed to be dignified, inspiring—NOT GROANING ABOUT NECK PAIN LIKE A SPOILED MANCHILD!!

Why do I feel so embarrassed? Why does this make my ears fold?! I never had this reaction before. I never—

I swallowed hard.

Is this... the hormones? No... no, that can’t be. I’m still me, I’m still Rin. Just in a different—

But if these are MY thoughts... does that mean they were always there? Or are they just coming out now because of... this body?

My hands were trembling. I tucked them under the table.

Who the hell am I now?

“Rin?” Mom’s voice cut in gently. “Sweetie, are you sure you’ll be okay at the dorms? You don’t have many close friends… and after what happened last time…”

“Yes, it will be fine.”I nodded robotically.

No it won’t. Boys are gonna ruin everything.

Not boys. Not all boys. Just one.

Just Bakugou.

Just that goddamn explosive gremlin piece of shit—

“I’ll be there, Auntie!” Himiko chimed in, placing a soft hand on Mom’s shoulder. “I’ll look after her. We’ll be roommates, hopefully~”

Mom exhaled with a relieved smile. Dad grumbled something about betrayal.

I sat in silence.

Himiko then glanced at me. Her golden eyes were narrow. Studying. Understanding. Her lips curled into a smug, knowing smirk.

Like she knew.

Like she recognized it. The frustration. The identity fracture. The way my soul was glitching between two binaries.

Shit.

I looked away.

Now I was even more confused.

—————————