Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun slanted through the tall windows of Class 3-A’s homeroom.
It was the first official planning meeting for U.A.’s Cultural Festival and the room already felt like a pressure cooker of hero-student energy as the twenty third-years, all practically pro-heroes already and all very aware that this was their last festival before the real world started chewing on them buzzed with ideas to make this the bomb.
Denki Kaminari leaned back in his chair until it balanced on two legs, one hand raised like he was in elementary school again, blond hair with the black lightning streak was slightly more chaotic than usual; tiny sparks danced between the strands every time he got excited.
“Alright, hear me out!” He called over the chatter. “Takoyaki stand! Hot, crispy, delicious, and interactive! I’ll man the grill, carefully, I swear, and we can have little hero-themed toppings! ‘Explosion Octopus’ for Bakugou, ‘Zero-G Tapioca’ for Uraraka, you get it! People love food at festivals, its easy money for whatever charity we pick!”
A few scattered “oohs” and nods began, Sero gave him a thumbs-up, Kirishima grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “Manly! Food brings people together!”
From the back row came the sound of small explosions popping like firecrackers.
“HAH?!” Katsuki Bakugou’s chair scraped violently as he stood, palms already smoking. “You want us to stand around flipping octopus balls like some shitty food-truck extras?! Fuck off and die, Dunce Face! All of you! Our class is doing something that actually shows we’re the best, not this cutesy garbage!”
The room groaned in unison.
Fumikage Tokoyami folded his arms. “The abyss within finds merit in Bakugou’s. . . Directness as these pedestrian gastronomic suggestions lack the dramatic weight our final festival deserves, let the shadows claim the mundane and embrace the darkness.”
“Bakugou-kun!” Tenya Iida shot up so fast his engines whined, right arm chopping the air like a malfunctioning traffic signal. “Your language is most unbecoming of a future professional hero! We are conducting an official planning session! Please moderate your tone and apologize to your classmates at once!”
Bakugou bared his teeth. “Apologize to these extras? I’d rather eat my own gauntlets.”
Shoto Todoroki, seated perfectly still two rows over, calmly raised his hand in his usually polite and deadpan fashion.
“I propose a soba stand.” He said in his usual flat tone. “Cold soba is refreshing, popular and with low maintenance cost.”
A beat of silence.
Then the entire class erupted.
“NO SOBA STAND, TODOROKI!”
“WE ALREADY SAID NO LAST YEAR!”
“IT’S ALWAYS SOBA WITH YOU, MAN!”
Todoroki blinked once, lowered his hand, and looked faintly disappointed.
Hanta Sero leaned forward, tape arms crossed on the desk. “Okay, okay, new idea. . . A play! Original script where we can use quirks for special effects, safely of course! Big action scenes, comedy, maybe a little romance subplot so the girls don’t riot, I can handle set construction with my tape, easy and dramatic!”
That got some interest, Midoriya’s notebook was already open, pen flying.
Then Kyoka Jirou, earphone jacks plugged lazily into her phone, lifted one hand. “Music lounge.” She said, voice cool and a little husky. “Dim lighting, good sound system, live performances, request board, a perfect chill vibe where people can actually talk instead of screaming over quirk displays, I’ll handle the music and can provide instruments if we want live music too.”
Denki’s chair wobbled once more, oh that poor chair has suffer more than most heroes in three years of handling Denki Kaminari. He shot her a grin that was 30% charm, 70% excitement. “That’s actually sick, Jirou! We could do duets or—”
She gave him a flat look, one jack twitching. “Don’t volunteer me for duets yet, Sparky.” Yet she smiled gently right after, his silly happy energy was so infectious to her. . .
The suggestions kept coming, faster and louder:
Kirishima wanted a “Manly Arm-Wrestling Charity Tournament”
Mina Ashido was already on her feet demonstrating an light dance routine for a dance floor.
Toru Hagakure’s invisible hands waved excitedly about an “Invisible Maze of Mystery”
Mezo Shoji offered a photo booth.
Koji Koda shyly suggested an animal interaction corner.
Rikido Sato wanted a massive cake-decorating contest.
Minoru Mineta kept trying to slip in “sexy cosplay parade ” until Tsuyu Asui’s tongue flicked the back of his head.
Momo Yaoyorozu, ever the composed vice-president, finally stood at the front with a large cardboard box she had created from out of nowhere with her Quirk to fix this conundrum.
“Everyone.” She said, voice smooth and reasonable. “These are all excellent proposals, truly excellent, but if we argue much longer we’ll be here until the festival is over so I suggest we write our ideas on slips of paper, place them in this box and we'll draw one at random so the chosen idea becomes our class project. . . Fair, democratic and final.”
There were grumbles, mostly from Bakugou, but even he eventually slapped a violently scribbled paper into the box after Iida’s third lecture on “proper democratic process" before Momo shook the box thoroughly, elegant fingers dipping inside and she pulled out a single folded slip, opened it and read aloud in her refined tone:
“. . . Maid Café.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
Twenty pairs of eyes slowly turned toward the back corner where Minoru Mineta sat and for once he seemed as shocked as the rest by the clearly inappropriate proposal.
“Mineta.” Mina said sweetly, eyes narrowing as she was curiously the first one to pop out her anger. “You absolute little gremlin! Did you really suggest that?! You're the worse!”
“It wasn’t me!” Mineta shrieked, tiny hands waving. “I swear on my life and my balls that I wrote ‘Cosplay Parade’! Full heroic costumes! I wanted to see you girls Cosplaying pro heroes not as maids!”
Nobody believed him.
Not even a little.
Laughter, jeers and a few well-aimed pieces of crumpled paper flew his way.
Jirou’s jacks extended just far enough to bonk him on the head as Denki was laughing so hard sparks were flying off his hair like a faulty outlet.
Momo sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with perfect manicured fingers. “Mineta-kun. . . The statistical probability of that kind of suggestion being proposed by anyone but you is. . . Low to say the least. However, to preserve class harmony, I am willing to redraw—”
She never finished the sentence.
Mina launched herself onto the nearest desk like a pink comet with a wicked grin splitting her face from ear to ear.
“NOPE! New plan! Way better plan!” She announced, voice bright and chaotic taking control of the situation as if she had this all planned. “Think about it, Yaomomo! We’ve got six girls and fourteen boys in this class so a maid café means us girls doing all the cute-frilly work while the boys maybe trays and stare at our legs: Boring! Predictable! And low-key objectifying if we’re being real.” She spun in a circle, arms wide. “So instead. . . We do a Butlers Café!”
The word landed like a thrown gauntlet.
"Mina, whatever you are smocking. . . Share some." Was Denki's comment breaking the silence that formed.
Mina kept going, eyes sparkling with pure gremlin delight ignoring her best friend comment. “Think about it girls! The boys dress up in proper butler uniforms with sharp black tailcoats, crisp white shirts, bow ties, white gloves, the whole fancy package! They serve tea, coffee, little cakes and snacks to the festival guests with perfect etiquette and that sweet ‘Welcome home, my Lady.’ ‘How may I be of service today?’ ‘Your wish is my command.’ The works! We girls can be the head managers, hostesses in elegant suits too! It’s balanced! It’s funny! It’s hot! Who doesn’t want to see Class 3-A’s future top heroes acting all polite and servile for a day?” She pointed dramatically at Bakugou. “Especially you, Blasty! Picture it: You in a bow tie, pouring tea without exploding the pot, the internet will lose its mind!”
Bakugou’s left eye twitched so hard it looked painful as small explosions detonated in both palms. “You want me to wear a fucking penguin suit and call some random extra ‘Lady’? I’ll kill you! I’ll kill everyone! Die pink bitch!"
Iida’s arm was already chopping at supersonic speed. “Mina-san! While the concept of balanced labor division is admirable, the implication of subservience may conflict with the dignified image we wish to project as heroes! Furthermore, Bakugou-kun’s language will work against us in the goal of—”
“Be positive Iida-kun!” Mina sang, unbothered. “We’re all adults here and I'm sure we can manage Sparky-boom-boom and his tantrums~” The nickname earn her two fingers being flipped at her.
Denki’s chair finally tipped over, poor thing did its best. “Wait, wait, wait. . . Butlers? Like. . . Full ‘yes my lady, right away my lady’ energy? Do we have to memorize scripts? Oh god, what if it’s a bunch of thirsty fangirls and they want photos and I have to pose like—”
He stopped, golden eyes flicked, almost involuntarily, toward Jirou.
She was leaning back in her chair, one jack lazily spinning, a tiny smirk playing at the corner of her mouth as their eyes met for half a second and Denki’s brain short-circuited harder than his quirk ever had.
"She’d look good in one of those fancy hostess suits." His traitorous mind supplied. "Black and white, earphones dangling, smirking at me while I try not to spill tea on her table. . . Fuck. Why am I thinking about that right now?"
Jirou’s smirk widened just a fraction, like she could hear the panicked jazz solo currently playing in his head. One jack gave a little flick in his direction, not quite touching, but close enough to make his pulse jump.
"Watching Kaminari try to be a proper butler might actually be the highlight of this entire stupid festival. He’d be terrible at it, endearingly terrible and he’d look. . ." She ruthlessly cut the thought off before it could finish as the image of him with a very nice suit was actually almost sex— "Nope, not going there, chill the fuck out brain."
Momo tapped a finger against her chin, considering.
The idea clearly appealed to her sense of fairness and aesthetics. “It does solve the gender-imbalance problem elegantly. . . And butler cafés are a respected tradition in some cultures with an emphasis on refined service rather than. . . The more provocative elements associated with maid cafés here in Japan.” She gave Mineta a pointed look, the grape-headed boy wilted repeating it wasn't his suggestion.
Kirishima slammed a fist into his palm, hardening skin flashing. “It sounds manly as hell! Serving with loyalty and honor! Like a true bro-code butler! I’m in!”
Sero shrugged, grinning. “I've never wore a fancy suit so it'll be fun, count me in.”
Todoroki tilted his head. “Will there be soba on the menu?”
“NO SOBA, TODOROKI!” The class chorused again, though softer this time.
Mineta was having a full meltdown. “This is discrimination! Where’s my maid parade?! I demand a redraw! This is oppression of—”
Tsuyu’s tongue flicked out and smacked the back of his head again. “Ribbit. You had your chance.”
The girls were already sold.
Mina, Jirou, Momo, Uraraka, Tsuyu and even the invisible Hagakure (whose floating uniform bounced with glee) were exchanging looks that promised luxury and maximum teasing.
Some boys however were. . . Less enthusiastic to say the least:
Bakugou looked ready to level the building.
Iida was still lecturing about “heroic dignity.”
Todoroki seemed mildly confused but willing.
Midoriya was muttering at light speed about “butler psychology” and “service industry heroics.”
Mineta was crying into his hands because nobody believed him and to make it worse it wasn't even a maid cafe.
Denki rubbed the back of his neck. “So. . . We’re really doing this?”
Mina hopped down from the desk and threw an arm around his shoulders, squeezing. “We’re really doing this, Sparky! And you’re going to look adorable in a tailcoat! Jirou’s already mentally measuring you, I can tell.”
Jirou’s jacks shot out and bonked Mina on the head as she blushed. “Shut up, alien.”
But she didn’t deny it.
Momo created a fresh sheet of paper and began writing in her elegant script. “Very well. Motion to proceed with a Butlers Café for Class 3-A’s Cultural Festival contribution. . . All in favor?”
Every girl’s hand went up immediately.
Kirishima’s and Sero’s did it rather quickly too.
Slowly, reluctantly, a few more joined in.
Denki raised his after a long internal debate that mostly consisted of Jirou in a fancy suit vs. me in a bow tie saying ‘as you wish my Lady.’
The motion passed.
Bakugou’s desk exploded.
“THIS ISN’T OVER, YOU PINK THOT!”
Mina just blew him a mocking kiss.
As the meeting broke into smaller groups Momo already picking fabric swatches for uniform prototypes, Mina loudly assigning “butler training” duties, Jirou plugging her phone into the classroom speakers and putting on a low, moody song that somehow fit the sudden fancy atmosphere and Denki. . . Denki found himself drifting toward the back of the room where Jirou was adjusting the volume.
He leaned against the wall beside her, trying for casual and landing somewhere around “Nervous idiot”
“So. . . I'll be a butler, huh?” He said failing to sound casual.
Jirou didn’t look at him, but one earphone jack curled lazily in his direction. “You’re gonna be terrible at it.”
“Rude! I can be polite! I can say ‘yes my lady’ super elegantly!. . . I mean, probably.”
She finally glanced sideways, violet eyes glinting with amusement. “We’ll see, Kaminari. . . Try not to short-circuit the teapots on opening day, I might actually want to sit in your section.”
Denki’s heart did a backflip that had nothing to do with his quirk. “Yeah?. . . Cool, I mean, not cool, professional, whatever, very professional butler service for you, not specifically you.”
Jirou’s smirk returned, softer this time. “Idiot.” But she didn’t move away when their shoulders brushed.
Across the room, Mina watched them with the satisfied expression of a chaos gremlin who had just set the perfect dominoes in motion.
She leaned over to Momo and whispered, “Ten bucks says Sparky trips over his own tailcoat the first time Jirou calls him ‘butler.’”
Momo allowed herself a small, elegant smile. “I don’t gamble, Ashido-san. But. . . I may buy a backup uniform for him. . . Just in case.”
Outside the windows, the U.A. campus glowed in the golden hour light, unaware that Class 3-A’s cultural festival plans had just taken a sharp, frilly, tailcoat-shaped turn.
And somewhere in the back of Denki Kaminari’s sparking brain, a single treacherous thought refused to die:
. . . I wonder if she’ll make me call her My Lady.
The classroom had been transformed overnight.
Desks were pushed to the walls, leaving a wide open space in the center. A long folding table, bought by Momo with her all mighty black credit card the previous evening now served as both measurement station and tea-service practice area.
Bolts of black fabric, white shirt material, measuring tapes and several elegant teapots and porcelain sets were neatly arranged as the late afternoon light filtered through half-closed blinds giving everything a strangely formal, almost theatrical atmosphere.
Momo Yaoyorozu stood at the head of the table in her crisp school uniform, clipboard in hand and measuring tape draped around her neck like a scarf. She looked every inch the composed and profesional woman she is now. . . Until you noticed the faint pink already dusting her cheeks.
“Alright, everyone.” She calls, voice steady and professional. “Since we have agreed upon the Butlers Café concept we need to move quickly. I will be handling the creation of all twenty uniforms myself to ensure proper fit I will need to take precise measurements of each of you and after that we will begin basic Western-style tea service training.”
A few groans began, Mina was already filming on her phone from the back row, whispering commentary like a nature documentary narrator, Jirou sat on a windowsill, one earphone jack plugged into her phone, the other lazily spinning pretending she didn't care even when her eyes kept drifting toward a certain blond electric user.
Denki stood near the front, trying badly to look casual.
Momo gestured to the first boy in line. “Kirishima-kun, if you would, please step forward.”
Eijiro Kirishima grinned, already hardening his skin out of habit. “Man, this is kinda cool! Like getting fitted for hero gear, but fancier!”
Sero, standing right behind him, snorted. “Yeah, except instead of gauntlets we’re getting bow ties.”
Momo worked efficiently, tape measure sliding around Kirishima’s broad shoulders, chest and waist. She noted everything in her elegant handwriting.
“I will, of course, be covering the full cost of materials and any accessories.” She said without looking up. “Consider it my personal contribution to the class project as it would be unfair to ask everyone to pitch in when my family can cover the whole expense without problem.”
There was a beat of silence.
Then Sero and Kirishima exchanged a look.
“. . . She said that so kindly.” Sero whispered loudly. “It didn’t even feel like she just called us all broke.”
Kirishima barked a laugh. “Right?! ‘I’ll pay because I’m nice and practical’ not ‘you peasants can’t afford silk.’ Yaomomo, you’re too good at this!”
Momo’s ears turned pink. “I simply meant—”
“We know, we know!” Kirishima said, still grinning. “Thanks, Yaomomo. You’re the best!”
She gave them a small, genuine smile before moving on.
Bakugou was next and he stomped forward like he was walking to his own execution, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
“Arms out.” Momo said calmly.
“Tch.” He raised his arms stiffly as the moment the tape touched his waist he twitched. “Hurry the fuck up.”
Momo didn’t flinch, she measured his chest, noting the way his muscles tensed under the thin uniform shirt and that Christ on a stick Katsuki had bigger boobs than half the female population of this school. “You agreed to participate, Bakugou-kun so please hold still.”
He grumbled the entire time but didn’t pull away and when she finished and stepped back, he snatched his uniform jacket off the chair and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “thanks” under his breath before walking off.
Iida was vibrating with barely contained energy the entire time his measurements were taken.
Midoriya kept muttering apologies every time Momo had to adjust the tape because he was shifting nervously.
Koda was so shy he could barely lift his arms.
Mineta tried to make inappropriate comments until Tsuyu’s tongue silenced him. . . Again.
Once measurements were complete and Momo had prepare a basic idea of how much fabric will she need she clapped her hands once.
“Now! Japanese tea ceremony is beautiful, but for a Western-style butler café we will be using European service traditions, it's a different posture, different way of holding the pot, different flow of movement so I will demonstrate, then each of you will practice serving a guest, in this case, me, while I grade your performance.”
She created a fresh stack of scorecards from nothing.
The first few attempts were. . . Educational to say it politely.
Midoriya stepped up, hands shaking so badly the teapot lid rattled as he overthought every movement, muttered “sorry sorry sorry” under his breath and managed to spill hot tea across the saucer and onto the tablecloth.
Score: 3/10. Reason: Excessive nervousness and spillage.
Koji Koda was worse. The gentle giant’s hands were so large and his anxiety so high that he nearly crushed the delicate porcelain, he spilled twice and then hid behind his own arm when Momo tried to correct his grip.
Score: 2/10.
Iida’s turn was almost painful to watch. He moved with rigid, mechanical precision, arms chopping the air between pours, spine so straight it looked painful, when he tried to present the cup he somehow managed to tilt it at a forty-five degree angle. Tea went everywhere except in the clients mouth.
Score: 1/10. Reason: stiffness and spillage.
Iida looked mortified.
“Engine legs do not help with fine motor control under pressure.” He muttered, ears bright red.
The middle group did better:
Kirishima was enthusiastic and only spilled once gaining a 7/10.
Sero used a thin strand of tape to steady his pouring hand and actually got a respectable 7/10.
Denki managed a solid 9/10 as his serving was nice and his smile was bright, something very natural of him.
Then came Todoroki.
He approached the table with his usual calm, took the teapot and poured with flawless, steady hands. Not a single drop spilled, the temperature was perfect as he placed the cup on the saucer with quiet precision and offered it to Momo with both hands, holding it the way one would in a traditional Japanese tea ceremony with utter respectful, grounded, almost reverent.
Momo stared at the perfect pour. . . Then at the very Japanese posture.
She picked up the rolled newspaper she had been using as a pointer and gave him a single, gentle bonk on the top of his head.
“Todoroki-kun.” She said, voice strained with the effort of staying polite, “That was technically flawless, however, we are practicing Western service so please do not hold the cup like you are performing chanoyu.
Score: 0/10 for this round. Please adjust your posture next time.”
Todoroki blinked his mismatched eyes. “Understood.” He bowed slightly and stepped back without argument.
Bakugou went last.
He stomped up, snatched the teapot and poured with surprising grace.
No spills.
Steady hands.
The tea was at the exact right temperature.
He even remembered to angle the spout correctly.
. . . But the entire time he was growling under his breath.
“Here’s your fucking tea, extra. Don’t choke on it and if you don’t like it, make it yourself next time.”
He shoved the cup toward Momo with a scowl that could curdle milk.
Momo pinched the bridge of her nose. “Technically perfect, Bakugou-kun. The pour, the temperature, the presentation was all excellent. . . However.” She wrote a large “2” on his scorecard. “The language and attitude are the opposite of calm, professional and caring, please work on that.”
Bakugou snatched the scorecard, looked at the 2 and exploded one of the spare teacups out of sheer indignation. “THE FUCK?! I DID IT RIGHT!”
“You cursed through the entire service.” Momo said evenly. “Try again later. Next.”
Once the practical pouring was done, Momo created a fresh pot of tea and set it aside.
“Now.” She said trying to remain calm for the next part. “We move on to the most important part of butler service: The voice. You must sound calm, professional yet attentive and arm, like you genuinely care whether your guest is comfortable, this means not only act like you are reading from a script and definitely not like you want to explode the guest.” She demonstrated once, voice low and smooth: “Welcome back, Master. Your usual table is ready, may I take your coat?”
Several of the boys looked vaguely traumatized by how naturally elegant she sounded.
Momo turned to the group. “Who would like to try first?” The boys remain silent for a bit . . . Before Todoroki stepped forward without hesitation.
He walked up to Momo, gently took her right hand in his and looked down at her with those striking heterochromatic eyes, one ice blue, one warm gray. His voice was quiet, deep and strangely sincere.
“My lady.” He said simply yet his characteristic cold voice made it spine trembling good. “How may I serve you today?”
Momo’s brain blue screened badly.
Internal squeal so loud it was almost audible through her ears.
She felt her cheeks heat up instantly but forced her voice to stay steady. “V-Very good, Todoroki-kun. . . Sincere and direct,excellent eye contact. Next—”
Before she could finish, Denki was already moving.
He stepped up on her left side, smoothly took her other hand and shot Todoroki a competitive grin. “C’mon, man! That was way too bland! You gotta sell it if you want the client to actually feel special.”
Then he looked at Momo as his usual loud, sparkly energy softened, the grin faded into something warmer, lower, golden eyes met hers and stayed there and when he spoke, his voice dropped into a smooth, almost husky register that none of them had ever heard from him before.
“My lady. . .” The words rolled off his tongue like warm honey. “Your wish is my command, please allow me to make every moment of your day. . . Perfect.”
And then, because he was Denki Fucking Kaminari and apparently had no self-preservation instincts today gently lifted her hand and pressed a soft, lingering kiss on her knuckles.
Momo made a noise that was definitely not professional as her face went scarlet so fast it was visible from space like a beacon of shame, steam actually began to rise from the collar of her uniform shirt.
Todoroki watched the entire display with calm curiosity and then he nodded once, as if accepting a challenge, and took Momo’s hand back from Denki: He repeated the line, but this time his voice was even lower, his gaze more intense, the mismatched eyes locked on hers like he was trying to memorize her reaction.
“My lady, please let me be your humble butler today. . . I will do whatever you wish me to do.”
Momo squeaked, actually squeaked, her entire face was now redder than the left side of Todoroki’s hair.
From the back of the room, Mina was openly cackling, Jirou’s earphone jacks had gone completely still as one of them was pointed at Denki like it was personally offended by how smooth he had just been.
Denki looked extremely pleased with himself. . . Until he glanced sideways and caught Jirou staring, eyes met, he gave her a tiny, sheepish shrug that somehow said I have no idea what just possessed me but I think it worked?
Jirou’s mouth twitched.
She looked away first, but not before Denki caught the faint pink on her cheeks.
Bakugou had been watching the entire exchange with increasing disgust. . . And something else: Fucking competitiveness.
“Pathetic.” He snarled, shoving both of them aside. “You extras are embarrassing yourselves.”
He stepped right up to Momo, grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger, a bit rough, but firm enough to tilt her face up toward him and smirked down at her with that feral, confident grin.
“Listen up, Ponytail. . .” He said, voice low and rough. “I’m your butler now, so you better get used to it. . . And like it or not you will fucking love it ‘cause I don’t do half-assed shit so you are going to take whatever I give you.”
The words were rude.
The delivery was pure Bakugou.
But there was something underneath it, a strange, almost endearing honesty, that hit Momo like a truck.
Her brain officially gave up.
Todoroki leaned in from one side. “My lady, your tea is ready. . . Please allow me to adjust the temperature to your preference.”
Denki took her other hand again, voice dropping back into that dangerous smooth register. “My lady, you look radiant when you blush like that, should I fetch you a fan? Or would you prefer I simply. . . Stay close?”
Bakugou’s thumb brushed her jaw. “Stop squirming, my lady. Makes it harder to serve you properly.”
All three of them kept going, layering compliments, butler lines and increasingly ridiculous (but weirdly effective) attempts to outdo each other.
Momo’s creation quirk flared wildly from sheer overwhelming fluster, steam poured out from her collar, her mouth and ears. Face was a furnace and her knees were actually weak.
“I— I— Class is— This is— TOO MUCH!”
With a dramatic poof of white steam that filled the entire front of the classroom, Momo Yaoyorozu quite literally evaporated from the spot, or at least appeared to, hiding inside her own embarrassment cloud like a very elegant, very flustered octopus in its ink.
Her voice came out muffled and high-pitched from somewhere inside the steam. “Practice is over! Class dismissed! I need— I need air! Or water! Or— just go! Please!”
The steam cloud began to drift toward the door like a very embarrassed weather phenomenon, through the haze they could just barely see the silhouette of Momo fleeing the room at top speed, still trailing steam.
For twenty seconds the classroom was silent except for Mina’s howling laughter and the sound of several phones recording.
Denki stared at the spot where Momo had been, then at his own hand like he just discover a new superpower.
“. . . I think we broke Yaomomo.”
Todoroki nodded solemnly. “She turned very red. It was. . . Cute.”
Bakugou crossed his arms, looking far too smug for someone who had just helped cause a steam explosion. “Weak idiot, she’s the one who wanted us to practice being butlers, if she can’t handle the heat then shouldn’t have started the kettle.”
From the windowsill, Jirou finally unplugged her jack, stood up and walked over to Denki.
She stopped beside him, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
“You.” She said dryly, looking at him as if he just spitted on her mother's face. “Are never allowed to use that voice on anyone else during this festival. Understood, Sparky?”
Denki’s brain blue-screened for a second and then a slow, dangerous grin spread across his face.
“. . . Jealous, Jirou?”
She bonked him on the head with a jack very hard.
“Shut up and help clean up the tea you idiots spilled everywhere.”
But she was smiling. . . Just a little at least imaginating that attention all for herself later.