'CONGRATULATIONS! Your application for the position of 'Costume Performer' has been selected to move forward in the hiring process! The hiring manager here at 'Might Tower' has read your submission, and believes that your history of tenacity and perseverance are what we've been looking for!'

'As part of Might Tower's 'American Heroes Program', you will be an ambassador for not only the United States, but you will have the honors of representing the Symbol of Hope, and the three core principles that we strive for: honesty, morality, and equality! Our goal here at Might Tower is to provide a safe family-friendly environment for all of those who come to our Musutafu location, while demonstrating to the community the importance of free-thinking and creativity! Our mission is to recapture the hearts of the youth, and create a new symbol of hope that'll inspire the world to one day put on their own cape and mask! After all, anyone can be a hero!'

'Included in this welcome package is a booklet of Might Tower travel vouchers, which will cover the costs of food and other travel necessities! Each one is probably worth ten US dollars, so use them wisely! Also included in this package is a copy of your itinerary, one work-visa, and printed instructions on the documents you'll need to bring with you! Don't forget the privately issued passport that's included in this package! If you already have a federal issued passport, then bring that too!'

'Upon arrival from the 'Orlando International Airport' to 'Musutafu International Airport', you'll leave the terminal and make your way to the designated pick-up area! We ask that you remain visible outside, and be sure to have your gifted 'All Might's All American Family Diner' shirt on! That'll help our drivers identify you, and it'll spark interest in the locals and travelers alike of what they all have to look forward to! Once again, we'd like to take this moment to thank you personally for taking this opportunity, and are looking forward to working with you! And remember: "Just believe in yourself, and YOU can become a hero!"'


You had just finished re-watching the same holographic message time-and-time again since you first boarded the commercial airliner, and had long since managed to earn scorn from all of your fellow passengers, who had been unfortunate enough to be forced to hear that recording for the entirety of the flight. The insults you heard from your fellow passengers as you carried your single carry-on bag with you down the passenger boarding bridge were ignored by you for the most part— except for the few comments you heard in regards to your fake Yeezys; those ones got to you.

Exiting the expandable passenger bridge and stepping foot onto solid ground once more, you noticed almost immediately the stark difference between Musutafu's terminal, and the one back home in Florida. Not only were the seats visibly larger and more modern with outlets for charging one's devices, but the accommodations available from what you could see alone were mind boggling; from large restaurants and bars, to entertainment centers such as arcades and movie theaters, it quickly became apparent to you that it was indeed true what the internet said about American airlines.

Having spent all but three of the vouchers that were given to you for your international flight, the urge to spend them while they were still valid prompted you to begin frantically searching for a quick way to irresponsibly use them. With time being your biggest constraint— as you were expected to waste no time when it came to making your way down to the designated passenger pick-up area— your options as to how you could spend your last three remaining vouchers were limited. After some thought while bobbing and weaving through the passing crowds of your fellow passengers— some being more visibly mortified by your face than others— you hastily made the questionable decision to duck into one particular convenience store that you recognized from back home.

Stepping under the orange and green neon glow of the '7-Eleven' sign that was hung up above the opened glass sliding doors of the store, your senses are hit with mediocrity itself: the aroma of heat-lamp warmed pizza and boneless wings fill your nostrils, as the welcomed sight of unpainted aisles and white walls assaults your eyes. It's unwhelming, it's unhygienic, it's overpriced— it's HOME.

Pursuing through the aisles while on the hunt for anything remotely recognizable in the chips section, and it's there underneath the humming fluorescent bulbs of the ceiling lights above that you're approached by thick-lipped man with thin-shiny glasses, a powerful neckbeard, and a gut that expanded out underneath the promiscuous and unlicensed "Mountain Girl" shirt he had on— her ahegao face she was illustrated with was accompanied by the twin sweat stains of the nerd's man-breasts. Due to you towering over him by at least a foot in American-units, he had a hard time sizing you up as he audibly scoffed at your own ill-fitted hero shirt that you had on— oh how you wished the mandatory shirt Might Tower sent to you came in a size larger than a youth's extra-large.

"Eugh?! Really, man? REALLY?! Those corporate shills are STILL trying to sell All Might's image for a quick cash grab?! That's low man, REALLY low," the large man complained with an arrogance behind his voice— a look of superiority radiating from his curled-up lips, as he smirked back at you. "No disrespect to you personally though; it would be asaine of me to blame the problems of a soulmate corporation on just another cog in its machine. Besides, I get what it's like trying to get by these days; jobs are getting harder and harder to find. It's like, gotten to the point where I don't even try anymore."

According to the pungent odor and visibly poor hygiene of the obese man's greasy hair, you can't help but have your doubts as to why he hasn't found a job yet. It would have been so easy for you to prey on the man's numerous visible insecurities, but you knew better than to give into such temptation; alas, you were technically in company attire, and such unpleasant behavior would put your job in jeopardy. "THANK YOU!" you shouted a little louder than you intended within the aisles of the 7-Eleven. Sticking your hand out and practically shoving your thumbs-up into the face of the vocally stunned man-child, you felt inspiration flowing through your chest as you proceed to boldly shout at him, "Plus ONE… Plus One-HUNDRED!"

Despite having butchered one of the most iconic catchphrases of all time, you confidently pushed the baffled obsess man out of the way with one hand as you lean down to grab a bag of nacho-cheese Doritos with the other— proudly holding your head up, as you made your way to the soda fountain to fill up on some Mountain Dew, before checking out with the uncomfortable cashier. "Don't spend it all in one place," you tell the old gentleman standing on the other side of the counter, as you hand him the last three vouchers of your booklet.

And as you walked out of the convenience store, you mistook the confused cashier's awkward attempts at getting you to come back inside as his way of trying to protest the "tip" you left him. You knew beforehand that tipping in Japanese culture was frowned down upon, but if there was nugget of truth behind what the smelly weeb had told you about the financial difficulties that the people of Musutafu were having at the moment, you figured that the cashier would later come to appreciate your generosity. Dismissing the cashier's protests— such as "What are these, sir" and "Please come back, I can not accept this as payment,"— you opened your bag of Doritos and began earning dirty looks once again, as you proceeded to munch loudly on your well-deserved reward, all the way until you finally reached the passenger drop-off area outside the airport's lobby.


Just as the pre-recorded holographic message had said, the bright colors of your child-sized shirt with All-Might's iconic grinning face plastered on the center of it had made you stick out like a sore thumb. What would also have a hand in helping the driver find you was the fact that you were one-hundred and eighty centimeters tall. So as you stood over the tops of everyone's heads around you, eventually approached by a well-dressed man who wore his black-blazer unbuttoned, and his white dress-shirt untucked from his belt. Had it not been for the young man's purple and bulbous haircut, he would have been nearly half your height— and the way he looked up at you with a nervous smile on his goofy-looking face made it clear to you that he was more than aware of the size difference between you two.

"Erm…?! O-Oh, uhhhh…. Hehe! Umm… H-Hello, uh… Ahem," the young man excused himself, as he raised his balled hand up to his mouth to clear his throat; you could tell right then and there that he was trying to recompose himself, as the cool expression he tried to convey seemed entirely forced as he smirked up at you. "My name is Minoru Mineta: I'm your driver, unfortunately," the man with dark-purple hair greeted, before momentarily bowing down at the waist. "I… I'm gonna be honest here, big guy! When they told me that my job would be to pick up an American foreigner, I had my hopes up that I'd be picking up some hot blond-chick!" Mineta said with his forced smile wavering, as he let out a disappointed sigh while shoving his tiny hands into his side-pockets. "Yet again, Lady Luck has cockblocked me…"

Taking notice of the bronze badge that was pinned on the left-side of his opened-up blazer, you had to squint in order to read what was etched on it— causing Mineta to give you an uncomfortable stare, as he wasn't sure whether or not you were trying to be racist, in regards to his comment about him having expected to see a stereotypical white blond girl. The emblem of his badge was All Might's iconic smiling face, and on top and underneath it were two bronze ribbons that read all together 'All Might's All-American Family Diner.' Now that you knew that the manlet before you really was your driver, you relaxed your eyelids and extended your arm down to shake hands with him.

"Sorry, not sorry for your loss. But anyway… The name's Ren Ashta, buddy ol' pal! Put 'er there!" You greeted back with gusto in your voice— causing Mineta to flinch, as he continued to stare bewilderingly at your opened hand.

Watching as he once again faked another smile, you couldn't help but feel extremely unimpressed and even borderline embarrassed for Mineta, with how soft his grip was in your hand. "Erm, haha! Uh… J-Just a little piece of advice, friend: no one really shakes hands here, so… A-Actually nevermind— I forgot that management wanted you guys to NOT conform to Japanese norms— so keep that abrasive American attitude up," Mineta chuckled awkwardly to you, as he quickly retracted his hand from yours. "Anyway, uh… Mind giving me your paperwork? I've got to verify those documents— make sure you're actually who you say you are, Ashta-San."

"Sure thing, pardner; here's them papers, BOY," you eagerly said with optimism spoken in each word, as you flipped your carry-on backpack around, so that you could have access to its contents while it was resting against your burly chest. Rifling through all the packaged rolls of gauze tape and bandages that you packed for the trip, you pulled out the crumpled ball of papers that had been laying in the bottom of your back, and toss them at Mineta— somewhat-accidentally hitting him in the face with your poorly-maintained documents.

A little ticked off from having had his nose booped with an apple-size ball of papers that he had to sort through, Mineta opened his mouth to say something to you, but no words came out as he visibly became intimidated once again from just gazing up at how muscular and tall you were. Grumbling to himself, your driver shook his head while taking the time to carefully straighten out each document from the wad of papers you had created throughout your international journey to Musutafu. "… Why are there so many coffee stains on your passport…? Tch— whatever…!" You heard Mineta mutter to himself with frustration, before he begrudgingly handed you back the documents that he had tried his best to straighten out with nothing more than his little hands— the condescending way he stared up at you irritating you, as he stared down at him with contempt growing on your face. "Please try to take better care of your stuff, Ashta-San. It's important to keep your documents in good-"

"-Keep talking that shit, and I'll use these goofy-ass papers to slice the skin between your fingers open," you accidentally let loose from your inner thoughts— immediately shutting Mineta up, as he instinctively took a step back while staring at you with confusion and caution written on his shocked face. Mentally kicking yourself for your social fumble, you decided to kill Mineta with kindness by smiling charismatically at him as you shoved the handful of important documents back into the rat's nest you call the inside of your All Might backpack. "Fuck, I mean…! C-Coffee?! Why, coffee is just the beginning, my dear boy! Now take me to All Might's! Get on, get on! We have so much time, and so little to do!"

Selling the happy-go-lucky facade completely by giving the three-foot tall young man a hardy smack on the back of his back, you excitedly began following him through the crowds of concerned onlookers as he led you to the dull-painted 1991 Honda Civic that had 'All Might's All American Family Diner' stickered onto the side of the car in black English-font. With the wind knocked out of him from when you playfully smacked him on his back, Mineta impressed you with how well he able to perform his duties— his tearful wheezing as he pushed through the pain to hold the door open for you was remarkable, and earned him some of your respect as he stumbled his way to the driver's seat.

Nestled in the backseat beside a stack of second-hand pornographic magazines, you crossed one leg over your knee and got comfortable as you interlaced your bandage-wrapped fingers behind your head full of luscious dark-brown hair— your seatbelt unbuckled, as you waited for Mineta to turn the key in the car's ignition before blurting out, "Put on Smash Mouth!"

Not having it in him to protest, the grape-haired driver did as you asked and used the phone he had plugged into the car's auxiliary port to put 'I'm A Believer' on the Honda's blown-out speakers. Listening to the distorted instrumentals playing within the confines of the off-putting smelling car, you let out a relaxed sigh as you stared over the underutilized headrest of the driver-side seat— overlooking the crowds of pedestrians who were crossing the street. Feeling accomplished of how far you had come, all you could do while staring out through the front windshield— as Mineta began to finally drive away from the sidewalk— was to think; to think of all the plans you had to do on your mental checklist, and how much closer you were to achieving your goal.