Chapter 14 Different perspectives.

Katsuki Bakugo sat slouched on his bed, the faint glow of his computer screen reflecting off his sharp features. His crimson eyes were narrowed as he replayed a video of Izuku fighting a girl with oversized hands, her Quirk turning her fists into massive wrecking balls. Katsuki watched as Izuku dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid and precise, before delivering a clean counterstrike that sent the girl tumbling backward.

"Damn nerd," Katsuki muttered under his breath, his hands clenching into fists. His jaw tightened as the fight continued, showing Izuku's calm yet brutal efficiency. "The bastard didn't even use his damn Quirk on me, but he's pulling out all the stops for this girl? What, does he think he's better than me?" His voice rose, frustration dripping from every word.

Before he could stew any further, a knock came at his door.

"Come in, old hag!" Katsuki barked, not even bothering to turn around.

The door creaked open slightly but then paused. Instead of stepping in, Mitsuki Bakugo's voice rang out from the hallway. "Hold on," she said, retreating briefly. Katsuki heard the sound of rustling fabric before she returned, flinging the door open.

She stood there proudly, wearing a shirt Katsuki immediately recognized: it bore an image of himself, beaten and bruised, slumped in an alleyway after a particularly rough fight. Blood smeared across his face, and his eyes were barely open. Above the image, bold letters read: "BROCCOLI BOY WINS AGAIN!"

"Mom, what the hell?!" Katsuki yelled, leaping to his feet.

Mitsuki stared at him, a smug grin on her face. "What? You didn't say I couldn't wear this."

"I meant come in, Mom, not flaunt your fashion disaster!" Katsuki snapped, his face burning with embarrassment.

"Thank you," she said primly, ignoring his outburst as she stepped inside. She smoothed the front of the shirt before looking him over. "Now, why are you moping around in here like some hermit? You should be outside doing something productive."

Katsuki grumbled, crossing his arms. "What am I supposed to do? Hang out with those extras who call themselves my friends? I'd rather be by myself."

Mitsuki rolled her eyes, stepping further into the room. "You're impossible, you know that? You've been sulking like a toddler who didn't get their toy. And I know what's really bothering you."

"I'm not sulking," Katsuki growled, his glare intensifying.

She smirked, her eyes flicking toward the corner of the room. "Oh? Then what's that?"

Katsuki froze as Mitsuki pointed to a makeshift shrine. It was a chaotic display of printed images of Izuku, each one defaced with crude scribbles and insults scrawled across them in bold letters: "DEKU," "LOSER," "NERD," and, bafflingly, "I'LL CRUSH YOU." Candles flickered ominously, their light casting shadows over the unholy display.

"It's not a shrine," Katsuki snapped defensively.

"Right," Mitsuki said, crossing her arms. "And what did I tell you about using that name?"

"You said I couldn't call him that," Katsuki replied smugly, his grin triumphant. "You didn't say I couldn't write it down."

Mitsuki blinked at him, her expression unreadable. "You're right. I didn't say that because I didn't think I needed to." She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Okay, listen up. I'm going out for a bit, and when I get back, I expect you to be doing something productive. Maybe, I don't know, go outside, talk to a girl, anything that doesn't involve obsessing over broccoli boy."

Katsuki scowled, turning back to his computer. His social media feed was open to Izuku's latest post: a picture of him smiling on I-Island, the words "Another great day on the island!" in the caption. Katsuki had already left three comments, each more hateful than the last.

"Why should I go outside?" Katsuki grumbled. "I'm doing important work."

Mitsuki peered over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. "Hate-commenting on Deku's post is important work? Really?"

Katsuki glared at her. "Someone has to knock him down a peg."

"Sure," Mitsuki said sarcastically, her tone laced with humor. "But if you're so eager to beat him, why don't you actually train instead of sitting here like a troll?"

Katsuki's scowl deepened. "I have been training. I'm just taking a break."

She raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. A break from all your hard work, right?"

"I'm serious!" Katsuki snapped. "I've been going to the woods and training harder than ever. Next time I see him, I'm gonna wipe that smug look off his face."

Mitsuki smirked. "Good. Then maybe when you're done obsessing over him, you'll have time to clean up this mess." She gestured broadly at the shrine before turning to leave. "Don't let it consume you, Katsuki. And for God's sake, get out of the house once in a while."

As she closed the door behind her, Katsuki let out a long, frustrated sigh. He turned back to the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.

"Stupid broccoli boy," he muttered. "Next time, you're mine."

He didn't realize how tightly his fists were clenched until his knuckles turned white.

But even as his frustration simmered, a small voice in the back of his head whispered: I have to get stronger.

And with that, Katsuki closed his laptop, grabbed his gear, and prepared to head back to the woods. His training wasn't over—not by a long shot.

Katsuki Bakugo stormed down the streets, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his fiery temper barely contained. The thought of Izuku—Deku—fighting with such skill and finesse still churned in his head, fueling his anger. He muttered under his breath, cursing the green-haired boy in every way he could think of.

As he turned a corner, he froze, his eyes narrowing. Walking toward him were two familiar faces: his old "friends," the muscle-brained moron and the stone-fisted idiot. Their names hardly mattered to Katsuki anymore—he had no patience for weaklings.

"Oi, Bakugo!" Muscle-Brain shouted, grinning as he waved. "It's been a while, huh? How you been?"

"Yeah!" Stone-Fist chimed in, punching his own palm. "We thought we'd find you here. Let's catch up!"

Katsuki's lip curled in disgust as they approached, his crimson eyes glaring daggers. "Tch. What do you two losers want?"

The pair exchanged awkward glances but pressed on, their usual arrogance seemingly dampened. "Come on, man," Muscle-Brain said, trying to keep his tone light. "We're just saying hi. We haven't hung out in a while, y'know?"

"Yeah, ever since we all got suspended…" Stone-Fist added sheepishly.

Katsuki barked a sharp laugh, cutting him off. "Suspended and getting your asses handed by Deku, no less! You think I wanna hang around with weak idiots like you? Stay the hell away from me. I don't associate with losers who lose to Deku."

Muscle-Brain's face darkened, his grin fading. "Didn't you lose to him, too?"

Katsuki's smirk faltered, his fists clenching at his sides. His voice dropped to a low, threatening growl. "I said I don't associate with losers who lose to Deku. Don't make me repeat myself."

Stone-Fist frowned, his patience wearing thin. "Look, man, we're just trying to be friendly. We've been friends for years! Remember all those times we used to beat that little runt up together? We were unstoppable back then."

"Yeah," Muscle-Brain added, his voice picking up. "Besides, we're all going to UA now. Gonna be heroes and all that. We figured we'd get the old crew back together."

Katsuki threw his head back and laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "You two idiots applied to UA? You seriously think you've got a shot after losing to a quirkless boy? Oh my god, you're even dumber than I thought."

The insult hit home, and both of them bristled. Muscle-Brain stepped forward, his voice rising. "You shouldn't be talking so much trash, Bakugo. You lost to Deku, too! And let's be real—you've got no friends now. No one talks to you anymore. The teachers who used to think you were something special? They've written you off. You're just as alone as Deku ever was."

Stone-Fist pulled out his phone, grinning maliciously. "Meanwhile, look at this. Broccoli Boy's on I-Island! He's got a cute girlfriend, he's rubbing elbows with All Might… Hell, he just posted this."

He shoved the screen toward Katsuki, displaying a picture of Izuku grinning from ear to ear, standing beside All Might with a freshly signed photograph in his hand. The caption read: "Dreams do come true. Thank you, All Might!"

Katsuki's blood boiled as he stared at the image, his jaw tightening so hard it felt like his teeth might crack. The triumphant look on Izuku's face made his stomach churn.

Muscle-Brain smirked, catching his reaction. "See? He's out there living the dream while you're stuck here, sulking. Kinda pathetic, don't you think?"

Katsuki growled, shoving the phone away. "Tch. Lucky bastard. That's all it is—luck. He's still a damn loser, and he always will be. I don't need anyone. Not you two, not Deku, no one! Now get the hell outta my face."

With that, Katsuki turned on his heel and stormed off, his fury barely contained. Behind him, he could hear them muttering under their breath, but he didn't care. He pulled out his own phone as he walked, his fingers flying across the screen as he began typing furiously into Izuku's post's comment section.

KatsukiB: "This is fake as hell. Deku probably photoshopped this. No way someone like him is meeting All Might. Stop pretending you're something you're not, loser. Pathetic."

KatsukiB: "That smile makes me sick. You look like an idiot. Bet All Might hated every second of meeting you."

KatsukiB: "Quirkless nerd thinks he's hot shit now. Go back to being invisible, Deku. It's the only thing you're good at."

Katsuki pocketed his phone, his jaw clenched as he continued walking. He needed to blow off steam. He needed to hit something, to train, to drown out the gnawing jealousy and frustration that clawed at his insides.

He turned toward the woods, his mind set. Next time I see you, Deku… I'm going to destroy you.

Katsuki stormed into the woods, his frustration boiling over as he clenched his fists tightly, the faint crackle of his explosions sparking in his palms. The dense trees loomed overhead, casting long shadows, but he barely noticed. His mind was singularly focused, consumed by the inferno of his own anger and determination.

"Damn nerd," he muttered under his breath, his crimson eyes narrowing as he stared at the clearing ahead. "Thinks he's better than me. I'll show him. I'll show all of them."

Without hesitation, he raised his hands and unleashed a barrage of explosions, the thunderous booms echoing through the forest. Trees splintered and cracked under the force, leaves raining down like confetti. Katsuki's body moved on instinct, his relentless training pushing him forward.

He dashed toward the nearest tree, launching a controlled explosion behind him that propelled him into the air. Twisting mid-flight, he fired another blast to adjust his trajectory, dodging between the branches with precision. He landed in a crouch, the ground shaking slightly beneath him, and immediately shot forward again, using another explosion to launch himself into the next sequence of maneuvers.

This was his obstacle course—one he'd built himself through sheer willpower and destruction. Scorch marks and jagged stumps marked his path, a testament to countless hours of training.

"Faster," he growled, firing off another blast to propel himself. His breathing was ragged, his muscles screaming in protest, but he ignored the pain. "Stronger. I have to get stronger."

Katsuki darted through the course like a man possessed, each movement more reckless than the last. His explosions carved through the trees, sending debris flying as he weaved, ducked, and dodged imaginary threats. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with soot and grime, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. Every fiber of his being screamed for improvement, for power, for victory.

If I don't improve, I'm as good as dead.

That thought pounded in his head, fueling his relentless pace. He pushed his Quirk to its absolute limit, his palms burning with overuse, the explosions growing weaker with each blast. By the time he reached the end of the course, his body was trembling. He collapsed onto the ground, his chest heaving as he sucked in deep gulps of air.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the forest—birds chirping in the distance, leaves rustling in the breeze. Katsuki stared up at the sky, his vision blurry from exhaustion. His mind was a chaotic swirl of frustration, anger, and determination.

When he finally dragged himself home, the sun was already setting. His clothes were caked in soot, his hair matted with sweat and dirt. He trudged through the front door, ignoring his mother's scolding about tracking filth into the house, and collapsed onto his bed. Sleep overtook him instantly.

The next morning, Katsuki woke up groggy and sore, his muscles protesting every movement. He glanced at the clock and cursed under his breath—it was later than he'd planned. Rolling out of bed, he shuffled over to his desk and powered on his computer, his fingers already itching to unleash his pent-up frustration.

He opened Izuku's social media account, scrolling through the posts with a scowl. His expression darkened as he clicked on the latest one.

It was a photo of Izuku at breakfast, sitting with Mei and two other girls, all of them smiling brightly. The caption read: "Excited to start our journey at UA's support course! Dreams are becoming reality!"

Katsuki's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. His jaw tightened as he stared at the image, his blood boiling.

"Damn nerd," he muttered. "Damn pink-haired bitch. Damn all of them."

His fingers flew across the keyboard as he began typing furiously in the comment section, his words venomous and cruel.

KatsukiB: "Bunch of lying losers. Bet none of this is even real. You should all just quit and stop embarrassing yourselves."

KatsukiB: "Pink-haired bitch looks like a clown. Hope you all fail miserably. Just give up already."

KatsukiB: "Broccoli loser thinks he's hot shit now? Pathetic. You'll always be nothing, just like your dumb friends."

His barrage of hate didn't go unnoticed. Within minutes, his account was banned, but Katsuki didn't care. He simply switched to one of his alternate accounts and continued posting, his anger driving him to spew even more vitriol.

When he finally leaned back in his chair hours later, his eyes were bloodshot, and his fingers ached. He stared blankly at the screen, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.

But the anger didn't go away. It never went away.

Katsuki stood abruptly, grabbing his gear and throwing on his training clothes. He didn't bother saying anything to his mother as he stomped out the door, heading straight back to the woods. His routine was clear: train until he couldn't move, come home, hate-comment, repeat.

As he walked, his mind raced with thoughts of Izuku. He pictured the smug grin on the broccoli-haired boy's face, his stupid posts, his annoying success. Katsuki's fists clenched, small explosions crackling in his palms.

Next time I see you, Deku… I'm going to destroy you.

And with that, he disappeared into the woods, his fiery determination burning brighter than ever.

Itsuka Kendo

The wooden floorboards of the dojo creaked softly under Itsuka Kendo's precise movements. Her orange hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, and her focused expression left no doubt that she was in her element. Each punch she threw was crisp, each kick landed with precision. Around her, students lined up in neat rows, mirroring her movements to the best of their abilities. Some were new, their forms shaky and hesitant, while others moved with the confidence of experience.

"Keep your elbows tucked in, Haruto," Itsuka said, walking past a boy whose punches lacked structure. She adjusted his arm slightly, ensuring it was aligned properly. "There. Now try again. Imagine you're punching through your opponent, not just at them."

Haruto nodded, his eyes wide with determination as he resumed practicing. Itsuka continued down the line, inspecting the students with a critical eye.

"Good, Yumi. Keep your balance steady. Don't lean too far forward, or you'll lose your footing," she advised, stepping in to demonstrate. Yumi quickly corrected her stance, and Itsuka gave her an approving nod. "Much better."

She clapped her hands, signaling for the class to stop. "Alright, everyone, gather up!" The students hurried to form a semi-circle around her, their faces flushed with effort. "Today's lesson is about precision and control. Strength is important, yes, but if you can't hit your target, all the power in the world won't help you. Remember, it's not about how hard you hit—it's about how you hit."

The students nodded in unison, their respect for her evident. Itsuka smiled faintly, but her mind was elsewhere. The lesson wrapped up soon after, and she spent a few minutes answering questions and helping the stragglers before finally leaving the dojo.

…

The walk home was quiet, the streets dimly lit by flickering streetlights. Itsuka's thoughts were heavy as she approached her house, the sound of raised voices echoing through the walls before she even opened the door. She paused at the threshold, her hand hovering over the handle as she listened.

"I told you, we don't have the money!" her father's voice rang out, sharp and desperate.

"And what do you want me to do about it?" her mother shot back. "We're barely keeping the shop afloat as it is. The loan payments are due next week—what are we supposed to tell them?"

Itsuka's chest tightened as she quietly slipped inside, careful not to make a sound. She didn't need to hear more; she already knew the situation was bad. The ramen shop her parents had poured their lives into was struggling, and the debts they had taken on to keep it afloat had only made things worse. The Yakuza thugs they'd borrowed from weren't the type to forgive late payments.

She made her way to her room, her steps heavy with the weight of responsibility. Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, her fists clenched. She couldn't let this continue. If her parents couldn't find a way to pay, the consequences would be dire—not just for them, but for the shop, their home, everything.

Her eyes fell on a duffel bag in the corner of her room. Without hesitation, she crossed the room and unzipped it, revealing a mask and a tightly packed outfit inside. The mask was simple but effective, designed to cover her face completely. The outfit was practical, blending athletic gear with sturdy padding that gave her the appearance of a wrestler. She pulled out an accost stick, the compact weapon clicking into place as she inspected it.

Her resolve hardened as she packed the items into the bag. She didn't want to do this, but there was no other choice. Her family needed money, and they needed it fast.

The night air was cold as Itsuka made her way through the less savory part of town. The buildings here were old and crumbling, graffiti covering nearly every surface. She moved with purpose, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. When she reached the abandoned warehouse, she hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside.

The interior was anything but abandoned. Harsh fluorescent lights illuminated the makeshift arena—a deep pit surrounded by a cheering crowd. The stench of sweat and blood hung heavy in the air. People of all shapes and sizes jostled for a better view, their shouts and jeers blending into a cacophony of noise.

Itsuka moved to the locker room, quickly changing into her gear. The outfit fit snugly, the mask concealing her features completely. When she stepped out, she looked every bit the part of a fighter, her broad shoulders and determined stance drawing attention as she walked toward the benches near the arena.

She dropped onto the bench, her eyes scanning the crowd. It was a mix of desperate people and thrill-seekers, all hungry for violence. The pit below was stained with blood, and two fighters were locked in a brutal exchange as the crowd roared.

Itsuka sighed deeply, her hands gripping her knees. I hate this, she thought. But I don't have a choice.

She glanced at the organizer, a burly man with a clipboard who was calling out names. Her turn would come soon.

"Focus," she whispered to herself. She clenched her fists, reminding herself why she was here. The ramen shop. Her parents. The debt. She had to win. She couldn't afford to lose—not tonight, not ever.

Finally, her name was called.

She stood, her movements slow and deliberate as she approached the edge of the pit. Across from her, a hulking figure stepped forward—her opponent. The man's arms were grotesquely oversized, his Quirk giving him crab-like claws that snapped ominously as he grinned at her.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the announcer bellowed, "And in this corner, the challenger: Iron Grappler!"

The pit's crowd roared as Itsuka stepped in, her boots crunching against the stained dirt floor. The air was thick with tension and the pungent scent of sweat and blood. Across from her, the Crab Man stood tall and imposing, his grotesque arms extending outward like menacing weapons. His massive pincers clicked together, the sound sharp and deliberate, like the clinking of blades.

The announcer's voice boomed above the noise. "Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for the clash of the night! In this corner, Iron Grappler! And in the other corner, the relentless Crab Man!"

The crowd erupted into cheers and jeers, the noise reverberating off the warehouse walls. Itsuka raised her fists, her breathing steady as she locked eyes with her opponent. The mask obscured her features, but her body language spoke volumes: she was ready.

Crab Man's stance was low and wide, his massive claws held at shoulder height. He swayed slightly, the weight of his appendages causing a slight lag in his movements. His legs were bent, his feet planted firmly, and he shifted his weight from side to side, testing her reactions.

Itsuka mirrored his stance, her arms raised in a classic guard position. She took a small step forward, her boots scraping the ground as she adjusted her footing. Her muscles coiled, ready to spring.

Crab Man moved first, lunging forward with his right claw in a wide horizontal arc. The motion was deliberate but heavy, the air whistling around the pincer as it cut through space. Itsuka ducked low, her head narrowly avoiding the attack. She pivoted to her left, her feet gliding across the dirt in smooth, practiced movements.

The moment she dodged, Crab Man followed up with his left claw, this time coming downward in a crushing motion. Itsuka sidestepped again, her body twisting as the claw slammed into the ground where she'd been. Dirt exploded upward, peppering her legs as the crowd roared.

She didn't waste the opportunity. Darting forward, she aimed a sharp jab at his midsection with her right fist, her knuckles connecting solidly with his ribcage. Crab Man grunted, stumbling slightly, but he recovered quickly, sweeping his right claw upward in a diagonal slash. Itsuka barely leaned back in time, the tip of the claw grazing the air just inches from her chest.

Crab Man pressed the attack, his claws moving in rapid succession. Left, right, left again—each swing was heavy and deliberate, forcing Itsuka to move constantly. Her feet danced over the uneven ground, her body ducking, weaving, and twisting as she avoided the onslaught.

She feinted to the right, baiting him into committing to another wide swing with his right claw. As he overextended, she lunged forward, her left leg powering her forward as she drove a devastating uppercut into his jaw. His head snapped back, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

Crab Man staggered, his pincers dropping slightly as he tried to regain his footing. Itsuka didn't let up. She darted in again, her fists a blur as she delivered a flurry of punches to his torso. Each blow was precise, targeting weak points in his defense. Her right fist slammed into his solar plexus, followed by a sharp left hook to his side.

He roared in frustration, raising both claws high above his head in an attempt to crush her in one powerful downward strike. Itsuka saw it coming. She rolled to the side, the claws slamming into the ground with enough force to shake the pit. Dirt and debris flew into the air, but she was already back on her feet.

This was her moment. She closed the distance in an instant, her movements fluid and relentless. Her right fist connected with his jaw again, snapping his head to the side. She followed up with a spinning kick, her left leg striking the side of his head with a resounding crack. Crab Man's massive body swayed, his knees buckling as he struggled to stay upright.

"Finish him!" someone in the crowd shouted.

Itsuka didn't hesitate. She pivoted on her right foot, her left leg snapping up in a high kick that caught him square under the chin. The impact sent him sprawling backward, his body hitting the ground with a heavy thud. The crowd roared as the referee stepped in, raising his hand.

"Iron Grappler wins!"

Itsuka walked out of the pit, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The mask concealed her emotions, but inside, she felt a mix of relief and frustration. The fight had been brutal, but she'd come out on top. Now came the part that mattered most.

She approached the fight organizer, a burly man with a cigar clamped between his teeth. His face was weathered, his sharp eyes assessing her as she approached. He held a clipboard in one hand and a thick roll of cash in the other.

"Good fight," he said, his voice rough. He handed her a stack of yen—70,000. "Here's your cut."

Itsuka took the money, counting it quickly. It wasn't enough. Not even close. Her hands clenched into fists as she looked up at him. "I need more."

The man raised an eyebrow, taking a long drag from his cigar. "Don't we all, sweetheart."

"No," she said firmly. "I mean it. I need a lot more. My family's in trouble, and this… this isn't going to cut it. Is there a bigger fight? Something with a bigger payout?"

He studied her for a moment, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "You're serious, huh?"

"Yes," she said, her voice steady despite the desperation she felt. "I'll do whatever it takes."

The man smirked, tapping ash from his cigar. "Well, there's one coming up in a few days. Big tournament. High stakes. Winner takes home ten million yen."

Itsuka's eyes widened slightly, but she quickly masked her reaction. "I'm in. Sign me up."

"Not so fast," he said, holding up a hand. "This isn't your average fight. It's brutal. No rules, no mercy. You sure you're ready for that?"

She nodded without hesitation. "I don't have a choice."

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, kid. You're on the roster. Show up ready to fight—or don't show up at all."

As he walked away, Itsuka gripped the money in her hand tightly. Ten million yen. It was a dangerous gamble, but it was her only chance.

as Itsuka walked home, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. The streets were dimly lit, and the rhythmic sound of her boots hitting the pavement was the only noise accompanying her. She glanced at her phone, rereading the text message confirming the fight in three days. Her stomach churned with a mix of anxiety and determination.

Three days. She repeated the thought to herself, trying to suppress the creeping fear. The tournament promised ten million yen to the winner, a life-changing sum for her family, but it came with high risks. The organizer had hyped it up as brutal, but she couldn't help but remember the over-the-top warnings from her earlier fights. She'd been told her first match was a "death match," only for her opponent to pull his punches and treat her with surprising kindness.

This is different, she reminded herself, her grip tightening on the strap of her bag. Even if I lose, I'll walk away with something, right? Just roughed up a bit, nothing I haven't handled before.

Her mind wandered as she walked. She thought about challenging Izuku again. The "broccoli boy," as some had taken to calling him, was a good benchmark for her strength. She'd heard he was coming back from I-Island tomorrow, and she couldn't deny she wanted to push herself by fighting him again. He'd grown stronger, but so had she. She gritted her teeth, her competitive spirit flaring.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she cut down a narrow alley. The shadows of the buildings stretched long, and the faint sound of footsteps echoed behind her. Instinctively, she stopped and turned, her hands raised defensively.

"Relax, it's just me," came a familiar voice.

Her eyes narrowed as Neito Monoma stepped out of the shadows, his blonde hair catching the faint light from a nearby streetlamp. He crossed his arms, his expression hovering between concern and his usual smugness.

"What are you doing here, Neito?" Itsuka asked, her tone sharp.

Neito shrugged, leaning casually against the brick wall. "Your mom asked me to keep an eye on you. She said you've been sneaking out at night, and she's worried. So, being the amazing friend I am, I decided to follow you."

Itsuka's expression darkened. "You followed me?"

"Yeah, well," Neito said, waving a hand dismissively, "what are you thinking, sneaking around like this? Seriously, Itsuka, if you get caught doing… whatever you're doing, your chances of getting into UA are over. What's going on?"

"It's none of your business," she snapped, turning on her heel to leave.

Neito stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "It kind of is my business when you're putting yourself in danger. What if you get hurt? Or worse, what if the cops get involved? Have you even thought about what this could do to your future?"

Itsuka glared at him, her hands balling into fists. "This is my best option, Neito. I don't have another choice."

Neito's smug façade faltered, replaced by genuine concern. "I get it, you want to be stronger or prove something, but this? This is crazy! If you need training, talk to the broccoli boy. He'd probably help you out, and it wouldn't involve sneaking around like this."

"It's not about training," Itsuka muttered, her voice softening. She hesitated, the words catching in her throat before she finally admitted, "It's my parents."

Neito's eyes widened slightly. "Your parents? What do you mean?"

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "They're in trouble. Money trouble. They borrowed from… some really bad people, Neito. If I don't come up with the money, those people are going to hurt them."

Neito stared at her, his mouth slightly open in shock. "Wait, what? No way. I thought your dad's ramen shop was doing great. He's always talking about it."

Itsuka shook her head, her expression pained. "It hasn't been great for a while now. There's too much competition, and our regular customers are too old to come as often as they used to. My parents tried everything—promotions, social media—but it didn't work. The shop isn't profitable anymore."

She looked away, her voice trembling. "My dad works so hard. He loves that shop, and now… now it's falling apart, and they're in debt because of it. I don't know what else to do, Neito. If I don't do this, they're going to get hurt."

Neito ran a hand through his hair, his usual cocky demeanor gone. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly. "We're best friends, Itsuka. I know I can be annoying, and I say a lot of crap, but… we could've figured out a plan. Together."

She turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "What plan, Neito? What could we possibly do? I'm just trying to protect them the only way I know how."

He stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll think of something. You don't have to do this alone. I mean it, Itsuka. I'll help you. Whatever it takes, we'll figure it out."

For a moment, she was silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Finally, she nodded, though the doubt in her eyes lingered. "Thanks, Neito. But right now, this is what I have to do."

He sighed, his grip on her shoulder tightening slightly. "Fine. But promise me you'll be careful. If anything happens, you call me, okay?"

"I will," she said, managing a faint smile. "Thanks."

Neito stepped back, his concern still evident. "Don't make me regret trusting you on this. And seriously, think about talking to broccoli boy when he gets back. He's annoying, but he's not useless."

Itsuka rolled her eyes, but a small chuckle escaped her. "Noted. Now go home, Neito. You're making me feel more guilty than I already do."

He smirked, his usual confidence creeping back. "Fine. But if you die out there, I'm going to haunt your funeral with I told you so's."

She shook her head, turning to leave. "Goodnight, Neito."

"Goodnight, Itsuka," he called after her, his voice softer now. As she disappeared down the street, his expression turned serious again. What are you getting yourself into, Itsuka?

The next morning

The morning sun filtered through the classroom windows as Neito Monoma sat at his desk, his fingers drumming rhythmically against the surface. His sharp eyes followed Itsuka Kendo as she approached Izuku Midoriya, the so-called "broccoli boy," who looked like he hadn't slept in days. His messy green hair was even more unkempt than usual, and dark circles clung under his eyes.

Itsuka crossed her arms, her expression one of determination. "Come on, Midoriya, just one rematch. I need to see how much stronger I've gotten."

Izuku groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Kendo, I told you, I'm dead tired. I was working my night job yesterday and trying to fix some damage one of my roommates caused. I'm barely holding it together right now."

Neito perked up at the mention of a night job, leaning slightly closer to eavesdrop. His curiosity burned at the edges of his thoughts.

"What kind of job?" Itsuka asked, tilting her head. "And what happened with your roommate?"

Izuku sighed, rubbing his temples. "Let's just say she has… impulsive tendencies. I had half a mind to kick her out, but we worked it out. And as for the job…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "It's a special job, Kendo. Only I can do it."

Itsuka pouted, placing her hands on her hips. "That's not fair! Why can't I join? I'm strong, and I could help out!"

"No," Izuku said firmly, his tired eyes meeting hers. "It's not something you can join. It's, uh… kind of a secret. Sorry."

"But—" Itsuka began, only to be cut off as Izuku held up his hand.

"Look, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I really can't. Besides, I'm not in the mood to spar right now," he said, stifling a yawn. "I just need some rest."

"Come on," Itsuka pleaded, leaning closer. "Just a quick match? Please? I've been working really hard, and I need to see where I stand. One little fight won't kill you."

Izuku sighed heavily, clearly worn down by her persistence. He pulled out his phone, typing something quickly before showing it to her. "Fine. Here's my address. Come over later, and we'll spar. But just one match, okay?"

Itsuka's face lit up with a triumphant grin as she took down the information. "Yes! Thanks, Midoriya! I'll see you later."

Neito's sharp mind immediately latched onto the information. So, broccoli boy has a secret job? And roommates? Interesting… He leaned back in his chair, his thoughts spiraling. What if he's part of the Yakuza? That would explain the secrecy and the night work. What if he's the one extorting people like Itsuka's parents? The idea sent a thrill through him, even though he had no proof.

When lunch rolled around, Itsuka left her phone on her desk as she went to talk with some of her other friends. Neito stayed behind, glancing at the abandoned device. The temptation gnawed at him. He knew what he was considering was underhanded, scummy, but the opportunity was too good to pass up.

He glanced around the room. Everyone was preoccupied, chatting or leaving for the cafeteria. Carefully, he reached over and picked up Itsuka's phone, navigating to her messages. Sure enough, there it was: Izuku's number and the address to his place.

"Gotcha," Neito muttered under his breath. He quickly copied the information onto his own phone before placing hers back exactly as it had been. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of guilt and satisfaction swirling within him.

What are you doing, Neito? he thought to himself. This could blow up in your face.

But another part of him was thrilled by the potential discovery. If Izuku was involved in something shady, Neito wanted to be the first to find out—and if it could somehow help Itsuka, all the better.

When Itsuka returned to her seat, she didn't seem to notice anything out of place. She flashed him a bright smile as she sat down, completely oblivious.

"Everything okay?" she asked, noticing his pensive expression.

Neito forced a grin, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, just thinking about how annoying broccoli boy is. Don't let him push you around too much."

Itsuka laughed, shaking her head. "I think I'll be the one pushing him around later. He doesn't know what's coming."

Neito chuckled along with her, but inside, his thoughts were racing. He didn't like meddling in Itsuka's business, but he couldn't shake the suspicion growing in his mind. If Midoriya's hiding something, I'll find out. And if he's up to no good, he's not getting away with it.

The rest of the school day passed uneventfully, but Neito's mind stayed on the information he'd uncovered. He didn't know what he was going to do with it yet, but one thing was certain: things were about to get interesting.

Neito followed Itsuka and Izuku from a safe distance as they wound through the city streets. His sharp eyes darted around, taking in their surroundings as they approached a large warehouse tucked away in a quieter part of town. The building's exterior was worn but sturdy, its tall structure casting a long shadow in the fading light.

Neito's suspicions flared. A warehouse? he thought, narrowing his eyes. What are they doing here? This doesn't look like a place for sparring.

He hung back, walking slowly and keeping his distance until they reached the entrance. As they stopped to enter, he quickened his pace, deliberately bumping into them with an exaggerated act of surprise.

"Oh, hey! Fancy running into you two!" Neito said, his voice overly casual.

Itsuka turned, her brows furrowing in confusion. "Neito? What are you doing here?"

He grinned, feigning innocence. "Oh, you know, just running some errands. But hey, it's good to see you both. Mind if I join you?"

Izuku shrugged, too tired to care. "Sure, whatever. Come on in."

Neito's heart raced as they entered the warehouse. Inside, the space was unexpectedly neat, considering the rugged exterior. The floor was clean, and rows of equipment lined the walls. However, some benches were broken, and certain areas looked as though they'd been through a small explosion.

In the corner of the room, a woman with white hair, tan skin, and rabbit-like features was lounging on a beanbag chair, flipping through channels on a TV. Her presence immediately caught Neito's attention.

"Good thing you got a warranty on this one, wife," she said, smirking as she changed channels.

Izuku groaned, rubbing his temples. "I'm too tired for this, Rumi. Can we not?"

Rumi chuckled, setting the remote down. "What? Just trying to keep things light. How've you been?"

"I'm good," Izuku replied, his voice flat as he swayed slightly. "And yeah, I appreciate the apology again. Let's not make a thing of it, okay?"

Rumi raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. You're the boss."

Izuku collapsed forward, clearly exhausted. Rumi caught him with ease, her strong arms lowering him gently onto the beanbag chair. "Seriously, let me help you out when you need it, boss. You look like you're about to pass out."

Izuku waved her off weakly. "I'm fine, just need a minute."

Itsuka and Neito exchanged glances, both trying to process what they'd just witnessed. Itsuka was the first to speak.

"Who… who is she?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and confusion.

Rumi glanced up from the beanbag, her red eyes gleaming mischievously. "Name's Rumi Usagiyama, but you can call me Mirko. And you are?"

"Itsuka Kendo," she said cautiously. "And this is Neito Monoma. So… uh, what are you doing here?"

Rumi smirked, leaning back in the chair. "That's complicated."

Itsuka tilted her head. "Complicated how?"

Rumi shrugged. "Let's just say I'm part of the house now. Long story, really. I had a… rough patch, and this guy decided to pick me up and help me out. Guess I owe him a few."

Izuku sighed heavily, his head leaning back against the edge of the beanbag chair, exhaustion radiating from him. "Rumi's a second-year student at UA," he said, his voice flat and tired. He lifted a hand lazily to point at Itsuka. "By the way, she wants a fight. You take care of her."

Itsuka blinked, confusion clear on her face. "Wait, what—"

Before she could finish her sentence, a foot slammed into her chest with bone-jarring force, launching her backward and flipping her through the air. She hit the ground hard, her breath escaping in a painful wheeze. Neito immediately snapped to attention, his hands raised defensively, his eyes wide with alarm.

Rumi grinned, her crimson eyes gleaming with excitement as she rolled her shoulders. "Oh, two for one? Nice," she said, licking her lips. "Let's see you bleed."

Before they could react, she dashed forward, her speed blurring as she closed the distance in an instant. Her foot lashed out in a devastating arc, catching Neito in the ribs and sending him flying into a nearby stack of crates. The wood splintered under the impact, and he groaned in pain, struggling to get up.

Itsuka scrambled to her feet, clutching her chest where the initial kick had landed. Her breathing was uneven, but her determination flared. She charged at Rumi, throwing a series of punches that were fast and precise. Rumi evaded them effortlessly, her movements fluid and almost playful as she weaved around each strike.

"Not bad," Rumi said, sidestepping another punch and pivoting on her heel. Her leg shot out in a roundhouse kick that caught Itsuka square in the side, lifting her off the ground and sending her skidding across the floor. "But not good enough."

Neito pushed himself upright, coughing as he stumbled forward. "You've got some nerve," he muttered, glaring at Rumi.

he activated his Quirk, copying hers. In an instant, bunny ears sprouted from his head, and his legs felt a surge of power. He crouched low, preparing to strike.

Rumi tilted her head, her grin widening. "Oh, copying my Quirk, huh? Bold move, blondie. Let's see if you can keep up."

Neito dashed forward, his enhanced legs propelling him with newfound speed. He aimed a punch at Rumi, but she was already gone, her speed overwhelming his reaction time. She appeared behind him, her foot slamming into his back with enough force to send him sprawling to the ground.

"You made the worst choice you could've," Rumi said, her tone almost mocking. "You think just copying my Quirk makes you a match for me? My strength isn't just my Quirk—it's my mastery over it."

She focused her attacks on him now, each kick a blur of deadly precision. Neito tried to block, but his lack of experience with her abilities left him wide open. Her heel drove into his shoulder, spinning him around, followed by a brutal knee to his stomach that left him gasping for air.

Itsuka tried to capitalize on the distraction, lunging at Rumi with an attempt to grapple her. Rumi spun gracefully, her movements almost effortless, and dodged the attempt. She countered with a quick jab to Itsuka's midsection, doubling her over, then followed up with an uppercut that sent her stumbling back.

"You're too slow," Rumi said, her voice dripping with confidence. She stepped forward, delivering a series of kicks to both of them. Each strike landed with a resounding crack, their bodies tossed around the warehouse like ragdolls.

Neito's vision blurred as he felt the relentless barrage of attacks. His ears rang, and his body screamed in pain, but he forced himself to stay conscious. He barely had time to recover before Rumi's foot connected with his chest again, sending him sliding across the floor. He gasped for breath, every muscle in his body protesting.

Itsuka managed to get to her feet, her legs shaking as she steadied herself. She launched herself at Rumi again, this time feinting with a punch before attempting a low sweep kick. Rumi leapt over it effortlessly, flipping mid-air and landing behind her. Before Itsuka could react, Rumi's palm slammed into her back, knocking her forward.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that," Rumi said, her grin unwavering. "But persistence without skill is just reckless."

Neito tried once more to capitalize on an opening, using his borrowed speed to launch a desperate flurry of punches. Rumi didn't even bother dodging them all; she blocked with her forearms, her grin never faltering. When she saw her moment, she stepped in close, driving her knee into his stomach with brutal force. He collapsed to the ground, coughing and groaning.

"Come on," Rumi taunted, her voice filled with amusement. "Is that all you've got? I was hoping for a real challenge."

Izuku, meanwhile, was reclining against the beanbag chair, his phone in hand as he scrolled through messages from Mei and Toga. They were dungeon diving, gathering resources for their ongoing projects. He glanced up briefly at the chaos unfolding around him, then shook his head with a sigh.

"They'll be fine," he muttered to himself. "Probably."

The fight continued, one-sided and brutal, as Rumi tossed Itsuka and Neito around with kicks and punches that left them battered and bruised. By the end, both of them were on the floor, groaning in pain, while Rumi stood over them, barely breaking a sweat.

"Not bad," Rumi said, stretching her arms overhead. "But you've got a long way to go before you can take me on. Better luck next time."

Izuku was sound asleep, his soft snores barely audible over the lingering tension in the warehouse. Itsuka and Neito stood up slowly, their bodies aching and sore from the relentless beating they had endured. Rumi, still brimming with energy, smirked as she watched them.

"Thanks for the sparring match," Itsuka said through gritted teeth, her pride still stinging. "I'll get you next time."

Rumi chuckled, waving her hand dismissively. "Sure you will, kid. Keep practicing."

Neito rubbed his ribs, grimacing as he avoided looking directly at the bunny girl. "Yeah, thanks for the… experience," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. His mind, however, was racing. Boss? The word replayed in his head. Rumi had called Izuku "boss," and it gnawed at him. Does that mean broccoli boy is even stronger than her? Is he leading some kind of underground operation?

He didn't dare voice his suspicions aloud, but they festered, fueling his resolve to dig deeper. If Izuku was involved with the Yakuza, or worse, Neito needed to find out.

Itsuka noticed his distracted expression as they limped toward the exit. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Neito blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking about how sore I'm going to be tomorrow. Let's go home."

She nodded, though the exhaustion in her eyes was evident. "Yeah… let's."

The two walked in silence, their footsteps echoing faintly as they left the warehouse. The cool night air stung their bruises, but it was a welcome relief from the oppressive heat inside. They moved slowly, both lost in their thoughts.

Itsuka replayed the fight in her mind, her frustration mounting with each memory. Not a single hit. Not even one. She clenched her fists, the sting of inadequacy biting at her. Rumi's speed, precision, and sheer skill had made her feel completely outclassed. Even Neito, who had copied Rumi's Quirk, hadn't fared any better.

"She called him boss," Itsuka murmured to herself, her brows furrowing. Does that mean Izuku is stronger than her? Or at least on her level? What does that say about me?

Neito glanced at her, catching the faint whisper. "What was that?" he asked.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, shaking her head. "Let's just get home."

They walked in silence until their paths diverged. Neito gave her a half-hearted wave, his thoughts still consumed by his growing suspicions. "Take care, Kendo. And don't beat yourself up too much. That fight was… something else."

Itsuka nodded, her expression tight. "You too, Monoma. See you tomorrow."

As she trudged the rest of the way home, the images of the fight replayed in her mind like a loop she couldn't escape. Rumi's confidence, her power, her skill—it all made Itsuka feel small. By the time she reached her front door, the familiar sound of her parents arguing pulled her from her thoughts.

"You can't keep borrowing money, Hiroshi!" her mother shouted, her voice shrill with desperation. "It's only digging us into a deeper hole!"

"What else am I supposed to do, Ayumi?" her father shot back. "We need that money to keep the shop running!"

Itsuka paused in the doorway, her heart sinking. She couldn't bring herself to step inside and face them. Instead, she slipped upstairs to her room, shutting the door softly behind her. She dropped onto her bed, curling up with her knees to her chest.

The tears came before she could stop them, hot and relentless as they streamed down her face. She pressed her face into her pillow, muffling the sound of her sobs.

I'm so useless, she thought bitterly. I couldn't land a single hit. I can't help my parents. I can't fix anything.

Her fists clenched the fabric of her pillow as anger and frustration bubbled up inside her. She was angry at Rumi for being so much better than her, angry at Izuku for somehow commanding the respect of someone like Rumi, and most of all, angry at herself. Angry for being too weak, too slow, too helpless.

"I just want everything to go back to normal," she whispered into the darkness of her room. "I want the shop to succeed. I want Mom and Dad to stop fighting. I want to feel like… like I'm good at something."

Her shoulders shook as the tears kept coming. She hated this feeling—this overwhelming sense of inadequacy and failure. It gnawed at her, leaving her hollow and raw.

Eventually, exhaustion overtook her, the weight of her emotions too much to bear. Her sobs quieted, and she drifted into a restless sleep, the tears still wet on her cheeks. Her dreams were fragmented and chaotic, filled with images of her parents arguing, of Rumi's mocking grin, and of herself, always one step too slow.

Authors notes:

Thank you so much for reading and supporting me! This chapter was a chance to spotlight some of the side characters—Itsuka, Neito, and Bakugo—while sprinkling in a bit of that Bunny Girl energy we all love. I wanted to have a little fun with their dynamics, but don't worry, things are about to escalate in the next chapter.

For those curious about Izuku's limited involvement here, it's intentional. His "little secret" might just be on the verge of being revealed. And as for Rumi, while Izuku doesn't fully trust her yet, that's part of the tension. Sure, he doesn't want her out on the streets or in that dingy apartment, but trust takes time—and let's just say, some situations are about to force his hand.

Looking ahead, the UA arc is coming soon. We're gearing up for some big events, including the hero course exam! I'll be speeding things up after the next few chapters as the story shifts into high gear. Stay tuned, and as always, thank you for your amazing support! Drop a review if you're enjoying the ride—your feedback keeps me motivated!