Stars and Stripes canceled all her appearances for the day. Her agent would undoubtedly be livid—this leg of her Japanese tour had been meticulously scheduled down to the minute—but frankly, she didn't care. There were more important things in life than shaking hands and posing for cameras. Like brunch. And old friends. And mimosas.
She and Nemuri lounged on the balcony of her high-rise suite, the Tokyo skyline stretching endlessly before them. The midday sun bathed the city in warm gold, reflecting off glass skyscrapers, while the streets below pulsed with life—pedestrians weaving between storefronts, the distant chime of a tram, the hum of conversation carried on the breeze. The air was thick with the scent of citrus from their drinks, the buttery richness of freshly baked scones, and the faint floral note of Nemuri's perfume.
Stars and Stripes reached for a cannoli, her lips curving into a smirk. "And so the plan was to hide the diamonds in the queen's ass."
Nemuri nearly choked on her mimosa. Her laugh was unrestrained and infectious, a full-bodied sound that shook her shoulders as she set her glass down to keep from spilling. "You are not serious."
"Oh, I'm dead serious." Stars and Stripes leaned back in her chair, enjoying the way Nemuri's laughter filled the space. "The guy thought it was the perfect plan. Too bad the queen had a surprise medical exam that day."
Nemuri wiped away a tear, still giggling as she leaned against the balcony railing. Below them, the world carried on, oblivious to the absurdity of their conversation. "Only you would tell a story like this over brunch."
"And only you would appreciate it," Stars and Stripes shot back, raising her glass in a lazy toast.
Nemuri clinked her glass against hers before taking a slow sip, letting the bubbles tickle her tongue. "You know," she said after a pause, "I had to find out from other people that you were in town. A text, a postcard—hell, even a cryptic message in my coffee would've been nice."
Stars and Stripes sighed dramatically, stretching her legs out as she leaned back into her chair. "You wound me. But honestly, would you rather have had a text or this grand surprise entrance?"
Nemuri gave her a pointed look. "A little heads-up wouldn't have killed you."
Stars and Stripes grinned. "Probably not. But I needed a day where nobody expected anything from me. Just this." She gestured to their sun-drenched table, the half-eaten pastries, the sparkle of champagne in their glasses. "No press, no cameras, no speeches. Just two old friends having brunch and talking about royal ass-smuggling."
Nemuri chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I can't argue with that." She stretched lazily, letting the warm breeze ruffle her hair. "Just don't be surprised if I track you down next time. I will hunt you down."
Stars and Stripes smirked, raising her glass again. "I'd expect nothing less."
Their glasses met with a soft clink, and for a moment, the world outside faded into the background. The city would still be there, the obligations and expectations still waiting—but for now, there was only sunlight, good food, and the comfortable company of an old friend.
"Speaking of ass-smuggling," the blonde Pro Heroine mused, her voice rich with amusement as she traced a finger around the rim of her glass, "did you see the Adonis himself glistening in the sun? I thought I was going to melt." She waved a hand dramatically in front of her face, as if trying—and failing—to cool herself down. The memory alone was enough to send a pleasant shiver down her spine.
Earlier that day, she and Nemuri had found themselves at the natatorium, where Nemuri was supposed to be chaperoning the 1-A students. Instead, her attention had been drawn to a different matter entirely—assessing which of her male students qualified to break her ever-flexible 20 and under rule. Cathleen, meanwhile, had been far too distracted by a certain someone to pay Nemuri's musings much mind.
Her lovely rabbit boy.
She could still see it—water cascading off his lean, toned frame, his skin kissed by the light as if the sun itself had chosen to worship him. Every ripple of muscle, every languid movement as he pushed his damp hair back—it had all felt deliberate, as if he were performing just for her.
"Looking sexy just for me in that water," she thought dreamily, her fingers lightly tapping against her glass. "It's like you're asking me to take you away from these wretched whores."
She sighed, sinking deeper into her chair, her gaze hazy with fond recollection. "My lovely, sweet cinnamon roll… You have no idea what you do to me."
The R-Rated Pro Heroine, who had been sipping her drink with a bemused expression, finally spoke. "You mean our precious cinnamon roll?" Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. "Because if you thought I didn't notice him, you're sorely mistaken."
Cathleen gasped in mock betrayal, placing a hand on her chest. "How dare you? He was mine first."
Nemuri chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, please. You were two seconds away from diving into that pool after him. If I hadn't been distracted myself, I would've had to physically hold you back."
Cathleen huffed, flicking a stray crumb from the table. "Can you blame me? The boy is too beautiful. Like some divine offering sent to test my restraint. And let me tell you, Nemuri—" she leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dipping into a sultry whisper, "my restraint is wearing thin."
Nemuri raised an eyebrow, lazily swirling her mimosa. "Is that so? Because from where I was sitting, you weren't exactly restraining yourself. You were practically vibrating every time he adjusted his swim trunks."
Cathleen let out an exaggerated groan, covering her face for a brief moment before peeking through her fingers. "Because fate is cruel! The universe knows I suffer! It dangles perfection in front of me and expects me to just—just watch?!"
"That is generally how chaperoning works," Nemuri deadpanned.
Cathleen clicked her tongue. "Technicalities. Besides, I'm telling you, he lingered, Nemuri. His eyes lingered on me. That smolder? That innocent glance? He knew exactly what he was doing."
Nemuri chuckled, lifting her glass. "And what makes you think he was doing it on purpose?"
Cathleen placed a hand over her heart, tilting her head as if overcome with dramatic sorrow. "Because I felt it. In my soul. In my bones. He was calling out to me. Begging me to rescue him from those lesser beings around him."
Nemuri let out an unladylike snort. "You need help."
Cathleen grinned, lifting her mimosa for another toast. "Oh, I need something, alright."
"The problem is," she sighed, taking another leisurely sip of her mimosa, "bone-jumping may become an issue. You do know that he has a girlfriend, right?"
A record scratch wouldn't have been enough to capture the sheer, visceral shift in Cathleen's demeanor. Her easy, indulgent expression froze, the playful warmth in her sapphire eyes extinguishing in an instant. The glass in her hand let out a hairline crack, web-like fissures forming as her grip turned ironclad. It wasn't just a reaction—it was an omen.
The temperature around them seemed to plummet, and Nemuri swore she saw the air ripple from the sheer force of suppressed rage.
"Who," Cathleen began, her voice like the calm before a category-five hurricane, "is the bitch or skank who thinks he is their personal property?"
Nemuri barely resisted the urge to scoot her chair back. She had seen Cathleen furious before—on the battlefield, in the face of political nonsense, when her agent tried to put her in a pantsuit instead of her beloved flag-spangled ensemble—but this? This was different. This was territorial.
And to make matters worse, smoke was beginning to curl up from beneath the table.
Nemuri tilted her head, watching as the thick, ominous tendrils coiled around the legs of Cathleen's chair. This was no longer about mild infatuation—this was a claim being challenged.
Sighing, Nemuri twirled her glass between her fingers before finally answering, "Some Faunus exchange student from Remnant."
That should have been enough information for most people.
But Cathleen wasn't most people.
Her expression barely shifted, but Nemuri could see the change—the twitch in her jaw, the tightening of her shoulders, the way her fingers curled just so around the shattered rim of her glass, heedless of the shards pressing into her palm.
"I don't care if that bitch is a Diclonii," Cathleen said, voice sharp enough to cut steel. Her free hand clenched into a fist at her side. "I want. A. Name."
Nemuri debated her options, but let's be honest—stalling would only make things worse.
"Blake Belladonna."
There was a beat of silence, a pregnant pause that stretched between them like the universe itself was holding its breath.
Then, Cathleen stood.
The chair scraped against the balcony floor, the sound grinding against Nemuri's nerves as the blonde Pro Heroine straightened to her full height. The tension in her frame had vanished, replaced with a serene, chilling smile that Nemuri did not like.
And then, she started walking.
Her footsteps were slow, purposeful—like a predator who had just caught the scent of her prey.
Nemuri's instincts kicked in. "Where are you going?" she asked, even though she already knew.
Cathleen didn't even break stride. "Looking for a mallet."
Nemuri sighed, rubbing her temples. "Cathleen—"
"That Faunus bitch took something that doesn't belong to her," Cathleen continued, her voice eerily casual as she disappeared down the hall. "And for that? She has to go."
Nemuri lounged in her chair, still sipping at what remained of her mimosa, assuming—hoping—that Cathleen was merely venting. The blonde had always been the dramatic type, passionate and prone to theatrics, but surely, surely, she wouldn't actually—
Thunk.
Nemuri's gaze lifted as the sound of something heavy hitting the floor reached her ears.
There, standing in the doorway, was Cathleen. And in her hands?
A baseball bat.
Not just any bat, but a well-worn, heavily used bat—the kind that had seen its fair share of impact. The wood gleamed under the sunlight, polished yet menacing, as the blonde Pro Heroine let it rest against her shoulder with an all-too-casual ease.
Nemuri blinked. "Stars and Stripes."
The blonde smiled. "Midnight."
Nemuri sat forward slowly, eyeing her friend as if she were a live grenade. "You're not actually serious."
She tilted her head, humming thoughtfully before giving the bat a light pat. "Oh, but I am. I'm going to send Whiskers to the great litter box in the sky."
A heavy silence settled between them. The wind stirred, rustling the delicate napkins on the table, but Nemuri barely noticed. She had to tread carefully.
"You do realize," Nemuri began, setting her glass down with exaggerated patience, "that she's politically connected to certain people back home? You take a swing at her, and you're not just making enemies with one girl—you're stirring the wrong kind of pot."
The Pro Heroine merely smirked. "Nemuri," she said in a sing-song voice, "I'm American." She gave the bat another light pat, her grin widening. "And if I recall correctly, love trumps all."
Nemuri deadpanned. "That is ridiculous. Also, even if you did try something, she has friends. Strong, dangerous ones. You might be one of the strongest heroines in the world, but even you can't take on an entire network of pissed-off allies."
Cathleen only chuckled, turning the bat over in her hands, testing its weight. "I love to pitch, Nemuri," she cooed, running a gloved thumb along the smooth grain of the wood. "And this bad boy? It loves to catch as it is rated E for everyone."
Nemuri pinched the bridge of her nose. "Cathleen," she said slowly, "murder is not an option."
The shift was instant. The playful, theatrical air around the blonde evaporated, her smirk sharpening into something darker. Her eyes gleamed—not with humor, but with something possessive. Something dangerous.
She stepped forward, just enough for Nemuri to feel the weight of her presence.
"That cinnamon roll is mine," Cathleen whispered, voice dropping to a velvety hush. "Whether he wants it or not."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, with the speed and dexterity befitting her reputation, Nemuri snatched the bat from Cathleen's grasp, spinning it effortlessly in her hand before setting it down against the table with a firm thud.
Cathleen blinked.
Nemuri smiled, but there was steel behind it. "There are other ways to obtain Izuku," she said, tilting her head in mock innocence. "Without invoking violence."
Cathleen crossed her arms, eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh? And what do you propose?"
Nemuri leaned forward, smirk widening.
"Let's strategize."
Later that night….
A drink of mineral water was the final thing on his checklist before heading back to the dorms. He was preparing to head home and do homework he would never finish and plan on watching movies with his girlfriend.
Izuku adjusted the weight of the convenience store bags in his hands, shifting them slightly so the plastic wouldn't dig into his fingers. The night air was cool against his skin, the streets of Musutafu quieter at this hour, save for the occasional rumble of a passing car or the distant chatter of pedestrians. The neon glow of convenience store signs flickered across the pavement, bathing everything in an artificial haze of blues, reds, and yellows.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders as he continued down the street, mulling over his girlfriend's particular requests for the night.
"I remember her telling me that she wasn't a fan of pickles, but she said we're going to need them for tonight."
Izuku didn't question it. He had long since learned to accept the quirks that came with dating a Faunus, even when they didn't make complete sense. After all, he had seen worse—he lived with worse at U.A.
He sighed through his nose, recalling past incidents that had left him somewhere between concerned and resigned. There was the time she filled his bathtub with honey and milk, claiming she wanted to make a "cream of us." He still wasn't sure what that meant, and frankly, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
Then there was the incident with his swim trunks.
He had caught her in the laundry room, holding them up to her face, inhaling deeply. The moment she noticed him, she had straightened up, eyes sharp with faux innocence.
'I was just making sure they were properly laundered,' she had said smoothly, as if sniffing his swim trunks was an everyday, perfectly reasonable occurrence.
Izuku had just nodded and walked away.
It was easier that way.
"She said don't worry about buying buns for our hot dogs because she had the buns. I don't recall having buns, but she knows best."
That one had really confused him. But again—better not to overthink it. He'd learned that lesson early on.
As he rounded the corner, still lost in thought, a voice suddenly cut through the quiet of the night.
"Izuku!"
He stopped mid-step, the sound of his name snapping him to attention. The voice was familiar, confident, and unmistakably female.
Izuku turned his head, his grip instinctively tightening on his bags as he searched for the source. His heart quickened—not in fear, but in the way it always did when he sensed something was about to happen.
Izuku turned around and immediately felt the tension in his shoulders ease when he saw his teacher, Kayama-sensei.
"Oh, thank Dio it's just her."
His relief was instant, and he quickly dipped into a polite bow. "Kayama-sensei! I wasn't expecting to see you out this late."
Nemuri smirked, playfully wagging a finger at him. "I should be saying the same thing, Mister Out-After-Curfew, but hey, don't worry. It'll be our little secret."
Izuku straightened up, letting out a small, nervous chuckle before something about her appearance made him do a double take. She wasn't wearing her usual hero costume or her U.A. faculty attire. Instead, she was dressed in an alluring evening gown—deep, silky, and hugging every curve with a confidence that only she could pull off. Her makeup was flawless, giving her an even more sultry glow under the streetlights.
He swallowed hard. "Uh, are you… going on a date, Sensei?"
Nemuri's grin widened as she flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Oh yeah! A hot one. Just had to stop by and grab a pack of con—" She caught herself mid-sentence, giving Izuku a teasing glance. "—I mean, gum."
Izuku felt his face heat up as he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly questioning when would be the right moment to excuse himself.
That's when another voice entered the conversation—one that carried an unmistakable presence.
"Aren't you going to introduce your friend, Nemuri?"
Izuku's breath caught in his throat as he turned toward the new speaker.
His eyes widened.
The woman standing beside Nemuri was…stunning.
Tall, powerful, and exuding a commanding aura that immediately reminded him of All Might, she stood with an effortless confidence that could put any hero to shame. But unlike All Might's larger-than-life, heroic presence, she carried herself with something far more intense—like a predator assessing her prey.
And she, too, was dressed for the occasion.
Her evening gown was sleek and form-fitting, accentuating every line of muscle and femininity in a way that made his brain short-circuit for a moment. The rich fabric clung to her figure, shifting with every subtle movement. The way she carried herself, the way her sharp blue eyes studied him with interest—it all made Izuku feel…exposed.
Nemuri smirked and gestured toward her companion. "Izuku, meet Stars and Stripes. You may have seen her around."
Izuku struggled with the weight of his bags but managed to extend a hand, still a little stunned. "O-oh! Right! Yes! It's an honor to meet you!"
He had seen her earlier at the pool—standing at a distance, watching. He hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now, standing before her, he could feel the intensity behind that gaze.
Stars and Stripes peered down at him, her smirk widening before she reached forward—not to shake his hand, but to lift it.
She kissed the back of his hand, her lips lingering just long enough to make his entire body lock up.
"A pleasure as well," she murmured, her voice honeyed yet dangerous, her sharp gaze practically drinking him in. "I-zu-ku~!"
His stomach flipped.
The way she dragged out his name, the way her grip on his hand was just a little too firm—it set off every alarm in his head.
He wasn't sure why, but suddenly, leaving this conversation felt very important. Izuku was just about to take his leave when Nemuri suddenly spoke up, her voice laced with amusement.
"Need some help, Midoriya?"
He glanced down at the bags in his hands, instinctively adjusting his grip. "I think I'm fine, thanks. I can manage. Plus, I wouldn't want to stain or scuff your dress."
Nemuri tilted her head peculiarly, her smirk deepening. "Oh, but I insist. Wouldn't we, Cathleen?"
Izuku didn't like the way she said that.
Cathleen, who had been watching him with a particular gleam in her eye, nodded eagerly. "Of course. It'd be our pleasure."
There was something unsettling about how eager she sounded.
Izuku swallowed, shifting his weight as a faint blush crept up his face. He tried to find a polite way out. "You really don't have to. I don't want to be a bother. Plus, I'm only down the street from campus."
Cathleen's expression flickered. The amusement in her features faltered for a fraction of a second, and then her sharp blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly.
"Do you find it offensive or not feel secure for a woman to help you with your bags?"
Izuku stiffened. "What?"
His head snapped up, eyes widening slightly as he processed the tone of her voice. It wasn't playful. It was… challenging.
"No, ma'am! It's not that!" he said quickly, shaking his head. "I just… I don't want to be a burden."
Cathleen smiled again—too wide, too knowing. "Nonsense."
Before he could protest further, she swiftly plucked the bags from his hands, barely even flinching at the weight.
"There! Now, you can rest your hands and back for a few minutes."
Izuku blinked, feeling lighter but also strangely uneasy.
"I do feel a little less pressure from that hard carrying," he admitted, rubbing his wrist with a sheepish smile. "Thanks!"
And yet, as much as he tried to appreciate the gesture, something gnawed at the back of his mind. The way they were looking at him. The way they had insisted. The way his gut twisted, telling him that—despite their kindness—something wasn't right.
Oh, Izuku…haven't you learned in the last hundreds of chapters?
To be continued….