I dragged myself through the Alliance Heights doors, my fingertips pruned beyond recognition and my entire body reeking of industrial-strength dish soap. Four hours of scrubbing burnt cheese and mystery crusts had left me with a newfound respect for custodial staff everywhere and an intense hatred for whoever invented lasagna.
The common room was mercifully empty. Most students had retreated to their rooms for the night, sparing me their curious stares or, worse, their questions about my first punishment session with Bakugo. I could still hear his final declaration echoing in my head: "I'm better than you at everything. Including punishment."
What kind of psychopath turns dishwashing into a competition?
My muscles ached in places I didn't know had muscles. Who knew cleaning pots could be more physically demanding than the entrance exam? I rolled my shoulders, wincing at the tight knot forming between my shoulder blades.
"Need a shower," I muttered to myself, pulling out my phone to check the time. 9:17 PM. I vaguely remembered someone mentioning a bathhouse during the welcome chaos. Some luxurious onsen-style facility that sounded too good to be true for a school dormitory.
A hot bath sounded like heaven right now.
I trudged up to my room, grabbed a clean towel, my phone, and my waterproof headphones. If I was going to soak, I might as well do it with some decent music. The dorm layout was still new to me, but I remembered the general direction of the bathhouse wing.
After taking two wrong turns (stupid building layout), I found what looked like the entrance. There were two doors with kanji symbols that I recognized as gender markers. The men's side looked completely dark and empty.
Must be off-hours. Lucky me.
I slid open the door to the changing area, quickly stripped, and wrapped the towel around my waist. The changing room was nicer than expected—polished wood floors, bamboo benches, and individual lockers for personal items. I stashed my clothes, keeping only my phone and headphones.
When I slid open the door to the actual bath, a wall of steam hit me. The air was thick with moisture and the soothing scent of cypress. Through the haze, I could make out a large, stone-lined pool with a small decorative waterfall at one end, creating a gentle, constant trickle. Stone lanterns cast a soft, amber glow that barely penetrated the steam.
"Damn," I whispered, genuinely impressed. "U.A. doesn't mess around."
I tested the water with my toe. Perfect temperature—hot enough to melt away tension but not so hot it would cook me alive. I slipped in with a satisfied hiss, the heat immediately attacking my sore muscles.
This was worth washing a thousand dishes.
I settled on a smooth stone seat submerged in the water, leaned my head back against the edge, and closed my eyes. I slipped my waterproof headphones over my ears, hit play on my go-to relaxation playlist, and let myself sink into a semi-conscious state.
For the first time since arriving at U.A., I allowed myself to fully relax. Just me, hot water, and music washing away the remnants of a long, bizarre day.
I must have dozed off because the next thing I registered was a subtle shift in the water. The ripples lapped against my chest, disturbing my zen. I cracked one eye open, annoyed at whoever had decided to interrupt my solitude.
Through the thick steam, I could only make out a vague silhouette on the far side of the bath. Probably one of the guys coming in for a late soak. I closed my eye again, trying to recapture my peaceful moment.
But something felt off. The movement in the water was too... delicate. I reluctantly removed my headphones just as a current of air cleared some of the steam.
And there she was.
Momo Yaoyorozu, submerged up to her shoulders in the water, her long black hair piled elegantly on top of her head. Her eyes were closed, her expression one of pure relief as the tension melted from her shoulders.
Then her eyes opened.
Our gazes locked across the steamy water.
Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Her face cycled through an impressive range of expressions in the span of two seconds: confusion, realization, horror, and finally, a mortification so complete it was almost artistic. Her cheeks flushed a shade of red that made Kirishima's hair look pale in comparison.
Okay. This was bad. Very bad. But fixable if handled correctly.
"Yaoyorozu," I raised my hands slowly out of the water to show they were empty. "My deepest apologies. I was with the Lunch Rush earlier. I had no idea if there was a schedule or not."
She sank deeper into the water until only her eyes and the top of her head remained visible.
"I'll leave," I said, maintaining steady eye contact. "Turn your back, please."
She gave a small, jerky nod and turned to face the waterfall. The water cascaded off my body as I stepped out and quickly wrapped my towel securely around my waist.
I headed for the exit, expecting to hear a scream, an accusation, or at minimum, an outraged demand that I never speak of this again. Instead, there was only the sound of gently lapping water.
At the threshold, I paused. "For what it's worth, I'm genuinely sorry for the misunderstanding."
"Wait."
Her voice was so quiet I almost didn't hear it over the waterfall. I froze, one hand on the door frame.
"Yes?"
A long pause. Then: "You... you can stay. If you want."
I turned my head slightly, enough to see her in my peripheral vision. She remained facing away from me, her back rigid with tension.
"Are you sure?"
"The schedule," she said, her voice strained but controlled. "It changes daily. Tonight is actually... co-ed bathing."
I blinked. That didn't sound right at all.
"Co-ed bathing," I repeated slowly.
She sank even lower, until only her eyes remained above the water line. Those eyes—dark, intelligent, and currently filled with mortification—blinked rapidly.
"Well," she bubbled through the water, "perhaps not officially."
"Ah." I nodded. "So this is more of a 'what happens in the bathhouse stays in the bathhouse' situation."
Her head emerged enough for her to speak clearly. "That is absolutely not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
She turned slightly, still keeping her back to me but allowing me to see her profile. Her usually composed features were crumpled with embarrassment.
"I simply meant that since we're both already here, and... and you seemed to be enjoying your bath, and I was enjoying mine, perhaps we could just... respect each other's privacy and continue."
"On opposite sides of the bath," I clarified.
"Precisely." She nodded vigorously. "With the steam providing adequate... visual obstruction."
I suppressed a grin. "That's very pragmatic of you," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "Though I can't help but wonder what Hall Monitor would say about this arrangement."
She visibly winced at the mention of our rule-obsessed classmate. "Please don't tell anyone about this."
"Your secret night bathing is safe with me." I retied my towel securely. "But I think I'll pass on the co-bathing experience. I'm pretty much done anyway."
"Oh." Was that disappointment in her voice? "Of course. That's... that's probably best."
I lingered at the door, curiosity getting the better of me. "Why are you here so late anyway? I figured most people would bathe right after dinner."
She shifted slightly, creating gentle ripples in the water. "I prefer to bathe when it's quiet. No distractions or interruptions. Just me and my thoughts."
"And today, me," I added.
"Yes," she sighed. "And today, unexpectedly, you."
I should have left. The smart play was to walk out, get dressed, and pretend this never happened. But something in her voice—a note of genuine exhaustion beneath the embarrassment—made me pause.
"Rough first day?" I asked.
She was quiet for so long I thought she might not answer.
"I don't know what I expected," she finally said, her voice soft enough that I had to strain to hear it over the waterfall. "But it wasn't... this."
I leaned against the doorframe. "Elaborate."
"I don't mean to complain," she backtracked immediately. "U.A. is incredible, and I'm honored to be here. It's just..."
"Just what?"
"Everyone is so... real." She sounded almost confused. "I've spent my whole life in controlled environments. Private schools. Private tutors. Structured interactions with pre-selected peers."
"And now you've got Bakugo trying to murder people on day one," I finished for her.
A small laugh escaped her. "And you punching him for it."
"He had it coming."
"Perhaps." The water rippled as she shifted. "But I'm not used to such... directness. Such raw emotion. Everyone here is so passionate about who they are and what they want."
"And that bothers you?"
"It frightens me," she admitted, so quietly I almost missed it. "I don't know if I belong here."
The vulnerability in her voice caught me off guard. On the surface, Yaoyorozu seemed to have everything—money, looks, intelligence, and one of the most versatile Quirks in our class. But underneath all that perfection lurked the same insecurity I'd seen in countless marks at the casino tables. The fear of being exposed as an impostor.
"Want to know a secret?" I said.
I saw her head turn slightly. "What?"
"Everyone feels that way. Some are just better at hiding it than others."
"Even you?" She sounded genuinely surprised.
"Me?" I scoffed, falling back into my practiced nonchalance. "I know exactly where I belong. Right at the top."
She turned a bit more, studying me through the steam. "You're very confident."
"I'm very good."
"At what, exactly?"
"Everything that matters." I flashed her a grin. "Creating explosions. Pissing off Bakugo. Looking effortlessly attractive while washing dishes."
That earned me another small laugh. "I heard about your punishment. Four hours with Bakugo and the dishes still intact? I'm impressed."
"We had a translator. Lunch Rush's apprentice."
"Ah, that explains it."
A comfortable silence fell between us, broken only by the gentle sound of the waterfall. I should have left five minutes ago, but there was something unusually refreshing about talking to Yaoyorozu like this—no audience, no posturing, just honest conversation through a wall of steam.
"You know," she said suddenly, "you're different than I expected."
"How so?"
"You present yourself as... someone who doesn't take anything seriously. But then you punch Bakugo for insulting Quirkless people, and now you're being... it's contradictory."
I shrugged, though she couldn't see it. "Maybe I contain multitudes."
"Or maybe the careless act is just that—an act."
She was too perceptive by half. Time to change the subject.
"So, Princess, what made you want to be a hero? Daddy own a hero agency?"
I expected her to bristle at the nickname, but she just sighed. "My family runs Yaoyorozu Industries. Support gear manufacturing, primarily. And no, that's not why I want to be a hero."
"Then why?"
"Because..." She paused, seeming to gather her thoughts. "Because with my Quirk comes responsibility. I can create anything I understand the molecular structure of. That's an incredible power, one that could help so many people."
"Very noble."
"It's not about nobility," she countered. "Why waste potential?"
There was something mechanical in her response, like she was reciting lines from a script she'd been handed years ago.
"And what do you want?" I asked.
"Pardon?"
"Not what your Quirk is good for. Not what makes logical sense. What do you, Momo Yaoyorozu, actually want?"
The water rippled as she shifted uncomfortably. "I... I'm not sure I understand the question."
"No, I think you understand it perfectly." I pushed off from the doorframe. "But that's a heavy topic for the first day, especially when you're naked in a bath and I'm standing here in a towel. We'll save it for another time."
"Wait," she called as I turned to leave. "What about you? Why do you want to be a hero?"
I paused with my hand on the door. "Who says I want to be a hero?"
"You're at U.A.," she pointed out.
"I'm at the most prestigious school for ambitious people with dangerous powers," I corrected. "Being a hero is just one potential outcome."
"And what's your desired outcome?"
I smiled, though she couldn't see it. "To win, Princess. Whatever game we're playing, I plan to win it."
I slid the door closed before she could respond, leaving her alone with the steam and the waterfall. In the changing area, I quickly dried off and got dressed, my mind replaying our strange conversation.
Yaoyorozu… I'd have to pay closer attention to her.
For strategic reasons, of course.