Momo Yaoyorozu's heart thundered against her ribcage as the heavy doors slid shut behind them with an ominous clank. The building's sudden silence pressed against her ears, making each breath sound impossibly loud. Her hand still tingled where Yukio had touched it, that casual, intimate gesture replaying in her mind despite her attempts to focus.
Gone was his teasing smirk and lazy drawl. The Yukio beside her moved with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened hallway. This transformation was somehow more unsettling than his flirtatious advances—and far more compelling.
"Drones first," he said, his voice a low command that cut through her spiraling thoughts. He pulled her into an alcove, their shoulders brushing. "We need eyes before we move."
The clear directive steadied her. This was familiar territory—a task requiring precision and knowledge. Momo pressed her palm against her exposed collarbone, feeling the familiar warmth of her Quirk activating. She focused on the molecular structure of the drone: carbon fiber frame, miniature propellers, wireless camera components, power source.
The first drone materialized smoothly from her palm, small enough to fit comfortably in her hand yet sophisticated enough to navigate the building's interior. She held it out to Yukio, unable to suppress a small shiver as his fingers brushed against hers. His skin was hot, almost feverish.
"Good," he murmured.
"Now we can see," he said, pulling out his phone. Yukio tapped the screen, splitting it into four quadrants—one for each drone feed. He stepped closer to her, his shoulder pressing against hers as he held the phone where they both could see.
Momo's breath caught at his proximity. The faint scent of his cologne—something expensive and subtle—mingled with the underlying musk of exertion. She forced herself to focus on the screen instead of the warmth radiating from his body.
The drones moved silently through the building, relaying crisp images of empty hallways and abandoned offices. One drone ascended a stairwell to the fourth floor. The camera feed showed a wide-open space—formerly a bullpen of cubicles, now cleared for the exercise. In the center stood the mock weapon, a black obelisk about five feet tall.
Beside it stood Manga Fukidashi, his speech-bubble head turning nervously as he paced around the weapon. Large text appeared on his face: "BORED!"
"Found one," Yukio whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "Fourth floor, as predicted."
Momo nodded, then frowned. "Where's Yuzuriha?"
Yukio's eyes narrowed. "She's not with him. She's hunting." His voice dropped even lower.
The words sent an involuntary shiver down Momo's spine. Before she could respond, one of the drone feeds flickered and went to static.
"What happened?" she asked, leaning closer to the screen.
"I don't—"
A soft thump sounded above them. Momo looked up just as a shadow detached from a ceiling vent, dropping silently toward them. In the split second before impact, she registered violet eyes, slitted like a cat's, and the flash of sharp claws.
"Found you, High Roller~" Yuzuriha's voice was a sultry purr.
Momo froze, suddenly realizing that Yuzuriha wasn't looking at Yukio—those eyes were locked directly on her. A clawed hand slashed toward her face.
Something solid slammed into her side, sending her stumbling backward. Yukio had shoved himself between her and Yuzuriha, his collapsible bo staff snapping open with a sharp crack. Metal met claw with a sound like striking steel, inches from his face.
"Protecting your partner? How heroic," Yuzuriha taunted, pressing harder against the staff.
Yukio's arms trembled slightly from the force of holding her back, but his lips curved into a smirk. "She's my partner," he grunted, his voice a low, possessive growl that Momo felt more than heard. "And I don't like when people touch my things."
My things?
She was no one's property, certainly not this arrogant boy's. And yet...
Her conflicted thoughts scattered as Yuzuriha launched into a flurry of attacks. The hallway erupted into a blur of motion and sound. Yukio met her blow for blow, his staff whirling to intercept each slash of her claws.
Momo had trained extensively in various forms of combat, had studied fight theory and strategy for years. But what unfolded before her wasn't like any fight she'd ever witnessed. It was intimate, almost sensual, in its violence.
Yuzuriha moved like liquid darkness, her body flowing around Yukio's defenses rather than through them. She didn't just attack; she slid into his personal space, her tail curling around his ankle to throw him off balance, her body pressing close enough that they could have been embracing rather than fighting.
Forced onto the defensive, Yukio had to meet her in kind. His movements matched hers—twist for twist, roll for roll, their bodies entangling in ways that made Momo's cheeks burn.
At one point, Yukio tackled Yuzuriha to avoid a particularly vicious swipe at his throat. They rolled across the floor in a tangle of limbs, coming to rest with Yuzuriha straddling his hips, her claws hovering inches above his jugular.
"You're fast, pretty boy," she whispered, her tail swishing behind her like a pendulum, "but you're too stiff. You need to learn to relax and enjoy the moment."
Yukio bucked his hips, throwing her off balance just enough to push her away. "Sorry, kitty-cat," he panted, rolling to his feet with fluid grace. "I prefer to be the one on top."
Momo stood frozen, a bystander to this chaotic, intimate battle. She felt utterly useless. Her vast knowledge, her analytical mind—none of it was helping. She couldn't even think clearly enough to create a simple weapon.
All she could do was watch as they fought, their bodies locked in a violent dance that looked more like seduction than combat.
It was mesmerizing. And terrifying. Because Yukio was losing.
The first sign came when Yuzuriha's claws raked across his forearm, leaving four parallel lines of red. Yukio hissed in pain but kept fighting. Then another slash caught his shoulder, tearing through the fabric of his costume. A third opened a cut along his cheekbone.
His movements were becoming sluggish, his breathing more labored. Sweat plastered white hair to his forehead as he struggled to keep pace with Yuzuriha's relentless assault.
For one brief moment, his eyes locked with Momo's. She saw something there that made her heart stutter.
"Momo! Smoke!" he yelled, his voice strained as he barely deflected another slash.
The command jolted her into action. Creation was instinctive now—she didn't even need to think about the molecular structure. A smoke grenade materialized in her palm, its weight solid and reassuring.
Yukio's hand shot out, snatching the grenade. He pulled the pin and threw it down in one smooth motion. White smoke billowed outward, engulfing them in seconds.
Momo gasped as the world dissolved into a blinding fog. She felt lost, disoriented—until a warm hand closed around hers.
"This way!" Yukio pulled her forward, his phone in his other hand, its screen glowing faintly through the smoke. One drone feed remained active, a lifeline guiding them through the chaos.
They ran blindly, Momo putting her complete trust in Yukio's lead. Behind them, she heard Yuzuriha's frustrated growl turn into a taunting laugh that echoed off the walls.
Yukio yanked her through a doorway, then slammed it shut behind them. They appeared to be in some kind of office space. Without hesitation, he dragged a heavy desk across the floor, barricading the door.
"That won't hold her for long," he panted, leaning against the wall. His chest heaved with exertion.
Momo stared at him, truly seeing him for the first time since the fight began. Blood trickled from the cut on his cheek. More seeped through the tears in his costume where Yuzuriha's claws had found their mark. His white hair was disheveled, damp with sweat.
And he was still holding her hand.
"You're hurt," she said softly, reaching toward the cut on his face with her free hand.
Yukio caught her wrist before she could touch him. "I'm fine. We need to regroup and come up with a new plan."
His eyes, those unsettling violet irises, were clear and focused despite his injuries. Looking into them, Momo felt something shift inside her. The lingering shock and fear began to burn away, replaced by a new, unfamiliar emotion. Determination. Maybe even anger.
This boy—this arrogant, insufferable, captivating boy—had placed himself between her and danger without hesitation. Had taken wounds meant for her. Was still fighting, still strategizing, despite his injuries.
And what had she done? Frozen. Created a single smoke grenade when prompted.
She was Momo Yaoyorozu, recommended student, heir to a business empire, possessor of one of the most versatile Quirks in their class. She had spent years studying, preparing, training for this moment.
And she would not be a liability.
"First," she said, gently extracting her hand from his grip, "we treat those wounds." Her voice was steadier than she expected. "Then we come up with a plan—together."
She pressed her palm to her stomach, focusing. A first aid kit materialized, compact but complete with everything they would need.
Yukio's eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn't argue. He simply watched as she opened the kit and removed antiseptic wipes and butterfly bandages.
"This will sting," she warned, stepping closer to him.
"I think I can handle it, Princess," he replied, the familiar teasing tone returning to his voice despite their situation.
Momo ignored the nickname, concentrating instead on cleaning the cut on his cheek. Yukio remained perfectly still under her ministrations, his eyes never leaving her face. The intensity of his gaze made her pulse quicken, but she refused to let it fluster her.
"She knew our plan," Momo said quietly as she applied a bandage to the cut. "She was waiting for us."
Yukio nodded. "Cats hunt by ambush. I should have anticipated that."
"We need a new strategy." Momo moved to his arm, rolling up the torn sleeve to access the claw marks beneath. "One that accounts for her superior senses and combat skills."
"And her partner," Yukio added. "Manga might seem harmless, but his Quirk is no joke."
Momo's mind raced as she cleaned his wounds, the familiar routine of first aid allowing her thoughts to flow more freely. "What if we used their strengths against them?"
Yukio tilted his head, a glimmer of interest in his eyes. "I'm listening."
"Yuzuriha relies on her enhanced senses," Momo said, gaining confidence as the plan took shape in her mind. "But those same senses make her vulnerable to sensory overload."
A slow smile spread across Yukio's face. "And Manga's Quirk requires line of sight and vocalization to be effective."
Momo nodded, excitement building. "I can create flashbangs for Yuzuriha and sonic dampeners for Manga. With both of them temporarily neutralized—"
"We can go straight for the weapon," Yukio finished, his smile widening into something genuine—not his usual calculated smirk, but a real expression of appreciation. "That's brilliant, Princess."
The praise sent a warm flush through Momo's body. She finished bandaging his arm and stepped back, suddenly aware of how close they were standing.
"There's just one problem," Yukio said, his expression growing serious again. "Getting past Yuzuriha won't be easy. She's guarding the approach to the weapon room."
"Then we divide and conquor." Momo looked up, a small smile playing at her lips.
Yukio's eyes widened, then he laughed—a genuine sound of surprise and delight. "Now you're thinking like a winner."
"I'll need to create climbing gear," she said, pushing away the conflicted feelings. "And the flashbangs. You'll need to be ready to charge them for maximum effect."
Yukio nodded, his expression sobering as they returned to the task at hand. "You create, I'll charge. So, what's your plan?"
===
Riki's Stroll
Sup.
You know, sometimes I wonder about the logistics of these author notes. Like, am I breaking the fourth wall? Are you the reader inside the fiction reading this fiction? Or am I addressing the real world from inside a fictional construct?
Philosophical musings aside, life's been a strange blend of busy and chill lately. Finally caved and bought Persona 3 Reload for PC. Been eyeing it since I got paid, but between writing chapters for MSS (My Scumbag System) and working on whatever the hell this is, finding actual gaming time has been like trying to find a plot hole in my writing—theoretically possible but practically nonexistent.
Worth every penny though. There's something deeply satisfying about juggling high school drama and shadow-killing that speaks to my soul. If I had more time, I'd probably just lock myself in my apartment for a week with nothing but coffee and instant ramen. The healthy writer lifestyle, you know?
Speaking of MSS, seems like people are actually enjoying that which is really cool. If you've got time to kill between updates here, first 35K words are free. That's like... a small novel's worth of content. Just saying.
Anyway, back to our regularly scheduled program. Gotta say, I'm enjoying watching Momo come into her own here. Girl's got layers, you know? And Yukio... well, let's just say that sometimes characters take on a life of their own. I might be the god of this little universe, but even gods can be surprised by their creations.
Oh, and be sure to vote for Satori in the rankings for MSS. Can't let the immortal snail overtake him. Don't ask me what that means—just trust that it's important in ways your mortal mind cannot comprehend.
Coffee's getting cold. Chapter deadline's looming. Such is the glamorous life of a writer.
Later.
Riki