The following day began before the sun fully rose.
Izuku woke to the faint sound of movement in the kitchen. Which was a few meters away.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of the rooftop house, letting the unfamiliar quiet settle around him.
He sat up and stretched, bones popping softly, then padded barefoot down the short hallway. The scent hit him first — vegetables, spices, something sizzling.
Rumi stood at the stove, back to him, hair tied high. She wasn't in her hero gear — just a tank top and shorts — but even relaxed, she radiated coiled energy. Like a spring that never fully unwound.
"You stare at people often?" she asked without turning around.
Izuku blinked. "…How do you hear me looking at you?"
"You still have a lot to learn"
He stepped into the kitchen fully, leaning against the counter. "You always cook this early?"
"Fuel first. Training second. Patrol third." She flipped something in the pan with a sharp flick of her wrist. "You don't build a body like mine eating cereal."
He glanced at the counter. Eggs. Sautéed greens. Grilled chicken. Rice. Carrots, of course.
"…That's a lot."
"You punch like a freight train. Eat."
He didn't argue.
They ate at the small table by the window, sunlight slowly spilling across the rooftop garden outside. There wasn't awkward silence. Just the sound of utensils and the distant hum of the city waking up.
After breakfast, she didn't waste time.
"Alright time to train"
He followed her out. The air was cool. The city stretched below them in steel and glass and concrete. She stepped into the open training space and rolled her shoulders once.
" Arw we not heading below?"he asked.
" Oh no. That's just for sparing. I'll be teaching you to
"Yesterday was fun," she said. "Today isn't."
Izuku's lips curved faintly. "I'm offended."
"You should be." She disappeared. No warning. The crack in the rooftop concrete came half a second later.
Izuku shifted instinctively — not backward, not forward — but sideways.
A kick carved through the air where his head had been. The force alone sliced the air hard enough to sting his cheek.
She landed, pivoted, came again. Faster
Rumi didn't use any flashy arcs this time. Just brutal efficiency. She attacked from angles that forced him to move awkwardly. Corners of vision. Dead zones. Blind approaches.
He adjusted. At first he tracked her with sight. Then sound. Then subtle air displacement against his skin.
Her knee came for his ribs — he rotated just enough to let it glance off. Her heel swept for his ankle — he hopped, twisted, and barely cleared it.
She smiled mid-attack.
"Good."
He exhaled slowly and changed rhythm.
Instead of reacting after impact cues, he moved during the muscle shift before them. The next time she lunged, his hand was already there, catching her shin cleanly mid-air.
For half a second, they froze like that — her leg in his grip, their eyes locked.
Then she twisted, flipped out of it, and landed lightly several feet away.
"…That's new," she said.
After sparring that afternoon, they hadn't slowed down once.
A purse-snatcher thought he could slip through a crowded shopping street — Rumi had bounced off a traffic light and planted him face-first into the pavement before he made it ten meters.
Izuku had been there a second later, already steadying the old woman whose bag had nearly been stolen, offering her a soft, reassuring smile like it had all been routine.
Two robberies followed. One loud and sloppy — three amateurs with mismatched masks and shaking hands. The other more organized — a coordinated smash-and-grab at a jewelry store. That one had made Rumi's ears twitch.
"You see that?" she'd muttered mid-fight as she snapped a shotgun out of someone's hands.
"Yeah," Izuku had replied, already disarming another with a precise wrist-lock. "They're not random."
And then there was the man on the rooftop.
He hadn't been a villain. Just tired. Desperate. One leg already hanging over the ledge, hands trembling as the wind whipped his coat behind him.
Rumi had started forward — direct, forceful, ready to grab him if necessary.
Izuku had stopped her with a hand on her arm.
"Let me."
He'd stepped close enough that the man could hear him without shouting.
He used calm, steady words.
"You're not weak for feeling overwhelmed," Izuku had said. "But you don't get to decide it's over when there are still people who haven't seen you win yet."
The man had cried.
And stepped back.
By the time dusk rolled in, both of them were drained — not physically exhausted but worn in that deeper way that only comes from a day filled with people.
Now they sat side by side on an old swing set in a quiet park tucked between apartment buildings. The paint on the metal frame was chipped. The rubber seats creaked softly beneath their weight.
The sky above them was a wash of violet and fading gold. City lights blinked on one by one, like stars being turned on manually.
A faint scent of impending rain hung in the air, heavy but distant. Their takeaway coffee steamed gently in the cooling evening.
For once, the city wasn't screaming.
It was breathing.
"It was honestly way livelier than usual today. Wonder why," Rumi muttered, rocking her swing lazily with the heel of her shoe. Her white hair was messier now, strands clinging lightly to her forehead. "It's been months since I've had to deal with this many things in one day."
Izuku leaned back slightly, the chains groaning softly above him. He took a slow sip of coffee, eyes scanning the skyline instinctively.
Red aircraft warning lights blinked on distant rooftops. A train rumbled somewhere far off. Sirens wailed faintly, but not urgently.
"Probably a villain group testing response times," he said calmly. "Or probing weak districts. Could be moving resources."
Rumi glanced at him sideways.
"You analyze everything like that?"
"I like patterns."
"Hm."
She stretched her legs out, boots lightly scraping gravel. "There are heroes assigned after hours. Night shifts. Patrol rotations." She yawned, rolling her shoulders. "I'm not technically on schedule right now… but if you want, we can hang around longer. Make sure everything's stable."
She downed the rest of her coffee in one smooth motion and flicked the cup toward a nearby bin.
It spun once in the air. Clunk. Perfect. Izuku watched it land, unimpressed.
"I don't mind," he said. He crumpled his own empty cup without looking, flicked his wrist.
The paper arced across the entire park — over a bench, past a tree — and dropped neatly into a bin on the opposite side.
Silence.
Rumi slowly turned her head.
"…Show-off."
"You did it first."
"Mine was closer."
"Skill is skill."
She snorted.
"You're lucky you're strong. Otherwise I'd make you run laps for that."
He was about to respond when—
CRASH.
The sound tore through the quiet like a bomb going off. The ground beneath their feet trembled hard enough to rattle the swing chains. A flock of birds erupted from nearby trees, scattering into the darkening sky.
Both of them were already standing.
Rumi's ears stood upright, twitching sharply. Her gaze snapped toward the south side of the district.
Smoke.Dark and rising. Another impact echoed — heavier this time. Izuku's eyes sharpened instantly. His relaxed demeanor evaporated.
"South district," he said quietly.
Rumi grinned "Guess our break's over." She crouched low.
The concrete beneath her boots cracked slightly.
"Let's go."
They launched at the same time. The swings were still swaying behind them as they vanished into the night.
TO BE CONTINUED