Within seconds, they arrived above the scene.
From the rooftop across the street, the situation was clear.
A massive beer truck lay overturned across the busy main road, its metallic frame twisted and crushed against a bent lamppost. The front cabin had caved in, windshield spiderwebbed with cracks. One tire still spun lazily in the air.
Golden liquid streamed across the asphalt in shimmering rivers, mixing with shattered glass. The sharp, sour scent of alcohol hung heavy in the night air.
A group of masked criminals were scrambling around the wreck like raccoons in a dumpster — laughing, shouting, kicking open crates and tossing bottles into the back of two stolen vans parked crookedly nearby.
One of them had already popped open a bottle.
"Score of the year, boys!"
Izuku exhaled slowly.
"…Couldn't they have just robbed a tavern or something?" he muttered as he dropped gently to the street below, boots barely making a sound on the soaked asphalt.
Mirko landed beside him in a smooth roll, rising in one fluid motion. The pavement cracked faintly beneath her heels.
"Alright guys," he called out, voice calm but carrying cleanly across the street, "fun's over."
The criminals froze. Then slowly turned.
One squinted.
"…Who even are you, broccoli head!?"
Laughter erupted.
"Yeah! You got some plant powers or something?"
"Green Giant's sidekick!"
"Hey! It's WhatApp Man!"
That one doubled over laughing at his own joke.
Mirko didn't wait for round two. "No time for reasoning," she said flatly—
—and vanished.
BOOM.
Her kick connected with the loudest one's jaw. The force sent him flying through two stacks of beer crates. Bottles exploded in a spray of glass and foam.
The others shouted in panic.
"Hero—!"
Too late.
Mirko moved like a bullet ricocheting through the street. A spinning heel cracked one into a van door. An upward knee launched another clean off his feet. She fought close-range, brutal and efficient — no wasted movement.
Izuku tilted his head slightly.
'Damn… WhatApp Man,' he thought dryly, eyes locking onto the idiot who'd coined it. 'I'll show you WhatApp Man.'
He stepped forward. The man swung a metal pipe in desperation. Izuku caught it with two fingers.
Bent it casually. The metal screamed as it folded in half. The criminal's grin vanished.
Izuku drew his fist back.
For a split second, the world slowed.
To the man's eyes, Izuku's fist seemed to expand — filling his entire field of vision, blotting out the streetlights behind it. The air pressure alone made his ears pop.
He saw death. Literal death. His face went pale. He immediately urinated and crapped himself on the spot.
Izuku stopped mid-punch.
Blink.
"…Nasty dude," he muttered.
Instead of obliterating him, Izuku flicked his forehead.
TAP.
The man launched backward like he'd been hit by a truck, skidding across the alcohol-slick asphalt before crashing unconscious into a dumpster.
Izuku cracked his neck and stepped fully into the fray. Another criminal charged with a crowbar.
Izuku sidestepped, deflected the strike with the back of his wrist, and delivered a short, compact jab to the man's chest.
CRACK.
Air exploded from his lungs as he folded and collapsed.
Two more rushed him at once.
Izuku moved through them like water around stones — duck, pivot, palm strike, elbow, sweep.
They dropped almost simultaneously.
Across the street, Mirko had just slammed the last standing thug head-first into the side of the overturned truck.
The vehicle shook. Silence fell. Broken glass clinked softly as it settled. The only remaining sound was the hum of distant traffic and the faint hiss of leaking beer.
Izuku walked toward the truck.
The terrified driver peeked from behind a nearby car, face ghost-white.
Izuku crouched slightly, slid his fingers under the crushed frame of the vehicle—
—and lifted.
Effortless.
The entire truck rose off the ground as if it weighed nothing. He rotated it carefully and set it upright, metal groaning but stable.
The driver stumbled forward in disbelief.
"I-it's… it's fixed?"
"You'll want to have it checked," Izuku said gently. "But you're safe now."
Mirko walked over, brushing dust and broken glass off her thigh-high boots. She looked at the unconscious pile of criminals, then at Izuku.
A slow smirk spread across her face.
"Looks like one of those insults hurt you," she said, elbowing his shoulder lightly.
"Hurt me?" Izuku scoffed. "I'm immune to insults."
She raised an eyebrow. He held her stare.
There was the faintest twitch near his eye.
Rumi burst out laughing. "Sure you are, WhatApp Man."
"…Wow"
She stepped closer, then without warning hopped into his arms. Princess carry.
Izuku caught her automatically.
" huh?" Izuku reacted , confused.
" You can jump for miles so It's efficient," she replied smugly. "And I get the best view."
"…Of the city?"
She smirked.
"Sure."
Izuku rolled his eyes, crouched slightly—
—and blasted upward.
The street shrank beneath them. Police sirens approached from a distance to clean up what remained. The city lights stretched out endlessly, glowing gold and blue under the night sky.
The cool air rushed past them as they soared over Shibuya. Mirko rested comfortably in his arms, one arm draped loosely around his neck.
"Not bad, One," she murmured.
Izuku smiled faintly as the rooftop home came into view.
"Just another night."
....
They arrived back home. As Izuku landed lightly on the roof, Rumi slid off his arm. She turned to him immediately, leaning in to press a quick, warm kiss to his cheek.
"You see, now that's efficient travel. Thank you, Zuzu," she said, voice dripping with that familiar teasing lilt.
'I'm starting to hate those nicknames,' he thought, even as the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
They stepped inside together. The apartment was quiet except for the soft click of the door shutting behind them.
Izuku didn't bother with slow movements—he reached behind his neck and peeled the sweat-damp hero suit off in one practiced motion, rolling the tight fabric down his shoulders, chest, and arms.
The material clung stubbornly for a second before coming free with a faint, sticky sound. He stepped out of the legs, balled it up, and dropped it straight into the laundry hamper near the hallway.
The suit was good—great, even—but gods, it did *not* breathe. A thin sheen of sweat still glistened across his collarbone and down the center of his abdomen.
He stood there in just his black boxer briefs, rolling his shoulders to shake off the lingering tightness.
He felt eyes on him before he even looked up.
Rumi hadn't moved toward the bedroom yet.
She was leaning one hip against the kitchen island, arms loosely crossed, watching him with open interest. When he finally lifted his head and met her gaze, one of her ears flicked.
"What?" he asked, voice low and a little amused.
"You got comfortable *fast*," she said, letting out a soft chuckle.
Her eyes made a slow, deliberate sweep from his shoulders down to the defined lines of his hips, then back up again. Unapologetic. Appreciative.
Izuku let a small, crooked smile pull at his lips. "You never told me not to," he said, taking one casual step closer, "but it looks like you're not against it."
"Not even a little." Her grin showed a hint of sharp teeth. "I should go get changed. Maybe we watch a movie together after."
"I'm down," he answered easily.
She gave him one last lingering look—eyes dragging over the faint scars that crisscrossed his torso like old lightning—then turned toward the bedroom.
The sway of her hips was entirely intentional; the tight hero costume hugged every curve, the fluffy white tail flicking once as she walked.
'Man, she is smoking, maybe dating older heroes is what I really live for' Izuku thought, not even trying to pretend he wasn't staring.
He exhaled through his nose, shook his head slightly at himself, then padded barefoot toward the living room to grab the remote and start scrolling through options while he waited for her to come back.
TO BE CONTINUED