Yu froze. she knew that voice. It was a voice she’d heard shouting in triumph at hero award ceremonies, whispering taunts during interviews, and speaking with a confidence that had always gotten on her last nerve. Slowly, she raised her head.

Leaning against the edge of their booth, a half-eaten hamburger in one hand and a predatory smile on her lips, was Nemuri Kayama. Her civilian attire, a tight leather jacket and jeans that looked custom-made, was every bit as striking as her hero costume.

Seeing the look of pure panic on Yu’s face, Nemuri leaned back and let out a laugh. It wasn’t a discreet giggle. It was an explosion of genuine, malicious joy, a deep, full-throated sound that made several heads in the restaurant turn. She was enjoying Yu’s panic with the dedication of an artist savoring their own masterpiece.

“Oh, my heavens, Yu! Your face!” Nemuri exclaimed between laughs, setting her hamburger down on its plate so she could hold her stomach. “I haven’t seen you look that pale since that disastrous TV interview you gave last month. I thought you were going to faint right on camera!”

“Nemuri!” Yu hissed, once she’d recovered a shred of breath and all of her lost dignity. Her face had made a chromatic transition from ghost-white to the deepest shade of red in record time. “What… what the hell are you doing here?”

“Me?” Midnight replied with infuriating calm, taking a sip of her soda. “Living my life. Eating a burger. You know, normal things people do when they aren’t pretending to be a walking skyscraper.” Then, her feline gaze landed on Izuku, scanning him from head to toe with an amused and slightly condescending curiosity. “The real question is, what are you doing? And with… this.” She gestured toward Izuku with a tilt of her head, as if he were an exotic accessory Yu had picked up at a thrift store.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Yu said quickly, waving her hands in front of her in a universal gesture of frantic denial. The panic made her speak faster than usual. “He’s… he’s my new assistant. Yes, that’s it. We’re having a work meeting. Very important. Strategic. About… about the future of the agency and brand positioning.”

Nemuri raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. The smile on her lips grew sharper, more dangerous.

“Assistant? Work meeting?” she repeated, savoring the words. “Wow, Yu, your meetings have gotten a lot more interesting. My work meetings usually involve burnt coffee and an overwhelming desire to jump out a window, not chocolate milkshakes and puppy-dog eyes.”

“He’s not giving me puppy-dog eyes!” Yu protested, though a part of her knew that was the exact look Izuku had when his katsudon arrived.

Before Yu could dig herself any deeper, Izuku, who had remained unflappably silent throughout the exchange, placed his chopsticks on the table with a delicacy that completely contradicted the tension of the moment. He turned to Nemuri, not with shyness or arrogance, but with the serenity of a monk. A polite, calm smile formed on his face.

“Excuse me, Kayama-san,” he said, his voice an oasis of calm in Yu’s hurricane of mortification. “But I believe Takeyama-san is mistaken.”

Yu stared at him. Her eyes, now wide, were screaming a silent but deafening, “SHUT UP, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!”

He ignored her completely, keeping his polite attention fixed on Nemuri.

“We are not in a work meeting,” Izuku concluded, aiming his smile directly at the pro hero. “We are on a date.”

The word “date” detonated at the table with the force of a small nuclear bomb. All the color drained from Yu’s face, shifting from furious red to a white so pale she looked like a ghost with digestive issues. Her jaw trembled slightly. If looks could disintegrate matter, Izuku Midoriya would have been reduced to a pile of freckled ash and a slightly crooked tie.

Nemuri, on the other hand, was speechless for a second. Her eyes blinked as she processed the information. Then, comprehension gave way to a fresh wave of laughter, this time louder, deeper, a laugh that came from the very bottom of her soul. She had to clutch her stomach with both hands to keep from doubling over.

“A DATE!” she roared, slamming the table with the palm of her hand and making the silverware jump. “Oh, this is pure gold! This is better than the day All Might signed my yearbook! Yu Takeyama, the great and powerful Mt. Lady, on a date with her… teenage assistant!” she paused, looking at Izuku. “And he’s the one who admits it! Kid, I like you. I like you a lot!”

“It’s not a date,” Yu growled through clenched teeth, her voice a murderous whisper that was barely audible over Nemuri’s cackling.

“Of course, it is,” Izuku insisted with unshakeable logic, as if explaining a simple law of physics. “Two individuals meeting in a non-work environment to share a meal and conversation, generally to celebrate a significant event or to get to know one another better. That is the technical and social definition of a date. We are celebrating her successful debut this morning. Therefore, it is a date.”

The explanation—so serious, so academic, and so ridiculously out of place—was the final straw for Nemuri. She was now literally crying with laughter, wiping tears from her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Please,” Izuku said, now addressing Midnight with a gallantry that bordered on the surreal. His tone was that of a perfect host. “Join us. There’s plenty of room. Order whatever you like, my treat. It would be an honor.”

The offer left Nemuri momentarily speechless. She looked at the boy, who was watching her with sincerity so overwhelming it was impossible to doubt him. Then she looked at Yu, whose face was a portrait of silent suffering and apocalyptic resignation. The opportunity was too good, too juicy, to pass up.

“Well, if you insist…” Nemuri said with dramatic slowness. She picked up her plate and drink, slid into the booth, and settled in right next to Yu, effectively trapping her against the wall. “I never say no to a free meal. It’s one of my life rules.” She turned to Izuku, resting her chin on her hand with a flirty smile that had rattled far more experienced men. “You’re a brave one. Asking two pro heroes out on the same night. You’ve got guts, kid. Or very little sense of danger.”

Izuku didn’t seem to catch the innuendo. His gaze fell to Nemuri’s half-eaten burger, then to her milkshake, and a small, almost scientific smile of satisfaction appeared on his face.

“Well,” he said, as if he had just confirmed a fundamental law of the universe. “My theory holds.”

Nemuri tilted her head, genuinely intrigued. Her flirtatious games had just run into a wall of strangeness. “Your theory?”

“Yes,” Izuku nodded, completely serious. “Beautiful girls have healthy appetites. It’s an observable constant. You,” he said, looking her directly in the eye without a hint of shyness, “are enjoying that hamburger. You aren’t analyzing it, you aren’t dissecting it for calories. You’re eating it. That demonstrates great vital energy and a lack of pretense that is very attractive.” His gaze dropped for a moment, not in a lecherous way, but with the clinical appreciation of an expert. “And, well, it’s obvious you take great care of yourself. Your physique denotes rigorous training and admirable discipline. It’s a perfect combination of power and aesthetics. Very impressive, really.”

Nemuri just stared at him. She was used to compliments, clumsy come-ons, and brazen stares. It was part of her public persona. But never, in her entire career as a hero and as a woman, had a boy told her she was beautiful based on the way she ate a hamburger and her apparent training discipline. The compliment was so bizarre, so unexpected, and so absurdly sincere that, instead of offending her or making her laugh, it flattered her in a completely new way. He didn’t see her as Midnight, the teenage pin-up. He saw her as a person with a good appetite and a well-trained physique. And, somehow, that was infinitely more interesting. A faint, almost imperceptible blush colored her cheeks.

“Wow,” she said finally, her voice losing a bit of its mocking edge. “You really know how to win a girl over, huh, Midoriya?”

“I’m just telling the truth,” he replied with a simple shrug. “Observation and analysis are key in any field.”

Yu, meanwhile, wished her Quirk would allow her to shrink to the size of a molecule and disappear under the table. The conversation had shifted from personal humiliation to a bizarre flirtation session between her new employee and her lifelong rival, all sponsored by her own wallet. It was a nightmare with a side of french fries.

“So,” Nemuri continued, now completely fascinated by Izuku and directing all her attention to him, to Yu’s further torment. “Yu says you’re her ‘assistant.’ What kind of job is that, exactly? Do you fetch her coffee? Remind her not to walk into buildings?”

“Hey!” Yu protested through a mouthful of milkshake.

“I am Izuku Midoriya,” he said, and his tone shifted. The casual seriousness became an imposing formality that sounded ridiculous coming from someone so young. He took out his phone, typed something quickly, and turned the screen toward Nemuri. It was a simple digital contact card with his name and a title. “Professional Assistant to Professional Heroes. I specialize in pre- and post-combat performance optimization, tactical asset analysis, logistical support in high-risk missions, and personal brand management. If you ever require my services, do not hesitate to call. My rates are very competitive for the level of analysis I provide.”

The grandiosity of his presentation, delivered with the straightest face in the world, was the final blow for Yu. She had just taken another sip of her milkshake, trying to find solace in the sugar. The liquid shot out of her mouth in a fine chocolatey spray, spattering the table and a considerable portion of Nemuri’s expensive leather jacket.

“PROFESSIONAL ASSISTANT?!” she yelled, after another coughing fit. She whirled on Izuku, her eyes sparking with disbelief and fury. “You’ve been working for me for exactly three hours! Three! The only things you’ve done are analyze the structural composition of my butt, lose three clients’ dogs, make me feel like a glutton for ordering a milkshake, and get me a date with my biggest rival! What part of any of that seems ‘professional’ to you?!”

Her outburst, filled with such specific and humiliating details, only made Nemuri laugh even harder, if that was even possible.

“Oh my god, this is better than any comedy show,” Nemuri said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. She looked at Izuku’s digital contact card and, with a mischievous smile, scanned the QR code with her own phone. “Don’t worry, Midoriya-kun. I’m saving your number. One never knows when one might need a ‘tactical asset evaluation.’” The wink she gave Izuku was so blatant that Yu felt the urge to be sick.

The evening continued down that surreal path. Nemuri, having found her new favorite toy, didn’t stop asking Izuku questions, each one designed to mortify Yu a little more.

“Alright, Midoriya-kun,” Nemuri said, leaning over the table. “Is what Yu said true? Did you really analyze… her assets?”

Izuku nodded seriously. “Of course. Takeyama-san’s Quirk is directly linked to her body mass. It was imperative to understand the distribution of that mass to calculate her center of gravity at different sizes and predict her stability in urban combat. I concluded that her balance is suboptimal when she exceeds twenty meters, especially against low-level attacks aimed at destabilizing her.”

Yu buried her face in her hands. “I want to die.”

“Fascinating,” Nemuri said, completely ignoring her friend’s suffering. “And tell me, what do you think of my combat style? Be honest.”

“Your Quirk, Somnolence, is extremely effective for crowd control and non-lethal incapacitation,” Izuku began, his eyes narrowing as if accessing a mental database. “However, its reliance on proximity and aerial dispersal makes it vulnerable to opponents with sealed life-support suits or those who can attack from a distance. Furthermore, your whip is more a tool of intimidation and restraint than a true offensive weapon. Against a villain with a brute-force Quirk, you would struggle if a close-quarters fight dragged on.”

Nemuri listened with genuine attention. The mocking smile was gone, replaced by an expression of professional interest. “You’re not wrong. I’ve had trouble with tank-type villains in the past.”

“You should consider incorporating smoke grenades with your concentrated scent,” Izuku suggested. “It would increase your area of effect and allow you to control the battlefield more tactically, creating zones of denial.”

“Smoke grenades…” Nemuri repeated thoughtfully. “Not a bad idea, kid. Not bad at all.” She turned to Yu. “Hey, where did you find this kid? He’s like a walking supercomputer.”

“On the sidewalk,” Yu mumbled. “Literally. I found him on the sidewalk.”

The rest of the dinner was torture for Yu and an endless source of entertainment for Nemuri. She learned that Izuku was an orphan and that his knowledge of heroes was encyclopedic to an almost frightening degree. By the time they finished, Yu was mentally exhausted, Nemuri was radiant, and Izuku seemed completely satisfied with the productive development of the “date.”

“Well, this has been an immense pleasure,” Nemuri finally said, stretching like a satisfied cat. She stood up, leaving several bills on the table to pay for her share, despite Izuku’s protests. “But I have to go. Duty calls. Or, rather, my couch and a bad horror movie are calling.”

She paused beside Izuku, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him a final look loaded with an interest that was now much more than simple amusement.

“It was a real pleasure to meet you, Izuku Midoriya. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this entertained or gotten such an honest analysis. Call me if you ever get tired of working for the giantess.” Her gaze slid to Yu, who was glaring daggers at her. “And you, Yu. We’ll talk. We need to catch up.”

With a final wink at Izuku, Nemuri Kayama walked away, leaving a trail of expensive perfume, chaos, and one Yu Takeyama on the verge of a nervous breakdown in her wake.

Izuku and Yu were alone again. The restaurant’s buzz, which had seemed to fade, rushed back in to fill the void Nemuri had left. The atmosphere between them had irrevocably changed. It was no longer the awkwardness of a boss and a new employee, nor the strange camaraderie of a budding date. It was something far more complicated. A mixture of shared humiliation, begrudging respect, and a weird familiarity forged in the fire of absolute ridicule.

Yu sighed, a long, tired sound that seemed to carry away her last ounce of strength. She rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

“Never again,” she said, her voice an exhausted whisper. “I am never, ever going out to eat with you in a public place again. Next time, we’ll order pizza to the office. In a bunker. Underground.”

Izuku watched her, tilting his head slightly. “Did you not have a good time? The information exchange with Kayama-san was very productive. I obtained valuable data on a veteran hero’s strategies, and you had the opportunity to socialize with a colleague.”

“Socialize? That wasn’t socializing, that was a psychological torture session!” she exclaimed, though without her earlier fire. She was too tired to be truly angry. “She used me as her personal entertainment for the evening.”

“Technically, I was the primary catalyst for her entertainment,” he corrected. “You were the contextual topic of conversation.”

Yu stared at him, her eyes narrowed. She saw his serious expression, his complete inability to grasp the social catastrophe that had just occurred. And for some reason, it was so absurd, so ridiculously Izuku, that she couldn’t help it. A small, genuine, tired smile crept onto her lips.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Izuku seemed to consider it. “My teachers often said my focus was ‘unusual,’ but they never used the term ‘unbelievable.’”

She let out a small laugh. A real laugh.

“Never mind, nerd.” She leaned back in her seat, feeling the tension finally leave her shoulders for the first time all night. She looked at the remains of their dinner, the empty milkshake glass. “Okay, it was a nightmare. But the food was good, right?”

Izuku smiled back at her, and this time, it was a warm smile, free of analysis or observation.

“Yes,” he admitted. “The food was very good.”