The rest of the week flew by in a blur of final preparations and nervous excitement. The hero name reveals had added another layer of identity to their burgeoning careers, and now, the internships promised their first real taste of Pro Hero work.
That Monday morning, Class 1-A assembled at the bustling train station, each student with their hero suit packed neatly into its specialized silver case. Aizawa stood before them, his usual tired expression perhaps a fraction less so today, though it was hard to tell.
"Alright, problem children," he said, his voice a low rumble amidst the station's noise. "You have your destinations. You have your goals. Don't cause your supervising heroes too much trouble. Learn everything you can. And try not to get yourselves into any trouble. Good luck." With that characteristically blunt send-off, he gave a curt nod and melted back into the crowd, presumably to find the nearest coffee and nap spot.
One by one, or in small groups, the students began to disperse, heading towards their respective train platforms, a mix of determination and trepidation on their faces. Midoriya and Uraraka waved goodbye as they headed off in different directions, their worries about Iida still a lingering concern, though they knew he was strong, even today he was acting strange and somewhat too focused – even for the usually uptight young man.
Shoto, case in hand, was about to head towards the platform for the train leading to his father's agency when Souta's voice stopped him. "Shoto. Wait a moment."
Shoto turned, confused. "Souta? My train is this way."
"Trust me on this one," Souta said, his expression unreadable. He gestured with his head. "Follow me."
Slightly hesitant but intrigued, Shoto followed his twin away from the crowded platforms and into a quiet, empty alley just outside the station. Souta stopped and faced him.
"Do you remember our match in the finals?" Souta asked. "Specifically, how it ended?"
Shoto frowned slightly. "Vaguely. It was... sudden. A lot of steam and then... nothing." He had a fleeting, almost dream-like recollection of some kind of weird mist, but it was too hazy to grasp.
Souta didn't elaborate further on that. "Right." He then raised a hand, and beside him, the air shimmered and tore open into a swirling vortex of familiar black and purple mist – a warp gate. "This will take you directly to the district where the old man's agency is. Considerably less travel time. And with any luck," a faint, almost mischievous smirk touched Souta's lips, "he'll be waiting at the train station like an idiot for a few hours."
Shoto stared at the pulsating gate, genuinely surprised, but his face remained a mostly calm mask. He understood the unspoken implications – Souta wouldn't explain how or why he could do this, not yet. After a moment, he simply nodded. "Alright." He stepped towards the gate. "Thank you, Souta. For this... and for the match."
"Just get stronger, Shoto," Souta replied, his tone neutral.
With a final nod, Shoto stepped through the portal, disappearing instantly. The gate snapped shut. Souta let out a quiet sigh of relief, grateful for his brother's stoic acceptance. Dealing with a barrage of questions would have been tedious. He then focused, opening another swirling gate for himself. The destination coordinates were in front of him on a piece of paper, Mirko's city, specifically an alley he'd scouted via maps near her provided home address. After all, she didn't bother with a traditional, stationary agency, but worked all over Japan.
He stepped through, emerging into a sun-drenched but narrow alleyway, the sounds of a bustling city around him. A quick check of his phone confirmed he was about five hundred meters from the address, with plenty of time to spare. First things first. He spotted a small coffee shop on the corner and headed over. An iced coffee was definitely in order to properly wake up and face whatever the renowned Rabbit Hero had in store for him.
A few minutes later, iced coffee in hand, he strolled towards Mirko's address – a surprisingly normal-looking residential house in a quiet neighborhood. He reached the front door, and just as he was about to ring the doorbell, a blur of white and brown exploded from his peripheral vision, moving incredibly fast.
Pure reflex, honed by countless spars and the Sports Festival, took over. Souta didn't even have time to think much, raising a hand and instantly erecting a thick wall of jagged blue ice.
CRASH!
Something powerful collided with the ice, using the impact point to ricochet upwards and backwards, readying another assault. The ice wall spiderwebbed but held.
It wasn't over. The attacker, a figure he could now vaguely make out as rabbit-like, used the momentum to launch off a nearby fence, coming at him again from a different angle.
Souta could already imagine who it was, but he was still only half-awake, the iced coffee still pleasantly cool in his other hand. He was too tired to properly entertain this aggressive welcome. As she – Mirko, undoubtedly – came close again, he raised another ice wall, slightly angled this time. She seemed to expect it, adjusting her trajectory to use the slight gap he'd "accidentally" left between the two rapidly erected ice barriers, aiming to close in fast.
She shot through the gap, falling right into his trap.
What greeted her on the other side was not a panicked intern, but an orange, crackling fist – One For All: Full Cowling at ten percentage – heading straight for her face.
Even then, the Rabbit Hero's instincts were phenomenal. In that microsecond, she managed to twist her body mid-air, contorting out of the direct path of the punch and somehow using the momentum to whip her powerful leg around in a devastating kick.
Souta, surprised for just a fraction of a second by her sheer speed and adaptability, couldn't dodge completely. The result? Mirko's kick connected squarely with his iced coffee, sending the cold, sweet liquid exploding upwards, drenching him thoroughly from head to chest.
For a beat, there was silence, broken only by the drip of coffee from Souta's hair. Then, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch appeared at the corner of Souta's eye. Annoyed, sticky, and now wide awake, Souta did something he normally wouldn't have even considered.
As Mirko landed, slightly off-balance from her redirected kick, he reacted with pure, and hormonal irritation. He slapped her on the ass, a surprisingly sharp sound, empowered by a good fifteen percent of Full Cowling.
Mirko froze mid-landing, her ears shooting straight up, her red eyes widening in stunned disbelief.
The silence that followed the sharp slap was thick enough to cut with a knife. Mirko, frozen mid-landing, slowly straightened up. Her rabbit ears, which had shot straight up in surprise, now swiveled and flattened against her head. A low, dangerous growl rumbled in her chest, and her red eyes narrowed, fixing Souta with a glare that could melt steel. The playful, testing energy from moments before had vanished, replaced by a very real, very predatory anger.
Souta, meanwhile, felt a wave of heat rush to his face that had nothing to do with his Quirk. The sticky iced coffee dripping down his chin and P.E. uniform was suddenly the least of his embarrassments. 'What did I just do?' He had acted on pure, childish annoyance. He, who prided himself on control and calculated responses, had just... slapped the Number Five Hero.
"Uh," he began, his voice cracking slightly, the epitome of sheepish. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, the one not holding the now-empty, dripping coffee cup. "Look, I... that was... I just lost my cool for a second there. The coffee... it was a surprise." He winced internally at how lame that sounded.
Mirko's growl deepened. "You think drenching you in cheap coffee warrants that, kid?" she snarled, taking a half-step forward, her powerful legs tensing.
Seeing the situation about to escalate from a bizarre greeting to an actual fight on her doorstep, Souta quickly backpedaled, his earlier irritation completely forgotten, replaced by a desperate need to de-escalate. "No! Absolutely not! I am so sorry, Mirko-san! That was completely out of line and unprofessional. I apologize." He bowed his head slightly. "My reflexes acted before my brain did, after your... enthusiastic welcome." He quickly changed the subject, "Speaking of which, what did you have planned for the internship this week? I'm eager to learn."
Mirko stared at him hard for another long moment, her nose twitching, the growl still a low vibration. The apology, though clearly a bit panicked, seemed genuine enough, and his swift attempt to pivot to business showed he wasn't entirely clueless. Plus, he had reacted impressively fast to her initial "test." She let out a sharp, frustrated snort, the tension slowly ebbing from her shoulders, though her eyes remained wary.
"Hmph. Fine. But pull a stunt like that again, intern, and you'll be tasting concrete for a week," she warned, her tone still sharp. She then jerked her head towards the house. "Get inside. You're still dripping that damn coffee everywhere."
Souta visibly relaxed, offering another quick nod of gratitude before following her. The house, once inside, was as no-nonsense as its owner. Minimalist furniture, a clear emphasis on training space - a large open area seemed to be a dojo - and not much in the way of decorative frills. Mirko led him up a short flight of stairs and pushed open a door.
"This is you," she said, gesturing into the room. It was simple, almost spartan: a single bed, a small desk and chair, a modest dresser, and one window. Clean, functional, and utterly devoid of personality. "Basic, but it's got what you need. Dump your stuff. We start properly in thirty. And find something to clean yourself up with. You stink."
With that, she turned and bounded back down the stairs, leaving Souta in his new, very basic, temporary room, still sticky with iced coffee and acutely aware that his internship had gotten off to a uniquely memorable, and almost disastrous, start.
'Not like that is my fault… could've at least showed me the bathroom then,' Souta grumbled internally.