Souta surveyed his new, remarkably spartan room. A single bed, a desk, a dresser – nothing more. It was a far cry from his comfortable room in the U.A. dorms, but it would suffice for a week.
He placed his hero costume case carefully on the worn wooden desk, then dropped his duffel bag onto the neatly made bed. His PE. uniform felt unpleasantly sticky where the iced coffee had drenched it, and he could still feel a few drops in his hair. A shower was paramount.
Stepping out into the surprisingly quiet hallway, he listened. The house had a lived-in, functional feel, but it wasn't noisy. He made his way downstairs, past a large, open room with tatami mats and reinforced walls that was clearly a personal dojo. Eventually, he found a compact but clean bathroom.
---
Upstairs, in her private quarters, Rumi Usagiyama – Mirko – was practically vibrating with contained energy. Her face, usually a canvas of fierce confidence, was now an alarming shade of crimson that spread from her collarbones to the very tips of her long, white rabbit ears.
Her breathing was short and heavy, her heart thumping against her ribs like a trapped animal. She paced, a caged tiger in her own room, occasionally letting out a low, frustrated growl and thumping a powerful foot against the floor, making the small items on her dresser rattle.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit!" she seethed under her breath, fanning her burning face with a hand. "Stupid timing! Stupid Quirk! Why now of all weeks?!"
It wasn't just the unexpected, audacious slap from her brand-new intern, though that had certainly been a shocking and infuriating catalyst. No, the root of her current distress was an unwelcome, cyclical quirk in her own Quirk.
A few times a year, her rabbit-like abilities would surge, not just heightening her already incredible senses, but making her entire nervous system hyper-receptive.
During these periods, unexpected physical stimuli, especially of a... certain kind on a certain area, could trigger an overwhelming, full-body physiological cascade. Like the infernal blush, the racing pulse, and the almost unbearable wave of heat she was currently battling to bring under control.
That was the core of her earlier fury – the sheer mortification of such an involuntary reaction, compounding the shock of his action.
It was also why she'd brusquely declared a thirty-minute delay. She desperately needed time to wrestle her rampaging system back into some semblance of composure, to let the initial, intense wave of her Quirk's inconvenient betrayal pass. It also, she conceded grudgingly, gave the kid enough time to get cleaned up without her having to explain why she resembled a boiled lobster.
She took several deep, forceful breaths, clenching and unclenching her fists, trying to will her body back to its normal state. This was not the first impression she'd wanted to make, nor was it how she'd planned to kick off an internship with a student whose Sports Festival performance had genuinely impressed her with its raw power and unexpected finesse.
---
Thirty minutes later, Souta, feeling considerably more human in a fresh U.A. PE. shirt and track pants, his hair still damp but thankfully coffee-free, met Mirko at the bottom of the stairs.
She looked mostly back to her usual self – fierce, energetic, radiating an almost palpable aura of readiness. Her blush had subsided, though a keen observer might have noticed a subtle, lingering pink at the very tips of her expressive ears, and perhaps a slightly too-bright glint in her red eyes.
"Ready to earn your keep, intern?" she asked, her voice all business, betraying none of her earlier turmoil.
"Yes, Mirko-san," Souta replied, his own composure fully restored.
"Good. Yard's out back. Follow me."
She led him through a reinforced door at the rear of the house, into an area that could only loosely be described as a 'garden'. It was vast, much larger than one would expect from the house's exterior.
The ground was mostly packed earth, scarred and cratered in places. A few massive, chipped boulders were scattered about, and the sturdy trees lining the far perimeter bore testament to frequent, high-impact collisions. This was clearly her personal training ground.
Mirko turned to face him in the center of the yard, cracking her knuckles with a series of sharp pops. The sound echoed slightly in the open space.
"Alright, Axiom Peak," she said, his newly chosen hero name rolling off her tongue with a challenging lilt. "You showed some impressive stuff at the festival. But that's a controlled environment, against other kids."
It could actually be considered special that Mirko had already some knowledge about Souta. Normally the Pro heroes learn more about the Interns as the week goes by. In Souta's case though, because he had decided to show more of his power in the Sports Festival, Nezu was forced to change some of his information. And while he did that, he had deemed it appropriate to send a short form to Souta's chosen Pro Hero.
Her gaze sharpened. "Before we even think about patrols or any actual hero work this week, I need a baseline. I need to see what you're really made of, what your true capabilities are when you're not just aiming for points or a ring-out."
She gave him a wide, almost feral grin, her teeth flashing, her red eyes blazing with an unmistakable, fiery excitement that had nothing to do with calm assessment. "No holding back, kid. Show me the power that made you number one. Show me if you're worth my time."
Souta looked at her, then at that ferociously eager grin. His earlier assessment about her invitation solidified. She didn't just want an intern to observe, he thought, a tiny, anticipatory smirk playing on his own lips. 'She just wanted a sparring partner.' The thought of a no-holds-barred fight against one of the top ten Heroes, despite his earlier coffee-related annoyance, was suddenly a very appealing prospect. This internship was going to be interesting.
Souta considered her words. "No holding back" was a complicated directive for him. He thought of his blue flames and ice he'd used prominently in the Sports Festival. His One For All, those distinct orange sparks and the burst of physical power against Shishida, had thankfully been largely attributed by onlookers to some exotic application of his elemental abilities. Warp Gate and Regeneration – somewhat – remained his closely guarded secrets.
As Mirko shifted her weight, muscles coiling, signaling the imminent start, Souta made his decision. This internship was about honing his Full Cowling in real combat. And he'd try that new ice application, the one inspired by his… decisive action against Endeavor, but aimed for something more controlled, more practical.
The instant Mirko launched herself forward – a streak of white hair and powerful limbs aiming a kick that could shatter bone – Souta reacted. Orange lightning, brighter and more substantial than he typically sustained, erupted around him. One For All: Full Cowling at a solid 20%. A subtle, shimmering blue mist, like visible cold, simultaneously began to emanate from his skin, swirling around the crackling orange sparks.
The sudden surge of speed from 20% Full Cowling was still somewhat unfamiliar territory for prolonged use. He felt a faint twinge, a dull ache in his limbs, a reminder that his body wasn't fully accustomed to this level of continuous output. His initial dodge of Mirko's lightning-fast kick was a hair too wide; he overshot slightly, feeling a momentary awkwardness in his landing.
Mirko, a blur of motion, didn't miss the opening. Before Souta could fully recover his balance, a follow-up kick slammed into his ribs. It wasn't a critical blow, but it sent him stumbling back, breath hissing through his teeth. "Too slow, kid!" she barked, a predatory glint in her red eyes.
Souta gritted his teeth, not at the pain, but at his own miscalculation. He pushed off, orange sparks flaring brighter, and lunged with a mist-wreathed fist aimed at her approaching form. Mirko, with her years of experience, read his telegraphed movement easily. She ducked under his punch with contemptuous ease and landed a solid jab to his stomach that made him grunt.
'Damn, she's fast. And this output… it's still not fluid,' Souta thought, quickly creating distance. But he was here to learn. He focused, trying to sync his movements with the unfamiliar surge of power.
As Mirko pressed her attack with a whirlwind of kicks, Souta began to find a semblance of rhythm. His dodges became a fraction cleaner, his movements less jerky. He managed to deflect a kick with his forearm, the blue mist flaring upon contact. A small, uneven patch of frost, about the size of his palm and surprisingly shallow, formed on Mirko's boot. It was more surprising than debilitating.
"Huh? Chilly!" she commented, not slowing down at all, her grin widening.
Souta tried again, blocking another strike with his other hand. This time, the frost that formed was larger, thicker, and visibly colder, actually causing Mirko to pause for a split second to glance at the rapidly icing shin guard. The blue mist around him seemed to pulse with this more successful application. It was inconsistent, unrefined, but the potential was there.
He pressed what he thought was an advantage, throwing a Full Cowling-enhanced punch. Mirko, however, was a seasoned pro. She danced around most of his attacks, her movements economical and explosively powerful. She wasn't just dodging; she was analyzing, testing his reactions, her experience a clear counter to his raw, still somewhat unharnessed power. Another of her kicks connected with his shoulder, making him wince.
Yet, with each exchange, Souta felt himself adjusting. The slight pain from maintaining 20% was becoming background noise. His limbs were starting to respond more intuitively to the increased speed and strength. The ice patches he managed to land, though still varying wildly in size and intensity – from a mere dusting of frost to a chunk of ice that made Mirko's limb feel momentarily numb – were becoming slightly more frequent.
He was learning, adapting, the initial awkwardness slowly giving way to a more dangerous, albeit still unpolished, fluidity.