The training room was silent, save for the soft rhythm of bare feet against the tatami. Afternoon sunlight poured through the tall windows of U.A., illuminating the athletic figure warming up in the center of the arena. Rumi Usagiyama — Pro Hero Mirko — moved with feline ease, stretching her arms high overhead, muscles taut and gleaming beneath her tight workout gear.
Off to the side, Todoroki Shouto stood perfectly still, like a statue carved from marble and fire.
“You’re the kid everyone keeps hyping up, huh?” Rumi said, cracking her neck casually as she finished a set of stretches. “You don’t look that tough, Shouto-kun.”
“I’m tough,” he replied plainly, trying hard not to stare at the way her toned legs flexed with every motion — or how her tank top clung to her every movement.
“We’ll see. I want to know if that flashy quirk of yours means anything when you don’t have it to lean on.”
She launched into a series of spinning kicks that sliced through the air with perfect control, still talking like it was nothing. Todoroki swallowed. This was not what he’d imagined when they were told pro heroes would help supervise their provisional license training.
Bakugo got Best Jeanist. Todoroki… got Mirko.
The universe had jokes.
“We’re going hand-to-hand. No quirks. Just technique,” she said, flashing a grin. “Might seem unfair, but I promise I’ll go easy. Kind of.”
He nodded and stepped forward onto the mat. Defensive stance, centered balance, steady breath. Focus. None of it mattered.
At the first move, he was swept off his feet and slammed onto the floor before he could blink.
THUD.
The impact was cushioned by the mat, but not the embarrassment. Rumi was straddling him, one knee on either side of his hips, leaning down with a playful, predatory look in her eyes. Her long white hair and rabbit ears framed her face like some wild goddess.
“You’re way too slow,” she said, not budging from her position. “If I were a villain, Shouto-kun, I’d have crushed your windpipe by now.”
Todoroki did his best not to blush. He really did. But the heat in his face was obvious.
“C-Can you get off now?”
“Hmm?” She tilted her head. “Oh? Is this position bothering you, Shouto-kun?”
She shifted her hips — just slightly — but enough to send a jolt of something through him. It wasn’t crude. That somehow made it worse.
“I’m... trying to stay focused.”
“Then focus on the now,” she said smoothly, leaning in closer. “You’ll face heroines, villains, civilians… Not all of them will respect your personal space, Shouto-kun. Sometimes, you won’t have time to think. You’ll have to react.”
She finally climbed off him, and he could breathe again. But the training wasn’t even halfway over.
The next few hours were a blur of grapples, throws, pins, and a lot of rapid, shallow breaths. Rumi moved like lightning. And every time she took him down — which was often — she made sure their bodies ended up just close enough to make it… confusing.
He kept telling himself it was just training. Professional. Focused. But it was getting harder with every pin, every tight hold, every smirk.
Then came the “resistance drill.”
“You’ve got to get me off of you using pure strength. No quirks,” she said, once again settling herself atop his torso. “This simulates real combat.”
“This simulates torture,” he muttered, eyes locked awkwardly on the ceiling, definitely not on the deep curve of her neckline.
She leaned over, red eyes glinting.
“What’s wrong, Shouto-kun? You’re just gonna lie there and let me dominate you?”
He shifted beneath her, trying to push her off. She countered easily, locking his arm. Her palm slid across his shoulder for balance — skin against skin.
That was when it happened. A burst of heat surged from his core, unintentionally triggering his quirk. Steam hissed up around them.
She stared at him, face inches from his, a slow, knowing smile curling on her lips.
“Getting a little hot, aren’t you, Shouto-kun?”
He turned his head, flushed.
“Sorry. Reflex. I’m not used to training like this.”
“How do you usually train?”
“Looser clothing. Less…” he hesitated, “...intensity.”
She laughed — and it was the kind of low, husky sound that felt more like a touch than a voice.
After the session finally ended, Todoroki sat slumped against the wall, struggling to steady his breathing. His hair clung to his forehead, still damp with sweat.
Rumi strolled over, towel hanging loosely around her neck.
“You did better than I expected.”
“Thought you were gonna kill me.”
“I would’ve — if it were a real fight,” she said with a shrug. “But you’ve got potential. And stamina. You just need to learn how to handle distractions. Like hot women in tight clothes, Shouto-kun.”
He shot her a wide-eyed look, but she was already walking away. At the doorway, she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
“Next time, we’ll train with even less clothing. Just to test that discipline of yours, Shouto-kun.”
And with that, she disappeared down the hall.
Todoroki stayed there for a long moment. Then leaned his head back against the cool wall and muttered:
“I’m not going to survive another session with that woman.”
But deep down… a part of him was looking forward to it.
