Izuku’s smile was so bright and sincere that, for a moment, he almost managed to convince everyone of his logic. For a split second, his proposal that Yu Takeyama—a rookie hero, the subject of a national scandal, and currently the most stressed woman in Japan—should become a teacher at U.A. almost sounded like a reasonable idea.

It was a very, very short split second.

It shattered the moment Yu’s jaw, which had gone slack with sheer disbelief, snapped back into place with an audible “click”. Her brain, which had short-circuited, rebooted with a single objective: process and annihilate the most insane idea she had ever had the misfortune of hearing.

She leaned across the table, her voice a whisper so low and full of controlled fury it was more intimidating than any shout.

“Izuku,” she began, pronouncing his name slowly, each syllable loaded with disbelief. “I’m going to ask you to repeat what you just said. Because there must be a mistake. I must have had an auditory hallucination brought on by stress. There is no other logical explanation.”

Izuku, oblivious to the danger, nodded enthusiastically, delighted to explain his genius idea again. “Of course! I said you should become a teacher at U.A. It would solve all our logistical problems!”

“There it is again,” Yu muttered, closing her eyes for an instant as if feeling a sharp pain. “It wasn’t a hallucination.”

Nemuri, who had been observing the scene with poorly concealed amusement, decided the silence had gone on long enough.

“Personally, I think it’s an idea with tremendous potential,” she said, taking a sip of her latte with infuriating calm. “It has a certain… anarchic charm. I like it.”

Yu’s head turned toward her with nightmarish slowness. “You… think… it’s a good idea?”

“I didn’t say good,” Nemuri corrected with a sweet smile. “I said it has potential. Those are two very different things. A good idea is predictable. An idea with potential… that’s what makes life interesting.”

Yu felt a vein in her temple begin to throb. She was being flanked. She was caught in a pincer movement of madness.

“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath, trying to cling to logic, to reason, to the known laws of the universe. “Let’s analyze this. Point by point. Izuku, look at me.”

He looked at her, his expression open and expectant.

“I’m a rookie hero,” she said, speaking slowly, as if to a small child or a foreigner. “My professional career is, literally, less than two weeks old. What, exactly, am I supposed to teach? ‘How to Survive Your Humiliating Debut 101’?”

“Exactly!” Izuku exclaimed, as if she had just grasped the main point. “Practical experience! It’s much more valuable than textbook theory! The students could learn from your mistakes and your successes. You could show them your combat analyses. It would be a lesson on the importance of self-assessment and continuous improvement!”

“It would be a lesson on how my unlicensed assistant had to adjust my costume in public because my debut was a disaster!” she retorted, her voice rising slightly.

Nemuri chimed in again, her tone like that of a patient counselor. “But that’s precisely what makes you so… relatable, Yu, dear. You aren’t an unattainable legend. You’re real. The students would identify with you. They’d see that even pros make mistakes and that the important thing is how you get back up. It’s inspiring.”

“It’s not inspiring, it’s embarrassing,” Yu hissed. “Next point. The scandal. Remember the scandal? The one that’s in all the tabloids? The one that has me on the verge of losing my sponsors? The headline is, and I quote, ‘MT. LADY’S SECRET DATE WITH A TEENAGER’. That teenager,” she said, pointing a trembling finger at Izuku, “is you. How, in the name of all that is holy, am I supposed to be a teacher in a school full of teenagers when the press is accusing me of dating one?”

“But we aren’t dating yet,” Izuku said with simple, crushing logic. “It was a work dinner that was misinterpreted. Once it’s cleared up, there won’t be a problem.”

“The problem isn’t the truth, Izuku! It’s the perception!” Yu exclaimed, feeling like she was losing her mind. “The perception is that I’m a predator!”

“I wouldn’t say predator,” Nemuri said thoughtfully, tapping a finger to her lips. “The press used terms more like ‘cradle robber’ or ‘teen heartbreaker’. They’re a bit more… playful.”

Yu shot her a look of pure hatred.

“Besides,” Nemuri continued, ignoring the murderous glare, “that gives you another subject to teach. And a very important one. I’ve thought about it myself. At U.A., we teach combat, rescue, law… but we barely scratch the surface of the most dangerous subject of all: media management. You, Yu, have just completed an intensive, hands-on course. You could teach a seminar. ‘Crisis Management and Damage Control in the Digital Age’. Nezu would pay a fortune for a course like that. You’re an expert.”

“I’m not an expert, I’m the victim!” Yu protested, her voice now a high-pitched squeak that made the family at the next table glance over curiously.

“The best lessons are the ones that hurt,” Nemuri said with mock solemnity. “You’re more than qualified.”

Izuku nodded eagerly. “She’s right! Your experience is an asset! It shows resilience! That’s a fundamental heroic quality!”

Yu sank into her seat, feeling overwhelmed by their absurd logic. She was arguing with two people who didn’t operate in her same reality. They were immune to reason, to shame, to common sense.

“I have no teaching experience,” she tried one last time, her voice now tired, defeated. “I don’t know how to make a curriculum. I don’t know how to grade. I don’t know how to handle a classroom full of kids with explosive Quirks.”

“I can help you with the curriculum,” Izuku offered instantly. “I’ve analyzed hundreds of hero biographies and their training regimens. I can design a complete program based on historical case studies.”

“And I can give you some tips on classroom management,” Nemuri added with a malicious grin. “My primary method involves the strategic use of fear and public humiliation. It’s very effective for maintaining discipline.”

Yu rested her forehead on the cool surface of the table. She wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. The battle wasn’t just lost; the enemy had taken her capital, paraded through her streets, and was now redesigning her system of government with cheerful and completely demented suggestions.

She realized she couldn’t win. Arguing with them was pointless; every logical objection she raised, they twisted and handed back to her as an argument in their favor.

She fell silent. She stopped arguing. She sat up slowly, picked up her cup of black coffee, which had gone cold, and took a sip. The taste was bitter.

The change in her demeanor was stark. The combative energy that had filled their corner of the restaurant dissipated, replaced by a tense, resigned stillness.

Nemuri, seeing the argument was over, stopped prodding. The fun was over. All that was left was a young, visibly overwhelmed hero.

Izuku was the first to notice the change on a deeper level. He saw the way her shoulders had slumped, the light in her eyes had dimmed. Her anger had been a shield. Now, without it, she just looked… tired.

“Yu…” he said, his voice soft, devoid of plans and logic. “Are you okay?”

She looked up from her cup, her gaze empty. “I’m fantastic, Izuku. My life has just been planned out by my teenage assistant and my lifelong nemesis in a family restaurant. It’s a dream come true.”

The sarcasm was so thick you could almost touch it, but underneath it lay a vulnerability so raw it made even Nemuri a little uncomfortable.

“Well, it’s just an idea,” Nemuri said, waving a hand with a casualness that sounded a bit forced. “Something to think about. It’s not like Nezu is going to hire you tomorrow. The U.A. bureaucracy is a nightmare.”

It was an attempt at a truce, a small tactical retreat. But the damage was already done.

The rest of the meal passed in near total silence. Izuku and Nemuri tried to make conversation about U.A.’s security protocols, but their words seemed to float and die in the oppressive atmosphere emanating from Yu. The food arrived, and they ate. Izuku’s hamburger, which he normally would have devoured with joy, lost all its flavor. Yu picked at the edge of a piece of toast the waiter had brought by mistake and drank her coffee like it was medicine.

When it was time to pay, a new, clumsy power struggle unfolded. Yu took out her credit card with a swift motion. Nemuri took out hers. Izuku, seeing it was a losing battle, simply put his wallet away.

“I’m paying,” Yu said, her tone leaving no room for argument.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I ate too,” Nemuri replied.

“Consider it a professional consultation,” Yu said. “I’ve just received a massive amount of… unsolicited career advice. It’s the least I can do.”

In the end, they split the bill, an uneasy truce that satisfied no one.

They left the restaurant and stood on the bustling sidewalk. The afternoon sun was setting, and the air was beginning to cool. For a moment, the three of them just stood there, unsure of what to say or do next.

Nemuri was the first to break the spell. She stretched languidly and smiled, her mask of amusement perfectly back in place.

“Well, this has been immensely productive,” she declared, with an irony that only Yu fully understood. “I have to go prepare my lessons for the week. You know, teacher stuff.”

She winked at Yu, one last biting remark.

“Talk later, colleagues,” she said, before turning and disappearing into the crowd with agile steps.

Izuku and Yu were left alone on the sidewalk. The city noise seemed to rush in to fill the void Nemuri had left. Izuku stuck his hands in his pockets, looking at Yu, who avoided his gaze, watching the traffic go by.

“So…” he began, his voice a little hesitant. “Will you think about it? The idea of…?”

Yu turned to look at him. Her expression was unreadable. There was no anger, no sadness. Just an infinite exhaustion.

“I’m going home, Izuku,” she said, her voice flat. “I need… to think.”

Without another word, she turned and started walking toward her apartment, leaving Izuku alone on the sidewalk.

He watched her until her figure was lost from view. He stood there a while longer, processing the disastrous meeting. It hadn’t gone as he’d expected. But, despite everything, his strange logic allowed him to hold on to a sliver of hope.

“She didn’t say no,” he thought to himself, a small hint of his optimistic smile returning to his face.

“That’s progress.”