Izuku’s idea of a place to celebrate a heroic debut didn’t involve linen tablecloths or waiters in bow ties. His logic, as peculiar and direct as he was, operated on a much more fundamental axiom: a great achievement deserved a great meal. And the best, most honest food wasn’t hiding in restaurants with unpronounceable French names, but in places where the air was thick with steam and the sound of happiness was the clatter of chopsticks against bowls.

That was why, to Yu Takeyama’s surprise, he led her through a couple of crowded streets to a small shop wedged between an electronics store and a laundromat. It was called “Uncle Tetsu’s Katsudon.” A flickering neon sign with the image of a smiling pig wearing an apron was its only decoration. Inside, the place was a loud and wonderful chaos. The sizzle of breaded pork hitting hot oil, the shouts of the cooks from the open kitchen, the murmur of a dozen overlapping conversations; it all blended into a symphony of daily life.

Yu stopped at the entrance, her heels feeling absurdly out of place on the slightly sticky linoleum floor. She had imagined he would take her somewhere expensive, a clumsy attempt to impress her. This was… the opposite.

“Are you sure this is the place?” she asked, her voice sounding strangely formal amidst the bustle. “You didn’t get the address wrong, did you?”

Izuku turned to her with a smile so genuine and free of irony that it completely disarmed her.

“Get it wrong? Impossible! Uncle Tetsu makes the best katsudon this side of Musutafu. It’s legendary. A heroic debut must be celebrated with legendary food. It’s the only logical choice.”

Before she could protest, a middle-aged waitress with overwhelming energy spotted them.

“Izuku-kun! I didn’t think it was your day for dog-walking! And who’s this pretty thing? Did you finally get a girlfriend? It’s about time! Have a seat, have a seat, I’ll get you the best table!”

She led them to a small booth in the back, a little quieter than the rest of the restaurant. Yu slid into the red vinyl seat, feeling the curious glances of the other diners. She was Mt. Lady, the new giant heroine. And she was in a neighborhood diner with a freckled teenager who was, apparently, a regular. The situation was surreal.

“You come here a lot?” she asked, more to break the silence than out of any real interest.

“Almost every day after work,” Izuku replied, studying the laminated menu with the concentration of a scholar. “Uncle Tetsu gives me the leftovers for the dogs. Well, he used to.” The mention of his old job brought a fleeting shadow to his face, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Everything here is good, but the house special is a must. And the milkshakes. You have to try a milkshake.”

When the waitress returned, Izuku ordered for both of them with the confidence of someone who knows the menu by heart.

“Two katsudon specials with double pork, two extra servings of rice, and two giant chocolate milkshakes. The biggest you’ve got.”

Yu stared at him, incredulous. “Double pork? Extra rice? Midoriya, I don’t know if I can eat all that.”

He simply smiled at her. “Trust me.”

The food arrived on two steaming trays that seemed to defy the laws of physics. The katsudon bowls were enormous, the golden, crispy breaded pork covering a mountain of rice and egg. And the milkshakes… they were monumental. Thick glass mugs, overflowing with a thick, dark liquid, crowned with a cloud of whipped cream and a cherry that looked tiny in comparison.

Yu stared at her plate. She had spent the last few months subsisting on bland salads and protein shakes to maintain the “ideal” figure for her debut. The sight of so much honest, delicious food was almost an act of rebellion. With a sigh that sounded like surrender, she picked up her chopsticks.

The first bite was a revelation. The pork was crispy and juicy, the sauce sweet and savory, the rice perfectly cooked… It was the best meal she’d had in months. She ate with an appetite that surprised even herself. The stress of the day, the humiliation, the adrenaline… it all seemed to dissolve with every bite.

Izuku watched her from across the table. He wasn’t looking at her with judgment, but with an almost scientific fascination. He saw how she devoured her plate, how her eyes closed in pure pleasure with the first sip of the milkshake. And instead of thinking it was unfeminine or unbecoming of a heroine, his face lit up with the glow of a newly discovered universal truth.

Halfway through her second bowl of rice, Yu realized he was staring at her. She paused, blushing.

“What? Is there something on my face?” she asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

“No, no. It’s just… I was right,” he said, with a seriousness that baffled her.

“Right about what?”

“My theory,” he stated, setting his own chopsticks aside to give his declaration the weight it deserved. “I’ve always thought it. Girls who eat with gusto, who truly enjoy their food, are always the most beautiful. Seriously. It’s a sign of vitality, of energy. It means they’re full of life.”

Yu froze. Her milkshake spoon stopped halfway to her mouth.

“Looking at you,” he continued, completely oblivious to the social minefield he was crossing, “it makes perfect sense. To be Mt. Lady, to have all that strength, that power… you have to have a serious engine. And an engine like that,” he gestured to her nearly empty plate, “needs quality fuel. And a lot of it.”

His gaze dropped for a second, not to her cleavage, but lower, to the part of her still sitting on the vinyl bench.

“And well… to have a butt like yours… which is, honestly, the gold standard of the industry… it’s obvious you’re well-fed. It’s the ultimate proof. The proportions are perfect.”

The silence that fell over the table was as thick as the milkshakes. Yu stared at him. Her brain was trying to process whether what she had just heard was the strangest, most convoluted compliment in history, or the most elaborate insult she had ever received. Her expression shifted from surprise to disbelief, finally landing on a flushed indignation.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice an icy hiss. “Are you… are you calling me fat?”

Izuku blinked, genuinely confused. “Fat? No! I’m saying you’re perfect! It’s the golden correlation! A good appetite equals a good constitution, which equals beauty and power. It’s the highest compliment I can think of!”

“You can’t just go around commenting on a woman’s appetite! And certainly not on her… her assets!” she exclaimed, lowering her voice as she noticed the couple at the next table looking at them curiously.

“Why not, if they’re museum-quality?” he replied with an innocence so pure it left her speechless. “It’s like admiring a sculpture. It would be an insult not to comment on the artist’s mastery.”

Yu rested her forehead in her palm, letting out a groan of pure frustration.

“You’re unbelievable. Truly. Unbelievable.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking her words as a literal compliment.

The argument, if you could even call it that, continued for several minutes. He, defending his “golden ratio theory” with the passion of a scholar. She, trying to explain the basic rules of human social interaction, a losing battle from the start. But strangely, as they argued, Yu felt the “Mt. Lady” armor begin to crack. Frustration gave way to a strange amusement. This kid had no malice. He was a weirdo, an alien with zero social skills, but his sincerity was so overwhelming that it was almost endearing.

“Is it hard?” he asked suddenly, changing the subject with an abruptness that caught her off guard.

“Is what hard?”

“Having to worry about those things,” he said, his gaze now filled with genuine empathy. “About what you eat in public, about whether a headline is going to be about your weight instead of your victories.”

The question, so simple and direct, disarmed her. Her shoulders slumped, the weight of her failed debut settling back on her.

“It’s hell,” she confessed, her voice a whisper. “My whole life I’ve dreamed of being a hero. But no one prepares you for the other part. The part where you’re a product. Every magazine, every blog, every gossip show… they’re all just waiting for you to make a mistake, to gain a pound, to have a bad day. I’ve had to eat sad salads in public for months just so my debut image would be ‘perfect.’ And then I go and trip and almost crush a civilian. A disaster.”

“It wasn’t a disaster,” he said firmly. “You saved dozens of people. And your kick was perfect.” He offered her the rest of his milkshake. “Finish it. You’ve earned it.”

Yu looked at him. And for the first time that night, she didn’t see a weird fanboy or a troublesome employee. She saw a friend. She accepted the milkshake and took a long sip. The sweet, cold chocolate seemed to soothe the fire of her frustration.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the slurping of their straws at the bottom of the glasses. The tension had dissipated, replaced by a comfortable and unexpected camaraderie. Yu began to think that maybe, just maybe, hiring this kid hadn’t been the worst idea of her life.

They were laughing, she was telling him an embarrassing story about how she’d almost failed her driver’s test because she tried to use her Quirk to parallel park, when a melodic voice dripping with irony broke them out of their bubble.

“Well, well, Takeyama. I didn’t know you were into them so young. Are you recruiting for your fan club straight out of high school?”

They turned. Standing by their table, holding a half-eaten hamburger and looking at them with a predatory smile, was Nemuri Kayama. Dressed in civilian clothes, with skinny jeans and a leather jacket, she was unmistakable. Her presence filled the small space with an energy that was both dangerous and magnetic.

What had started as her debut celebration, and had turned into a strange first date, was about to get much, much more complicated.