A week passed in the blink of an eye.
On the day of their work experience, the students gathered at the station with Aizawa.
Aizawa scanned the group and laid out the rules. "You all have your costumes, right? They’re normally banned in public. Don’t drop them or anything," he instructed.
"Yes!"
"Don't overcomplicate it. Just say yes. Ashido, and be sure not to embarrass yourselves. Now, off you go."
As the students, their faces alight with anticipation, began heading to their destinations, Midoriya called out to Iida along with Uraraka.
"Iida."
Iida turned away in silence.
Noticing the shadow darkening his expression, Midoriya said, worriedly, "If it ever comes to that, let us know. We’re your friends."
"Yeah."
Iida’s brief and surprisingly steady reply gave Midoriya pause, concern mingling with the resolve to let him go.
Then a low, gravelly voice halted him abruptly.
"Iida."
"Huh?"
Kirishima, watching Iida turn back, silently clicked his tongue.
Perhaps kids like Midoriya and Uraraka—who had always known gentler ways—would never understand, but there was an unmistakable aura about Iida now.
It was the raw stench of anger, hatred, and murderous intent swirling together like toxic fumes. Kirishima’s eyes grew hard as the memories of a previous life, when that odor soaked every corner of his being, resurfaced.
It was the same smell that drove people to madness, leaving them uncertain of who they truly were until fists started flying before they even knew what hit them.
Iida hadn’t quite reached that breaking point yet—but he was dangerously close.
"Take this."
"What is it?"
Catching the object Kirishima had tossed, Iida frowned in confusion. It was nothing more than a plain mechanical watch, and he couldn’t fathom why Kirishima would give it to him.
"It’s a kind of call device," Kirishima explained. "Press the button next to the watch and a signal goes straight to me—whether the watch is broken or you’ve flatlined, it still goes through."
"What exactly are you trying to say by giving me this?"
"You know me better than anyone. The choice is yours. Whatever you do, I won’t stand in your way. I’m a believer in revenge, but I also don’t want to lose a friend. So, if you’re ever in over your head or things get dangerous, call me. Wherever I am, I’ll come running."
Somehow, Kirishima’s low voice—spoken from several meters away—seemed to caress Iida’s ears like a whispered secret.
The other students appeared oblivious.
Unable to form a response, Iida could only watch as Kirishima’s faint smile accompanied the raising of his clenched fist.
"We’re friends, aren’t we? Friends stand shoulder to shoulder—even in blood-spattered battles."
"Kirishima, I appreciate that, but it sounds more like the ethos of comrades than that of friends."
"Haha. Is that so? Well, whatever. Just remember, the people in our class are the ones who will be at your side when danger and pain strike the hardest."
With that, Kirishima turned on his heel, grabbed his costume bag, and moved off to join the others.
Still reeling like a storm had just passed through him, Iida managed a small, surprised laugh as he watched Kirishima chide Ashido.
It was the first genuine smile he had mustered since his brother’s attack, and it startled him.
Not yet—it wasn’t time to smile freely. But somehow, he departed with a strange sense of reassurance.
Kirishima watched Iida fade into the distance before ruffling Ashido’s fluffy hair. "Hey, I told you not to do that in public. It’s embarrassing, Eijiro!"
"Then maybe you should stop grinning so broadly before you tell me off!"
"Eek! Was I smiling?"
After mingling with the others for a while, Kirishima boarded the train on schedule and headed for Tokyo.
It was an unexpected setting for meeting Mirko—who drifted from town to town without a fixed base, lodging in hotels wherever she happened to be.
"I assumed she’d have me meet her in some backwater town..."
After a little over an hour on the train, he arrived at the hotel where they had arranged to meet. It was still before eleven, thanks to his early start.
As he waited by the flashy hotel front desk to relay a message to Mirko, a husky voice called from behind him.
"Hey, you’re Kirishima, right?"
"Yes. I’m Kirishima Eijiro... Mirko?"
"Haha, early bird, aren’t you?"
Kirishima turned to see Mirko laughing heartily as she patted his shoulder. Despite their height difference of over forty centimeters—which should have made such a gesture awkward—it felt completely natural.
While most people would have been drawn to the tall, prominent “rabbit ears” framing her head, Kirishima found himself unconsciously drawn to her well-toned thighs.
She was in casual clothes, but her muscular legs clearly bore the mark of serious training.
"Hey, what are you staring at? My legs look strong, don’t they?"
"Ah, sorry. They do look strong."
"Same goes for you! Wow, those thighs are impressive. I mostly caught your punches at the sports festival, but I bet your kicks pack a punch too."
"I’ve had some training—although not for long. But more importantly, Mirko..."
"What is it?"
"Should we really keep chatting here?"
"Oh, right. I almost forgot. Haha. I was planning to get moving as soon as you arrived anyway—I've already packed and just finished a quick morning workout!"
"I see."
Kirishima waited as Mirko went up to her room.
Not long after, she returned, grabbed him by the arm, and led him out of the hotel.
At the entrance, a sleek, pure-white supercar awaited. Unlike the typical coupe-style supercars, it was a four-seater sedan.
She tossed her luggage into the back seat with effortless efficiency and climbed into the driver’s seat.
"What are you doing? Get in already," she urged.
With a resigned sigh, Kirishima placed his own bag in the back, and the car sprang to life as soon as he settled into the passenger seat.
As Mirko whistled while driving, he asked, "Um, Mirko?"
"What?"
"Where are we headed?"
"Ah, didn’t I mention? We’re bound for Musashino. Tokyo’s always crawling with heroes these days—there’s no need for me to squeeze into an already packed schedule and turf," she explained with a laugh.
"I see. So you called me to Tokyo because of me?"
"Haha, you’ve got quite the ego today! But yes, you’re right—well, partly. I had someone else to meet in Tokyo too, so while I was in town, I thought it’d be convenient to call you along."
"I see."
After Kirishima nodded in agreement, Mirko added, "And you didn’t even ask why I picked you. I figured that would be the first question, but…”
"You chose me because I’m strong, didn’t you?"
"Should I say that’s right? I watched the sports festival too—you were insanely strong! But that’s not all; I picked you because I figured you could keep up with me, and because I was genuinely curious."
"Curious?"
"Yeah. You’re far flashier than you appear. You nearly took down a villain at five, caught one just last year, and at USJ you supposedly went toe-to-toe with that strange villain."
Kirishima’s expression remained unruffled, even though Mirko clearly knew more than she let on.
The incident at age five had long faded into obscurity, but someone as determined as Mirko could always uncover the details.
When his face gave nothing away, Mirko laughed. "Not surprised? Boring. Anyway, Quickdraw—someone I know quite well—told me he’d saved you, so I tracked you down."
"I see."
"Yep. After checking you out a bit, I realized you’re sort of like me."
"Like you?"
"School is suffocating, isn’t it? You just want to graduate quickly so you can go out and take on all the villains."
"Well, I wouldn’t say that exactly, but sometimes it does feel stifling. Honestly, I doubt the school curriculum would ever make me that much stronger."
"Haha. Right—you’re not exactly built by sitting in a classroom! But come on, don’t you crave a fight now and then? Where blood sprays and bones break? Don’t you long to see someone go all out?"
Kirishima met her gaze silently. In the depths of her red eyes, an emotion—too raw and intense to be called simple enthusiasm for battle—flickered like a heat haze.
It was a familiar feeling; the hunger for combat always simmered silently within him, too.
"Hmm. I suppose so. By now, most opponents are one-shot fodder anyway."
"Exactly! I picked you because you reminded me of myself—a kindred spirit. I thought it’d be fun, and it really is."
"I’m not exactly the life of the party, but if you say so..."
While they talked, the car pulled into Musashino. Since it was part of Tokyo Metropolis, the journey was brief.
The hotel Mirko had booked was clean yet smaller than one might expect—nothing like the grand place she had stayed at in Tokyo.
"Isn’t it odd? In Tokyo I stayed at a huge, fancy place, but here I booked somewhere smaller and older."
"A bit, yes. I’m not too fussy about sleeping arrangements, so it doesn’t bother me."
"Haha. People like us don’t really care about that stuff—though good food is important."
"Hmm, I agree. Food is essential."
She shrugged before explaining her reasons for staying there. "There are several reasons. First, this hotel is actually pretty decent for Musashino. Second, it’s right in the center, so getting around is a breeze. And most importantly, there’s a huge space underground!"
"But if a hotel has a vast underground area, isn’t that just a parking lot?"
"Normally, yes—but not here! This used to be an underground fight arena. The organization that ran it collapsed, and then they built the hotel above it. They left the arena intact!"
"I see. Still, Mirko, shouldn’t we at least drop off our luggage first?"
"Oh, right! Let’s drop our stuff and then grab a bite!"
Kirishima got out of the car, lugged his baggage, and followed her to the reserved room.
The room adjacent to hers was spacious and impressive. "What do you think? It’s a nice room, isn’t it? I wouldn’t feel right if I alone got a fancy room—I booked you an executive suite, too!"
"Oh, thank you. This must have cost a pretty penny."
"Haha! It wasn’t that expensive. Now hurry up, drop your stuff, and meet me—let’s eat!"
"Yes."
At Mirko’s somewhat impatient urging, Kirishima quickly set his things down and joined her in the restaurant.
When the two of them—so conspicuously mismatched in height—entered the nearly empty hotel restaurant at lunchtime on a weekday, a few curious eyes turned their way, though no one dared to speak.
The meal was more than satisfying. The clean, varied flavors delighted Kirishima’s palate.
After they finished eating and left the restaurant, Mirko grabbed Kirishima’s arm. "How was the food?"
"It was excellent—good enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if you picked this place solely for the food."
"That’s one of the main reasons! Anyway, you ate well, right?"
She looked up at him with a knowing smile. Seeing her excitement, Kirishima scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"So, next we’re heading underground?"
"Oh! You really get me! That’s right—just the two of us, where no one will bother us. Let’s throw ourselves into it with all we’ve got!"
"No matter how I look at it, that sounds dangerously suggestive. If anyone overheard, I might be fine—but wouldn’t it hurt your reputation, Mirko?"
"Hero Mirko isn’t shaken by such things!"
"Ah, right... In that case, I’ll just change into something more comfortable."
But the moment he said it, Kirishima realized he hadn’t brought anything suitable. He had some casual clothes, but nothing meant for intense movement.
Noticing his troubled expression, Mirko asked, "What’s with the face? Problem?"
"I just realized I didn’t pack any workout clothes. I never thought I’d need them outside of hero work."
"Then just come in your costume!"
"Wearing it in a hotel is a bit awkward, though."
"It’s fine! I go to work in my costume straight from the hotel all the time!"
"Alright, I’ll change then."
Kirishima retreated to his room and donned his newly adjusted costume. As before, he wore nothing on his upper body, with black pants and all-metal boots on his lower half. Only this time, additional scale-like pieces had been added around his waist.
He carefully removed the extra pieces and set them on the bed. "I don’t need these right now; better leave them than risk damaging them."
Stepping out, he found Mirko waiting in comfortable apparel.
"Oh! There you are. You look great—one glance tells me you’ve been training hard!"
"Thank you. I’ve been putting in the work."
With Mirko beaming, they set off together toward the basement, shoulders nearly touching.
Mirko led Kirishima to an elevator at the far end of the corridor, prying open the cover above the floor buttons as if it were part of a secret ritual.
After pressing a discreet black button, she grinned. "Only three of us know about this—the hotel owner, the manager, and me. It’s the button that takes you underground!"
"How did you even know about that?"
"Haha, it’s a bit embarrassing to admit, but this was the underground fight arena I used to train in back in high school. And, well, after I became a hero, I made sure to raid it. Think of it all as adult business."
"I see."
Before long, the creaky elevator whisked them down to the basement.
When the doors swung open to reveal the scene beyond, Kirishima couldn’t help but let out an involuntary groan.
"Whoa… this is something else."
"Haha! Amazing, isn’t it? It’s nearly perfectly preserved!"
Tiered seating—likely left intact to avoid the costs of demolition—circled the space, and at its center lay a wide, open area.
With pride, Mirko announced, "There used to be an enormous octagonal cage right there! It was huge! They tore it down eventually, but that’s a blessing for us, isn’t it?"
"Yeah."
As they walked steadily toward the center, their conversation fading, they soon reached their destination—a bare expanse where they finally stood face-to-face.
"Alright. Ready to do this? No complaints later!"
"I’d rather die than complain about it."
Both wore expressions that mirrored each other perfectly.
With a grin that showed his sharp teeth, Kirishima’s eyes sparkled as Mirko stretched and said, "Haha! Look at that eager expression. You’ve been itching for a real fight, haven’t you?"
"You might say the same about yourself."
"Really? Well, yeah! Lately, it’s been all small fry around here, and I’ve been pretty frustrated."
Mirko tapped her cheek in surprise at his observation before coolly conceding with a smile.
Kirishima slowly summoned the power of his Quirk. Deep within him, a vast, dormant force stirred and spread through every fiber of his being.
As the transformation completed, Mirko exclaimed, "Wow! You look absolutely terrifying. I bet plenty of villains would surrender just by seeing your face!"
"My original face is handsome enough, so it hardly matters."
"Haha! True enough—your natural charm has its merits. But if that handsome face were scarred, would you still be okay?"
"Right now, with this fierce look, I’m more than fine."
"Wow, you really counter that with style. I like you a lot! Alright, I’ve probably talked your ear off. I’m flipping a coin—when it hits the ground, we start!"
"Yes."
Without hesitation, Mirko flipped the coin into the air.
As the coin spun overhead, both combatants assumed their stances. Kirishima, ever the picture of orthodox readiness, stood tall while Mirko lowered her guard, centering herself.
The moment the coin clattered to the ground, they lunged simultaneously, kicking up the dust of the long-idle underground.
A fierce, rough storm erupted in the vast space below—a storm of raw power and determination.
Damn, Mirko should just take Kirishima for herself