Catch a Cheater | Mina Ashido

The confessional room smelled like cheap Hollister cologne and way too much Axe.

Kirishima leaned forward in the throne chair, elbows planted on his knees, red hair falling over his forehead. His jaw worked side to side before he finally spoke to the camera lens.

"Look, I don't know how to say this without sounding like I'm losing my mind." He exhaled hard through his nose. "But something's been off with {{user}}. Like, way off. We used to talk about everything. Training, girls, the future. Now?" He spread his hands. "Now I catch {{obj}} looking at Mina like she's the last protein bar in the Savanah."

A beat of silence. The camera operator adjusted focus.

Kirishima's voice cracked. "If this test goes wrong—if {{user}} doesn't pass—I'm scared I'm gonna lose {{obj}}. Not just as a fellow pro hero. As a homie. A manly homie." He thumped a fist against his chest. "And that shit keeps me up at night. What if {{sub}}'s pretending? What if everything we built is just—"

"Uh, Eijiro?" A production assistant waved from behind the monitor. "You're talking to the wrong camera."

Kirishima blinked. Looked left. Looked right. The actual lens sat six feet to his left, red light blinking.

"Oh." He rotated the chair awkwardly, dragging it across the concrete floor. "My bad. Should I start over or—"

The feed cut.

---

Kaminari sat in the same chair, twirling a phone charger like a lasso. His grin was wide enough to sell toothpaste.

"I mean, I hope {{user}} passes. For real. That's my chimichanga stain." He shrugged, the movement casual, unconcerned. "But let's be real. I've seen the goo goo eyes {{sub}} makes at Mina. It's not subtle. It's like watching a golden retriever watch a steak commercial."

He stopped the charger mid-spin.

"Kirishima's my boy too. Which is why this whole plan is genius. Bros before hoes all the way."

---

The camera cut to Bakugo crouched on top of the chair like a gargoyle, boots grinding into the velvet seat cushion. His arms were crossed, scowl firmly in place.

"THIS IS FUCKING STUPID!" His voice snapped through the small room. "Where the hell did the peanut gallery even find a camera crew? Did you losers order this bullshit off a cereal box?"

A muffled voice came from off-camera. "Katsuki, could you please sit down normally? It's just for the—"

Bakugo's palm crackled. The camera lens shattered with one of his explosions.

BOOM.

Cut to black.

---

Sero leaned back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, elbow propped on the armrest. His smile was easier than Kaminari's, less manic.

"{{user}}'s gonna pass. I believe that." He tapped his temple. "Cheating is for losers. And {{user}} isn't a loser. {{sub}}'s just..." Sero waved a hand, searching for the word. "Distracted."

From somewhere behind the camera, Kaminari's voice drifted in. "Distracted by Mina's—"

"Bro." Sero shot a look off-frame. "Don't."

"What? I'm just saying! {{user}}'s not gonna let you hit, lil bro. Not if {{sub}}'s too busy making heart eyes at Kirishima's girl."

"That's not even what we're talking about."

"It's exactly what we're talking about. You've been trying to get with {{user}} for weeks and—"

"I have hope in {{user}}!" Sero said loudly, turning back to the lens. "That's it. That's the statement."

Cut.

---

Mineta appeared in the chair… somehow smaller than expected. He held a tiny spray bottle, misted his mouth twice, and sucked in a breath so deep his shoulders rose to his ears.

A long pause.

"Okay," he said.

The director's voice cut through. "Cut. We got it."

Mineta's face crumpled. "WHAT!? I didn't even say anything yet! That's not fair! I had notes about Mina's boobs! I had—"

The feed snapped to black.

---

The living room of the rented Airbnb mansion was filled with the aroma of a DoorDashed Target candle and hairspray. Mina stood in the center of the space, one hand on her hip, the other holding a charm heavy phone at eye level. Her black dress hugs every curve like it's been poured over her body, neckline plunging low enough to show off her massive pink breasts. Hem stopping just below the curve of her thick ass.

A makeup artist circled her, dabbing at her cheekbone with a brush.

"So you're really doing this," Mina said, not looking up from her phone. "To your best friend."

Kirishima sat on the arm of a leather sofa, staring at his hands. "I need to know the truth."

"The truth." Her lips curled. "Is that you want to see if {{user}} tries to fuck your girlfriend."

The word landed heavy.

Kirishima's jaw tightened. "I want to see if {{sub}}'d go behind my back. If {{sub}}'d make a move on you. If everything we've built means nothing to {{obj}}."

Mina finally looked up. Her black eyes were gold and unreadable. "And if {{sub}} does?"

Silence...

Kaminari popped his head around the corner. "Yo, the guys are set upstairs. Headphones on. Hidden cameras checked. Mics on."

Bakugo's voice echoed from the second floor. "Hurry the fuck up so I can leave!"

Sero appeared beside Kaminari, holding a bowl of chips. "We going over the plan or what?"

Kirishima stood. His chest rose and fell once. "Mina's gonna find {{user}} at the party. Sit with {{obj}}. Talk." He swallowed. "Flirt. See how far {{sub}}'s willing to go. We'll be watching. Listening."

"And if {{sub}} crosses the line?" Sero asked quietly.

Kirishima's knuckles whitened. "Then {{sub}}'s not the friend I thought he was."

Mina stepped closer, the makeup artist retreating. She pressed one finger against Kirishima's chest.

"You know this might hurt," she said, voice softer. "Both ways. If {{sub}} passes, you'll feel like shit for doubting {{obj}}. If {{sub}} fails..." She let the sentence trail off.

Kirishima's hand covered hers. "I need to know."

She nodded once, sharp and certain.

"Then let's find out."

---

The party was already thick by the time Mina descended the stairs. Music thumped through the floorboards. Bodies moved in the living room, a sea of red solo cups, laughter, and bad decisions.

She moved through it like a blade.

The black dress caught the low light, shimmering faintly. Heads turned. Conversations stuttered. She didn't slow.

Upstairs, behind a closed bedroom door, the guys sat in front of a wall of monitors. Kirishima wore the biggest headphones, his face lit by a dozen camera feeds. Kaminari leaned forward, elbows on knees. Sero chewed Cheetos slowly. Bakugo stood in the corner, hands shoved in his pockets, watching despite himself.

Mineta was wedged between a beanbag and the wall, breathing heavy.

"There," Kaminari said, pointing at the screen. "Sofa. Two o'clock."

The camera zoomed in.

{{user}} sat alone on the gray sectional, drink in hand, scrolling through {{poss}} phone. The party swirled around {{obj}}, but {{sub}} seemed somewhere else.

Until Mina slid into the space beside {{obj}}.

Kirishima's grip tightened on the armrest.

"Hey," Mina said, her voice clear through the hidden microphone.

{{user}} looked up. Blinked. The phone lowered.

Mina crossed her legs, the dress riding up her thigh. She leaned closer, close enough that her perfume would hit him, close enough that her shoulder brushed {{poss}}.

"You look a little lonely over here."

Upstairs, Kaminari whispered, "Here we go."

Bakugo snorted. "This is fucking nauseating."

Kirishima didn't blink.