PICK ME - PRO HERO

The Battle of the Bus Seats The morning sun beats down on the concrete U.A. High courtyard, reflecting sharply off the polished windows of two massive, idling tour buses. The air is thick with a chaotic, vibrating energy. Classes 1-A and 1-B are collectively losing their minds, chanting, laughing, and practically vibrating with pure joy. Midterms are over. The grueling classroom hours are done. They are finally heading to the summer training camp, which means one glorious, beautiful reality: absolutely no exams. Denki Kaminari and Mina Ashido are practically doing a victory dance near the luggage compartments, while over by the Class 1-B bus, Neito Monoma is already starting a loud, boastful rant about how his class will outshine 1-A, only to be promptly chopped in the neck and dragged away by Itsuka Kendo. Principal Nezu, ever the strategist, wasn't taking any chances with safety this year after the recent villain scares. To guarantee absolute security, he personally hired a high-ranking Pro Hero to escort the students and staff to the camp and back: you. What Nezu didn't mention to anyone else—and what the students and faculty are completely oblivious to—is a tiny, highly classified detail. You aren't just an extra layer of muscle. You are Shota Aizawa’s wife. Right now, you’re standing near the open folding doors of the lead bus, clipboard in hand, cross-referencing the roster. Shota is leaning heavily against the side of the vehicle right next to you. His yellow sleeping bag is slung over his shoulder like a oversized duffel bag, and his capture scarf is pulled all the way up to his nose to block out the morning glare. To anyone else, he looks like a walking corpse ready to murder the next person who speaks too loudly. But to you? You know the subtle signs. You see the faint, soft crinkle at the corners of his tired eyes, and you catch the low, private murmur of his voice as he leans slightly into your space. "If Bakugo and Monoma end up in the same breathing radius for the next four hours, I'm going to legally change my name and move to a different country," Shota mutters under his breath, his tone flat but laced with that dry, sarcastic humor he only shares with you. "Tell me you brought the extra high-grade coffee packets in your tactical pouch. Please." You smile, about to reply with an inside joke about his caffeine addiction, when the sharp, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of designer heels cuts through the gravel. Kaori Hanamori swoops in like a heat-seeking missile. With practiced, aggressive grace, she steps directly between you and Shota, deliberately forcing you a step back and breaking your eye contact. She adjusts her tinted pink visor sunglasses, letting them rest perfectly on the bridge of her nose as her large, teal teardrop earrings sway with the sudden movement. She flings her vibrant red hair over her shoulder, completely ignoring your existence as if you were a literal piece of school property. "Shota-san! Thank goodness I caught you before we boarded!" Kaori chirps. Her voice instantly shifts into a syrupy, melodious sweetness, amplified by a subtle, unconscious flick of her Sugar Coating Quirk. It’s loud enough to carry over to the nearby students, drawing a few curious glances. "I was just thinking... as the respective heads of 1-A and 1-B, we really need to sit down and co-author a highly cohesive, strict evening schedule for the students the exact millisecond we arrive at the Wild, Wild Pussycats' base. We need to present a completely united front to the kids. Your work wife is always thinking five steps ahead, see?" Shota’s eyes drop into a deadpan, deeply irritated squint. He doesn't budge an inch toward her, his posture remaining rigid and distant. "Mandalay already emailed the schedule to the entire staff group chat last night. It's finalized. We don't need to do anything, Hanamori." Kaori’s perfect, curated smile tightens at the corners for a fraction of a second. A tiny twitch appears near her eyebrow, but she recovers with terrifying speed. She lets out a loud, airy, melodic giggle that sounds entirely forced, reaching out to playfully pat Shota’s forearm—a gesture he immediately avoids by subtly shifting his weight and lifting his clipboard. "Oh, always so strictly logical! You're just too cute when you're in teacher mode," Kaori laughs it off flawlessly, her voice dripping with artificial warmth. "But come on, Shota, you know how chaotic the mountain roads get. Let's just review the logistics together on the ride up? I went ahead and saved the double seat right at the front of the bus. Just for the two of us~" Just then, a loud crash echoes from the back of the bus as Mineta tries to sneak a peek into the girls' luggage, causing Iida to start chopping his arms and shouting about bus safety. Shota snaps his head toward the noise, his attention entirely diverted as he glares at the students. The exact millisecond Shota’s back is turned, Kaori’s face undergoes a instantaneous, terrifying transformation. The bubbly, doting "work wife" facade vanishes. Her eyes turn into frozen chips of ice, and her mouth twists into a vicious, ugly sneer. She steps deeper into your personal space, using her shoulder to crowd you further away from Shota. "Listen to me carefully, you little third-rate escort," Kaori whispers. Her voice drops into a low, venomous hiss meant strictly for your ears, completely devoid of any sweetness. "I don't care what kind of special security clearance Nezu gave you. Shota is exhausted, and the absolute last thing he needs on this trip is some desperate, attention-seeking extra trying to flirt with him for professional clout. You are background noise. Do yourself a favor, keep your mouth shut, and go sit in the very back row with the heavy luggage where you belong. Got it?" Before you can even blink, Shota turns back around, his eyes sweeping over the two of you. Kaori's face flips back to a radiant, beaming smile in a literal heartbeat, her hands clasped together daintily. "Right, Shota-san? A cohesive unit!" Shota looks between Kaori's overly bright smile and your expression, sensing the sudden shift in the temperature of the air, even if he didn't hear the words.

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