CHAPTER 100! WOOOOOOO!
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I stepped off the train, adjusting the dark sunglasses perched on my nose. The hat—a black one with subtle blue stitching—sat low, shadowing my face. Not my usual style, but Camie had insisted.
"Trust me, Izu," she'd said while rifling through my closet yesterday. "You need the incognito look unless you want another situation."
She wasn't wrong. Because of the Sports Festival, I couldn't walk three blocks without someone asking for an autograph or photo.
The outfit she'd helped assemble was simple but effective: dark jeans, white V-neck under an unbuttoned beige short-sleeve shirt that "complimented my eyes perfectly" according to Camie. The emerald studs in my ears completed the look—my mother's gift, one of the few accessories I wore consistently.
I checked my watch. Nine forty-five. Early, but better than keeping her waiting.
The park came into view as I rounded the corner—a modest green space with cherry trees, their blossoms mostly fallen now in mid-May, replaced by fresh leaves. Several benches lined the walking paths, and a small playground stood empty at this hour. I scanned the area, looking for that distinctive red and white hair.
And then I saw her.
Hitomi stood near a flowering shrub, her back to me. The morning light caught in her hair, making the white half glow almost silver against the deep crimson. She wore a light blue sundress that fell just past her knees, with a white cardigan draped over her shoulders. As she turned, looking at her phone, her profile came into view.
Holy shit.
I'd always known Hitomi was beautiful in that cold, untouchable way. But this—this was different. The dress softened her usual rigid posture. Her hair, normally pulled back in class, fell loose around her shoulders in gentle waves. Without the school uniform's high collar, the elegant line of her neck was visible, leading to delicate collarbones.
I approached slowly, suddenly feeling my heartbeat in my throat. She looked up when I was about twenty feet away, those mismatched eyes widening slightly in recognition despite my disguise.
"Am I late?" I asked, removing my sunglasses.
"No." Her voice was soft, almost hesitant. "I was early."
"Me too." I smiled, taking in the details now that I was closer. A light touch of makeup accentuated her eyes, and her lips held the faintest hint of gloss. "You look... incredible."
A blush bloomed across her cheeks, spreading down her neck. "Thank you." She looked me over, her gaze lingering on my earrings. "You clean up well yourself."
"Camie's influence."
"The disguise is necessary?"
I nodded, replacing my sunglasses. "Unless you want to spend our date taking pictures with strangers."
"It must be strange," she said as we began walking toward the café district. "Going from anonymous to famous overnight."
"Definitely not what I expected." I kept my pace slow, matching her steps. "The kids are the best part, though. They get so excited."
"Children have good instincts about people." She glanced at me sideways. "They recognize genuine heroes."
The compliment caught me off guard. "I'm not a hero yet."
"Aren't you?" Her tone was light but her eyes serious. "You've saved people already."
We reached the café—a small place with outdoor seating screened by potted plants. Once seated, I noticed Hitomi's posture had shifted slightly, becoming more formal as if she was suddenly uncertain of herself.
"So," I said after we'd ordered, "tell me about these old movies you like."
Her eyes lit up, though she tried to maintain her composure. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything. When did you start watching them? Which ones are your favorites besides Casablanca?"
Hitomi's lips curved into a small smile. "My mother used to watch them. When I was young, I'd sneak downstairs after bedtime and watch with her." Her fingers traced patterns on the tablecloth. "She loves the classics—Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, Notorious."
"Spy films?"
"Film noir, mostly. Stories about complicated people making difficult choices." She paused as our coffee arrived. "After... after things changed at home, I kept watching them. It felt like keeping part of her with me."
"What about you?" she asked, changing the subject. "Besides All Might figures, what does Izuku Midoriya collect?"
I laughed. "Hero analysis, mostly. I've got notebooks full of quirk observations dating back to elementary school."
"That explains your fighting style." She took a sip of her coffee. "You adapted to my ice attacks like you'd studied them beforehand."
"I had." When her eyebrows rose, I added, "I've analyzed every student in our class. It's not personal—it's just what I do."
"Show me."
"What?"
"Analyze me." Her eyes held a challenge. "Not my quirk. Me."
I studied her for a moment, considering. "Alright. You're disciplined—everything from your posture to your study habits shows that. But it's not just about control for you; it's about protection. You keep people at a distance because closeness means vulnerability."
Her expression remained neutral, but her fingers tightened around her cup.
"You're more observant than people realize," I continued. "You notice everything, but you choose what to respond to. And despite what people think, you're not cold—you're careful. There's a difference."
"Is that all?" Her voice was steady, but something flickered in her eyes.
"No. You're also lonely."
Her gaze snapped to mine, a flash of something—anger, surprise, recognition—crossing her face before she controlled it.
"That's quite an analysis from a few interactions," she said finally.
"Am I wrong?"
She didn't answer directly. Instead, she looked down at her coffee. "You see too much."
"Only because I'm looking." I reached across the table, not quite touching her hand. "Most people don't bother."
"Perhaps there's nothing worth seeing."
"I disagree."
Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, that careful mask slipped. The vulnerability there made my chest tighten.
"Why are you doing this?" she asked softly.
"Doing what?"
"This." She gestured between us. "The date. The interest. You have other options."
"I'm not interested in options. I'm interested in you."
"Why?"
"Because when you forget to guard yourself—like right now—you're real in a way most people never are."
She looked away, but not before I caught the pleased curve of her lips. "You're very strange, Midoriya."
"Izuku," I corrected. "And you're changing the subject."
"Perhaps I am." She took another sip of her coffee, using the moment to compose herself. When she set the cup down, her expression was lighter. "What was your favorite part of the Sports Festival?"
"Besides winning?"
"Besides winning," she agreed, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Honestly? Our match."
"The one where I nearly froze you solid?"
"Hell yeah." I grinned. "It was the first time I saw what you could really do when you weren't holding back."
"I lost."
"Barely. And you fought brilliantly."
She nodded. We fell into easier conversation after that, discussing classes, training approaches, and our classmates. Gradually, Hitomi relaxed, her posture softening, her responses becoming less measured.
When she disagreed with my assessment of Kaminari's potential, her nose wrinkled slightly, and her lips pressed together in what could only be described as a pout. It was so unexpected, so endearing, that I lost my train of thought mid-sentence.
"What?" she asked, noticing my sudden pause.
"Nothing. You just..." I shook my head, smiling. "You have the cutest pout I've ever seen."
Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. "I don't pout."
"You absolutely do. Just now, when I suggested Kaminari could be top ten material with the right training."
"Because that's absurd," she insisted, though her cheeks had reddened. "His quirk has significant limitations."
"See? There it is again."
"Stop looking at me like that," she said, though there was no real heat in her words.
"Like what?"
"Like you've discovered something precious."
I held her gaze. "Maybe I have."
She looked away, but not before I caught the small smile she couldn't quite suppress.
We finished our coffee, conversation flowing more easily now. I found myself repeatedly surprised by her—her dry humor, her insightful observations, the way her entire face transformed when she truly smiled. Each revelation made me want to discover more.
"Can I steal you for the rest of the day?" I asked.
She hesitated. "What did you have in mind?"
"It's a surprise. But I promise it's something you'll like."
Hitomi studied my face, as if trying to read my intentions. Finally, she nodded. "Alright."
"Perfect." I offered my hand. After a moment's hesitation, she placed her smaller one in mine. Her skin was cool to the touch, but not cold—a pleasant contrast to the warm May air.
I led her to a nearby convenience store, still holding her hand. Inside, I grabbed a basket and began selecting snacks: chocolates, a mix of sweet and savory options, two bottles of water.
"What are these for?" Hitomi asked as I added a package of cookies to the basket.
"You'll see." I grinned at her suspicious expression. "Any preferences? Favorite snacks?"
She frowned at the selection before carefully adding a small bag of salted caramel candies. At my raised eyebrow, she shrugged. "I have a sweet tooth. Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me."
After paying, we walked to the train station. Hitomi's curiosity was evident in the way she kept glancing at the bag of snacks, but she didn't press further. On the train, we sat side by side, our shoulders occasionally brushing with the movement of the car.
"We're going to Shibuya?" she asked as we approached the station.
"Close. One more stop after."
When we exited the train, I led her through several side streets, away from the main shopping districts. The neighborhood grew quieter, more residential, with small specialty shops interspersed between apartment buildings.
"Here we are." I stopped in front of an unassuming building with a red door. The sign above read "Spemo Cinema" in elegant script.
Hitomi looked between me and the door, confusion evident in her expression. "What is this place?"
"You'll see."
Inside, the small lobby was decorated with vintage movie posters in ornate frames. A single desk stood at the far end, where an older man in a bow tie looked up at our entrance. I approached him, still holding Hitomi's hand.
"Midoriya reservation," I said.
The man nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "We welcome the festival champion." He stood, retrieving a key from beneath the counter. "Please follow me."
He led us down a short hallway to a door marked with the number 5. "Enjoy," he said, unlocking the door and stepping aside.
I guided Hitomi inside, watching her face as she took in the room. Her eyes widened, lips parting in surprise.
The space was a private theater—intimate, with just two plush seats in the center, positioned perfectly before a screen that took up the entire wall. A small table between the seats held a bucket of ice and two glasses. The lighting was dim, creating a cozy atmosphere.
"What is this?" Hitomi whispered, her composure momentarily forgotten.
"A private cinema." I squeezed her hand.
On the screen, the opening credits had begun. As the title "Casablanca" appeared, Hitomi turned to me, genuine shock written across her features.
"How did you—" She stopped, seemingly at a loss for words.
"You said it was your favorite. I thought you might like to see it on something bigger than a phone screen."
For a moment, she simply stared at me. Then, without warning, she threw her arms around me in a tight embrace. The sudden contact, the warmth of her body against mine, left me momentarily stunned before I wrapped my arms around her waist.
"Thank you," she whispered against my chest. "This is... I haven't..."
"You're welcome," I murmured into her hair, breathing in the subtle scent of winter flowers. "Shall we sit?"
She nodded, pulling back but not completely away, her hands lingering on my arms. In the dim light, her eyes shimmered with emotion she wasn't trying to hide.
We settled into the seats, the snacks arranged on the small table between us. As the film progressed, I found myself watching Hitomi almost as much as the screen. She knew every line, her lips sometimes moving silently with the dialogue.
Halfway through, she shifted closer, hesitantly leaning her head against my shoulder. I adjusted my position to make her more comfortable, my arm naturally finding its way around her shoulders. She tensed momentarily before relaxing into the contact.
"Is this okay?" I whispered.
She nodded, her hair brushing against my chin. "Yes."
On screen, Rick and Ilsa navigated their complicated history, their impossible choices. The parallels weren't lost on me—duty versus desire, sacrifice versus selfishness. I wondered what Hitomi saw in this story that resonated so deeply with her.
I felt Hitomi shift slightly, turning her face toward mine. In the flickering light from the screen, her mismatched eyes held a question, a vulnerability I'd never seen from her before.
I cupped her cheek gently, giving her time to pull away. She didn't. Instead, she leaned into my touch, her eyes drifting closed as I closed the distance between us.
The first brush of our lips was gentle, tentative. Her mouth was soft, slightly cool, and tasted faintly of caramel from the candies. When she didn't pull away, I deepened the kiss, my hand sliding into her dual-colored hair.
Hitomi responded with unexpected intensity, her arms winding around my neck, pulling me closer. There was something almost desperate in the way she kissed back, like someone who had been starved of touch. I slowed the pace, gentling the kiss, wanting her to know this wasn't rushed, wasn't casual.
When we finally separated, her breathing was uneven, her lips slightly parted. In the dim light, with her hair tousled from my fingers and her usual composure completely absent, she looked transformed.
"That was my first kiss," she admitted softly.
I brushed my thumb along her lower lip. "Was it okay?"
A small laugh escaped her, genuine and unguarded. "More than okay."
"Good." I pressed another light kiss to her lips. "Because I'd like to do it again sometime."
"Just sometime?"
"Frequently," I amended, smiling against her mouth. "Very frequently."
She settled back against me, her head on my chest, my arm around her. On screen, the film continued, but something had shifted between us—a barrier broken, a connection formed.
"Izuku?" she said softly, using my first name without prompting.
"Yes?"
"This is the best day I've had in a very long time."
We watched the rest of the film in comfortable silence, her body warm against mine. Occasionally, I'd feel her reaction to certain scenes—a slight tensing during emotional moments, a relaxing when tension resolved. It was like learning a new language, these subtle physical cues from someone who usually revealed so little.
As the credits rolled, neither of us moved immediately, reluctant to break the spell of the darkened theater.
"What did you think?" she finally asked, her voice quiet in the dim room.
"About the movie or the company?"
She smiled, the expression visible even in the low light. "The movie. You already made your opinion of the company quite clear."
"I liked it more than I expected. Though I'm still not sure I understand why they couldn't just stay together."
"Because sometimes the right choice isn't the easy one." She sat up slightly, turning to face me. "Rick loved her enough to put what was right above what he wanted."
"A noble sacrifice," I acknowledged. "But a sacrifice nonetheless."
"The best kind." Her expression grew thoughtful. "It's what true heroes do, isn't it? Choose the greater good over personal happiness."
"Sometimes." I tucked a strand of red hair behind her ear. "But I think the best endings are when you don't have to choose—when doing the right thing and being happy aren't mutually exclusive."
"Is that possible?" The question seemed to hold more weight than casual conversation.
"I believe so. Otherwise, what are we fighting for?"
Hitomi considered this, her eyes searching mine. "You're an optimist."
"And you're a romantic hiding behind pragmatism." I smiled to soften the observation. "We're not so different."
"Perhaps not." She glanced at the now-dark screen. "Thank you for this. It was...perfect."
"The date's not over yet, unless you need to get back."
She shook her head. "No, I told my sister I'd be out for the day."
"Good. Because I'm not ready to let you go just yet."
The color that rose to her cheeks made me want to kiss her again. So I did, briefly, before standing and offering her my hand.
"Come on. There's a place nearby that makes amazing ice cream. Seems appropriate, given your quirk."
She shook her head but took my hand. "That's terribly cliché."
"Sometimes clichés exist for a reason." I interlaced our fingers. "Besides, who better to judge the quality of ice cream than someone who knows ice so intimately?"
"Your logic is questionable," she said, but her smile betrayed her amusement.
As we left the theater, Hitomi's hand remained in mine, her steps lighter than before. The cool, composed Todoroki from school seemed miles away from this girl with soft eyes and a hint of caramel on her breath.
I'd always known there was more beneath that icy exterior. But discovering it—being allowed to see those hidden facets—felt like uncovering treasure. Each smile, each unguarded moment, was a gift I hadn't expected but desperately wanted to keep receiving.
Whatever this was between us—this fragile, new connection—I intended to nurture it carefully. Because something told me that Hitomi Todoroki, once she decided to let someone in, would love with the same intensity and dedication she applied to everything else.
And that was something worth waiting for.