My World My Justice Ch.18

-Taylor Hebert, The Docks-

It has been over a week since she started her heroic training, and while it was a little too soon to expect results, she could tell she was getting stronger and gaining more stamina.

Although, not THAT much.

Taylor let out a groan as she pushed a broken washing machine across the place. Her arms were burning, but she kept going, taking deep breaths as she slowly inched it toward the growing mountain of collected trash.

One more push. Come on, Taylor, you’ve dealt with worse than this. 

Finally reaching her destination, Taylor collapsed to her knees, panting and gasping for air. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with a trembling hand, leaving a streak of grime across her face.

One down, many more to go. 

Glancing up and to her right, she saw True Might casually lifting half of a boat hull—an actual boat hull—and dropping it onto the pile with a thunderous crash that echoed across the graveyard before he started folding it like it was cardboard.

“EXCELLENT EFFORT, YOUNG TAYLOR!” True Might’s booming voice carried across the junkyard. “THE PATH OF HEROISM IS PAVED WITH PERSEVERANCE AND SWEAT! EACH PIECE OF SCRAP YOU CONQUER BRINGS YOU ONE STEP CLOSER TO JUSTICE!”

The best hero in the world, at least in her eyes, didn’t even look winded. She knew he was the strongest, but seeing him so casually lift tons was no less shocking. And at the same time, it was deeply inspiring.

I want to be as strong as him.

Taylor thumped her chest and drew in one more desperate breath before forcing herself back to her feet. She couldn’t quit now. This was part of her training regimen, specifically designed by True Might himself, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. 

A hero like him had noticed her—plain, skinny Taylor Herbert—and given her a chance to become strong when everyone else overlooked her. She would take that chance and never let go.

“I’m ready for the next one, sir,” she called out, her voice steadier than she felt.

True Might gave her a thumbs-up. “THAT’S THE SPIRIT!”

This was her path to becoming a hero.

She hadn’t told him about her powers yet or about Buzzwing, the Winged Guardian of Justice. That conversation would come later, once she’d proven herself worthy. For now, he believed she was just an ordinary girl with extraordinary drive, and that was enough for him to take her under his wing.

Would he still want to train me if he knew about my control over insects? 

She pushed the thought aside and straightened her shoulders. That was a stupid question. Of course he would. 

And that only made her admire him even more.

---------------------------------------------------

-Daniel, True Might-

I tear apart another rusty ship hull like it’s made of cardboard, folding the metal into manageable chunks before tossing them onto the growing scrap pile. Satisfying work, really. Now that they’re bite-sized pieces instead of massive death traps, the city might actually bother sending someone to haul them away. Maybe some scrappers will even find a use for this junk.

Community service yay! 

Internally, I roll my eyes. Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.

Truth is, cleaning this boat graveyard is just a convenient excuse. My real objective? Getting Taylor into fighting shape.

Yeah, I’m shamelessly stealing All Might’s training method. Because in all honesty? It’s an effective method. If it worked for scrawny Deku, it’ll do wonders for Taylor. That girl’s determination makes his look casual by comparison, even if I wish she could tone it down a little.

The division of labor is simple: she handles the appliances and smaller debris, I take care of the ship hulls and anything else that would snap her in half or leave a very nasty cut, which is the reason I got her a pair of gloves to protect herself.

And as expected Futaba’s involvement is a significant upgrade to the plan. She’s designed a proper diet regimen that looks to be at par with professional athletes’. I’m footing the bill, obviously. No way I’m making Taylor’s dad shoulder the cost of imported natural cereals and protein supplements. Thanks to Leviathan turning international shipping into a suicide mission, anything not grown locally costs an arm and a leg. And she is going to need a lot of those.

Money’s not an issue for me, though. Haven’t even checked my account balance in months since I’ve been only focusing on the Company’s credits and now that I had to check; it turns out I’m quite wealthy thanks to many missions I’ve been taking.

Besides, what would I spend it on? My pocket apartment has everything I need, also I don’t have to worry about rent, and it’s not like I can just stroll into a restaurant or go shopping without causing a scene. 

Why didn’t I pick a mask when I made my debut? Oh right, I’m still a massive guy and wouldn’t have been able to hide my identity if I wanted to. And the crippling speech which I can appreciate since it is cheesy lines instead of whatever travesty Futaba spoke days ago.

“Whoa!”

I turn to see Taylor stumble slightly before catching herself. She quickly brushes dust from her blue jogging pants, trying to play it cool before returning to the broken oven she’s been pushing. She is a stubborn kid who won’t admit when she’s tired, but I can clearly see her trembling arms as she keeps going.

Ten more minutes, max, and then I’m calling it quits for the day. Her determination is admirable, but I’ve seen enough training montages to know where this leads—pushing too hard, too fast is how you end up with injuries, not superpowers.

I continue crushing ship debris into smaller parts before I decided to make neat cubes, my hands easily compressing metal that would require industrial equipment for normal people. Besides, there is something oddly satisfying about crushing metal like clay.

Turning back, I see my trainee still struggling with that kitchen oven, having made pathetically little progress. Yeah, she’s definitely hit her limit. Time to call it a day.

“HALT YOUR NOBLE EFFORTS, BRAVE TAYLOR!” My voice booms across the graveyard, wondering what I will say now. “THE SUN WANES IN THE SKY, AND OUR RIGHTEOUS LABOR MUST CONCLUDE FOR THIS GLORIOUS DAY!”

And I’m pointing at the horizon, which coincidentally the sun is now illuminating me for more dramatic effect. Okay, it cannot be a coincidence at this point.

The teenager immediately slumps forward, practically collapsing onto the heavy object. Her arms dangle limply over the sides, and I can see her chest heaving as she gulps down air. No question, she’s completely spent for the day.

I move closer and place a bottle of water next to her. “The flames of Justice keep burning incandescently within you, young Taylor! Few souls demonstrate such unwavering commitment to the true path of righteousness! Your jolly dedication would make the greatest heroes weep with joy!”

Just a simple “fantastic work” would have sufficed, you know?

Rather than reply with her own cheesy line she weakly raises one arm with a thumb up and a strained smile before she fully collapses with a groan.

I leave her there for a minute to recuperate while checking my phone. Oracle made good on her word and set up a social media account for True Might.

No surprise it gained traction almost instantly, collecting hundreds of thousands of followers within hours. The sponsorship companies I signed with probably helped amplify it. All I did was hand that geeky girl a couple of selfies with some pre-written hammy phrases and let her work her online magic.

One of my posts shows me brushing my teeth with a gleaming smile with the caption: “REMEMBER, YOUNG JUSTICE SEEKERS! TWICE A DAY, WE STRIKE! MORNING AND NIGHT, WE FIGHT! FOR A SMILE THAT GLEAMS LIKE THE SUN AND A BREATH AS PURE AS A MOUNTAIN BREEZE!”

Ugh. I want to die of embarrassment.

But scrolling through the comments, I see hundreds of selfies from kids and teens brushing their teeth in response. Some even attempting heroic poses with toothbrushes raised like weapons against the villainous forces of cavities.

So, mission accomplished? At least my humiliation is serving some public health purpose.

Oh hey, that guy from the PRT event called Knightbrace is encouraging my post.

I glance back at Taylor, who’s managed to sit up and is chugging the water. Welp, time to go.

“Come, valiant Taylor! The hour grows late, and we must return you to your noble abode!” I announce, extending a hand to help her up.

Taylor nods wearily, clearly too exhausted for the walk home. She looks like she might collapse again at any moment.

Knowing this I crouch down. “CLIMB ABOARD THE CHARIOT OF JUSTICE!”

Chariot of justice? Really?!

Despite her exhaustion, Taylor’s face lights up like it’s Christmas morning. She climbs onto my back with surprising eagerness for someone who could barely stand a minute ago.

“ONWARDS TO VICTORY!” Booms out of my mouth as I launch us into the air.

Taylor squeals with delight as we soar above the buildings. I feel her grip tighten around my neck, not from fear but excitement. The wind whips through her curly hair as we bound from rooftop to rooftop. For her, this is probably the highlight of training—not the hard work, but the superhero express ride home.

Hey, but it is a memory she will hold dear. That’s important.

Within minutes, we arrive at her house. I land softly on the sidewalk and crouch down to let her dismount.

“Another glorious day of training concludes.!” I announce as she slides off my back. “But remember, your quest for strength continues at the dinner table! Consume your protein with the same dedication you showed today!”

Taylor grins, some energy returning to her face. “I will! Thanks for today, True Might.”

She turns toward her house, then pauses and looks back at me. “See you tomorrow?”

I nod, already knowing what’s coming.

“OF COURSE, BECAUSE JUSTICE...” I raise my fist, knowing what’s coming.

“Never rests!” she finishes enthusiastically, pumping her fist in the air as well.

And so the infection spreads.

I wait until she’s safely inside before leaping onto the nearest building. Once out of sight, I let my shoulders slump and check my phone for any alerts or emergencies.

A notification pops up, reminding me about something I’d almost forgotten: the boxing match with Mirko.

Oh right. The boxing match.

I blink and look around, suddenly realizing I have no idea where we’re supposed to meet. Did she even tell me? I scratch my head as I try to remember.

She just walked up to me and poked my chest, asking for a rematch at a gym before leaving…

Ok, yeah. She didn’t tell me where and I didn’t ask either.

And neither do I have her number…

Well, on the bright side, we do have a common contact. All I need to do is write to Futaba.

“Got a boxing match with Mirko, she didn’t tell me where and I didn’t ask.

‘lol give me a moment’

After a few minutes, my phone buzzes with a notification.

‘Brockton Bay Athletic Club, 847 Harborview Drive.’

That’s in a somewhat decent part of the city, which makes sense. It would be within protection range of the local capes and PRT patrols. Smart choice for a more public venue like this.

I open a portal to my pocket apartment and step through, quickly grabbing a gym bag from under my bed. Wait, how did I know that there is a gym bag under there? Whatever.

Moving to the closet, I pull out training clothes which my closet has, because of course it has.

I stop, hand hovering over a plain black sleeveless shirt. This will be the first time I’m out of my costume in... months? I try to remember the last time I was seen in public as just Daniel, not True Might. The thought is oddly disorienting.

Not that I’ll be escaping the crippling speech affliction. That’s stuck with me, costume or no costume.

With everything packed, I exit through the same portal and begin bunny-hopping across buildings toward the gym, and as I get closer, I notice a small crowd gathered outside.

On second look, they’re not just random onlookers—they’re gym-goers. The kind of people who take fitness seriously, with protein shakers, towels, water, gym-bros in essence.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and land near the entrance. Heads immediately turn, and phones come out to snap pictures. 

“Holy shit, it’s True Might!”

“Didn’t expect him to actually train at a regular gym.”

“Of course he would,” a bulky guy says, arms crossed over his chest. “You think a body like that comes from nowhere? Man’s gotta pump iron like the rest of us.”

If only he knew about my body tune-up perk. Still, I give him an appreciative nod.

“The path of justice excellence knows no shortcuts, upstanding citizens!”  I reply, flexing my right bicep. “Because justice must be fit to serve!”

Oh my god, why did that line come back?

I quickly move towards the entrance, which has sliding doors but I have to duck slightly to enter.

Inside, all activity stops. Weights pause mid-lift. Treadmills slow to a halt. Every head turns toward me. I will refrain from speaking and just smile and wave.

I approach the receptionist, whose jaw is practically on the counter, and slide over the entrance fee. She takes it mechanically, eyes wide, before stammering out directions. I nod my thanks and quickly head for the changing room.

The locker room is mercifully empty. I change clothes in record time, pulling on a fitted black tank top and gray gym shorts that somehow manage to fit my frame perfectly. I stuff my costume into the gym bag and sling it over my shoulder, heading toward the section marked with a “Boxing Ring” sign.

As I approach, I hear the unmistakable sound of heavy, rapid punches, HARD punches, if I may add. Turning the corner, I spot the rabbit heroine in a nice black and white top and seamless black legging shorts, hands wrapped in bandages as she absolutely demolishes a heavy bag. Each strike sends the bag swinging wildly, it looks like the bag will burst at any moment.

Her rabbit ears suddenly perk up before she even turns her head. She whips around, a fierce grin spreading across her face as she spots me.

“Oi, big guy!” the heroine finally calls out.

And she he delivers one final devastating kick to the bag that echoes through the room before strutting over and poke my chest. “Took your sweet time, didn’t ya? Was starting to think you’d chickened out after all!”

I take a deep breath, knowing there’s no avoiding what’s coming next. “The mighty call of glorious challenge resonates with my justice! For I can see your desire to become stronger to defeat the evildoers.” I declare, thumping my chest. “How could I disappoint such an honest and just desire to spread the righteous word of lady justice?”

Mirko’s grin widens, not put off by my volume or theatrics in the slightest. If anything, she seems amused.

“Yeah, yeah, save the cheesy speech for after I knock you flat.” She says, bouncing lightly on her feet. She gestures toward a bench where wraps and gloves wait. “Gear up, big guy. Let’s see if those muscles are just for show.”

“Not so fast,” a tired voice calls out from the doorway.

Turning, Mirko and I saw Eraserhead coming towards us, fully geared up and wearing his typical exhausted look. Under one arm, he’s hauling a yellow sleeping bag.

Which is weird, why did he come?

But that confusion isn’t shared because Mirko instantly explodes, stomping toward him with fists clenched. “Are you kidding me? Those wimpy paper pushers are sending babysitters now? This isn’t some street brawl, Eraser! It’s a friendly boxing match between two pro heroes!” She then points an accusatory angrily at the man. “You can take all your bureaucratic paperwork bullshit and shove it right up your—”

“GREETINGS, FRIEND ERASERHEAD!” I boom, cutting off Mirko’s colorful suggestion. “I AM DELIGHTED TO FIND YOU IN THIS FINE ESTABLISHMENT!”

I approach with an extended hand, hoping to defuse the situation. Mirko looks ready to drop-kick him through the nearest wall, and while that would certainly be entertaining, in a weird, morbid way, it would also land her in a lot of problems and in association I would be in trouble too.

Aizawa sighs deeply, the sound of a man who would rather be literally anywhere else. He ignores my outstretched hand completely.

“I’m not here to stop you,” he states flatly, his tired eyes focused particularly on me. “I’m here to oversee the fight and prevent catastrophic damage. Director’s orders.”

“Catastrophic damage? What’s that supposed to mean?” Mirko demands, crossing her arms.

Aizawa’s exhausted gaze shifts between us but lingers on me. “It means one of you have shown several times to be capable of punching through concrete with minimal effort, and that means capable of leveling buildings. This is a civilian gym, not a fortress.” He looks pointedly at the standard boxing ring, which would likely collapse under a fraction of my full strength.

Mirko scoffs. “He knows how to hold back… maybe. Give the big guy some credit.”

“Fear not, my fellow ally of justice!” I declare, unable to stop myself. “Like I have explained to our friend Armsmaster, my punches are filled with justice, and my justice never harms the innocent and only the evildoers! No harm shall befall upon this modest arena where we will stoke the fires of our combined justice!”

Use other words for fuck’s sake! The English dictionary is vast! There has to be synonyms for the word justice!

Aizawa looks at me for a long moment, blinking slowly. “Just... don’t bring the building down on our heads.”

With that said, he drags his sleeping bag to a corner that coincidentally has an empty chair, unrolls it, and climbs inside it while sitting upright in a chair. Within seconds, he looks halfway to sleep, but his eyes remain slightly open.

Why does he want to appear to be sleeping though?

Mirko turns back to me, her irritation morphing back into competitive excitement with the same grin as before. “Well, big guy, looks like we’ve got an unexpected chaperone. Guess you’ll have to show me your moves without demolishing the place.”

She bounces back toward the ring, leaping over the ropes with effortless grace before she puts on boxing gloves. “Come on! Let’s give Eraser-Nap over there something worth staying awake for!”

I can tell she’s still annoyed at the intrusion, but her focus is shifting back to our match. 

I finish wrapping my hands, somewhat clumsily before I put the extra pair from the bench, and climb into the ring and the entire structure creaks ominously under my weight. Uh, must be the whole thing adjusting to my size.

We both walk to the center of the ring and the heroine grins up at me—way up—and whispers so only I can hear.

“Don’t you dare hold back against me, big guy. You know I can take it.”

We touch gloves, and I’m struck again by the size difference between us. Her fist looks almost comically small against mine. We return to our respective corners, and I frown slightly as the disparity becomes even more apparent.

She’s almost half my size. From a purely physical standpoint, this matchup seems absurdly unfair. But then I remember our first encounter, when she managed to lift my entire body with just her legs, flipping me through the air like I weighed nothing. Size doesn’t mean much when you’re dealing with someone like Mirko.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty!” Mirko barks at Eraserhead. “Make yourself useful and set a timer!”

Aizawa sighs deeply from his sleeping bag but pulls out a phone and taps the screen without fully emerging.

Mirko pumps her gloves together and shouts, “GO!”

She immediately launches into action, zig-zagging toward me with incredible speed. Her movement pattern is erratic and unpredictable, to a normal person, closing distance, then darting away, feinting left before cutting right. 

I keep my guard up, tracking her movements. She’s fast, but I can follow her and learn from her. I decide to stay quiet for now, focusing on the match rather than embarrassing myself with more heroic declarations.

Mirko darts in close, feints a jab to my midsection, then launches upward with surprising height, aiming a hook directly at my jaw. It connects with full force—a blow that would shatter the jawbone of any normal human or knock out a cape.

But as expected, I don’t even feel it.

The impact doesn’t so much as turn my head, though I can tell from the physics of it that she put impressive power behind the punch. My near-invulnerability means her attacks, however technically perfect, simply don’t register as pain or damage.

Surprise flickers across her face for just a split second before that competitive grin returns. She immediately follows with a rapid-fire combination to my torso and sides. And that one was aimed at my liver.

“Come on, big guy!” she taunts, bouncing back. “You gonna just stand there like a statue all day? Show me something!”

I decide to answer her challenge with action instead of words. I throw a quick jab to her head.

And she twists her body, and she slips past my punch. Before I can even retract my arm, she’s countered with a lightning-fast hook to my ribs. Again, I feel the impact, but no pain.

I decide to glance at the entrance to the room; a crowd has gathered pushing between themselves, their phones held high as they record the match. Security is trying to keep them back, but nobody wants to miss this unlikely showdown. 

Enough distractions.

I throw another punch, trying to corral her with my superior reach, but the rabbit girl’s agility is true to her boast. She ducks under one punch, leaps over another, and somehow manages to spring off my extended arm to deliver a glancing blow to the side of my head as she passes.

She truly has a lot of fighting experience, just like I’ve imagined.

“That the best your justice can do?” she calls out, bouncing on her toes and rolling her shoulders. “Where is that fire from back then, huh?!”

Yep, she’s enjoying this.

However, as the exchange continues, something clicks in my mind. Must be my martial talent in full effect. With each attack Mirko throws, each feint and counter, I’m not just defending; I’m studying, adapting, learning her patterns.

The rabbit girl comes in for another aggressive combination, confident in the rhythm she’s established. But this time, I’m ready. I see the slight shift in her weight, the telltale tension in her shoulder before she throws her favorite right hook.

I move just as she launches forward, slipping to the side and landing a measured but powerful punch to her face, catching her red eyes widening in surprise. The impact sends her stumbling back, spinning from the force. 

Yes, even if she asked me, I MUST hold back since I don’t want to kill anybody with my monstrous strength, especially her.

Instead of being angry, Mirko recovers her balance and roars with joy. “Oh yeah! That’s what I’m talking about!”

Her eyes are alight with excitement. She charges back in, and we exchange a flurry of blows. I counter her jab with one of my own, duck under her jumping hook, and land a body shot that makes her grunt. She retaliates with a lightning-fast combination that would overwhelm most opponents, but I’m tracking her movements better now, blocking or slipping most of her attacks even if that’s not necessary, but makes the fight more exciting for her.

The crowd at the doorway has definitely grown, people actively pushing against each other and their cheers create a constant background roar.

“Did you see that? He tagged her!” “Mirko’s not backing down an inch!” “This is insane!”

With each exchange, I’m becoming more effective. The talent is working its magic, helping me internalize her fighting style, anticipate her movements. But Mirko seems to sense this change, her grin widening as she realizes she needs to step up her game.

She becomes more aggressive, more unpredictable—mixing up her timing, changing angles of attack, throwing in feints I haven’t seen before. She’s faster now, pushing herself harder, but I’m landing more clean hits, and she’s taking them with impressive resilience.

After I connect with a solid cross to her midsection, she skids back several feet but comes charging right back in, rabbit ears twitching with excitement.

“Come on! Don’t hold back on me now!” she shouts, launching herself forward with a raised fist.

I see the attack coming and prepare. Instead of meeting force with force, I deflect her punch with my forearm, redirecting her momentum and simultaneously landing a perfectly timed counter to her exposed side. The impact sends her flying toward the ropes.

She hits them hard and bounces back, already positioning for her next attack, when a loud phone alarm cuts through the noise.

“Time!” Aizawa calls out flatly from his corner.

“Fuck!” Mirko yells, stomping her foot in frustration. The floor actually cracks slightly beneath her. “Just when it was getting good! This boxing rule bullshit is cramping my style—if I could use my legs, I’d show you a real fight!”

Yeah, I agree with her. Her most powerful weapons are her signature moves.

Either way, she’s breathing hard, sweat glistening on her skin, but her eyes are bright with exhilaration. There’s not a hint of fear or intimidation, even after taking hits that would put most in the hospital she is still standing and wanting for more.

“Round two?” she asks, bouncing on her toes. Right, the adrenaline junkie that she is.

From his corner, Aizawa sighs audibly.

“Round two…” Aizawa announces with zero enthusiasm, tapping his phone.

Mirko immediately begins circling me, light on her feet despite the punishment she’s taken. Her red eyes are calculating, looking for openings, trying to find a new angle of attack. This time, she’s more cautious, respecting the fact that I’ve adapted to her wild style.

But I’ve decided to change tactics. Instead of waiting for her attack, I move forward, taking the offensive. The sudden shift in momentum catches her off guard.

I throw a feint that makes her raise her guard high, then follow with a quick straight punch that breaks through her defense. There’s a split-second opening, and I capitalize on it, landing a solid right to her cheek. Even with my strength dialed way down, the impact is enough to send her crashing to the canvas.

The crowd at the entrance gasps collectively. For a moment, everything goes quiet.

But Mirko rolls onto her back and, in one fluid motion, springs back to her feet with an acrobatic kip-up. She snorts, spits a glob of blood to the side of the ring, and grins at me with reddened teeth.

“HA, that tickles!” she declares, raising her guard again. “You can hit harder than that, right?!”

Woman, you would fucking die if I do.

Yet she is obviously ignorant of my thoughts as she looks genuinely pleased, even as a bruise begins to form on her cheek. There’s no fear in her eyes, only growing excitement.

“Did you see that?” 

“She got right back up like it was nothing!”

“These two are monsters!”

Even Aizawa has fully emerged from his sleeping bag now, watching with focused attention. He hasn’t intervened yet, but his stance suggests he’s ready to if things escalate further.

Even Aizawa has fully emerged from his sleeping bag now, watching with focused attention. He hasn’t intervened yet, but his stance suggests he’s ready to if things escalate further.

The heroine wipes some remaining blood from her lips before she charges with a roar, but she’s changed her approach completely. No longer staying with planted feet in traditional boxing form, instead of the zigzag from earlier, she handsprings, and flies overhead as she slams both gauntlets on the back of my head. 

Huh, that certainly was unexpected.

“Mirko! That’s enough,” Aizawa calls out sharply, stepping toward the ring. “This is supposed to be a boxing match.”

Mirko lands from a flip and whirls toward him, her face twisting into what I know is rage. “Are you kidding me?! I’m still just using my hands!”

“Your acrobatics are pushing the boundaries of what you agreed to.” Aizawa states flatly. “This is exactly why I’m here.”

“This is such bullshit!” Mirko explodes, stomping her foot hard enough to make the entire ring shake, causing another crack. “I knew you guys would be a fucking nuisance! We’re just having a friendly match, and you’re acting like I’m about to level the building!”

She turns to me, gesturing wildly. “Can you believe this crap? We’re both pros, we know what we’re doing!”

Aizawa has a point though. 

The man in question sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t negotiable. Either keep it to the rules, or we’re done here and I will start charging you for property damage.”

Mirko glares at Aizawa, then at the audience, clearly frustrated at having her momentum cut short.

Mirko looks ready to argue further, her fists clenched at her sides, but after a tense moment, she lets out a frustrated growl.

“Fine! Whatever!” She throws up her hands. “If I can’t fight properly, what’s even the fucking point?”

She turns to me. “Sorry, big guy. Looks like our match is getting cut short by the fun police.”

“The spirit of justice burns brightly within you, my friend!” I declare, already missing the moment I was silent. “Even if we don’t reach the glorious conclusion, we are certainly stronger for our noble crusade against the forces of evil!”

This actually draws a laugh from her, breaking through her anger. “Yeah, yeah. Save the hammy speech.” She starts unwrapping her hands, and discarding her gauntlets which I follow suit. “You’re not half bad yourself. Didn’t expect you to adapt so quickly. You have talent, but well, you fucking kicked Hookwolf ass, so I would have been disappointed if you didn’t.”

Well, also had a lot of property damage and was holding back THAT much. Overwhelming strength for the win.

Aizawa approaches the ring, looking relieved that a confrontation has been avoided. “This facility isn’t rated for the kind of match you two were escalating toward.”

Mirko rolls her eyes. “We weren’t going to destroy the place.”

The disappointed crowd begins to disperse, finally leaving some breathing air to the security guards, though many are still filming and talking excitedly about what they witnessed. 

Mirko ducks between the ropes and hops down from the ring, and turns around. “Next time, we will do this somewhere without restrictions, like the outskirts or a mountain.” She grins up at me, that competitive gleam still in her eye. Although it does give her a different edge that her teeth are bloodied.

“And next time,” she adds, “I get to use my legs.”

I nod, stepping down from the ring myself.

“A most excellent proposition!” I shout. “I eagerly await our next glorious fight!”

Eraserhead just sighs again, already retreating back to his sleeping bag. “Just give the PRT advance notice next time. They can send somebody else to referee your death matches.”

She just laughs. “Sure thing, Eraser. We’ll send you a formal invitation.” She turns back to me. “You free next Thursday? I have a place in mind.”

The rabbit heroine then starts stretching her arms. “Until then, maybe we grab something to eat? I’m starving after getting my face punched.” She rubs her bruised cheek with a strange look of pride.

I blink as I’m taken aback by her sudden invitation, because I certainly didn’t expect that.

Should I use my special ticket as an opportunity to have a normal evening for once? I didn’t expect to use it so soon, to be honest.

But I also don’t want this to be interrupted by my stupid crippling speech.

However, before I can respond, a phone rings from Mirko’s gym bag. Her rabbit ears twitch at the sound, and she holds up a finger.

“Excuse me,” she says, jogging over to her things and pulling out a small phone. 

“Yeah?” 

I can wait.

“What do you mean ‘what’? I told you I had something...” she listens for a moment, her face darkening. “But I had something to do!” 

Okay, that doesn’t sound good.

“Fine, assholes. I’ll be there in twenty.”

She hangs up with enough force that I’m surprised the phone doesn’t shatter in her hand. When she returns, her previous good mood has evaporated.

“Nevermind about eating,” she says, clearly angry. “Something stupid came up. Gotta go.”

Well, fuck.

She lightly punches my stomach, or more likely uses my stomach to vent her frustration, but then again I don’t feel anything from that. “See ya another time, big guy.”

“Farewell, valiant Mirko!” I boom, my voice echoing around the room. “May the winds of justice speed your path, and may the light of righteousness guide your noble quest!”

She actually chuckles at that despite her mood, shaking her head as she grabs her bag. “You’re really something else. I’ll tell that twerp to set us up in a good place.”

As she leaves, I feel a wave of annoyance wash over me. Somehow, the universe always manages to intervene just when I might have a chance at something normal. Was it too much to ask for one evening free from bullshit? Like sleeping is cool but it’s just that, sleeping.

Well, I could go to Futaba place and play video games with her now that I think about it, yeah I think I have some video games in my pocket apartment and a console, I just need to look around.

Aizawa has already packed up his sleeping bag and is heading for the door himself. He pauses next to me. “If it is worth anything, thank you for your work. It really helped us a lot even if the PRT doesn’t want to admit it.”

Then he’s gone too.

I sigh internally and head toward the changing room. 

---------------------------------------------------

Bonus scene: Justice gains?

Rebecca Costa Brown found herself once again staring at a new set of documents on her desk. True Might had participated in a boxing match at a local gym of Brockton Bay, and unsurprisingly, the place had become extremely busy and popular the following day. A few poorly filmed clips of Mirko and True Might sparring had gone viral online, enough to influence people to swarm the establishment in droves.

And of course, Contessa—in her typical fashion—had immediately purchased the gym and unceremoniously dumped the administrative workload on her already full plate. The bright side, if there was one, was that she could delegate this new responsibility to another competent manager in their network. Thankfully, there were many.

She flipped through the social media analytics reports with interest. True Might’s recently created account were gaining followers at an exponential rate. His influence was spreading exactly as they had anticipated—perhaps even faster. The public’s response couldn’t have been more perfect if they had orchestrated it themselves and played with the algorithm a little. Which, she reminded herself with a wry smile, they essentially had.

“What else could we do to capitalize on this momentum?” she mused aloud, tapping her pen against the polished surface of her desk.

A thought suddenly struck her. Rebecca paused mid-tap, her eyes widening slightly as she recalled something.

“Wait a minute...”

She slid open her bottom drawer and reached inside, extracting the peculiar set of DVDs that Contessa had cryptically delivered to her office weeks ago. The “Aerobics Champions” title gleamed under the office lights as she turned the case in her hands.

“We have a gym now too,” she whispered, the pieces finally clicking into place.

Of course Contessa had foreseen this development. The woman’s power continued to be both a blessing and an aggravation.

“What about ‘Aerobic... Justice’?” she suggested to the empty room, immediately cringing at how the words sounded coming from her own mouth.

Despite her distaste, Rebecca knew the idea had merit. A fitness program led by their new public hero could attract an entirely new demographic. It would further humanize True Might while simultaneously spreading the PRT’s influence into yet another sector of public life.

She sighed deeply, placing the DVDs on top of the gym acquisition papers.

“This is my life now too.” She muttered, reaching for her phone to set the new plan in motion.

She could already picture how that would go.

---------------------------------------------------

AN: Yep, it is what you all thinking.