MHA-IM Chapter 1: The Last Funday

"YES! Take that, you absolute trash can!"

"Shut up! That was pure luck, and you know it!"

The living room echoed with the sounds of button mashing and competitive yelling.

Two nineteen-year-olds sat hunched forward on the worn leather sofa, controllers gripped tight in their hands, eyes glued to the TV screen where their characters were beating the absolute hell out of each other in Street Fighter 6.

The one on the left had black hair that fell messily over his forehead and striking green eyes that narrowed in concentration. His friend beside him mirrored his posture, black hair just as unkempt, but with piercing blue eyes that widened every time he landed a combo.

"Dude, you're getting destroyed right now," the green-eyed one said, leaning back with a cocky grin as his character executed a perfect super move.

"Just admit I'm better and save yourself the embarrassment."

"Better? BETTER?" The blue-eyed one nearly jumped off the couch. "You won ONE round! ONE! I'm still up two to one, you delusional—"

"Yeah, yeah, excuses-excuses. Watch this."

The green-eyed player's fingers danced across the controller. His character ducked, weaved, and launched into a devastating combo that had his friend frantically mashing buttons.

"No no no no—DAMMIT!"

"OHHHHH!" The green-eyed one threw his hands up in victory. "Two to two now! What were you saying about being better?"

"That was a fluke! Pure button mashing!"

"Fluke? That was skill, my friend. Pure, unfiltered skill."

"I'll show you skill. Final round, loser has to admit the other one is the Street Fighter god."

"You're on."

They both leaned forward again, trash talk momentarily paused as they focused on the screen.

This was it. The deciding match. Pride was on the line.

Neither of them noticed the sound of footsteps approaching from the hallway.

Neither of them saw the woman with black hair streaked with hints of gray and sharp blue eyes enter the room, a piece of paper clutched in her hand.

Neither of them noticed her expression, which could only be described as the calm before a storm.

The woman, who looked to be in her late forties with fine lines around her eyes and a face that suggested she'd dealt with these two idiots for far too long, moved with the stealth of a predator.

She crept around the sofa, positioning herself directly behind both young men, who were completely absorbed in their game.

"Oh, you're DONE—"

"Not if I—"

THWACK! THWACK!

Two perfectly executed strikes landed on the tops of their heads simultaneously.

"OWWW!"

"OW OW OW!"

Both controllers clattered to the floor as the two players clutched their heads, the game forgotten as their characters stood idle on screen.

The blue-eyed one spun around, still rubbing his head. "What did I doooo, Mom?"

Now that they were facing each other, the resemblance was obvious. Same sharp jawline, same nose, same bone structure. The only real differences were the eyes and the fact that she looked ready to murder them both.

The green-eyed guy was also rubbing his head, wincing at the pain. But when he saw his best friend getting yelled at, a small smile crept onto his face. The pain seemed to fade into the background as entertainment took priority.

"What did you do?" The mother's voice was dangerously calm. She thrust the piece of paper in front of both their faces. "WHAT DID YOU DO?"

Both pairs of eyes focused on the paper. It was a receipt. A restaurant receipt.

"You two punks ate outside yesterday, huh?"

The blue-eyed one's face went pale. He gulped audibly.

The green-eyed one's smile vanished instantly, replaced by the expression of someone who just realized they were standing on a landmine.

'Busted,' they both thought in perfect synchronization, the kind that only came from years of getting into trouble together.

The mother's expression shifted. A smile appeared on her face. But it wasn't a warm, motherly smile. No, this was the smile of someone who was about to make your life very, very difficult.

A dark aura seemed to emanate from her, visible only to the two young men who knew her well enough to sense when they were in deep trouble. Behind her, they could swear they saw the shadowy figure of an oni, complete with horns and a murderous grin.

Both of them gulped in unison.

"Y-yeah," her son stammered, his earlier confidence completely evaporated. "We... we wanted to eat dumplings yesterday during lunch. So we... we went to that place downtown."

"Oh, you wanted dumplings?" The mother's smile widened. The oni figure grew larger. "You wanted DUMPLINGS?"

"Y-yes?"

"Had you opened your DAMN lunch boxes," she said, her voice rising with each word, "you would have found DUMPLINGS! The SAME dumplings! Homemade ones that I spent an hour making that morning! But NO! It kills you to open the lunch boxes, doesn't it!?"

The realization hit them like a truck-kun hits a loner in his thirties.

They had royally messed up.

"I wake up at six in the morning," the mother continued, her rant gaining momentum like a runaway train.

"SIX! Do you know what I'm doing at six? Not sleeping, that's for damn sure! I'm in the kitchen making fresh dumplings because I know you both love them! I pack them nice and neat in those expensive lunch containers I bought specifically to keep food warm! And what do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?"

"We—" the blue-eyed one tried to speak.

"You spend money we don't have growing on trees to buy TRASH from some restaurant when you had perfectly good, homemade, BETTER dumplings sitting in your bags!"

The green-eyed one and the blue-eyed one exchanged glances. They were in serious trouble. This was bad. This was really bad.

But then, the green-eyed one's expression shifted. His eyes lit up with an idea.

A terrible, betraying idea.

A sly smile crept across his face as he turned to look at the mother.

"Auntie," he said, his voice dripping with innocence, "it was his idea."

The blue-eyed one's head snapped toward his best friend so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"I was totally gonna eat the delicious lunch you packed," the green-eyed one continued, placing a hand over his heart like he was making a solemn oath.

"You know how much I love your cooking, right? Your dumplings are literally the best thing I've ever tasted. But HE," he pointed dramatically at his friend, "insisted we go out. He basically dragged me there. I tried to say no, but you know how stubborn he gets—"

"YOU TRAITOR!" the blue-eyed one shouted, but it was too late.

THWACK!

Another solid hit landed on his head, harder than the first two.

"OW! MOM!"

"You," the mother said, pointing a finger at her son with the authority of a judge delivering a sentence, "are on cleaning duty for the ENTIRE house, for this ENTIRE month. Bathroom, kitchen, floors, windows, everything. And you," she turned to the green-eyed one, who was trying very hard not to smile, "you're on grocery duty. Every single shopping trip. You're carrying the bags."

With that, she turned on her heel and marched out of the living room, muttering something about ungrateful children and wasted effort.

The moment she was gone, the blue-eyed one turned to his friend with a look of utter betrayal.

"Traitor," he said flatly.

The green-eyed one shrugged, the sly smile returning to his face. "Hey, whatever saves me. You should've spoken up faster."

"I can't believe you threw me under the bus like that."

"I can't believe you're surprised. We've been friends for how long?"

"That's supposed to mean you DON'T betray me!"

"Nah, that means I know exactly how to betray you most effectively."

The blue-eyed one grabbed a couch cushion and smacked his friend with it. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." The green-eyed one laughed, blocking the cushion attack.

They sat there for a moment, the tension from their punishment settling into the familiar comfort of their friendship. Despite the month of chores ahead of them, despite getting caught, despite everything, they were still grinning like idiots.

"So," the green-eyed one said, picking up his controller from the floor. "Round two?"

The blue-eyed one looked at him, then at his own controller, then back at his friend. A competitive glint returned to his eyes. "You're on. But this time, no interruptions."

"Deal."

They settled back into the couch, controllers in hand, ready to continue their eternal rivalry. The screen loaded the next match. Their fingers hovered over the buttons.

"Prepare to get destroyed," the blue-eyed one said.

"In your dreams," the green-eyed one shot back.

The match started, and once again the room filled with the sounds of button mashing, trash talk, and laughter. Two best friends, doing what they did best: competing, joking, and enjoying each other's company on a lazy Sunday morning.

The blue-eyed one landed a critical hit. "YES!"

The green-eyed one countered immediately. "Not good enough!"

Their characters clashed on screen, combos flying, health bars dropping. Neither one willing to give an inch. This was more than just a game to them. It was a test of skill, a battle of wills, a way to prove who was better, at least until the next match when they'd do it all over again.

The sun streamed through the window, casting long shadows across the living room. Outside, the world continued on its normal Sunday routine. People walked their dogs, kids played in the street, and cars drove by. It was peaceful. It was ordinary.

It was perfect.

"HAH! Got you!"

"Wait, no, that's not—DAMMIT!"

Neither of them knew what was coming. Neither of them could have known. In their minds, this was just another Sunday. Tomorrow would be Monday, they'd go to their part-time jobs or college or wherever their lives took them, come back, play more games, eat more food, get yelled at by Mom again, and the cycle would continue.

They had plans. The blue-eyed one was talking about getting a new job next month. The green-eyed one was thinking about finally buying a new game. They had dreams, futures, paths they were walking down.

They had time.

Or so they thought.

The match ended. The green-eyed one won, pumping his fist in victory while his friend groaned in defeat. They laughed, argued about who was really better, and immediately started another round.

Soon it was evening. The sun began its descent toward the horizon. The light in the room shifted from bright to golden to dim. Still, they played, their laughter and shouts echoing through the house.

Mom poked her head in once to tell them dinner would be ready soon. They both promised to wrap up the game. She rolled her eyes, knowing full well they'd play at least three more matches before actually stopping, but she smiled anyway.

These were the good days. The simple days. The days when the biggest problem was getting caught eating out instead of eating packed lunches. The days when the biggest decision was which character to pick in a fighting game.

These were the days they'd look back on, eventually, and realize just how precious they had been.

But they didn't know that yet.

They didn't know that this Sunday afternoon, with its trash talk and gaming and getting smacked by Mom, would be one of the last normal moments they'd ever have.

They didn't know that everything was about to change.

They didn't know that their story—their real story—was about to begin in a way neither of them could have possibly imagined.

Cause their happy days were now over.