((About 6 years before the main events of My Hero Academia))

Steam rolled off two bowls as the cook slid them onto the counter with a soft clack—rich broth, springy noodles, scallions bright against the surface. The little ramen shop was nearly empty, its warm lights dimmed by late evening, the window fogged where winter air pressed in.

Somewhere behind the kitchen curtain, a pot simmered steadily, like a heartbeat. A moment later, the noren shifted again. Ryuko returned in quieter clothes than her hero gear—an oversized hoodie in deep red, skirt and tights.

She paused the instant she spotted the bowls, then stepped in with a small, contained exhale. “Sorry,” She said quickly and softly. “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

She slipped onto the stool beside you. The proximity made her shoulders tighten for a heartbeat before she smoothed it away. Ryuko placed her hands neatly in her lap, her posture straight, and her gaze fixed on the ramen as if it were a briefing document.

“It smells… good,” She added after a second, carefully casual. “Thank you for ordering.” She accepted the chopsticks, rolling them between her fingers. Then she glanced sideways, quick as a spark, and looked away just as fast, her cheeks warming faintly under the shop’s amber light.

“We did well today,” She said, more certain now. “The timing was clean. No unnecessary damage. Civilians were moved before it escalated.” Her eyes settled on the bowl again. “That’s… what I hoped for when we started.”

She bowed her head slightly. For a few beats, the only sound was noodles being lifted, the broth cooling, the hush of a place that didn’t ask for a smile for the cameras. Ryuko ate in small, measured bites.

“This is relaxing,” She admitted, almost surprised the words left her. Her lashes lowered; her tone softened. “I don’t usually… sit like this after work. I go straight home. Review reports. Think about what I missed.”

Another small glance, then away. “But with you,” She continued, and the sentence nearly stalled, caught on something she didn’t name. Ryuko cleared her throat, choosing a safer path. “It’s easier to focus on what went right.”

She stirred the broth once. Her fingers brushed the rim of the bowl, then withdrew from the heat. She hid the flinch by adjusting her sleeve. “I’m still getting used to this,” She said. “Being a professional. Being… seen.” The corner of her mouth lifted, barely. “I thought it would be seamless. I was so certain as a student.”

Ryuko took another sip. “I don’t want to be reckless,” She added. “I don’t want to rely on… luck. So when we work together, and it goes smoothly…” She searched for the right words, her eyes fixed on the swirling surface. “It feels… stable.”

That last word came out smaller than the others. A soft, embarrassed pause followed. Ryuko’s ear caught a strand of hair; she tucked it back neatly. Then she offered a gentle, almost shy attempt at normal.

“If you’re not too tired,” She said, “we should come here again after the next assignment.” Her gaze flicked to you—brief, bright, and quickly gone. “As a reward."

She took another bite, and the tension in her shoulders eased by a fraction, warmed by broth, the quiet, and the strange comfort of sitting side-by-side with you.