Three weeks after the funeral.
The joint operation with Lemillion Agency went down on a Thursday.
Four locations. Simultaneous raids. Coordinated timing.
Mirio led the assault teams. His quirk made him perfect for it—phasing through walls, appearing where he shouldn't be, disrupting defensive positions before anyone could react.
She was on evac.
Delta team. With Tamaki and three others.
Her job was simple: get the hostages out. Don't engage unless necessary. Prioritize civilian safety over everything.
She did her job.
Got twelve people out. Ranging from teenagers to a woman in her fifties. All of them shaking. Some crying. All of them alive.
The operation took forty minutes start to finish.
Clean. Professional. No hero casualties. No civilian casualties.
Thirty-seven arrests.
By Friday morning it was all over the news.
MULTI-AGENCY OPERATION DISMANTLES TRAFFICKING NETWORK
LEMILLION AND DYNAMIGHT AGENCIES COORDINATE MAJOR BUST
DOZENS RESCUED IN COORDINATED HERO EFFORT
Her name was in the report. Buried in the team listings. But there.
Amethyst (Dynamight Agency) - Evacuation Specialist
Evacuation specialist.
She'd take it.
Two days later.
Saturday morning.
She woke up to notifications.
Ranking update.
She opened it.
Stared.
Rank 60.
Sixty.
She'd broken into the top sixty.
She sat up in bed.
Looked at the number.
Looked at it again.
Sixty.
From 108 to 60 in two months.
Two months.
She wanted to tell someone.
Wanted to—
Her phone buzzed.
Kenji: BRO. RANK 60. YOU'RE INSANE.
Emi: AMAYA!!!!! TOP 60!!!! CELEBRATION DRINKS. TONIGHT. NO ARGUMENTS.
Hana: Saw the update. Well done. Take tomorrow off.
She stared at the messages.
Typed responses.
Put her phone down.
Picked up the plushie instead.
"I did it," she said.
The plushie absorbed this information.
"Top sixty. That's—that's actually good. That's legitimately good."
Silence.
She wanted to tell him.
Specifically him.
Not Kenji. Not Emi. Not her mother who would ask if she'd eaten breakfast.
Him.
She looked at her phone.
Thought about texting.
Didn't.
He'd see it. He tracked everyone's rankings. Probably already knew.
But she wanted to tell him.
Directly.
Face to face.
See his reaction.
Hear him say—
What?
Good work, probably.
The same thing he said about everything.
But still.
She wanted it.
She went about her day.
Normal things. Laundry. Groceries. The adult tasks she'd been avoiding.
Her period started that afternoon.
Of course it did.
Of course.
Day one. The beginning of the hormonal nightmare.
She took painkillers preemptively.
Ate chocolate.
Tried to regulate her mood before it could spiral.
Failed.
By evening she was on the couch. Heating pad on her stomach. Scrolling through her phone with the kind of restless energy that meant nothing would satisfy her.
The fan club had posted new photos.
Bakugo at the operation. Tactical gear. Serious expression.
She zoomed in.
Saved it.
Scrolled further.
A discussion thread about his "difficult personality" and whether it affected his team morale.
She typed a response defending him.
Deleted it.
Typed it again.
Posted it.
Got into an argument with someone who said he was "too aggressive to be a good leader."
Spent twenty minutes writing paragraphs about his tactical brilliance and team management skills.
Realized she was being insane.
Closed the app.
She had a night shift.
10 PM to 4 AM.
Covering for someone. Again.
She should stop doing that.
But the extra hours helped with ranking and she didn't have anything better to do and—
She got up.
Changed.
Left for the agency.
The building was quiet at night.
Just the skeleton crew. Night dispatch. A few heroes doing late patrols.
She checked in.
Zone 2 tonight. Solo.
She grabbed her gear.
Was heading for the exit when she saw the light.
Top floor.
His office.
Of course.
It was 10 PM and of course he was still here.
She stood in the lobby.
Looking at the elevator.
She could go up.
Tell him about the ranking.
Quick conversation. Professional. Just—
The elevator opened.
Someone stepped out.
Tanaka Yuki.
In a skirt and blouse that probably cost more than Amaya's rent. Hair perfect. Heels clicking on the marble.
She was on her phone. Smiling at something.
She walked right past Amaya.
Didn't notice her.
Or did notice and didn't care.
Just walked out the front door.
Into the night.
At 10 PM.
Coming from the top floor.
From his office.
Amaya stood there.
Something in her chest was doing a thing.
The bad thing.
The jealous, irrational, period-hormone-fueled thing.
She walked to the elevator.
Pressed the button.
Got in.
Top floor.
The rational part of her brain was screaming.
Don't do this. Go on patrol. Leave. Process this later when you're not hormonal and tired and—
The doors opened.
She walked down the hallway.
To his office.
The door was closed.
She should knock.
She opened it.
Walked in.
Bakugo looked up from his desk.
Surprised.
"Tsukino—"
"I'm rank sixty," she said.
Her voice sounded wrong. Tight.
He blinked.
"I know. I saw the—"
"She was just here."
"What?"
"Tanaka Yuki. She was just here. I saw her leave."
His expression shifted.
Confused. Wary.
"She was dropping off commission documents. Why—"
"At ten PM."
"It's her job—"
"Does she always work this late?"
"Tsukino what's—"
"Does she?"
He stood up.
"What the hell is going on?"
She didn't know.
She genuinely didn't know what was happening.
Her chest was tight. Her eyes were hot. The heating pad from earlier hadn't worked. Her stomach hurt. Everything hurt.
And she'd broken into the top sixty.
And she'd wanted to tell him.
And instead she'd seen her leaving his office at 10 PM looking perfect and professional and like she belonged there.
Like she always belonged there.
And Amaya was just—
"Nothing," she said.
"Bullshit."
"I'm going on patrol."
She turned to leave.
He came around the desk.
"Tsukino—"
She turned back.
And slapped him.
Not hard.
Hard enough.
Her palm connected with his cheek.
The sound was loud in the quiet office.
He froze.
She froze.
They stared at each other.
His hand came up to his face.
Touched where she'd hit him.
Her brain caught up to her body.
Oh god.
Oh god she'd just—
"Fuck you," she said.
Her voice was shaking.
"Fuck you and your stupid perfect everything and your stupid rankings and your stupid—"
Her voice broke.
Tears.
She was crying.
Actually crying.
In his office.
After slapping him.
"I'm rank sixty," she said.
Quiet now.
Broken.
"I wanted to tell you and instead I—"
She couldn't finish.
Turned.
Walked out.
Fast.
He called her name.
She didn't stop.
Elevator. Down. Lobby. Out.
Into the night.
She made it two blocks before she had to stop.
Leaned against a building.
Put her face in her hands.
And properly fell apart.
What had she done.
What the fuck had she just done.
She'd slapped him.
Slapped her boss.
Slapped Katsuki Bakugo.
Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.
Because she was jealous.
And hormonal.
And in love with him.
And he was never going to feel the same way.
And Tanaka Yuki existed.
And she'd just—
"Oh god."
She slid down the wall.
Sat on the sidewalk.
Cried.
Actually cried.
For the first time in months.
Big, ugly, shoulder-shaking sobs.
A couple walked past. Gave her concerned looks.
She didn't care.
Let them look.
Let them see the rank 60 hero having a breakdown on a sidewalk at 10:30 PM.
After assaulting her boss.
Her phone buzzed.
She ignored it.
It buzzed again.
She looked.
Unknown number.
She knew that number.
She opened it.
Where are you.
No question mark.
Command.
She typed: On patrol.
A lie.
Three dots appeared immediately.
Stopped.
Started again.
Bullshit. Where are you.
She stared at it.
Typed: I'm sorry.
Tsukino. Location. Now.
She looked around.
Tried to read the street sign through her tears.
Typed: Kita and 5th.
Stay there.
She stared at the message.
Put her phone down.
He was—
He was coming?
No.
No she needed to leave.
Needed to go home. Hide. Write her resignation. Move to Osaka. Change her name.
She stood up.
Too fast.
Cramps.
She doubled over slightly.
Breathed through it.
Started walking.
Made it half a block before she heard it.
Footsteps.
Fast.
Running.
She turned.
Bakugo.
No jacket. Just his shirt. Running down the street toward her.
She froze.
He stopped three feet away.
They stared at each other.
His cheek was red where she'd hit him.
"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "I'm so sorry I didn't mean to—I was just—I'm on my period and I saw her leaving and I don't know why I—"
"You're on your period," he said.
Flat.
She nodded.
Miserably.
He exhaled.
Ran a hand through his hair.
"Fuck."
"I know."
"You can't just—you can't hit me because you're hormonal."
"I know."
"Or because Tanaka was in my office doing her actual job."
"I know."
"Do you?"
She looked at him.
Really looked at him.
He was—
Tired. Concerned. Annoyed.
But not angry.
Not the way she'd expected.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"Stop apologizing."
"But I—"
"Tsukino." He stepped closer. "You're rank sixty."
She blinked.
"What?"
"Rank sixty. Two months. That's—" He paused. "That's exceptional."
Oh.
Oh no.
She was going to cry again.
"Don't," he said quickly. "Don't cry. You've already cried. No more crying."
"I'm not—"
A tear slid down her face.
"Fuck," he said again.
He looked around. Like he was checking if anyone was watching.
Then stepped closer.
Put his hand on her shoulder.
Awkward. Uncertain.
Like he didn't do this often.
Comfort.
"You did good work," he said. "The operation. The coordination. The evac. All of it. That's why you're sixty. Not luck. Not timing. You."
She was definitely crying now.
"I slapped you."
"Yeah."
"I called you names."
"I've been called worse."
"I basically had a breakdown in your office."
"I've seen worse breakdowns."
She looked up at him.
His hand was still on her shoulder.
Warm. Heavy. Grounding.
"I'm a mess," she said.
"You're human."
"I should quit."
"You're not quitting."
"I assaulted you."
"I've been hit harder." Something moved in his expression. "And for worse reasons."
They stood there.
On a random street.
At 10:45 PM.
Her crying. Him standing too close. His hand on her shoulder.
"Go home," he said finally. "Actually go home. Not patrol. Home."
"My shift—"
"I'll cover it."
"You don't have to—"
"Tsukino." His voice was firm. "Go home. Sleep. Eat something. Take your painkillers. Come in tomorrow when you're not—" He gestured vaguely at her face. "—this."
She probably should've been offended.
She wasn't.
Just tired.
"Okay," she said.
He nodded.
Started to step back.
His hand left her shoulder.
She felt the absence immediately.
"And Tsukino?"
She looked at him.
"Next time you want to tell me something—" He paused. "Just tell me. You don't have to—" Another pause. "Just talk. Like a normal person."
"Okay."
He turned.
Started walking back toward the agency.
She stood there.
Watching him go.
Her face was a mess. Her stomach hurt. She'd just cried on a public street and slapped her boss and he'd—
He'd come running.
He'd found her.
He'd said she did good work.
He'd touched her shoulder.
He'd—
She needed to go home.
She got home at 11:30.
Unlocked the door.
Went straight to the bedroom.
Face-planted on the bed.
The plushie was on the pillow.
She grabbed it.
Held it to her chest.
"I slapped him," she said into the fabric.
The plushie waited.
"I slapped him and cried and he came to find me and touched my shoulder and told me I did good work."
Silence.
"And I still need to quit probably. And move cities. And become a potato farmer."
The plushie disagreed.
"I should run away."
More disagreement.
"I'm rank sixty and I ruined everything."
She lay there.
In the dark.
Holding the plushie.
Her phone buzzed.
She looked at it.
Drink water. Take painkillers. Sleep. That's an order. - Bakugo
She stared at the message.
Then got up.
Drank water.
Took painkillers.
Got into bed properly.
Pulled the blankets up.
Held the plushie.
And despite everything—
Despite the mortification and the hormones and the crying and the slapping and the complete unraveling of her professional dignity—
She smiled.
Small.
Into the darkness.
Because he'd texted her.
To make sure she was okay.
...
Tomorrow she'd be mortified again.
Tomorrow she'd have to face him.
Tomorrow she'd probably die of embarrassment.
But tonight—
Tonight she was rank sixty.
And he'd said she did good work.
And his hand had been warm on her shoulder.
And he'd come running.
...
That was something.
Maybe.
Possibly.
She closed her eyes.
Sleep didn't come for a long time.
But when it did—
She dreamed of caramel and quiet streets and hands that steadied instead of pushed away.
And for once—
For once she let herself have it.