ShuraZero
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Chapter 25: Forced Socialization Protocols
🕑 Added 2025-09-24 20:50:32 +0000 UTCOn Saturday afternoon, the entrance to the prefecture's largest shopping mall was packed with people. Families, couples, and groups of teenagers flowed through the glass doors in a constant stream. For most, it was the perfect way to spend the day. For three professional heroes and their assistant, it was a mission they couldn't escape.
Their outfits already told the whole story.
Nemuri looked flawless in a silk sundress that probably cost more than Izuku's rent, complete with designer sunglasses and heels that were potential weapons. She moved with the confidence of someone who owned the place.
Yu had chosen something more discreet: wide linen pants, a simple blouse, and brand name sneakers. Her goal was clear: blend in with the crowd and survive the day.
Rumi, on the other hand, made no effort to hide her contempt for the place. She wore high end athletic gear, brightly colored running shoes, and an expression that screamed she would rather be fighting an army of villains.
And then there was Izuku. In his usual t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and his signature red sneakers, he looked like a kid dragged along against his will by his mother and two aunts.
Mirko was the first to break the silence.
"I hate malls," she growled, her nostrils flaring. "Too many people. Too many lights. Too… everything. How long is this torture going to last? I'm five seconds from using people as punching bags."
"Relax, Rumi. It's a cultural experience," Nemuri replied, adjusting her glasses with a smile. "Besides, I need new shoes. And you," she said, pointing at Yu, "need a dress for the next hero gala. A public appearance is crucial for your rookie image."
"I don't need a dress," Yu protested, though without much conviction. "What if I just don't go?"
"Not an option," Nemuri replied sweetly. "And you, Izuku," she added, turning to him, "stay close. Today, your only job is to carry our bags. You are the official bag holder."
Izuku let out a sigh of pure resignation.
"Perfect. Promoted to pack mule," he said flatly. "Every hero trainee's dream. I guess it's better than being the decoy."
"That defeatist attitude doesn't suit you, kid," Mirko commented, giving him a not so gentle pat on the back that nearly made him stumble. "At least you're getting paid for this. I'm here for free."
"Technically, it's being deducted from your salary, since we're here to buy you clothes," Nemuri interjected, smiling mischievously.
The look Mirko shot her could have melted steel.
With that grim pact made, the group plunged into the bright, noisy heart of the shopping center.
The assault on the stores began with a ferocity that rivaled any battle. Nemuri dragged them from one expensive boutique to another. The store names were elegant, and the prices on the tags were insane.
The first stop was a shop so exclusive it didn't have prices on display. A rookie mistake, Izuku thought, was to ask how much something cost.
"I am absolutely not going in there," Mirko declared, planting herself at the marble entrance. "It looks like a museum for people with too much money and not enough brains."
"Don't be dramatic, Rumi. Just take a look," Nemuri insisted, already examining a rack of purses that looked too small to hold anything but air.
While Nemuri debated between a cream colored bag and a bone colored one, Mirko decided that waiting passively was for the weak. She began a series of explosive squats at the entrance, so fast and powerful that the floor vibrated slightly. Other shoppers stared at her with a mix of fear and curiosity. A group of passing teenagers blushed, unsure if they should feel intimidated or attracted.
"Could you please stop that?" Yu hissed, trying to act like a normal customer while the floor trembled. "People are staring at us."
"Let them stare," Mirko replied between squats. "It's an excellent glute workout. You should try it, Yu. Your kicks lack power."
Yu turned red as a tomato. "I'm perfectly fine with the power of my kicks, thank you."
Nemuri returned with three glossy paper bags, which she handed to Izuku without a glance. "Done. Let's go."
At the second store, the situation worsened. Izuku, already loaded down with Nemuri's purchases, tripped on the corner of a glass display case. The movement was clumsy, and the bags swung dangerously. He tried to regain his balance but only managed to crash into a mannequin draped in silk scarves. The mannequin wobbled and fell, setting off a chain reaction that knocked over a pyramid of fragile perfume bottles.
The sound of shattering glass was deafening.
"Oh!" Izuku exclaimed, crouching down to try to pick up the pieces as store staff rushed toward him.
Yu had to intervene, pulling out her hero license and apologizing profusely. "Don't worry, we'll cover all the damages. He's… a bit clumsy. He's in training."
While Yu negotiated with the manager, Nemuri simply sighed. "Izuku, dear, your talent for chaos is truly world class."
Mirko, for her part, was laughing her head off. "That was amazing! Ten points for the kid! Did you see the look on that guy's face in the suit?"
"You're not helping," Yu snapped, glaring at her.
The third stop was a shoe store. Mirko was finally convinced to enter, but only to prove a point.
"See this?" she said, picking up a stiletto heel. She bent it in her hands until the metal heel buckled with a crack. "Who designed this garbage? One jump and you'd break your ankle. It's a death trap."
The salesman, a pale, frightened young man, was speechless.
"Rumi, you're not supposed to jump in them. They're for walking elegantly," Nemuri explained, exasperated.
"If you can't fight in them, they're useless," Mirko declared, leaving the mangled shoe on the counter. "Next."
Finally, they arrived at the crown jewel of Nemuri's itinerary: a luxury boutique so spacious and minimalist it looked more like an art gallery than a clothing store. It was quiet and air conditioned. Nemuri and Yu disappeared into the evening gown section.
Mirko, having been severely scolded by the shoe store manager, collapsed with a huff of pure frustration onto a plush velvet ottoman that sat in the middle of the room. She crossed her arms and closed her eyes, clearly planning to hibernate until the torture was over.
Izuku, surrounded by a growing fort of shopping bags, stood in the middle of the store for five minutes. His muscles were starting to protest. He looked at the ottoman. He looked at the bored and grumpy Mirko. And his brain, which operated on a set of social rules completely different from the rest of humanity's, arrived at a logical solution.
He approached the ottoman quietly.
"Do you mind if…?" he asked in a low voice.
Mirko opened one eye, looking at him suspiciously. "If what?"
"If I use a part of your living space as a cushion. The floor is clean, but it's not comfortable, and you seem to have plenty of cushioned surface area," he explained, gesturing to her lap.
Mirko stared at him for a long second, as if processing an alien language. Then, she let out a sigh that was a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. "Do whatever you want. But if you snore, I'm throwing you into that wall."
With the casualness of someone who had already crossed every imaginable boundary of personal space, Izuku sat on the carpeted floor, leaned back, and rested his head on her muscular thigh. He let out a sigh of satisfaction and closed his eyes.
Mirko's reaction was a chain of micro expressions. First, surprise. Her eyes went wide. Then, disbelief. Did the kid really have that much nerve? And finally, a strange, lazy acceptance. The weight of his head was, actually, weirdly comfortable. It gave her something to do. With an almost imperceptible shrug, she relaxed. Her hand, almost by reflex, came to rest on his mess of green hair, her fingers drumming softly on his head, a reflex from someone who needs to be constantly moving, even at rest.
At that exact moment, the curtains of two opposite fitting rooms opened at the same time.
Yu stepped out wearing an elegant sapphire blue evening gown that clung to her curves. Nemuri emerged in a daring and spectacular scarlet red dress.
Both of them stopped dead.
The scene that greeted them was surreal. In the center of the pristine boutique, Izuku Midoriya was dozing in the lap of the number five hero, Mirko, who was in turn distractedly petting his hair.
Nemuri was the first to react. A slow, delicious smile spread across her face. She found the scene absolutely hilarious, an unexpected gem.
Yu, however, felt something completely different. A pang. A strange tightness in her chest that felt suspiciously like jealousy. The image of Mirko's hand in Izuku's hair sparked a flash of irritation she didn't understand. She was instantly angry with herself. Jealous? Of what? Because my assistant is using another hero as a pillow? That's ridiculous. And yet, the feeling lingered, sour and annoying.
"Well, it looks like someone's made himself comfortable," Nemuri said, her voice, thick with amusement, breaking the silence.
Izuku opened one eye. He looked at Yu. Then at Nemuri. And back to Yu. From his comfortable position, he offered his verdict.
"That blue looks good on you, Yu," he said, his voice a little sleepy. "It highlights your figure without being too obvious. But the cut of the skirt is impractical. The slit is too low. It would limit your range of motion for a high kick. You have to think about functionality."
Then, he looked at Nemuri.
"Nemuri san, that dress is visually striking. The color is a power statement and the neckline is very attractive. But the fabric looks dangerously flammable. One villain with a fire Quirk and you'd be in trouble. You should consider a fire retardant treatment."
Yu's jaw dropped. Nemuri let out a crystal clear laugh.
"A fashion critic and a combat strategist, all in one," Nemuri said. "Since you're the group's new expert, what do you think our dear Rumi should wear?"
The challenge hung in the air. Izuku opened both eyes and looked at Mirko, who had so far ignored the fashion show. His gaze turned serious.
"Nothing from here," he said with total certainty. "The clothes here are designed for decoration. That's not her."
Mirko raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite herself. Izuku sat up a little, propping himself on an elbow on her thigh.
"She needs something that screams 'power and style' at the same time. I'm thinking designer tactical cargo pants, made of a durable but flexible material. High end combat boots, with reinforced soles but light enough not to affect her agility. And most importantly," he paused dramatically, "a custom leather jacket. White or black, with a cut that doesn't restrict her shoulder movement for attacks. Reinforced at the elbows and back, but with a comfortable inner lining."
Izuku's description was a revelation. It didn't appeal to Mirko's vanity, but to her identity. He wasn't trying to make her "pretty." He was trying to upgrade her "brand" as a warrior. He was speaking her language.
Mirko, who had been on the verge of falling asleep, found herself listening intently. The idea of a leather jacket that was both stylish and functional appealed to her.
"I hate trying on clothes," she grumbled, more out of habit than conviction. "But… that jacket idea doesn't sound entirely stupid."
"It's not," Izuku affirmed. "It would add an iconic element to your hero costume and your public image. People would remember it."
"Alright, smart guy," Nemuri said, crossing her arms. "And where do you suggest we find this high fashion armor?"
Izuku smiled for the first time all day. "There's an import shop on the third floor that specializes in designer tactical gear. We passed it an hour ago. I saw it out of the corner of my eye."
Of course he had.
An hour and three stores later, the shopping trip was over. The group was sitting on the terrace of a luxury pastry shop, surrounded by a mountain of bags. Even Mirko seemed remotely satisfied, sporting her new and very expensive black leather jacket over her athletic wear. The atmosphere was relaxed; the fatigue from the battle of consumerism was beginning to set in.
"I can't believe you actually bought it," Yu said, looking at Mirko's jacket. "It cost a fortune."
"The kid was right," Mirko admitted, shrugging as she took a massive bite of chocolate cake. "It's comfortable and I can move perfectly. Plus, I look great."
"That's debatable, but I'm glad you're happy," Nemuri joked, sipping her cappuccino. "And Yu, that blue dress was perfect. You looked spectacular."
"Thanks," Yu muttered, stirring her iced tea with a straw. She still felt a strange pang of irritation from the scene in the boutique and didn't know why.
Izuku had been silently observing the group for the last ten minutes. His brain processed the day through its unique and terribly flawed filter.
Mission analysis: Group social outing. Activities performed: Purchase of goods, consumption of food and beverages. Group emotional state: General fatigue, but with a detectable level of satisfaction. Conclusion: The mission was a success.
His internal protocol, fueled by years of movie research and a total lack of real world experience, activated. He leaned forward and asked:
"So… are you guys going to kiss me?"
Time stopped.
The chain reaction was a masterpiece of chaos.
Yu, who was taking a sip of her tea, choked. The liquid sprayed from her mouth in a fine mist and she began to cough violently, her face turning a deep red that clashed with her blonde hair.
Mirko, who was about to devour a piece of strawberry cake, froze, her mouth open and fork inches from her lips, her wide eyes fixed on Izuku as if he had grown a second head.
Nemuri, the very picture of composure, who was delicately stirring her coffee, dropped her spoon. The sharp clink of metal against porcelain echoed across the terrace, causing several tables to turn and look at them.
Before any of the three could recover, Izuku, noticing their apparent confusion, proceeded to explain his reasoning with complete and utter seriousness.
"It's just that I saw in the movie 'Love in the Time of Heroes' that at the end of a successful date, as a show of appreciation and to validate the shared experience, the girl always kisses the guy."
He looked at the three women, their expressions ranging from panic (Yu) to total disbelief (Mirko) and an amusement that bordered on collapse (Nemuri).
"But of course," he continued, proving he had considered all the variables, "since there are three of you, I understand it could be a competitive or awkward situation. Don't worry. I have a solution. I'm not the jealous type, and to be fair and avoid any arguments or later resentment that could affect team dynamics, I'm willing to kiss all three of you."
It was the boldest, stupidest, and most incredibly sincere proposition any of them had ever heard.
Yu was the first to snap out of shock. Her brain, overloaded and on the verge of collapse, didn't shift into panic mode, but into damage control. Her gaze locked onto the huge piece of strawberry cake Mirko was still holding on her fork, suspended in mid air. She saw Izuku's mouth, still open as he finished his flawless and disastrous reasoning.
Necessity was the mother of invention.
In a move that would have made any rescue hero proud, she lunged across the table. Her hand closed around Mirko's fork with precision. And with desperate speed, she shoved the entire slice of cake, cream, and strawberries directly into Izuku's open mouth.
The chapter, and Yu's sanity, ended on a frozen image. Izuku, his eyes wide with surprise, his mouth completely stuffed with cake, unable to say another word. A trickle of strawberry cream began to slowly drip down his chin. Yu, standing, holding the empty fork like a weapon, breathing heavily with a flushed face. And Mirko and Nemuri, staring at them, completely dumbfounded, processing the most socially inept proposition and the strangest silencing tactic they had witnessed in their illustrious careers.
The fun girls' day out had ended the only way it could: with absolute chaos caused by Izuku Midoriya.
