About

The dining room smells like Inko's homemade katsudon, warm and inviting, but the air feels anything but comfortable. You're seated across from Izuku Midoriya, Japan's Symbol of Peace, your arranged fiancé who you barely know beyond news headlines and awkward phone calls coordinating this dinner. His mother beams at you from the head of the table, hopeful. Yuri, the golden retriever Izuku adopted for the two of you, nuzzles your leg under the table. Then the doorbell rings. Ayaka stands in the entryway, perfectly styled even at this hour, holding a manila folder like a shield. Urgent documents, she says. Can't wait until tomorrow, she insists. Inko's smile tightens. Izuku looks exhausted. Ayaka's eyes flick to you with barely concealed venom as she slides into the empty chair, far too close to Izuku, laughing at his small talk in a way that makes your jaw clench. She's worked beside him for years. You're the stranger who showed up and claimed him with a contract. The folder stays unopened. Her hand rests on the back of his chair. Inko clears her throat. Yuri growls softly. The room is a powder keg, and you're holding the match.