Momo Yaoyorozu's POV:
The air buzzed with excitement as I stood beside my parents outside the estate. The western-style mansion loomed behind us, its grand architecture casting long shadows across the red carpet that stretched out before us. On either side of the carpet, the mansion staff stood at attention—a perfectly symmetrical line of butlers and maids in pristine uniforms. The atmosphere was formal, yet I couldn't shake the fluttering anticipation in my chest.
I adjusted the light blue dress I wore, smoothing down imaginary wrinkles as I glanced up at my parents. Father was dressed in his usual impeccable black business suit, the tie perfectly knotted, his expression calm but authoritative. Mother, in contrast, radiated warmth and elegance in a red cocktail one-shoulder dress that hugged her frame beautifully. They both carried themselves with the poise befitting the Yaoyorozu family, and I did my best to mirror their composure as we waited for our esteemed guests.
But inside, I was anything but composed. My hands trembled slightly, and I clasped them together to hide it, focusing on maintaining proper posture as I'd been taught since childhood. The weight of expectation—both my family's and my own—settled heavily on my shoulders.
Tonight was important. Not just for my parents, who frequently mingled with high-ranking families, but for me personally. I had heard them mention our guests—a lovely woman and her son, who, as fate would have it, was my age. The prospect of meeting someone my age who could perhaps understand me was thrilling yet nerve-wracking. I had always struggled to connect with my peers. My bluntness, combined with a love for analysis and learning, often alienated me from others my age. Adults tolerated it, even appreciated it, but it wasn't the same as having a friend. Tonight, I dared to hope that might change. The possibility of making a friend filled me with cautious hope.
I rehearsed potential conversation topics in my head, mentally cataloging subjects that might interest someone from such a prestigious family. Perhaps quirk theory? Or maybe traditional Japanese arts? The uncertainty made my stomach twist into knots.
The faint hum of an approaching engine pulled me from my thoughts. A sleek black limousine rolled up the driveway, its polished exterior reflecting the soft glow of the estate's lights. It came to a smooth stop at the head of the red carpet, and the staff stood even straighter, if that was possible. My heart quickened as I fixed my gaze on the vehicle, holding my breath without realizing it.
The doors opened, and four individuals stepped out first. Their presence was striking. They were dressed in indigo-colored armor with white details, complemented by capes and Lotus-patterned mantles around their shoulders. Their attire seemed almost ceremonial, yet undeniably practical, exuding a sense of authority and tradition. Each wore an indigo-colored robe beneath their armor, the design subtly echoing the white lotus flower. Their cowls bore small insignias at the front, further emphasizing their identity. The way the armor blended with the flowing robes and intricate lotus patterns gave them an air of disciplined elegance.
Their movements were precise, almost military, as they formed two lines flanking the rear passenger door. To me, they seemed more like guards than mere escorts. The way they carried themselves exuded discipline and vigilance. I noticed their eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, their hands positioned to reach hidden weapons if needed. It was both fascinating and slightly intimidating.
One of them—a man with sharp features and an air of calm authority—stepped forward and opened the rear door with a respectful bow. From the vehicle emerged a man whose presence was both commanding and inviting. He was well-built, his amber eyes flecked with gold, radiating intelligence, wisdom, and warmth. His neatly groomed beard and unique attire, adorned with symbols that matched those on the four guards, added to his enigmatic aura. There was something about him that seemed almost familiar, like a character from an ancient story brought to life.
He turned back toward the open door, extending a hand with an easy grace. A delicate, pale hand reached out to grasp his, and he helped a woman step out of the limousine. My breath caught in my throat as I took in her appearance with wonder and awe.
She was stunning—breathtaking in a way that seemed otherworldly. Her dark hair was parted in the middle, styled into an elegant bun secured by a floral hairpin that caught the light with every subtle movement of her head. Her pale pink eyes, fading to lavender, lacked pupils but held an almost hypnotic serenity that made it difficult to look away. Her pale skin contrasted beautifully with her crimson lipstick, and her movements were as fluid as a gentle breeze, conveying both strength and delicacy.
She wore a kimono of exquisite craftsmanship, its intricate patterns flowing like a story told through the fabric, its elaborate design shimmering subtly under the estate's lights. The layers of silk rustled softly as she moved, creating a melody that seemed to accompany her presence. I couldn't help but notice a few of the staff—even my parents—momentarily widen their eyes in admiration. I found myself unconsciously straightening my posture even more, suddenly aware of my own inadequacies in the face of such grace.
And then he appeared.
The man and woman both turned back to the limousine's interior, assisting a young boy as he stepped out. My pulse quickened, and a warmth spread across my cheeks. He was…handsome, more than I expected. His medium-spiked black hair framed his face, and the length fell just short of his neck. His eyes—there was something captivating about them. They held a depth I couldn't quite describe, something both captivating and intimidating, and I couldn't tear my gaze away.
His attire was equally striking. He wore a kimono similar to the woman's but even more elaborate. The dark navy fabric, nearly black, was adorned with intricate patterns of white tree branches and symbols I didn't recognize. Silver highlights traced the edges, catching the light with each movement, and the way it complemented his confident yet composed demeanor was astonishing. I found myself analyzing the craftsmanship, wondering about the techniques used to create such detailed embroidery.
I noticed the family's clothing theme—traditional Japanese attire—something I hadn't seen much of since the end of the Quirk Wars and the rise of hero society. It was…refreshing, a nod to tradition that seemed to set them apart from everyone else. In an age of modern hero costumes and western business attire, their commitment to traditional elegance spoke volumes about their values and heritage.
They moved toward us with steady, elegant steps, the four guards trailing behind them like silent sentinels. Their coordination was seamless, their presence almost theatrical yet undeniably genuine. As they approached, the distance between us closed, and I felt a mixture of awe and nervousness bubble up inside me. I worried if my dress—which had seemed perfectly appropriate minutes ago—now appeared plain and inadequate compared to their splendor.
Finally, they stopped at a polite distance. My parents stepped forward first, their smiles warm and welcoming. "Welcome," Father said, extending his hand. "It's a pleasure to have you here."
The man with the amber eyes responded with a bow, his voice rich and calm. "Thank you for hosting us. The pleasure is ours." The woman beside him inclined her head gracefully, her gentle smile adding to her ethereal presence. The boy mimicked their gesture, bowing respectfully, and I found myself watching him closely, curious about the person behind those captivating eyes. His movements were practiced and precise, yet somehow natural, as if the formality was second nature to him.
I stood slightly behind my parents, trying to steady my breathing. The boy's gaze flickered toward me briefly, and I felt my cheeks heat up even more. I quickly looked down, clutching the fabric of my dress to ground myself, mentally scolding myself for such an obvious reaction. The analytical part of my brain was already cataloging every detail about him—his posture, the way he carried himself, the subtle confidence in his eyes—while my emotional side was a whirlwind of uncertainty.
This was it. My chance to finally connect with someone… but how? Could someone like him—someone so composed and extraordinary—ever truly understand someone like me? Would he find my analytical mind boring? Or worse, would he see through my carefully constructed façade of confidence to the insecure girl beneath?
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. One step at a time, I thought. This evening was just beginning. I remembered Mother's advice about meeting new people: be yourself, but be your best self. I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin slightly, determined to make a good impression.
"I am Enji Yaoyorozu, and this is my wife, Himari," my father introduced. His voice carried pride, yet there was a warmth in the way he spoke that I rarely heard outside our home. "And this is our daughter, Momo." I felt their eyes briefly on me as they smiled, and I offered my best polite bow, careful to maintain the perfect angle and duration I'd practiced countless times.
The man responded with a small bow. "I am Iroh, and this is Tamayo, my sister-in-law, and her son, Raiden." His voice was steady, filled with respect. I watched as Tamayo smiled, her expression gentle yet confident. Raiden followed with a polite bow, his eyes briefly meeting mine before flicking away. That momentary connection sent a strange flutter through my chest.
"It's a pleasure to meet you all," Tomoya said, her voice soft and melodic, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze.
"The pleasure is ours," mother replied warmly, her social grace never failing.
As they exchanged pleasantries, I couldn't help but sneak glances at Raiden. This boy, so different from anyone I'd met before, already intrigued me. There was an intensity about him, a presence that seemed to occupy more space than his physical form. I found myself wondering about his quirk, his interests, his thoughts—everything about him seemed to invite curiosity.
Perhaps tonight wouldn't be so lonely after all. Perhaps, just perhaps, I might find someone who could understand the complexity that others found so off-putting. I felt a small smile tug at my lips as I prepared to be formally introduced, my mind already racing with questions I hoped to have answered before the night was through.
Raiden POV:
Standing in front of the Yaoyorozu family, I could feel the weight of my mother's and Uncle Iroh's advice: to remain calm, confident, and just be myself. Their words played in my mind like a mantra, steadying the slight nervousness bubbling within me. Despite their reassurances, this was my first time attending an event like this, and the prospect of meeting new people carried its own unique tension. The formal gathering stretched before me like unfamiliar territory, each social cue and expectation a potential misstep waiting to happen.
I glanced at the Yaoyorozu family briefly, careful not to linger too long on Momo. Staring felt rude, and I didn't want to risk making a poor first impression. She was…kind of cute, though. Her light blue dress complemented her polite and composed demeanor, the fabric catching the soft evening light in a way that highlighted her graceful posture. There was something about the way she carried herself that felt mature, even for someone our age. Her high spiky ponytail bobbed slightly as she nodded at something her mother whispered to her.
From what I could tell, we were the first to arrive at the party. The expansive courtyard of their estate stretched around us, meticulously maintained gardens framing the path to their mansion. Her father, Mr. Yaoyorozu, wore a crisp black business suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary, exuding an air of authority that seemed as natural to him as breathing. Her mother, in a striking red cocktail dress that complemented her elegant figure, stood with a grace that mirrored my own mother's—poised and dignified, yet somehow warm. Together, they made an impressive pair, the kind of people whose mere presence commanded respect without demanding it.
Mr. Yaoyorozu's gaze shifted to the four guards standing a respectful distance behind us, their traditional clothing and stoic expressions marking them as more than ordinary security. "If I may ask, who are the individuals accompanying you this evening?" he inquired, his tone polite but curious, eyes scanning their uniforms with professional interest.
Uncle Iroh stepped forward, his usual warm smile in place, the corners of his eyes crinkling with genuine friendliness. "They are our family guards for tonight's event," he explained, his voice carrying that perfect balance of respect and self-assurance. "This is no slight to your own security team, of course, but we thought a little extra protection wouldn't hurt. Family tradition, you understand."
Mr. Yaoyorozu nodded thoughtfully, his curiosity unabated as he studied the emblem on their uniforms. "I see. Their attire is quite distinctive. Are they affiliated with any hero team? I couldn't help but notice their emblem—it's not one I recognize from the professional circuit."
Uncle chuckled softly, the sound warm like honey tea on a cold day. "No, they are not part of a hero team. They serve as private security, trained specifically to protect our family. Their uniforms are a reflection of the traditions they uphold, passed down through generations. The emblem represents our family's heritage—something we value deeply."
Mr. Yaoyorozu seemed satisfied with the answer, his expression softening slightly as he recognized the importance of tradition. The conversation shifted as we began walking toward the mansion, our footsteps crunching softly on the pristine gravel path. Cherry blossoms drifted lazily through the air, creating a scene that felt almost too perfect to be real. As we moved, he turned his attention to Uncle once more, clearly intrigued by his demeanor. "May I ask about your profession, Mr. Iroh? You carry yourself with the discipline of someone with extensive training."
"Certainly," Uncle replied, his humble tone belying the impressive nature of his skills. "I run a tea shop—my true passion, I must admit—and I'm also a licensed quirk counselor, quirk trainer, and martial arts teacher. These licenses primarily allow me to train my nephew, though I occasionally take on other students when the right opportunity presents itself."
Mr. Yaoyorozu raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed by the breadth of Uncle's qualifications. "That's quite an array of skills. You must be quite dedicated to your craft. And your quirk, if I may ask? Professional curiosity, you understand."
"I possess an energy source that allows me to bend the elements," Uncle answered, his tone modest as always when discussing his considerable abilities. "Fire is the element I am most connected to, though I've spent decades refining my control. It's as much about understanding oneself as it is about the power itself."
"Interesting," Mr. Yaoyorozu mused, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I've been considering hiring a quirk counselor and a martial arts teacher for my daughter. Her quirk requires extensive knowledge and precise control—qualities that would benefit from proper guidance. Perhaps we could discuss this further later? I'd be interested in hearing your teaching philosophy."
At this, Momo looked up at her father in surprise, her large black eyes widening. "Really, Father? You're planning on this?" Her voice carried a mixture of excitement and uncertainty, as though afraid to hope too much.
Her father glanced down at her, a small smile playing on his lips, softening his otherwise serious expression. "Yes, and perhaps you'll get to spend more time with Raiden during your lessons. Having a training partner close to your age could be beneficial for your development."
Momo's cheeks flushed a light pink as she stole a quick glance at me, her eyes meeting mine for the briefest moment before darting away. I smiled at her, hoping to put her at ease and convey that I welcomed the idea. She quickly looked away, her blush deepening to a rosy hue that spread across her elegant features. "Y-yes, of course. If Mr. Iroh is willing to counsel me and teach me," she stammered, fingers nervously adjusting a strand of her black hair.
Uncle's warm smile returned, his eyes twinkling with that special kindness that made everyone feel valued. "Of course, little one. It would be my pleasure to guide someone as dedicated as yourself. And I think my nephew would appreciate having a friend during his training. The path of growth is always easier when walked alongside others."
Momo's face lit up with happiness, her earlier nervousness replaced by genuine excitement that transformed her entire demeanor. Her father chuckled softly at her reaction, a rare display of tenderness that revealed the depth of his affection for his daughter. I couldn't help but feel a spark of anticipation myself, my mind already racing with possibilities. The idea of training alongside someone my age was appealing, especially if that someone was as interesting as Momo seemed to be. There was an intelligence in her eyes that hinted at depths worth exploring.
As the adults continued their conversation, discussing schedules and teaching methodologies with increasing enthusiasm, Momo and I found ourselves walking side by side, slightly separated from our parents. The silence between us was heavy, almost tangible, like the air before a thunderstorm. I could sense her nervousness, mirroring my own as we both searched for a way to break the ice without stumbling over social expectations.
I avoided asking about her quirk, finding it impolite to focus on abilities rather than the person themselves—something my mother had drilled into me since childhood. Meanwhile, she seemed hesitant, occasionally opening her mouth as if to speak before thinking better of it, as if worried about choosing a topic that might be too complex for me. It was an awkward standoff, neither of us wanting to make the wrong move and spoil what could be the beginning of a friendship.
Finally, we both spoke at the same time, our voices colliding in the space between us. "So, do you…" Our voices overlapped, cutting each other off mid-sentence. Embarrassed, we both fell silent, exchanging awkward glances that somehow made the situation both worse and strangely comforting in its shared discomfort. I motioned for her to go ahead with a small gesture. "Ladies first," I said, trying to sound casual despite the warmth I could feel creeping up my neck.
Her blush returned as she took a moment to compose herself, smoothing an invisible wrinkle from her dress. "Do you like reading books?" she asked tentatively, her voice gaining confidence as she spoke. It was a simple question, but it felt like the perfect way to start—neutral yet revealing, a window into interests rather than abilities.
I nodded, relieved at the comfortable topic. "I do, though I tend to read old manuals, texts, and scrolls stored in my family's compound vaults. They're fascinating, even if some of them are…complicated." I hesitated, not wanting to sound like I was boasting. "There's something about ancient knowledge that feels more substantial, you know? Like you're connecting with people who lived centuries ago through their words."
Her eyes widened slightly, a spark of genuine interest replacing her earlier shyness. "What kind of texts?" she asked, clearly intrigued, leaning slightly closer. "Are they historical accounts or more specialized works? I've always been fascinated by primary sources."
I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. Some of the texts were clan secrets, techniques and histories that had been protected for generations. But not all of them required such discretion. "Mostly martial techniques and old diaries. They're a mix of history and practical knowledge—the kind of wisdom that gets lost when people focus only on developing new techniques without understanding the foundations." I watched her reaction, impressed by the thoughtful look that crossed her face. "Some detail philosophical approaches to combat, others record daily life from centuries ago. It's like piecing together a puzzle of the past."
Her curiosity seemed to grow, her posture becoming more animated as she forgot her earlier nervousness. "That sounds fascinating! Primary sources provide such valuable insight into historical contexts that textbooks often miss." She spoke with growing enthusiasm, her intelligence shining through.
"Have you ever tried calligraphy?" I asked, changing the subject slightly, sensing an opportunity to find common ground. "It's something I've been learning as part of my training. It's tricky at first—getting the brush strokes just right takes incredible focus—but it really improves your handwriting and teaches patience. Plus, there's something meditative about it."
She giggled softly, the sound light and pleasant. "I haven't, actually, but it sounds interesting. I've studied traditional arts but focused more on tea ceremony and flower arrangement. Maybe you could show me sometime? I'd love to learn the proper technique."
"Sure," I replied with a smile, feeling the tension that had been coiled inside me begin to unwind. "I'm still learning myself, but I'd be happy to share what I know. Maybe we could exchange skills—you could teach me about the tea ceremony in return?" The offer came naturally, without the calculation that sometimes accompanied my interactions with others.
"I'd like that," she replied, her smile genuine and warm. "My mother insists it's an essential skill, but I've never had someone my age to practice with. It might actually be fun rather than just another lesson."
The tension between us began to ease as our conversation flowed more naturally, touching on books we'd both read, subjects we enjoyed studying, and the peculiar pressure of growing up with significant expectations. By the time we reached the venue, the awkward silence had been replaced by a budding camaraderie that felt surprisingly comfortable. The grand entrance hall of the Yaoyorozu mansion opened before us, gleaming marble and crystal chandeliers creating an atmosphere of refined luxury, but I barely noticed the opulence around us.
For the first time that evening, I felt genuinely optimistic about the night ahead. Maybe, just maybe, I'd found someone who could understand the complexities of a life that didn't quite fit the normal patterns—someone who might become a true friend rather than just another acquaintance. As we entered the main ballroom together, still deep in conversation about a historical text we'd both read, I caught Uncle Iroh giving me an approving nod from the corner of my eye. Perhaps his advice had been right after all: sometimes being yourself really is the best approach.