Raiden POV:
I take a moment as we enter the ballroom, just soaking in how massive it is. Makes me feel tiny, honestly. Like I'm just some kid in a world way bigger than me.
Crystal chandeliers hang from the arched sky window, throwing light all over those polished gold walls. The night's starting to creep in above us, and I can see it reflected in the floor - so polished it's basically a mirror. Tables are set up with fancy cutlery and glasses that catch the light, and at the back, musicians are getting ready to play.
It's breathtaking. Like something straight out of a dream. Way more elaborate than anything I've seen in either of my lives.
We head toward the main circular table they've set up for us. The Yaoyorozu family is supposed to sit with us, but they excuse themselves to go greet guests. Momo stays behind though, and she seems pretty happy about that.
When she moves to sit down, I decide to pull out her chair. Just trying to be a gentleman, you know? Her cheeks turn a little pink as she sits with a quiet "Thank you." Our eyes meet for a second before she looks away.
Uncle Iroh and Mother exchange this knowing look before smiling at me. They're not subtle about their approval.
Uncle can't help himself. "It seems my nephew is already learning how to charm the ladies," he says with that warm chuckle of his. My face heats up immediately, and I quickly sit down next to Momo, hoping the table setting will hide my embarrassment.
Behind us, our White Lotus guards take their positions along the wall. They stand tall, eyes constantly scanning for threats.
To break the awkwardness, I start telling Momo about my home. I describe the ancient trees with their sprawling branches, the koi ponds with fish older than my grandfather, our mansion connected to smaller buildings by covered walkways, and the training yard where I spend most mornings. I mention my mother's clinic where she treats all kinds of patients, and Uncle's tea shop where people gather to share stories.
"The gardens are my favorite," I tell her, remembering the peaceful moments there. "Especially in spring when the cherry blossoms fall like snow."
Momo listens closely, her eyes lighting up as I describe our estate. She asks thoughtful questions about the architecture and landscape.
Then I ask her about events like this. It's my first, and I want to know how these things work - the protocols, the expectations, all that stuff.
She tells me she's been to several parties and charity events since she was young, which surprises me.
"How many have you been to?" I ask, trying to imagine growing up with all these formal gatherings.
She thinks for a second, tapping her finger against her cheek. "I've lost count, but it's been quite a few. At least three or four each season since I was three."
"This is my first one," I admit, feeling out of my depth despite my previous life's experiences. "How many people usually show up to something like this?"
Momo explains that this event will host heroes from different agencies, some with sidekicks or families, plus influential people from hero support and medical industries.
"Lots of big names," she says, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "The guest list is pretty exclusive—only those who've made significant contributions to hero society or have substantial influence."
We keep chatting, our conversation flowing easier now as we discover shared interests in literature and martial arts.
Soon, guests start arriving in earnest. People in tailored suits and designer dresses file in, taking seats at tables arranged around the room. Not many are wearing kimonos like us - just some elders with their families, keeping tradition alive in a world that's mostly moved on.
Then the heroes arrive. Hard to miss them with their flashy costumes - bright colors and weird designs that seem completely impractical for actual fighting.
One hero in particular catches my eye - a muscular guy wearing only tight underwear, a luchador mask, and a flowing red cape. I can't figure out how that outfit is considered acceptable in polite society, let alone practical for hero work.
Heroes are weird, I decide. Way more flamboyant than the shinobi I knew in my previous life.
I glance at the White Lotus guards and can tell they're thinking the same thing. Their expressions are carefully neutral, but their eyes widen slightly at some of the more outlandish costumes.
Momo, though? She's absolutely thrilled. She points out heroes as they enter, rattling off their names, rankings, and achievements like a walking encyclopedia.
"That's Backdraft, he specializes in rescue operations involving fires," she whispers excitedly. "And there's Ectoplasm—he can create clones of himself from his breath!"
Then the room's atmosphere shifts. A giant of a man strides in, wearing a blue, red, and white costume with flames around his mask and beard. His fire quirk manifests as actual flames burning around his face, casting harsh shadows on his severe features.
His sidekicks follow behind him, some with parts of their bodies also on fire, like smaller suns orbiting a massive star. People instinctively make way as he and his fiery procession take seats at a table not far from ours.
Momo leans toward me, her voice filled with awe. "That's the number two hero, Endeavor, and his sidekicks! His quirk is called Hellflame—it's one of the most powerful fire quirks in Japan!"
I study him for a moment. There's something in his bearing that reminds me of certain clan heads from my previous life - that mix of power and arrogance that usually leads to both greatness and terrible mistakes.
I turn back to Momo. Her excitement is much nicer to watch than Endeavor's brooding, fiery demeanor.
As more guests settle in, the Yaoyorozu family returns and joins our table. Mrs. Yaoyorozu looks elegant in her formal clothes, while Mr. Yaoyorozu carries himself with the confidence of someone used to commanding rooms.
Once everyone's seated, Mr. Yaoyorozu stands to give a speech. His voice carries easily across the now-quiet ballroom.
He thanks everyone for coming and talks about the importance of the charity event, explaining how the funds will support families affected by villain attacks and help rebuild communities devastated by quirk-related incidents. His words are polite and formal, but I can sense his genuine passion for the cause underneath.
When he finishes to polite applause, waiters and maids file in with practiced precision. They carry trays loaded with food that looks like art, placing dishes in front of us with graceful movements. Additional tables are set up as buffets along the edges of the ballroom. One table is specifically set lower for children so they can help themselves without asking adults - a nice touch.
The maid who brings our food sets down plates filled with the fanciest dishes I've ever seen - delicate arrangements of seafood, perfectly seared meats, and vegetables carved into intricate shapes. Everything looks almost too perfect to eat, like food paintings. My stomach growls in anticipation.
Before digging in, our family clasps hands and gives thanks for the meal. Momo notices what we're doing and follows our lead with a respectful bow of her head. Then we start eating, savoring flavors that dance across my tongue like music.
After the feast, I'm certain I'll burst if I eat another bite. I look around the table, taking in everyone's post-meal state. Uncle Iroh is slouched in his chair, patting his belly with a satisfied grin that matches how I feel. Mother—ever composed—looks perfectly fine, having eaten modestly. Beside me, Momo appears as poised and elegant as ever, despite having matched me and Uncle bite for bite.
Curious about her appetite yet perfect composure, I lean over and ask quietly, "How do you not feel like you're about to explode right now? I think I might need to be rolled out of here."
She smiles, a hint of pride in her expression. "My quirk lets me create objects from my body fat, so I metabolize large amounts of food quickly to maintain my lipid stores. This is actually nothing for me—I usually eat twice this much."
I'm flabbergasted by this revelation. I'm about to ask more about her quirk when she stands gracefully, her elegant dress without a single crease.
"Shall we get more from the buffet?" she asks with a bright smile that tells me she's completely serious about a second helping.
I nod dumbly, still processing both her words and my meal, and follow her lead. Walking seems like a good idea to help my system recover anyway.
As we leave the table, I notice a group of adults in expensive clothes heading toward my mother and Uncle Iroh. "That doesn't look fun," I think, grateful to escape what would definitely be boring small talk and nosy questions about our clan's businesses.
Approaching the serving table, I spot a cluster of kids around our age loading up plates with desserts and fancy finger foods. Momo hesitates beside me, her steps faltering. Her usual confidence seems to waver, and I can sense her reluctance to approach the group.
Without thinking twice, I reach for her hand and gently pull her forward, offering silent support. She blushes at the contact but follows my lead. Thankfully, the other kids are too busy raiding the buffet to notice us at first.
While Momo fills her plate with carefully selected petit fours and fruit tarts, I just grab a glass of sparkling fruit juice. My stomach needs time to recover from the first round.
I turn back to find Momo now surrounded by older boys in expensive suits, their attention fixed on her like moths to a flame. They're bombarding her with questions, some playful and others uncomfortably probing, and she looks visibly uncomfortable despite her polite responses.
I sigh. Of course this would happen. A girl as beautiful and well-connected as Momo naturally attracts attention at these events.
Setting my glass down, I walk toward her, sizing up the situation. The tallest boy in a black-and-blue-striped tuxedo with an awful hairstyle—a failed Wolverine knockoff, honestly—is dominating the conversation. He seems determined to monopolize Momo's attention, his body language suggesting ownership rather than genuine interest.
As I step into the group, I interrupt with a calm voice, "Momo, are you ready to head back to the table? Your parents were asking for you." A small lie, but a useful one.
She and the tall boy turn to me at the same time, both surprised by my interruption. The others finally notice me too, their faces shifting from curiosity to barely hidden hostility as they take in my traditional clothes.
"How dare you address Miss Yaoyorozu so informally!" the tall boy shouts, his voice grating with entitlement. Before Momo can defend me, he continues with theatrical outrage. "Don't worry, Miss Yaoyorozu. I'll handle this interloper. We can continue discussing my proposal to court you afterward."
Momo and I exchange bewildered glances at his weird choice of words. The tall boy, however, basks in the praise of his friends, who murmur their approval and give me dirty looks.
He introduces himself with a pompous flourish, one hand on his chest and the other extended dramatically. "I am Lickter Von Ishman, heir to the Ishman Pharmaceutical Company. And you are?" He sneers, clearly expecting my name to mean nothing.
I keep my expression neutral, though his name nearly makes me laugh—it sounds like something from a badly translated fantasy novel.
"Raiden Uchiha, heir to the Uchiha, Senju, and Uzumaki clans," I reply calmly. I don't elaborate further. No need to justify myself to someone so wrapped up in his own importance.
Momo's eyes widen as she notices the symbols on my formal clothes—the Uchiha fan, the Senju symbol, and the Uzumaki spiral—each representing clans with centuries of history.
Lickter scoffs dramatically, his face twisting with disdain.
"What a load of rubbish. Heir to three clans? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." His laughter, sharp and forced, is quickly joined by his friends. It grates on my nerves, but I stay outwardly calm, hands clasped behind my back in a relaxed stance that hides my readiness to move if needed.
When their laughter finally dies down, Lickter's tone turns accusatory, his finger jabbing toward me. "You're nothing but a pretender, wearing cheap imitations and spewing lies. A thief, no doubt, trying to impress Miss Yaoyorozu with fabricated heritage. But don't worry, Miss Yaoyorozu. I'll handle this imposter."
He motions to two boys beside him, who step forward with exaggerated menace to grab me.
Momo looks increasingly anxious, her cheeks puffing in frustration as she tries to defuse the situation. I give her a reassuring smile and a quick wink, which makes her blush in surprise.
As the boys reach for my shoulders, I sidestep smoothly, avoiding their grasp with minimal movement. Another boy lunges from behind, but I duck and spin away easily, my body remembering countless training sessions with Uncle Iroh.
More join in, surrounding me in what they clearly think is an intimidating formation.
Eight older kids, all trying to subdue me to impress Momo and save their leader's pride. I smile, hands still behind my back, studying their movements and obvious intentions.
They charge one by one, their attacks uncoordinated and driven by emotion rather than strategy. I sidestep, duck, and spin fluidly, causing them to collide with each other. One boy overextends a punch, and I simply trip him with a subtle foot placement, sending him sprawling into another attacker.
Soon, they're a chaotic mess, tripping, stumbling, and colliding in their increasingly desperate efforts to corner me.
In no time, they're sprawled across the polished floor, groaning in exhaustion and embarrassment. I stand untouched in the center, still smiling calmly like we've been having a pleasant conversation.
Momo's expression has changed from concern to barely contained delight, while Lickter looks like he's bitten into a lemon, his face flushed with humiliation.
"Get up, you fools! Why didn't you use your quirks?" Lickter screeches at his fallen friends, completely losing his composure.
One of his lackeys mutters from the floor, "We'd get in serious trouble with the heroes if we used quirks at a formal event. You know that's against the rules."
Realizing his mistake but unwilling to accept defeat, Lickter's face suddenly lights up with a malicious idea. He starts yelling for a hero, his voice carrying across the ballroom as he makes up a story about me using my quirk to attack them and claiming I snuck into the event.
A hero appears almost immediately. He's wearing a tight black bodysuit with red flame designs, a leather jacket with huge shoulders, and a visor that hides his eyes. His flaming mohawk reminds me of Cyclops from X-Men comics I read in my previous life.
Before Momo or I can explain what actually happened, Lickter and his cronies start shouting over each other, piling on accusations and pointing at me dramatically.
The hero turns to me, his posture stern and unyielding. "Save it, young man. You're in serious trouble." He advances toward me, listing off the false charges with professional authority. "Using your quirk without a license, assaulting civilians, trespassing at a private event—these are serious offenses that could affect your future."
I sigh deeply, feeling a familiar weariness settle over me. Momo looks worried, but I give her a reassuring nod to let her know this isn't my first time dealing with misunderstandings and false accusations.
"Looks like things have escalated beyond reason. Alright then," I think, shifting my stance slightly to center my balance. "Let's dance."