It was 3:30 a.m. and the forest outside whispered secrets to the wind-rustling leaves, distant owl hoots, the faint trickle of a stream carving through stone.
Inside, Class 1-A slumbered in uneasy clusters, bodies tangled in sleeping bags, dreams haunted by the Beast's Forest's echoes.
But Izuku Midoriya was wide awake, every nerve alight with the electric hum of inevitability.
He lay on his back in the boys' dormitory, staring at the shadowed rafters as if they held the stars he'd sacrificed his Saiyan blood to save.
The velvet pouch of Master Balls pressed against his thigh like a loaded gun, twenty-two spheres of absolute dominion.
Momo's ball was warm in his pocket, a talisman of conquest-her taste still lingered on his tongue, a ghost of lavender and surrender.
The quest window had gone dormant after her capture, its crimson script fading to embers, but the half-complete taunt burned: One more. Mina. The head.
Ocean pulsed in his chest, 80% mastery turning his veins into a living sonar. He could feel her across the hall-heartbeat steady but spiked with calculation, a predator's rhythm.
Mina Ashido, Main traitor, LOV's pink-skinned serpent coiled in her futon. Her room was a mirror of Momo's: third door on the right, paper screen aglow with the faint pink hue of her nightlight.
No guards. No alarms. Midnight patrolled the perimeter, her bound form a shadow in service; Denki and Aoyama flanked the common room, resurrected sentinels playing possum in sleep.
Izuku sat up slowly, the sleeping bag whispering like a conspirator. His track pants hung loose on human hips-no more Saiyan bulk to fill them-but his movements were fluid, honed by dungeon trials and human grit.
He slipped on his jacket, zipped it over the pouch, and padded barefoot into the hall. The floorboards were cool underfoot, polished wood worn smooth by generations of heroes-in-training.
One creak, and the whole class would stir. But Ocean guided him: step here, pause there, breathe shallow.
3:32 a.m.
Mina's door loomed, a fragile barrier of rice paper and bamboo. Izuku's hand hovered on the frame, pulse thundering in his ears. She wasn't just a classmate.
She was the killer of Mineta, ashes hidden under her floorboards like a shameful trophy. The architect of Mind Alter, a 10-minute kiss dooming souls to treason.
Capturing her meant ending the web. But the quest's flippant promise echoed: Bragging rights. Two hot girls. Heat flushed his cheeks. This wasn't heroism. This was... indulgence? Reclamation? The line blurred in the dark.
He slid the door open a sliver, soundless as a shadow's sigh. Moonlight spilled across the threshold, painting Mina's form in silver and rose.
She slept on her side, facing away, pink skin luminous against the white sheets. Her horns curved like crescent moons, tail coiled loosely around one thigh.
She wore a tank top and boy shorts-casual, vulnerable-hair a wild fuchsia tangle spilling over the pillow. The room smelled of her: bubblegum sweetness laced with acid's tang, a perfume of deception.
Izuku stepped inside, door sealing behind him with a faint shh. His shadow fell across her futon. Ocean mapped her vitals: respiration even, pulse 62 bpm, no spike of awareness. Yet.
He knelt beside her, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin, the subtle rise and fall of her breaths.
Up close, she was stunning-curves honed by quirk and training, full lips parted in sleep, the swell of her breasts pressing against the thin fabric.
Guilt twisted like a knife. She's brainwashed too. LOV's puppet. But the Master Ball in his palm was ice-cold certainty. One traitor left. Dragon Balls on the line-wishes without limit, Shenron's emerald scales coiling to grant resurrection, power, peace. For the class. For the world.
Mina stirred. Her eyes snapped open-golden, slitted like a cat's, locking onto him in the gloom. "Deku?" It was a hiss, half-sleep, half-snarl. She bolted upright, sheets tangling at her waist, hand already glowing with acid's promise. "What the fu-"
Izuku lunged. Not savage, but swift-a palm over her mouth, muffling the cry before it birthed. His other hand slammed the Master Ball against her sternum, right over the frantic drum of her heart. The sphere ignited, red light blooming like a dying star.
Mina's eyes widened in shock, golden irises flaring with futile fury. She thrashed once-acid bubbling at her fingertips, horns scraping his shoulder-but the ball was merciless.
Her body dissolved into crimson energy, pulled inexorably inward: pink skin folding to light, tail whipping a final arc, horns vanishing last. A scream echoed in his mind, silenced by the snap.
The ball dropped into his hand, heavy as sin. Still. Warm. Sealed.
3:34 a.m.
Izuku collapsed back on his heels, breath ragged. The room was empty now, futon rumpled, air charged with ozone and absence. His shoulder stung-two shallow burns from her acid touch, skin bubbling faintly.
Human flesh. No instant heal. He pressed a senzu bean to the wounds (one down from 131), the magic knitting flesh in seconds, leaving only pink scars like her own.
The quest window reignited, bold crimson flooding his vision:
QUEST: TRAITORS' LEASH - COMPLETE
TARGETS ACQUIRED: MINA ASHIDO & MOMO YAOYOROUZU
REWARD GRANTED:
DRAGON BALLS (7-SET): Stored in dimensional storage. Summon with intent.
BRAGGING RIGHTS: Enjoy your prizes, hero.
A faint thump resonated in his chest-not pain, but fullness. Ocean rippled, a new pocket unfolding: seven orange spheres, flawless and humming with ancient power.
Untouchable. Unbreakable. Wishes without limit-resurrect the dead, amplify quirks, rewrite the League's existence. The universe's ledger balanced once more.
Izuku exhaled, trembling. No failure. No penalty. Just victory, bitter and sweet. The LOV ambush loomed in twenty-six minutes, but for now... silence. No screams. No alarms.
His classmates dreamed on, oblivious.
He turned the ball over, thumb tracing the seam. Mina-vibrant, venomous Mina-trapped inside. The quest's whisper slithered: Two hot girls. Yours.
Heat stirred low in his belly, human desire uncoiling without Saiyan rage to drown it. He shouldn't. But he would. For intel. For reclamation. For the thrill of taming the untamable.
"Release," he murmured, no phrase needed-the ball knew his will.
Pink light erupted, soft as dawn's blush. Mina materialized kneeling before him, exactly as captured: tank top askew, boy shorts riding high, horns glinting.
Her golden eyes, once sharp with treachery, were now molten pools of adoration. The Mind Alter's chains? Shattered. The LOV's hold? Dust. She was his-utterly, irrevocably.
"Master," she purred, voice a sultry rasp, tail flicking lazily behind her. She leaned forward, hands on thighs, breasts straining the tank's fabric.
Up close, freed from betrayal's mask, she was intoxicating: curves lush and athletic, skin a flawless rosy hue, lips full and glistening. "Mina's here to play. What do you desire?"
Izuku's throat bobbed. "You," he said, simple and raw. "All of you."
Her smile was wicked, genuine-traitor no more, devotee eternal. She rose fluidly, closing the distance, her body heat a wave.
Izuku stood to meet her, hands finding her waist, thumbs brushing the dip of her hips. She was shorter than Momo, compact and explosive, every inch humming with quirk-born energy. Her scent enveloped him: bubblegum laced with something feral, addictive.
Their lips met in a crash-hers crashing into his with pent-up hunger, his yielding then claiming. Mina's mouth was hot, plush, tasting of cherry gloss and sin.
She moaned into it, a vibration that shot straight to his core. Izuku angled his head, deepening the kiss, tongue tracing the seam of her lips. She parted willingly, tongue darting out to meet his-bold, teasing, curling like her tail.Saliva mingled, slick and sweet; her hands fisted his jacket, pulling him flush.
Izuku's fingers tangled in her fuchsia locks, tugging horns gently-drawing a gasp she swallowed with a suck on his lower lip. He retaliated, nipping sharp enough to sting, then soothing with a languid lick.
Breaths came in shared gasps, noses brushing, chins slick. Mina's tail wrapped his thigh, pulling him closer, her hips grinding instinctively against his growing hardness.
Izuku groaned, the sound muffled as he plunged deeper, tongue-fucking her mouth in rhythmic thrusts-mimicry of what could come later.
She matched him, aggressive, her free hand sliding under his shirt to rake nails down his abs. Human skin prickled, alive to every touch.
The kiss turned messy, desperate: slurps and smacks echoing softly in the room, her saliva trailing from lip to lip when they broke for air-only to dive back.
Izuku cupped her face, thumbs stroking cheekbones flushed rose-dark. Her tongue traced his teeth, then tangled anew, a dance of dominance yielding to devotion. Moans escaped in tandem-hers breathy whimpers, his guttural growls.
Sweat beaded on brows; her horns heated under his grip. Mina broke first, panting, "Master... fuck, you taste like victory."
He silenced her with another plunge, slower now, savoring: tongue circling hers in lazy spirals, lips sucking gently, building tension. Her body melted against him, breasts pillowed to his chest, nipples hard points through fabric.
Tongues dueled in frenzy-wet, obscene, her biting his lip hard enough to draw a copper tang he lapped away.
Izuku's hand slid to her neck, thumb pressing the pulse point, feeling it race. She arched, tail tightening, hips rolling in blatant plea.
Izuku pulled back, lips numb and swollen, a string of saliva snapping between them. Mina's eyes were glazed gold, chest heaving, tank top askew to bare one shoulder. "More?" she begged, voice wrecked.
"Always," he rasped, guiding her down to the futon. She sprawled back, propping on elbows, a pink siren in moonlight. Izuku knelt between her thighs, hands shoving her tank up-exposing her breasts in a slow reveal.
They spilled free: full, perky D-cups, rosy like the rest of her, nipples dusky peaks already pebbled tight. Freckles dusted the swells, a constellation begging worship.
He started slow, lips brushing the left swell-a feather-kiss on flushed skin. Mina shivered, tail thrashing. "Izuku..." Then his mouth latched: tongue flicking the nipple once, twice, before sucking deep.
The taste was her-sweet-salt, skin warmed by quirk's fire. He hollowed cheeks, drawing hard, tongue swirling the peak in tight circles. Mina arched, a keening "Yes!" escaping.
He feasted: suck-release-pop, then lave the wet trail with broad strokes. His hand claimed the right breast-kneading the heavy globe, thumb rolling the twin nipple in sync.
She bucked, hands in his curls, guiding firmer. Izuku obliged, teeth grazing-light nip, then soothe with suction that bordered vacuum.
Alternating now: left devoured, right tormented by fingers-pinch, twist, pluck. Mina's moans crescendoed, hips grinding air, shorts dampening at the crotch.
He hummed against her flesh, vibration drawing a sob. Saliva glistened both peaks, trails trickling down valleys he lapped clean.
Deeper pulls, almost nursing-cheeks hollowed, tongue relentless. Her breasts heaved with each breath, skin sheening sweat.
Izuku's free hand pinned her hip, curbing the writhing, heightening torment. "So... fucking... good," she gasped, tail coiling his arm.
He lavished attention: bury face between, motorboat the cleavage, then emerge to suckle each in turn-left hard and fast, right slow and deep.
Nipples swelled under assault, red and slick. Mina's nails scored his scalp, body a bowstring.
Sweat slicked them both; the room reeked of arousal, bubblegum and musk. Izuku switched to the right fully now-sucking with fervor, teeth scraping areola, hand mauling the left in rough kneads. Her cries peaked, thighs clamping his sides. "Master... gonna... ah!"
He pushed boundaries: alternate sucks with bites-sharp tugs that made her yelp, then soothe with kitten licks.
Breasts bounced with her tremors, nipples throbbing visibly. His jaw ached, but human limits be damned; this was power, pure.
Sloppy now-wet smacks, saliva dripping to her ribs. He buried deeper, alternating breasts in a frenzy: left suck, right bite; right pull, left swirl. Mina thrashed, tail lashing, on the edge of something shattering.
Building her higher: hands cupping undersides, lifting to mouth like offerings, sucking long and deep. Her body quaked, breaths sobs. "Please... Izuku... don't stop..."
He didn't. Tongue-baths between sucks, nips turning tender. Peaks hypersensitive, every touch electric-her whimpers music, body his instrument.
Izuku released with a final, lingering swirl, both breasts marked: red-flushed, glistening, nipples swollen jewels. Mina lay wrecked-hair wild, eyes teary-gold, chest a canvas of his claim.
"You... own me," she panted, tail limp.
Izuku smiled, dark and sated. "And you're perfect."
He recalled her with a touch-pink light folding her away, ball cooling in his palm. Stored. Beside Momo. Two prizes. Twenty-one balls left.
3:55 a.m.
Izuku slipped out, door whispering shut. The hall was tomb-still. Dragon Balls hummed in storage, wishes waiting. The LOV? Delayed, perhaps, scouts pulling back, Mina's absence a snag.
He returned to his bag, body thrumming-aroused, alive, human. Sleep tugged, but vigilance won.
For now, the snake was leashed.
And the hero? He tasted pink venom on his lips, and smiled.