POV: Widow (Himari Sato / real name: Rei Tsukino)
The morning air was crisp and quiet as Himari Sato walked the familiar streets of Musutafu, her strides measured, her presence unremarkable. Just a woman in a hoodie, jeans, and running shoes. Just another face in the crowd.
But every step was calculated. Every glance cataloged threats, corners, reflections.
Even now—years since she'd abandoned her old life—Widow never left her.
She had once been feared, unnamed, and unseen. Infiltrator. Assassin. Spy. Trained to vanish and to kill without question. But that life was over.
Now she was Himari—twenty-five years old, officially unemployed, unofficially one of the most sought-after private tutors on the HoriNet.
And today, she was about to meet the most puzzling student she'd ever encountered.
Midori27.
For months, he'd been turning in assignments that stopped her in her tracks. Ethical dilemmas, war game breakdowns, multi-variable strategy grids—every task she gave him was returned not just complete, but enlightened. His answers weren't robotic. They were human. Deeply compassionate and infuriatingly precise.
He didn't just see the problem. He saw through it.
Most students could memorize tactics. He restructured them.
At first, she'd assumed he was a mid-to-late teen—a high schooler at the very least. But his responses didn't feel like the work of a genius chasing clout or competition. They felt... quiet. Focused. Like he was preparing for something no one else understood.
Eventually, she offered him her private IQ assessment. It was her gatekeeper—the last wall before full mentorship. No one had ever cleared it.
He didn't just pass.
He obliterated it.
So she reached out.
"If you're interested in further mentorship," she had written, "I'd like to speak to your guardian in person."
She wasn't just doing this out of curiosity.
She needed to know if this student was real. If he was stable. If he was worthy.
Because for the first time in years, she felt something stir in her.
Not duty. Not programming.
Hope.
And now, she stood outside the address he'd given her.
A quiet apartment complex. Older but clean. A flower pot in the window of unit 3C. Simple curtains. Faint smell of breakfast lingering in the hallway.
It didn't fit.
This wasn't the lair of a prodigy. No specialized equipment. No reinforced doors. No sterile precision.
It felt... normal.
Too normal.
She exhaled, brushing her fingers over her hoodie pocket once more—a nervous tick.
And knocked.
Three soft raps.
The door opened.
And Himari nearly forgot how to speak.
Standing in the doorway was a woman. Mid-twenties. Radiant. Green hair flowed down her back like a waterfall of silk. Her skin had a soft glow, and her curves were hugged perfectly by a sleeveless red dress that stopped just above the knees. She looked surprised—but not startled.
Warmth radiated from her. Not just from her appearance, but her posture, her energy.
Oh.
Himari's breath caught briefly.
A blush tugged at the edge of her cheeks before she caught it and shut it down with the force of a military command.
No.
Not here.
Not now.
She straightened, slipping effortlessly into her teacher's mask.
"Good morning. My name is Himari Sato," she said calmly, her voice smooth. "I'm the online instructor for a student who goes by the name Midori27."
The woman blinked, then smiled in instant recognition. "Oh! Yes, you must be the one who asked to speak with me. I'm Inko Midoriya. That would be my son."
Himari gave a practiced nod. "Thank you for having me. I really appreciate the opportunity to speak with you in person."
"Of course," Inko said warmly. "Please, come in."
The door opened wider, and Himari stepped inside.
Her mask stayed in place.
Her instincts did not.
Her eyes immediately scanned the entire apartment in under three seconds:
—One entrance through the front door.
—Window on the right leading to a fire escape.
—Hallway to the left with three doors—bedroom, bathroom, closet.
—Kitchen entrance to her right.
—Couch against the far wall.
—No visible weapons.
—Clean. Organized. Lived-in.
Old habits. Always the layout. Always the exits.
Even now—playing the role of teacher, wrapped in civility—Widow still walked with her.
She took another slow breath as Inko turned away to guide her toward the living room.
Focus.
Whatever came next, she had to remember: she wasn't here for a mission.
She was here for a student.
POV: Izuku Midoriya
There's a very specific kind of knock that tells you a lot about a person.
Three short, even taps.
Not loud. Not soft.
Just... precise.
Calculated.
From the moment I heard it, I was already in motion.
My camera feed blinked to life on the monitor hidden in my drawer, showing the hallway in crisp grayscale. The woman outside stood still, poised like someone who had mapped out every move before she even arrived.
Tall. Red hair. Lean, defined arms. Eyes that didn't dart or shift. They moved with purpose.
I stared at the screen.
"...No way," I muttered, leaning closer.
She looked like an almost perfect copy of Black Widow from Marvel. Not cosplay. Not costume.
Posture.
Her stance was too controlled. Feet spaced evenly apart. Center of gravity aligned. Shoulders loose, not stiff, like she was used to movement under pressure.
I knew that body language.
She was trained.
The door creaked open.
I muted my monitor and zoomed in.
Mom stood in the doorway, in that soft red dress she liked to wear on her off days—simple, flattering, with thin shoulder straps that hugged her just right. She always looked beautiful to me, but seeing the instructor's face in that moment?
Wow.
She blinked fast—expression flinching just slightly—as if her brain short-circuited. And then?
Blush. Full-on blush.
She looked like she just accidentally walked into a modeling shoot.
I smirked.
Ah. Okay. She's into women. Respect.
But what was more interesting was how fast she recovered. In half a second, the blush vanished. Her expression reset to polite professionalism like nothing had ever happened.
Now that was training.
Mom smiled and stepped aside to invite her in, completely oblivious. She's warm like that. Trusting.
I, on the other hand, was already activating my private server.
"Name: Himari Sato," I whispered, fingers typing commands at lightning speed.
Before she even entered the home, I was pulling everything the public and private sectors might have on her.
My eyes flicked back to the hallway cam.
She stepped in.
And instantly did the scan.
Right. Left. Kitchen. Hall. Window. Bathroom.
I clocked it: 2.3 seconds. Fast, clean, subconscious.
Her eyes were subtle, but they caught everything. She wasn't just curious—she was mapping. Like someone who'd been trained to find exits in case of a breach.
Yeah, she's not a regular teacher.
Her gait was fluid. No bounce. Like every muscle was tuned. Civilian trainers don't move like that. Neither do professors. I narrowed my eyes.
I ran the background check deeper.
No alerts. No red flags. She had an ID, social profile, a normal credit history, tax filings—all the things you're supposed to find.
But it was too clean.
Sanitized.
No academic trail beyond a basic cover story. No social security anomalies. No employment jumps.
Just... fabricated normalcy.
"She's either ex-military or ex-something else," I whispered, scanning the results again. "Someone burned her history clean."
Back on the monitor, she was seated now, legs crossed, expression calm as she began talking to Mom.
I slid the drawer open and equipped the Widow Stingers.
The prototype bracers locked into place along my forearms with a familiar click. Thin, matte-black plating with concealed shock ports. Each one tuned to respond to my muscle contractions—one finger flex for ready, two for fire.
Fitting name, all things considered.
I leaned forward again, now listening closely.
She was explaining who she was—calmly and politely. "Online instructor for Midori27," she said.
Mom, still completely relaxed, offered her tea and stepped toward the kitchen.
And then it happened again.
As soon as Mom turned her back, Himari blushed.
Hard.
I saw her lips move.
I activated lip-read mode on the camera.
"Control. Pretty woman. Stop. You're single. Act normal," she muttered to herself.
I couldn't help it—I actually chuckled.
Okay. That's kind of adorable.
She was clearly fighting an internal battle every time Mom looked away. One minute all business, the next minute flustered and muttering about being alone too long.
Mom came back with the kettle, and—like clockwork—Himari was back to full composure.
Stone calm. Smile in place. Posture straight.
But the second Mom turned her back again to grab cups?
Tiny nose scrunch. She whispered something again.
Lip cam caught it: "This is so unfair."
I had to cover my mouth to stop from laughing out loud.
I sat back in my chair, arms crossed, watching the feed like it was a sitcom.
So let me get this straight...
This mysterious woman shows up, moves like a trained operative, has zero accessible background, and is crushing on my mom so hard she forgets how to breathe when she's not looking.
And she came here to evaluate me?
Yeah. Okay.
This just got way more interesting.
I looked down at the Widow Bracers.
And then back up at the woman who probably didn't even realize she'd walked into a home being monitored by a four-year-old in full tactical mode.
I narrowed my eyes.
Let's see what you're really here for... "professor."