Meanwhile, inside the Jirō household—on the second floor, in a neatly kept bedroom—
Kyōka Jirō, still wearing her school uniform, slowly slipped off her jacket.
Her right leg, slender and soft, extended in a graceful line from knee to ankle. Her skin—creamy white and smooth—held a delicate glow under the room's light. The subtly arched foot looked almost sculpted, like something carved with a master craftsman's care. Beautiful enough that one might instinctively want to hold it gently.
"…Ugh. Wearing a school uniform on a day off feels so weird."
Kyōka walked toward her wardrobe, hesitated, and then took out a light yellow camisole dress. She held it up against herself in the mirror.
"This one's cute… but… I'm going over to his house… alone… Is he going to think something weird?"
As she remembered the plans she made earlier with Lock—to visit his house this weekend—her cheeks instantly flushed.
Her mind had been looping the same thought all day:
What am I supposed to wear?
Eventually, she smoothed out the dress and slipped it on.
Even if she didn't want to admit it… Her body was extremely honest.
She was still a girl. She wanted to be cute—wanted him to think she was cute.
But with her usual short hair, hoodie jackets, and punk aesthetic, she was used to being mistaken for a boy… to the point that even little elementary school girls would sometimes confess to her.
Just remembering those moments made her let out a long, tired sigh.
"Kyōka, the door was open—I'm coming in."
A soft, mature voice called out from the hallway.
"H-Hold on, Mom—!"
Kyōka froze like a startled cat. She had been so excited about the outfit that she forgot to close her door properly.
The door opened.
Standing there was a refined woman with glasses—beautiful and intellectual in a way that contrasted her daughter's punkish vibe.
Jirō Mika. Kyōka's mother.
"Oh my~ how cute. Are you planning to go on a date?"
"It's not a date!"
Kyōka flailed immediately, face as red as a tomato.
"I see." Mika nodded knowingly, pushing up her glasses. "Is it with little Lock?"
"—KHH!"
Kyōka choked on her own saliva.
Mika tapped her chin with a slender finger. "It's been so long since he last came over. You should bring him by sometime so I can see how he's grown."
"That's why I said it's not a date! Stop jumping to conclusions!"
Unable to endure the teasing, Kyōka dove face-first into her bed, burying herself in the sheets like she wished reality would disappear.
Seasoned mothers truly were terrifying—Mika's eyes curved in amusement at her daughter's explosive reaction.
"Well, stay safe when you go out, okay? And it's fine if you don't come home tonight."
"H-How could I not come home!?"
Her shrill protest echoed through the house.
Downstairs, her father Jirō Hōtoku quietly lowered the newspaper he was reading on the sofa.
He shook his head with the tired resignation of a father who had been raising a quirky daughter for many years.
Girls are hard…
After the League of Villains incident, time slipped by quickly.
And soon—it was the weekend.
9:00 a.m.
The doorbell rang.
Lock walked to the entrance and opened the door.
Standing outside was a purple-haired girl in a soft yellow camisole dress. Under the morning sunlight, her hair shimmered, her lips pressed together in nervous tension.
Kyōka Jirō.
Here for her promised visit.
Lock froze for a second—her outfit was different from anything she'd worn before. The sight brightened his eyes.
"Don't just stare."
"…I am staring a little."
Lock's honest reply made Kyōka's cheeks burn with heat as she looked away.
"Come in," Lock said with a smile.
"Th-thanks for having me…"
Kyōka stepped inside, trying not to look too stiff—but her wide eyes betrayed her nerves as she glanced around.
It wasn't her first time in Lock's home, but she'd only visited with her parents before.
Coming alone… felt entirely different.
As she stepped into the hall, Baruch—wearing her maid outfit—stood respectfully to the side and presented slippers from the shoe cabinet.
"Please change your shoes."
Kyōka blinked in surprise as Baruch knelt to place the slippers at her feet.
"This is Baruch," Lock said, "the maid my parents left behind."
"Hello, I am the mast—"
Lock shot her a warning glare.
Baruch immediately corrected herself.
"…I am the maid responsible for the master's daily care and meals."
"H-Hello."
Kyōka forced a polite smile, though something warm and fuzzy slipped inside her chest.
For some reason…
She felt like someone who should've been the "mistress" had become the maid, while the actual "mistress" was standing right here.
She shook the thought away violently.
Stop it! Don't think like that!
She refocused and looked around the living room.
Surprisingly—
It was much cleaner and tidier than she expected.
No messy socks. No snack wrappers. No stray game discs.
Instead, there were books neatly stacked on the coffee table.
"Just tell Baruch what tea you'd like," Lock said, placing a plate of fruit beside her. "Eat a little first. Baruch will make beef rice for lunch later."
"Th-Thank you, Lock…"
Kyōka smiled again—awkward, polite.
But Lock wasn't used to this version of her. Her usual rough edges were gone, replaced with a shy neatness.
"This is your home too," he said. "Don't act like a guest."
Kyōka puffed her pink cheeks, fighting the urge to revert to her usual punk attitude—drumming rhythms on the table or blasting rock riffs.
Not ladylike! Not ladylike!
After all, she had musician parents—music had always been part of her.
As Baruch went to the kitchen, Lock sat beside Kyōka on the sofa.
"I've got something to tell you, Kyōka."
"What is it?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Yesterday, I met with All Might. He invited me to U.A. directly—and he'll be teaching there too."
"EHHHHHH!?"
Kyōka's scream shook the entire living room.
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