(The premise is...I know little of MHA. This, by the way, is mostly
@DrMethilon and
@Ars Poetica 's fault. Blame them.)
A Dragon in a China Shop [MHA/SI/FriendInsert]
When the world changed, some adapted and some didn't. Honestly, I didn't understand the changes, but then again I didn't understand how I had ended up in Japan exhaling fire from my mouth in the first place.
I wasn't one to look at a gifted horse in the mouth, but at the same time there was one such thing as things being too strange to make sense. If the future of humanity was in super-powered entities, then most of the comics had been right, and that much I could easily glide upon.
But the fact that I had been somehow moved to Japan? It reeked of something else. At the same time, by the time the Italian embassy came back with a shrugging of shoulders about the lack of documents concerning me, it was chalked up to another Quirk User doing something with the systems.
A memory and identity erasing Quirk wasn't that far off the realm of possibilities, especially since no one had any clue what the limits of Quirks were; and thus I easily slipped back into society as a willing member of it.
Though, of course, since I was already in Japan I decided to try my hand at a secret dream of mine.
An Italian family restaurant is something incredibly common in Italy; you'll find a lot of those, all with their own specialties and, well, quirks. Some have tables put together and you have to share them with other customers. Others have a fixed menu and cheap prices. Some try to act fancy, and get brutally burned for it later on.
I had the basics of cooking down, I had a small emergency funding for Quirk-victims that the governments had put in place, and after a few years of cheap rent in a ratty apartment and further work experience as an aid-chef, I ended up having the skills and the money to attempt the deal.
Further, fire-breath did make for an excellent way to save on gas and heating.
Still, I had decided not to intervene. The more time went by, the more I understood this was the world of My Hero Academia. It became clearer when All Might became the top hero, and his shining smile showed from the billboards. I knew little of the place; I just knew there were going to be a lot of fights, people bleeding, getting hurt, and I wanted none of that.
I also didn't remember the names of the villains; there was no point pointing fingers at people. Thus, in my nice and happy corner of the world, I opened up my Italian Family Restaurant.
The Ouroboros.
I could have gone with a dragon-themed name, something like Niddhogr, or Smaug or even Ghidorah, but I felt that Ouroboros was a nice, fitting name.
In the beginning it was hard, admittedly. Dealing with the customers who expected a certain kind of service but were jarringly surprised that it was another kind was a fun experience, and I never stopped getting a chuckle out of the clash of cultures in serving practices between European and Asian cultures.
But the food was, if not top-chef-five-stars quality, abundant and good. The portion size was the trick; I didn't want to cater to the snobbish, and I didn't care about flea-sized bites. I wanted people to eat. I wanted them to stare at the portions and understand that they weren't going to step out of here hungry, or even remembering what hunger was.
Of course, this ended up attracting a very specific customer base. Large portions at cheap prices is the ultimate bliss for students and low-wage workers. And the latter apparently included heroes who had yet to make it to the top. Student Heroes, thus, were my primary customers.
There
was the occasional civilian hanging around, or non-Hero Quirk user, but that was it.
Honestly, in my mind I was set to just let the events transpire and be in the background. Perhaps my mind would jog itself if I saw this or that hero do something, and a small part of me even wondered if I could give cryptic advice, if only I remembered something useful.
But instead there was little to nothing happening, and thus I settled in a routine.
The routine was broken one fine day as I ended up having to get a waiter or a waitress due to the increase in customers. I was only one man, and I needed someone to serve the tables.
"Madam Kawakami?" I asked, glancing at the name. Learning Kanji and whatever else had been an experience, but I had managed most of it. I was pretty much a natural with languages, provided I had the time to go through the literature and the children cartoons. Seriously, children cartoons are the number one way of learning someone's language.
"Miss," the young woman said.
"Miss Kawakami," I said with a nod. "What hours would you comfortable working? Full time or part-time? Split hours or all together?"
"Part-Time sounds nice," she said. Her hair was a slightly dark green, and her face slim. She had a ponytail left draping to the left. Even her eyes were green, which was ironic.
"And Part-Time it is," I mused with a slow nod. "I do find it funny, though," I said with a chuckle.
"What is?" she asked, looking slightly nervous.
"Well, my surname's 'From a Green Valley'," I smiled, "Since I'm going for a dragon-theme thing, and you know, dragons and green valleys..." I chuckled, "and you're pretty much green."
"Ah," she made a nervous chuckle. "I get it."
"No need to be nervous," I mused with a faint shrug. "Do you have any Quirk I should know of?"
"It's just this little thing here," she said, gingerly attracting a pen from one side of the table to her and grabbing hold of it.
I blinked at that. "Can you do that with plates carrying food on them? Without letting the food drop, that is," I stood up as she was about to answer, "Better yet, let's attempt it. If not, it's fine. Might make the work easier on you if it does work."
It did work out. And the young woman actually loved the food I made.
Armed with a couple more part-timers, and a few more tables after buying the nearby shop and expanding, I was in full-swing.
I even had my very own assistant-cook, though it took them a few months to get the gist of 'Use your Italian heart to measure the ingredients', but then again he wasn't Italian, so he had to actually grow an Italian heart first.
But again, I was all set.
I was ready. I was bracing myself.
And when nothing happened, I just decided to sigh and shrug. Perhaps I was merely setting the grounds, perhaps I had successfully dodged everything.
Thus, inevitably, I got married. Well, it was less 'inevitably' and more hanging around someone until you realize there are signals, then attempting what is known as the 'getting to know someone better' move. It worked, there was the boyfriend-girlfriend period, the meeting-of-family thing, the marriage, and then the married life.
And then came into the world the most adorable little bundle of joy ever to exist.
Izuku Midoriya.
It was a nice name, one which Inko had picked.
There was a nagging voice in the back of my head that I was committing some kind of incredible mistake, or forgetting something vividly important, but I realized what it was only a few days later.
My little girl, because it was a girl, would one day need playmates, friends, people to hang around with, and she'd also need to learn how to hit people. It was essential. No, it was quintessential. It was fundamental. In the natural order of things, she had to be the one doing the beatings, not the one getting beaten.
Clearly, I needed to work extra hard to give her everything she could ever want.
Yet, unfortunately, the one thing she desperately wanted once she was old enough was also the one thing there was no way I could ever give her.
"Quirkless," the doctor's official order was obvious. Deep down, I reckoned it could have been my fault. I had a quirk, for some strange reason, but just because I had one didn't mean that my body knew it. And my body did come from a world without Quirks.
It all made sense, and seriously, some nights I woke up with the feeling that another part of me was screaming itself hoarse at how stupid and blind I was being, but then I'd snuggle closer to Inko or go check on how Izuku's sleep was going, and forget about it.
Also, when you're working throughout the day, you don't get much time to fantasize or try to recall things which aren't useful.
"She's so cute," I sniffled in joy as I watched my little darling girl in her waitress outfit. "So, so, so cute."
"D-Daaad," Izuku was even cuter when she was embarrassed. "Please don't."
"Shy Izuku is cute Izuku, all Izuku is cute-Izuku," I replied with a cheerful smile, delivering her a thumb-up while Inko laughed by my side wearing the head-waitress uniform.
"You know your father's like this, dear," Inko said with a smile.
"But he promised he wouldn't during working hours," Izuku muttered, sulking slightly.
"We're not open yet," I said with a smile. "Now, let's do our very best today too," I clapped my hands, "This is your first day, so just follow and help where you see you can. I'm not expecting mastery of customer service on the first day," I stretched my arms, giving a quick tight hug to my adorable wife who blushed and then playfully shoved me away, "but do follow through what this adorable woman says and you'll be all right."
Inko laughed at that, "Yes dear."
With that out of the way, I took my position behind the oven counter. With the assistant cook in charge of some of the dishes, I could finally move to the pizza oven in a more stable role.
This was my realm. This was my paradise.
This was-
"Did you just say a customer wants cheese on fish? Fucking murder him or show him the frigging way out of the door!"
There were some kinks to be ironed out with the customer base every now and then, but mostly it worked just fine.
"It's not called sushi, it's called Carpaccio! They fucking need a lesson in culinary arts or-"
Again, most kinks required a bit of a deeper ironing out-
"Italians invented raw fish eating before the Japanese even knew what sushi was! Let me at him! Let me at him!"
But it was a paradise, and it was my green valley.
After all, Inko and Izuku in waitress uniforms were cute. My wife was beautiful, and the fact she was slightly rounder and curvy than in her youth just gave her more charm, and my daughter was adorable.
Yep.
My adorable family was adorable.
"I can't believe this!" there was grumbling from the kitchens, and as I poked my head in during a lull, I watched the assistant-cook, an experienced man that I had taught, take a few steps back with his hands raised at the angry death-glare of his own assistant.
"Katsuki!" I called out, "Less death-glaring and more cooking!"
"How the fuck am I supposed to cook when I'm surrounded by slowpokes!?" she snarled.
"Is that my problem to solve or yours, whippersnapping greenhorn!?" I yelled right back.
"I wouldn't know! You tell me!" Izuku's friend crossed her arms in front of her chest. She glared at the poor man that was my assistant cook, "You teach better anyway!"
"Seriously," I grumbled. "Swap with me at the oven, Riori. I'll handle the brat."
"I'm not a brat!" Katsuki snapped as I moved into the kitchen.
"No? Then where's the roast? And did you cook the chicken properly? If it's raw in the middle you're the one paying for the salmonella bill!" I growled right back, grinning as flames left my mouth.
The girl had been one of Izuku's first friends, since they had grown up together in the same neighborhood, but when she had started to grow spoiled, I had taken matters into my own hands and spoken with her parents.
When they hadn't managed, I had asked and obtained permission to take matters into my own hands.
Now, beating children is normally not the way to garner their affections, but in a world that works by Shounen Rules, nothing actually works better than a Quirk Fight-Off to teach humility, one's place in the world, and the ancient rule that being the best is a lonely place that makes for a definite horrifying experience. Also, friendship is power, weaponize it and all of that tripe.
It somehow worked. It didn't work fully, since the caustic nature of Katsuki was apparently second only to her Nitroglycerin quirk, but it did work well enough to keep her from becoming a two-ryo bully of the weak.
The blond girl was grinning as she took to checking the roast. "And make sure it's not dry, there's stock you can use-"
"I know that! This isn't my first rodeo!" she yelled.
"It isn't? Then why are you yelling? Nervous much for the U.A thing?" I mused, glancing at the orders. "We've got two lasagne and three plates of pasta-how long has the water been boiling? Was it refilled recently? Salt-wise are we within the limits?"
"Dear!" Inko called from the kitchen's window while Katsuki answered me. One ear listened to the girl, and the other listened to my wife. "We've got an order for the Meat Murder. Jin's working on the pizza base."
"Aye," I said. "Today's Meat Murder day isn't it?" I glanced at the pans. They were oiled, and ready. "Let me fire them up right away! What's the kitchen's motto, Katsuki?" I asked then, coming to a halt in front of the pans and slicing and dicing the meat chunks that needed a slight roast before heading onto the pizza, and then in the oven proper.
"If it's not cooked properly, don't serve it! If there's a mistake, say it!"
"Good girl! There's hope for you yet!" I retorted with a laugh. Then, my eyes narrowed, "How long are you planning on leaving the lasagne in the oven!?"
"Shit-"
The service hour was coming to a close, thankfully, and we were starting the cleaning up when Inko called out to me.
"Dear," she said from the kitchen window, "There's a problem, I think."
I was at the window within seconds, my hands placed firmly on the edges of it. "Who needs to die?"
Inko rolled her eyes. "It's noth-"
Then, my eyes glanced to where Izuku was serving a customer. It was obvious my eyes would gaze in her direction, because my mind always prioritized ensuring the safety of my family first, and then checking for troublemakers afterwards.
"Y-You shouldn't be working here!" someone I didn't know exclaimed from a table they were sharing with other people. "Didn't you want to become a hero or-"
I blinked at that, cocked my head to the side, and frowned. "Oi, Katsuki," I glanced at the girl who had meanwhile neared the kitchen window. "Those classmates of yours?"
Katsuki gazed briefly. "Nope."
"Then why are they bothering my daughter with becoming a hero?" I retorted. "Anything I should know? Did she apply to the supporter-class without me knowing or-"
"Oi, it's her you've got to ask, not me," Katsuki huffed, arms crossed. "But she hasn't said shit to me either. I'd have dunked her head out of her ass if she had."
I sighed, "To think you'd be a charming young lady if you didn't speak like a dock sailor," I rolled my eyes and grinned as Inko smiled in the meantime for some inner-knowledge only my wife was privy to. "Well, I still have some orders to deal with. You go handle it, dear. If you need backup, whistle and I'll send Katsuki over."
"Seriously?" Katsuki grumbled.
"Hey, they're young teenagers. And young teenagers being beaten up by another young teenager is the norm around these parts," I pointed out. "Old men like me are tired enough beating one particular teenager black and blue once a week-"
"It was a draw!" she snarled.
I rolled my eyes as I watched Inko head to where the commotion was. "Whippersnapper, the lasagne. Did you pull them out yet?"
"Oh shit."
With a firm hand and dragon flames...
...the lasagne still ended up being burned, damn it.
Smashwords.
www.smashwords.com
Draft2Digital (multiple book libraries)
books2read.com
discord.gg
Twitter:
www.facebook.com
