Katana

The pizza guy stood outside the door of yet another Gotham townhouse, holding a large pepperoni pizza and silently hoping for a normal, uneventful delivery. After the weird encounters he’d been having over the past day, he was starting to question his entire career choice. He stared at the door, took a deep breath, and thought to himself, Please, for the love of all things cheesy and doughy, let this be a normal door.

The house was nice, really nice. Not Wayne Manor-level nice, but definitely somewhere above his pay grade.

He knocked, the sound echoing a little too loudly in the otherwise silent neighborhood. The door swung open, and there she was. A petite Asian woman, maybe in her late twenties, wrapped in nothing but a towel.

Okay, not totally naked. Progress.

"Uh, pizza delivery?" he said, holding up the box like it was a shield against whatever bizarre scene he was about to stumble into.

The woman, who looked calm and utterly unbothered by her lack of clothing—just like the others—glanced at the pizza, then at him. "Yes," she said, her voice flat. She stepped back slightly to let him hand over the pizza.

This one was different, though. She wasn’t flirting, wasn’t overly chatty. In fact, she didn’t seem to give a damn about much at all, and he appreciated that. For once, things were going normally. Pizza confirmed, handed over, and payment received.

But then, as he was about to hand back her change, the towel slipped.

The pizza guy blinked. There she stood, completely naked, staring at him without a hint of embarrassment. Just like that, all the quiet normalcy of the moment vanished into thin air. He didn’t even have time to process it fully. His brain short-circuited for a second, going from hey, nice tip to why am I cursed with naked Asian women?

There was a beat of silence. He wasn’t sure if he should laugh, run, or—given the nature of his last 24 hours—just accept this as the new normal in his life.

Tatsu Yamashiro, also known as Katana—not that he knew this—looked down at herself, then back up at him, completely unfazed. "Do you want a tip?" she asked, deadpan.

He swallowed hard, eyes darting to the ceiling as he tried really hard not to look down. Man, she’s hot, but… "I-I’m okay, really. You already tipped online," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

She gave a small nod, as if what had just happened was the most routine thing in the world. "Okay." Then, with a calmness that only added to the surreal vibe, she turned and casually shut the door.

The pizza guy just stood there for a moment, blinking at the now-closed door. He let out a long, slow breath and started walking back to his car.

"Has to be a trend."