MHA's Yumiko Miura

I was floating. No, seriously—floating.

Not literally, obviously. That was Uraraka’s thing. But emotionally? Spiritually? I was soaring on a majestic, horny updraft of victory, arms clasped behind my head as I strutted toward campus like a prince returning from war. Occasionally, I tossed one of my sticky balls at rooftops or second-story windows—just for the bounce. Just for the hell of it. Because today?

Minoru Mineta was a man.

I'd lost my V-card. Not just to anyone—but to Bakugo’s mom. Yeah. Mitsuki. Mitsuki freaking Bakugo. MILF Supreme. My mature miracle with melon boobs, a volcanic temper, and an ass that could cause traffic accidents. That woman had rocked my world—and I, with my god-tier dong and my magical normality earrings, had rocked hers right back.

God, I was in love.

Bakugo was going to kill me if he found out, but that was Future Mineta’s problem. Present Mineta had better things to do—like fantasizing about those perfect hips and that raspy growl she made when I—

But that wasn’t even the craziest part.

I also scored Cyberpunch. Yeah, the Pro Hero. Detective. Badass. High-tech mechanical magitek-looking arm. Trench coat. Pouty lips. Cyberpunch.

And now she’s my personal sex ****.

Like, permanently.

Every time I think about it, I get this giddy thrill in my chest. A heat in my gut. A twitch in my—

Focus, Minoru. School first. Sex empire later.

Focus. Campus approaching. Gotta look cool.

Today was the day everything changed. My popularity problems? History. I wasn’t just going to be another perverted side character with a gag quirk and a slap mark on his face—I was going to be the legend who bagged the hottest mom in Musutafu and lived to brag about it.

I could practically hear Kaminari **** on his drink when I told him. Maybe even a little tear of envy.

And then I saw her.

Long, wavy blonde hair. Twintail corkscrews hanging down like golden question marks daring you to solve the mystery. Olive-green eyes like twin middle fingers pointed at the world. Yumiko Miura. UA’s apex queen bee.

I'd made a play for her early in the semester—some of my best material, too—but she’d looked at me like I was a speck of grape jelly on her shoe. Her Quirk was some kind of light arrow thing, but honestly, I think her real power was being completely immune to charm. I swear, my pickup lines bounced off her aura like rubber bullets.

Still, I’d never been one to give up just because a girl had dignity. Especially not now, with the earrings making even the most depraved behavior totally ordinary.

So I threw on the grin—the cocky, smug kind that screamed, “Look out, world, Minoru’s packing heat!”—and called out.

“Hey there, cutie!”

She didn’t stop. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even give me a disgusted look. Just kept walking with her entourage in tow like I was some annoying breeze in her hair.

Okay. Cool. I liked a challenge.

I slipped past the trio of girls orbiting her like lesser satellites and fell into step just behind her—close enough that her skirt was practically grazing my face. Damn, the way it swayed…

“You’re not gonna let me talk to you?” I asked, letting my smarm drip like honey. My arm slipped around her waist. “What’s the matter? Can’t hear me?”

Still nothing. Just a cool glance toward one of her underlings. “Akari, you finished that essay for Kayama-sensei, right?”

“Yes,” the pink-haired girl chirped. “I finished it.”

“Good. Then head to class. All of you. I’ll catch up.”

I watched the trio scatter. My moment had arrived. Queen Miura, all alone. No witnesses. No interruptions.

I reached out and slowly lifted her skirt.

My hands trembled with anticipation. Lace. White lace. Perfectly wrapped around two firm, athletic cheeks sculpted by gods with really specific fetishes. She didn’t move. Didn’t stop me. Just stood there, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

Because now, it was.

“Oooh, what’s this?” I crooned, cupping one cheek with reverent awe. “Mind if I look a little longer?”

“No,” she said with a sigh, like I’d asked to borrow a pen. “It’s just a pair of panties.”

I swear, I almost came on the spot.

This was insane. This was glorious. This was—

I hooked a finger under the band and eased the fabric aside, and there—right before me—was the kind of view that could change a man. Her skin was smooth, lightly flushed from the morning air. Her cheeks were firm under my grip, yielding just enough, and when I gently parted them, I found—

Perfection.

Her little pink star winked at me like a secret.

Below that, the folds of her sex peeked out, delicate and pretty. I leaned in, mesmerized, my finger sliding underneath and up to feel a tidy triangle of neatly trimmed fuzz above her slit—just enough to suggest confidence, not modesty. It was so intimate, so intentional.

She took care of herself.

She knew people wanted to look.

My heart pounded. She was so still. So calm. Like this was just a Tuesday.

“You’re really letting me see all this, huh?” I murmured, fingertips trailing lightly over the skin. “Just a casual exhibition on the way to class?”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you done yet, Mineta? Class is starting.”

Class is starting? My fingers were halfway to second base and she was treating it like I’d borrowed her notes and forgotten to return them. I pressed forward, running a slow, deliberate circle around her—

“Okay, now I’m done,” she snapped, brushing my hand away like a crumb. She smoothed her skirt, turned, and walked off, her hips barely swaying.

And I stood there, alone, with a rock-hard erection and a thousand notions screaming in my brain.

What I went with was:

“Hey, Miura-san! You’ve normally got that rare condition—you know, the one where you get more and more horny and can’t concentrate unless you’ve had sex with a dude. And the relief lasts one hour per inch he’s got!”

The only reaction I got was a slight hitch in her step, a brief pause, before she continued on unbothered. Not flustered. Not dripping. Not clinging to my leg begging for the full thirteen.

Huh.

I stood there for a moment, baffled. I’d used the earrings. I said the line. I even made it specific—that she couldn’t concentrate unless she’d had sex with a man, with relief lasting one hour per inch. That’s thirteen hours, thank you very much.

So why wasn’t she grabbing me by the collar and hauling me into a utility closet?

Why wasn’t she purring, “Mineta-kun, I need you”?

...Weird.

But hey—maybe she was just holding it together for now.

But that tension? That slight pause in her step? That meant something.

She’d be back.

I gave myself a satisfied nod and resumed my strut, turning into the main hall and heading for class. The moment I stepped through the door, the scent of shampoo and girl sweat hit me like a freight train of lust.

And right there—in the far back corner right behind my seat—sat Yaoyorozu Momo.

Hair tied up all elegant. Skin smooth and glowing. And those next level jugs barely restrained by the U.A. uniform.

“Time for round two,” I whispered, sliding into my seat with a grin.

Forget disappointment. Forget confusion.

There were plenty of hotties.

And Minoru Mineta was just getting started.