Sort of?
You lived a peaceful life. You had a job you worked hard at, and earned every paycheck. You luckily had enough free time to get lost in self care everyday, making sure you put the best version of yourself forward.
And you had a secret: you were the worlds strongest. Or, one of them. Now, you didn't make it a habit of getting into fights, and the idea mildly horrified you, but.
There was always a but.
No one could really surpass you 😜
And then you met him. An ash blond brat you immediately disliked on the spot because of his disruptiveness. You were just trying to enjoy the school festival as an outsider, and this kid comes running, propelled by black and red explosions from his hands, screaming at the top of his lungs.
You couldn't help yourself. It just happened.
You clotheslined him.
You didn't even lose you grip on your stick of dango, the sugary syrup dripping down your hand before you eagerly licked it up, not minding the stares of people walking by, operating the food tents, and the people who had come looking for a good time.
You took a bite of the dango, chewing before looking at the kid at your feet. You were only a few years older than them, fresh out of high school and not interested in spending your life savings on college, and your freinds often told you you were extremely casual, making it easy for younger and older people alike to talk to you and make freinds.
This kid, however, didn't look like he wanted to be freinds. His eyes were cut into a black glare as he got to his feet, trained straight on you.
"Oi," he snapped, voice a guttural growl, and you were struck with how rude it was. As casual as you were, you still practiced basic manners, yet it was clear this kid did not.
"You're a second year, aren't you?" You asked flippantly, gesturing to his armband. "Shouldn't you be, like, a role model for the younger kids? Did your mom die or something? Why were you in such a rush? You could've made me drop my dessert."
He growled—actually growled, and you gave him a confused look.
"So what, bitch? Who do you think you are, lecturing me like some fucking pussy?" You jerked your head at his aggressive language, the confused look on your face twisting into a glare. You took another bite of doughy dango. "You think I give a fuck about your dessert? I've got shit to do—"
"So have I!" You snapped, although that wasn't necessarily true. "And I'd appreciate not getting run over by some temperamental blond, got it?" Your voice came out more hostile than intended, but it got the point across.
You added an eye roll, and he clicked his teeth at you.
"I'll show you temperamental, bitch!"
He'd reached back, giving you a second of realization before he threw his fist forward. Oh shit. He was actually going to fight. The air around his fist combusted, resulting in a huge blast that would've thrown you back had you not dodged, like, yesterday.
You found yourself on his shoulders, legs wrapped securely around his neck, but not enough to choke. You looked to you right hand—only to see that your dango was gone. It was only the floor, mostly charred in a syrupy splat in front of you both.
Your heart broke. You had been really craving something sweet for the past week, eating various candies and snacks only to not be fulfilled. When you'd found the dango stand, it was like all your problems had been solved.
Guess not.
Now, you were more than annoyed.
"Pay me back." You snapped from his shoulders, Your fingers gripping his hair only for you to pull back with a look of disgust. His scalp was hot and sweaty. "Pay me back for the desert you destroyed. I had my heart set on that!"
"Fuck off! You shouldn't have dropped it, you klutz!"
Oh, this little—
"Klutz? Oh, really? Do you even know what I do?" Using the muscles in your thighs, you forced yourself up enough to stand on his shoulders, jumping up with a little excessive force due to your frustration. The sheer pressure was enough to send him to his knees as you shot straight in the air.
As your height slowed and you began to descend, you mentally kicked yourself. Too much.
Letting out an exhale, you turned to the ground, watching with a bored expression as it came closer and closer—and that brat with it. Another eye roll, because obviously he was asking for it. You made sure to keep your force light, almost nonexistent, as you didn't want to do any permanent damage or paralyze him or anything—he still had to pay you back for that dango.
Body loose and movements like water, the second you passed him, your hand chopped his neck, and you used his limp body to break your fall.
You ended up with your knees on his chest, sitting on him like you would at a tea ceremony, as he started up at you unable to form words, incredulous. Your hands grabbed the fabric of his gym uniform, jerking him.
Your glare became, darker, unforgiving, and your expression became devoid of kindness. It was so different from your normal, always almost-smiling expression, and it scared the people who knew you well. Even now, people looked on with shocked expressions, girls huddling into groups and parents taking their kids at their sides. You spoke, and your voice was like an Arctic wind, cold and cutting. "Pay me back. And I want an apology."
He grit his teeth.
You held the expression for a few more seconds, staring him down, before letting it go with a sigh. Being mean was so tiring—how did punks like him do it? All the time, twenty-four seven?
"I won't let you get away with it. You're gonna pay me back." You spat stubbornly, standing up. You grabbed his ankle, exerting little strength as you dragged him on his back, looking for an administrator.
Finally you spotted one—a nice looking lady with raven colored hair, a red mask, beautiful blue eyes, and a skimpy outfit you would've killed to perform in. She looked nice. And by "she looked nice", she looked beautiful.
"Excuse me—" you said, walking up to her and dragging the temporarily paralyzed from the neck down blond. You explained the situation, even got a witness to corroborate your story, and demanded the student pay you back for the dango. Like, god, it ain't that hard.
At first she just looked at you with unbridled shock, her mask a little crooked as she glanced from you, to the kid, to you again. You ended up having to tell the story multiple times—every time she called another coworker over, from a very scraggly looking man with a scarf and hair you would've loved to style, to a man who looked like a walking speaker with hair that curved straight up.
They all had the same reactions. Silence as their incredulous gazes went from you to the kid and then back again.
You just wanted your couple of bucks needed to get more dango; your craving was starting to annoy you. And then they did something that started you—they started laughing. Really laughing. Well—at least, the blond dude and lady did. The guy with the scarf just chuckled, and you smiled at that. Somehow, you thought he didn't laugh much. Didn't look like he got much sleep either.
They ended paying you back triple what you wanted (they all gave you the same amount), took the kid, apologized profusely and even thanked you for handing him his ass, and you left with triple the dango thinking that was that.
So imagine your shock when you get a knock on your door one day, only to open up and see that very same guy (not the one with the pitch black hair and sleep circles that had been in your mind since the incident (you really wondered what he looked like with his hair up) but the idiot kid).
Understandably, you slammed the door in his face without saying a word.
It only took ten minutes of consistent knocking that you broke and swung the door open with a look that could break katanas and a pressed, "WHAT?"
What you saw could've made you turn completely white, clothes and all, with sheer 'huh?' energy.
That bratty kid—no doubt about that—prostrate on your doorstep.
"Please be my master!"
Yeah, One Punch gave the inspiration to write this, so :3