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❟❛❟ CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN ❟❛❟
THE FIVE-STORY HIGH DORMITORY BUILDING was in front of her. Akame glanced down at herself; she'd swapped her battle-worn attire for a crisp school uniform, her hands and cheeks free of the cuts that had painted her skin earlier, now healed with a quick application of medical ninjutsu. She looked, at a glance, like any student returning from a long day—certainly not someone who had nearly killed the League of Villains single-handedly.
It was late, and Akame released a sigh, relieved that her dorm mates weren't expecting her. She'd made sure to tell them she'd be back in the morning, so they wouldn't stay up worrying.
"Welcome home."
Or, so she'd thought.
Todoroki was already at the entrance with a smile on his face. "Thank goodness you're safe," he murmured, stepping forward to relieve her of her bag. "We were so worried."
Akame gave him a small nod. "I'm fine."
"Are you hungry?" he asked, already guiding her toward the kitchen when she nodded. "Bakugou's been cooking for you."
The familiar kitchen lights glowed warmly as they entered, where Bakugou stood at the stove, a well-worn apron tied around his waist—the very one Todoroki had bought him after accidentally setting Bakugou's original on fire during a panicked attempt to cook.
"Not cold soba, I hope," Akame remarked, feigning dread as she eyed him with amusement.
Bakugou shot her a look. "Obviously not. No way in hell I'd cook something cold in winter," he muttered, bringing a simmering pot to the table, sending Todoroki a mock scowl as he noticed his lingering gaze. "Besides, cold soba is practically useless in nutrition. Lacks protein. Aren't you tired of eating that all the time?"
He returned to the counter to pull off his apron, leaving Todoroki blinking at Akame, his expression filled with indignation as he silently sought her support. But Akame only raised her hands in surrender, a small smile playing on her lips. "I didn't say it."
Todoroki crossed his arms, lips pulled out to make a pout. "I'll just keep praying for winter to end so I can have cold soba again," he mumbled.
Akame chuckled, sliding into a chair. "Bakugou, look at what you've done—you've made him sulk."
"Whatever."
"Heartless," Akame murmured.
The table was already set, with a pot of steaming suan la tang, the spicy-sour soup wafting familiar, comforting aromas into the room. "Oh, suan la tang? You actually used the recipe I gave you?" she asked, raising her brows in surprise.
