Squad 7's C-Rank Hero, Club (1)
Hero Association's 7th Squad base, in the cafeteria.
"Spade senior? Senior!"
"Huh?"
Spade, lost in thought mid-meal, snapped back to reality at the sound of her voice. In front of her sat a plate of her homemade spam fried rice, and across from that, Club had just plopped down with her lunchbox.
...Ah, spaced out again.
"What's up with you? You've been doing this a lot lately. Even the captain's worried."
"Sorry. I had a weird dream last night."
"A dream? Nightmare?"
"Dunno. It's like... I remember it, but I don't?"
"What does that even mean?"
Anyway, dreams weren't crystal clear in every detail. But that tiresome face—that pathetic, irritating villain's mug—was definitely there. And faintly, the hazy memory of something utterly humiliating happening with that guy...
Ah, damn. It's coming back again.
Just thinking about it made her heart pound, heat rising to her cheeks. Strangely, a tingly jolt shot through her groin in response...
...Something's off with my body... Why does it keep doing this...?
It had been about two weeks since her clash with No. 13. For some reason, she'd had these dreams three times in that span. She didn't always realize they were dreams, so maybe more.
Is it frustration from letting that guy slip away?
She'd been furious at the bastard who took Apple hostage... but surely not enough to obsess over him in her sleep. And whenever she recalled him, her body went weird. Like something deep inside was vibrating, tingling. Her lower belly ached with prodding stabs.
Haa. What the hell is going on?
Her body grew so restless that before she knew it, she'd caught herself comforting herself by hand. Something she barely managed once a month before. In the last two weeks alone, she'd done it three or four times.
"Haa..."
"You're really out of it today, Spade senior. On your period?"
"Can you not say that while we're eating?"
Spade shot a glare across the table at Club, who chewed away at her delivery lunchbox without a care. Neatly trimmed black hair framing her throat. A clover-patterned ribbon matching her codename. Her sharp jawline, keen eyes, slender frame—she gave off prickly cat vibes all around.
Asking how often she masturbates would be rude, right?
Thinking such things in front of a junior made Spade feel pathetic... but it nagged at her.
Sex was foreign territory for Spade. This shift to two or three times a week was impossible to ignore.
Debating whether to ask, she shook off the distraction and went for safe small talk.
"Speaking of, it's been three months since you joined us, Club? Settling in okay?"
"Yeah, no issues. Eating in this empty cafeteria still feels off, though."
As Club said, the place was cavernous for just two. Even if the whole squad ate together, seats would spare. Off-duty folks usually ate upstairs in their rooms, so it stayed deserted.
"It used to be bustling not long ago. Even served as a shelter during the Great Catastrophe."
"My old spot was cramped despite being a base. We always ate together. Never quiet."
"You came from that island, right?"
"Yup. Total bore-fest."
Her deadpan face made it hard to tell if she meant it.
Club had joined 7th Squad recently. Post-Great Catastrophe, villain crime dropped, reducing hero demand. Many retired or scattered nationwide—not just personal choice, but restructuring for budgets and such.
The island Club mentioned had hosted heroes monitoring a villain group tied to foreign syndicates. With brokers busted, that route dried up. Heroes there were surplus, so most got reassigned to busier branches like this one. Club included.
"Same food every day, nowhere fun to go... Even off-duty, same faces everywhere. Fucking boring as hell."
She held up her lunchbox by contrast.
"This place? Paradise. Tap your phone, anything delivers! Mainland's fucking awesome. Capital region's the best."
"True, good food and delivery change everything... But tone down the potty mouth, Club. You're a girl."
"Fuck's my identity. Can't help it."
They chatted casually over their meals, as usual. The captain was swamped, others off-duty or busy—no one else showed.
"Got plans tonight, Spade senior?"
"Huh? Patrol duty."
"Bummer. Was gonna invite you out if you were free."
Club neatly set down her chopsticks on the empty lunchbox. All done.
"Bounty came in from busting those Abyss goons."
"Oh yeah. Reformation program's done?"
"Yup. They groveled before Apple, swearing eternal loyalty with tears, like always."
"...What the hell's her deal?"
"Like I'd know more than you?"
Not long after Club arrived, she'd run into an Abyss crew mid-patrol, led by the Advisor. Took them all down and arrested them on the spot. Advisor escaped, but Club bragged about wrecking her good.
Advisor... Abyss...
No. 13.
The name surfaced unbidden. Heart thumped! Heat bloomed from her belly, rising slow.
Not in front of a junior... No... Don't feel weird... please...
"So with the bounty, figured new shoes... Spade senior? You okay?"
"Ah... Yeah. Fine. Shoe shopping? I know a spot—"
Spade named a famous department store in S City's 7th Squad jurisdiction. Huge mall—bound to have something even for picky Club.
"Got it, ■■ Department Store! Heading there tonight. Thanks."
"Sure. They've got this killer dessert shop too. Check it out. I'll Venmo you—grab me something."
"Dessert...! On it!"
Club excitedly jotted the names in her phone notes.
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"Dorothy Dorothy Dorothy Dorothy! This ice cream's fucking insane...! Melts on your tongue like butter... Can't even describe how great it is! I'm so happy right now!"
"......Quit the dramatics. It's annoying."
S City, somewhere—■■ Department Store's top-floor famous dessert shop.
No. 13 and Dorothy sat across a table. He savored his cup of ice cream with a grin; she sliced into a chewy rice cake stuffed with it, looking grumpy.
Dorothy had ditched her usual lab coat for casual clothes—a fresh look even for No. 13.
"Seriously, No. 13—do you even grasp you're a wanted villain with your face plastered everywhere?"
"What? No one's expecting a villain here. Gotta stay cooped in the hideout forever?"
He wasn't even disguised, yet no one clocked him. Act normal, no suspicion.
Why visit a hyped dessert spot just to skulk and miss out?
"......Shouldn't have invited a guy like you... But going alone sucks... It's ice cream—you gotta eat it here fresh..."
"Dorothy lives on calorie bars but goes nuts for sweets."
"Shut up. Our brains are wired different—I need the sugar. Makes sense to get serious about it."
"You sound pissed, but it's true, so no comeback."
Boss was holed up working; Advisor passed due to feeling off. But today was the last day for the shop's seasonal special. Dessert fiend Dorothy couldn't skip it, so she dragged No. 13 along.
Regretting it now, though.
"Without me, you couldn't even order right."
"......Could've. Pointed or used phone notes..."
"But not sit alone chowing down."
Kuh...! True enough. Dorothy clamped her lips, knowing her severe social phobia too well.
Strangers made her tense up, shrink, tongue-tied. No No. 13, no in-shop dessert.
She owed him, but thanking him? No way.
"Anyway, thanks for the invite, Dorothy. Wanted to come, but solo guy feels awkward."
"You hit on girls fine usually."
"That was with Advisor."
"What, acting like she's not here now?"
"She's a girl now. Parading a non-girlfriend around places like this? ...Wait, is she really a girl? For real? C'mon, Dorothy—tell me it's fake. I still can't buy it. Joke's on me, right? You two ganging up?"
"You got a lot to say, but you two cruised spots like this as dudes?"
For a cutesy dessert shop, a female companion fit better. Two buff guys silently spooning ice cream...
Ew.
Dorothy knew the old Advisor—imagining it turned her stomach a bit.