My Hero Academia One-Shots | Self Insert

🗿shigaraki | soft🗿

"Thank you, have a nice day!" you smiled politely from behind the front countertop. The customer waved as she exited, and the bell above the door chimed upon its closing.

"(y/n), I'll be out back waiting for the supply truck. They should be coming," your coworker, Miyaguchi, paused to check his watch, "in two minutes. Can you handle the shop for an hour or so?"

You nodded, "Gotcha."

"Alright, thanks. I'll be back!" Miyaguchi spun around the door and left through the kitchen behind you. You listened for the back door as it closed.

Your elbow was propped atop the cool, marble countertop, your head resting lightly on your hand. The pastries encased in the glass displays were freshly baked this morning, and you had to hold yourself back from stealing a few.

It was only your first month in Japan, and you were still learning the ropes language-wise, culturally, and socially. Unlike in your home country, running in to famous pro-heroes was more common here due to living in the most populated city.

You admired hero work greatly, so you kept a small book of the biggest heroes in Japan in case you ever encountered one. The bakery was fairly empty—it was still early, anyway. Adults were commuting to work outside the shop's windows, and students skipped to school in their matching uniforms.

You sighed and pulled your booklet out from the counter's bottom shelf. A green tag stuck out from the top near the first few pages. You opened the book from the marker and began to read about the hero on the page, Mt. Lady.

Fully indulged in your reading, you were startled by the bakery doorbell's chimes.

"Oh! Good morning, what can I get you today?" You fumbled with the booklet and—subsequently—ended up dropping it on the opposite side of the counter.

Damn it.

The customer delivered a judging stare before slowly bending over to pick the book up. They held the stapled spine between their thumb and index, the rest of their fingers held high above the booklet.

Are they afraid of germs?

They dropped the book on the counter. Bashfully, you thanked them, ensuring the distance between you two in case they really were disturbed by germs.

You only then noticed the person's unordinary appearance. A white, detached hand held onto their face, and several more latched onto their upper body. Their baby blue hair was unkempt and tangled, and their black garments were just as tattered; however, you weren't one to judge, so you asked for their order just as any good employee would.

"Give me an anpan." His voice was higher than you expected and oddly soothing.

Although he did not appear as polite as most customers, you followed his directions and wrapped the single bun in paper. Waiting a few seconds more, you then asked with a smile, "Is that all, sir?"

His shoulders dropped ever so slightly, and he shook his head.

"Alright then. That'll be two hundred yen," you said, internally cringing at your slight mispronunciation. Your Japanese was far from perfect.

The man grabbed the paper bag and turned to the exit with no intention of paying.

"Ah, sir! You have to pay for that!" You worriedly glanced at the back door to see if Miyaguchi was still outside. Seeing that he was absent, you hurried around the counter and stood in between the front door and the blue haired man.

"You have to pay for your food, sir," you stated adamantly. If Miyaguchi discovered that the store had been robbed during your shift, you would be in deep trouble—no matter how much money was taken.