The bar reeked of spilled beer and stale smoke. The light was low, neon bleeding through the smashed windows. The thugs froze when Mirko launched through the doorway, but only for a heartbeat — then they lunged, claws and fists first, as if surprised by anyone brave enough to challenge them.
Mirko's grin vanished. Her eyes went razor-cold.
Izuku slid into the doorway and planted himself to block the exit. He could feel the woman trembling behind a toppled stool; her wide eyes told him everything. He offered the smallest of nods to reassure her, then turned his focus outward — every door, every side corridor, making sure no one slipped out while Mirko tore through the center.
"Get off her!" Mirko snapped, voice flat as a blade.
One thug, a bulky man with a leather jacket, tried to answer with bravado — a lumbering charge meant to intimidate. Mirko met him before he got momentum: a lightning pivot, and her heel caught his knee like a hammer hitting a hinge.
CRACK.
He went down in a howl, weight collapsing onto the bar floor as the stool he'd been holding splintered. The sound echoed, a neat punctuation to Mirko's first strike.
Before anyone knew what to do, a second guy swung a beer bottle at her head. Mirko blocked with the inside of her forearm and, with a single fluid motion. And grabbed the man's arm, before kicking him right in the chest sending him flying into some tables and chairs.
CRASH
Another thug jumped in, fists blazing with sloppy aggression. Mirko ducked under his left hook, then exploded upward with both legs in a double knee drive that smashed into his chest. The man was sent flying backward, crashing through card tables and chairs.
THUD. CRASH.
One of the worst offenders had a metal pipe and a sneer. He charged with a savage yell, drawing a winding swing across the room meant to keep her at bay. Mirko slipped the arc with a dancer's footwork, closed the distance, and torqued her hips.
Her leg hammered into his ribcage with a BAM that knocked the wind out of him, then she followed through with a snapping roundhouse that planted him face-first into the bar counter.
BAM — SMASH.
The shout cracked the air like a gunshot — harsh, ugly, and immediately answered by the clang of metal on wood as half a dozen chairs were yanked from tables and raised overhead.
"Kill that bitch!!" a voice roared, and the mob surged as one in the cramped bar, bodies colliding and boots thudding on the floor.
Mirko didn't hesitate. Her pupils pinched; her whole body contracted like a spring loaded to the snapping point. She exploded forward.
Her feet hammered the ground as she closed the distance, each step shaking dust from the ceiling. The first thug barely had time to raise his arm before a white blur filled his vision.
Mirko's kick slammed into the side of his face with a sickening CRACK!, twisting his head sharply as his body went airborne. He crashed into the bar counter, bottles shattering around him in an explosion of glass and liquor.
The next man roared and swung a chair down with both hands, the wooden legs whistling past her ear as she ducked. She sprang back up instantly.
WHAM!
Her right hook smashed into his jaw, the impact so sharp it echoed across the narrow room. His legs folded. Before he even hit the floor, Mirko grabbed his collar and spun, tossing him over her shoulder straight into a table. The table collapsed under the impact, chairs toppling, beer spilling across the floor.
She didn't pause. Her body flowed from one strike to the next—fast, fierce, unrelenting. Two more thugs rushed in, yelling, their chairs raised like clubs. Mirko charged to meet them, her movements precise and wild all at once.
At the last second, she planted her foot, pushed off the ground, and shot upward. Both her legs extended midair
THUD! THUD!
As her boots crashed into the first man's face. His chair went flying, and he spun backward like a ragdoll.
Before she even landed, she used his falling body as a platform, twisting and kicking off his chest to drive her heel into the second man's sternum. The breath left his lungs in a grunt as he flew back and slammed into a row of stools.
Mirko landed perfectly, crouched low, dust settling around her. She slowly rose, wiping her chin with the back of her hand as the room fell quiet. The remaining thugs exchanged terrified glances—one's hands trembled so bad the chair he was holding clattered to the floor.
Her grin widened, fierce and wolfish.
"C'mon then," she taunted, cracking her knuckles. "Don't tell me that was it."
The sound of groans and broken furniture filled the silence.
She didn't stop until the last man hit the floor. One after another, they went down beneath a flurry of precise, devastating strikes—every kick, every elbow, every knee thrown with purpose. By the time the final thug collapsed against a cracked wall, the bar looked like a warzone—broken furniture, spilled drinks, and groaning bodies everywhere.
Mirko straightened up, brushing dust from her thigh with a calm exhale. Her chest rose and fell steadily—like she'd just finished a workout, not dismantled half a dozen men.
"Idiots," she muttered under her breath before turning to the terrified woman huddled near the counter.
Her entire tone changed in an instant. The fierce gleam in her eyes softened. She crouched next to the woman, speaking gently, a reassuring hand resting on her shoulder. "Hey, you're safe now. It's over, okay? You did great staying calm."
The woman nodded shakily, tears spilling as relief finally hit her. Izuku was already on the phone, his voice composed as he reported the situation to the authorities.
A few minutes later, flashing blue and red lights filled the narrow street outside. Police poured in, cuffing the battered men and taking statements. When it was over, Mirko and Izuku quietly slipped away, leaving the scene in capable hands.
"You did well," Izuku said as they walked down the block. The night air carried faint sirens behind them.
Mirko stretched her neck with a small grin. "Thanks. I'm just glad we got there before anything worse happened." Her expression hardened slightly, a rare flicker of anger in her tone. "People like that… they're not real men. They only feel strong in packs. Alone, they're nothing but cowards."
Izuku nodded, his hands tucked in his pockets. "True. Let's hope they don't see daylight again."
Mirko smirked faintly. "Yeah… let's hope." Her rabbit ears twitched suddenly, and she tilted her head, listening. "Wait… I hear something up ahead. Trouble again."
Izuku's eyes lit up. "Lead the way."
Without another word, they sprinted off, darting through the streets like shadows cutting through the moonlight.
---
Hours later, the city had quieted. Izuku and Mirko sat side by side on the edge of a tall building, the glow of the skyline stretching endlessly before them. Below, the lights shimmered like a sea of stars. The night breeze brushed against their faces as they sat in comfortable silence, legs dangling over the edge.
"We did a great job tonight," Izuku said finally, breaking the silence with a small, tired smile.
Mirko leaned back on her hands, gazing at the view. "We really did. Honestly? You surprised me out there. You're sharp—fast, aware, controlled. Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
Izuku chuckled softly. "Nowhere special. I just watched a lot of videos online… and practiced. Every day."
She blinked, impressed. "Seriously? That's it?"
He nodded, smiling.
She laughed in disbelief. "Damn. That's even more impressive when you think about how much you're holding back. You move like someone who's trained for years."
Izuku laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess so."
"What?" she said, raising an eyebrow. "Not used to being complimented?"
"It's not that," he replied, turning to her with a grin. "It's just… hearing it from the Mirko hits different."
Mirko smirked, amused. "Wow, so I've got a fanboy for an intern, huh? Not that I mind—it's kinda cute."
They both burst into laughter, the sound carrying into the night air. For a moment, the world below faded away. It was just them—two heroes, tired but proud, sharing quiet laughter above a city that still needed saving.
TO BE CONTINUED