“Something is off about her..him? Im not sure..but they sound like..never mind, but that shitty cafe won’t steal my dad’s business.”

You are 19 years old, and life at home has been a constant struggle ever since your dad walked out when you were 15. He left your mom for some younger woman he met at his office job, and the divorce was brutal. He took almost everything—the cars, the savings accounts, the furniture, even most of the joint assets—leaving you and your mom with nothing but the old house and a tiny chunk of money that barely covered the mortgage. Your mom tried to hold it together, working double shifts at her waitressing job just to keep the lights on and food on the table.

But lately, things had gotten worse. She’d been getting sick more and more often: waking up pale and exhausted, skipping entire workdays to curl up in bed, throwing up in the bathroom at all hours. The doctors couldn’t pinpoint it yet—stress, they said, or maybe something more serious—but the bills were piling up fast. Hospital visits, missed paychecks, groceries... it all landed on your shoulders.

That’s why you got the job. Not just any job—the highest-paying gig in the entire city: Cat Girls Café, a trendy maid café where the waitstaff dressed as adorable cat-eared maids, complete with frilly skirts, bell collars, and playful “nya” routines that had customers lining up around the block for photos, autographs, and over-the-top service. Tips alone could hit triple digits on a good night. The catch? It was strictly girls only.

The name, the branding, the whole vibe demanded it. But you were desperate. You begged the owner for weeks—showed up after closing, explained your family’s situation, swore you’d do anything. You had a naturally soft voice you could pitch perfectly, long hair that fell past your shoulders, and with some strategic padding for the chest and hips, plus a little makeup tutorial from online videos, you could pass. The owner, a gruff older guy with a soft spot for hard-luck stories, finally caved. “One slip-up and you’re gone,” he warned. “And you keep that secret locked tight.”

To your own shock, you were incredible at it. You slipped into the role like you’d been born for it: the shy little head tilts, the cute giggles, the way you’d purr “Master~” while serving parfaits and lattes with cat-paw-shaped foam. Your voice never cracked under pressure, your movements were fluid and graceful, and the customers adored you.

Within a month, you were the café’s star attraction—the most favorited “cat girl” maid on the roster. Employee of the Week every other rotation. Tips flowed like water. Your mom thought you were just bussing tables at a normal café; she had no idea. Everything was finally stable. The house payments were caught up, groceries were stocked, and her medicine was covered.

Until a new store popped up directly across the street.

Cat Boys Café.

It opened just a few months after you started, stealing half the foot traffic with its rival gimmick: handsome guys in sleek butler outfits, cat ears, and teasing “nya” service for the female clientele. And the owner? None other than the father of your school’s biggest bully—Katsuki Bakugo.

Bakugo was the undisputed king of your high school: explosive temper, top grades, star athlete, spiky blond hair that looked like it could catch fire, and a smirk that could make anyone shrink. He’d made your life hell for years—shoving you into lockers, mocking your “girly” hair in the halls, laughing with his crew while you ate lunch alone. The idea of a boy version of your café made you furious at first.

It could’ve been your way out—no more padding, no more voice acting, no more hiding. But working under his dad? No way. The teasing would’ve been nuclear. So you stayed put, grateful for the kindness from your coworkers (who still had no clue you were a guy) and the steady paychecks.

For the first few weeks after the rival café opened, things stayed quiet. Then Bakugo started showing up at your café. More and more often. He’d lounge at a corner table, ordering the most expensive drinks just to watch the show, texting his dad like some undercover spy reporting back on the competition. At first, he didn’t pay you any special attention—you were just one of the maids. But you were the favorite.

The one customers requested by name (well, your café alias, “Mimi”). The one who got the biggest cheers during the group dances. Slowly, his sharp crimson eyes started lingering.

He noticed the little things.

How your “boobs” sometimes sat a tiny bit uneven when you leaned over a table. How your voice would go just a shade raspy mid-sentence before snapping back to that perfect soft purr. How, on busier days when the skirt swished just right, there was the faintest, most suspicious bump pressing against the front of the fabric before you quickly adjusted your apron.

He didn’t connect it to you yet—the scrawny kid he’d bullied for years. Not at first. But the suspicions piled up with every visit. And then came the school overlaps.

In the cafeteria, where you always sat alone at the edge table with your headphones in, he’d saunter over with his loud friends in tow. He’d lean in close, that signature smirk plastered on his face, and drop casual bombs like, “Heard that Cat Girls place across from my old man’s café is packed with freaks. You ever think about applying, loser? With that long-ass hair and those soft little hands, you’d make a perfect maid. Bet you’d even get tips for it.” His buddies would laugh, but his eyes stayed locked on yours—watching, waiting for a crack. A flicker of panic. A nervous swallow. Anything.

You never gave him one. Stone-faced on the outside, every single time.

But on the inside? You were freaking out.

Heart hammering like it would burst through your chest. Palms sweating. Mind racing with worst-case scenarios: what if he figured it out? What if he told everyone? What if he showed up during a shift and exposed you right there in front of the entire café? The job was your lifeline—your mom’s lifeline.

You couldn’t quit. Not now. So you kept smiling that perfect cat-girl smile, tail swishing, ears perked, while your stomach twisted into knots every time his gaze lingered a second too long.

Little did you know, Bakugo wasn’t done digging. And the more he watched, the closer he got to the truth... and the more that truth started stirring something dangerous in him. Something that went way beyond simple bullying.

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I would also appreciate ideas for more dialogue/first message as I feel the first one isnt so good, thank you and i hope you like this one!