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“C’mon c’mon c’mon ,” Momota whines, hand tapping against the desk because she’s swatted his hand away from the computer enough times for it to sting.
“Don’t be so fuckin’ rough .” He might not be hitting the computer, but the desire is clear enough. “Not everyone goes faster when you give ‘em a good smack, god.” Seriously, though. Hope’s Peak was the best of the best, and they were running it all off shit this goddamn slow? It’s a miracle anything in this school functioned. If the computers had been top-notch, though, with the added bonus of the Ultimate Programmer given free reign over cyber security, Miu wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell at hacking in. Ultimate Code Whiz she was not.
All in all, they’re very lucky. She’d have to thank Kiibo for inspiring her to glance over some coding textbooks. In her own special way, of course.
The loading bar vanishes into the pixelated ether from whence it came (and wouldn’t Tojo be proud of her, using fancy-ass words like “whence”) and Iruma Miu and Momota Kaito are granted full access to Hope’s Peak Academy’s student profiles. Hell yeah!
Momota leans over her shoulder, one hand on the back of the expensive-looking office chair, and Miu knows that it’s to better scan through names, she knows this is innocent she knows Momota but-
“Personal fucking bubble, space case!” She waves a hand behind her threateningly, eyes never leaving the screen as she scrolls through menus and folders and files. He backs off with an oh shit, sorry that she barely registers, and she doesn’t care if it’s because he decided to be a decent fucking person or because he was afraid of her bitchslap. As he should be.
He steps out of the side office to peek in on Tojo (heh), who’s serving as the guard dog for tonight’s escapade. Mini doesn’t take a second to breathe, thank you very much, and resumes diving into the files. All in all it’s a simple process; the paperwork might be a huge mess in the office, but the digital files are neatly sorted into folders.
Under any other circumstances, Miu knows Ouma would cheerfully support the electronic B&E - hell, she wouldn’t be surprised if he had tried to hack the school servers on his own, just to see if he could. But tonight’s plan wasn’t instigated by Ouma.
It all started with… well, Miu didn’t know for sure. She hadn’t been paying attention until the conversation picked up, because everyone was sharing birthdays and it was essential that her peers were aware of the anniversary of the day the world had first been blessed by her presence. Most of them had ignored her grand speech, but Bakamatsu had written the date down in her notebook, so the class rep had probably kicked the whole thing off. One thing led to another, and a week later Momota and Tojo had walked in her lab and asked how well she could hack.
Ouma had spent the week playing cat and mouse with Momota, and when he had finally (let himself) be caught, the resulting conversation (if you could call Ouma talking circles around Momota a conversation) had left Momota a brain cell or two short and with no birthdate to report. He had gone to Tojo, and apparently so had Akamatsu (which meant Ouma was in some serious shit if Miu didn’t pull through), and together they had decided that bypassing Ouma and going right for his student profile was the easiest solution. Which was accurate, knowing Ouma.
A click, tap, and two loading bars later, Miu has unfiltered access to the student profile of one Ouma Kokichi. No fanfare greets her, though if she called Momota back in she was positive he would provide. She gives herself a moment to snort at the mental image of his overenthusiastic cheer before sending the page to print with a final click.
Well, that’s the intention anyways. The cursor makes it halfway before she pauses, uncertain. All they need is the birthday, right? Miu scans over the file a second time, biting her lip, and makes a snap decision. She triple-checks the date listed under ‘birthday’ and, ignoring the ‘print’ command in the corner, closes everything on the desktop. As the machine whirs into shutdown Momota leans through the doorway, either chased off by Tojo or drawn in by the noise. His brow quirks when he sees the screen go dark and he opens his mouth to say something, but Miu’s already shoved the chair back in place under the desk she’d been using for the past who-knows-how-long.
She smacks him on the back twice as she slips by, proudly declaring “Got the goods, assholes, time to smash ‘n’ dash!” with her usual cackle and startling Tojo, who had been facing away from her.
“Did you find-”
“‘Course I did, who do y’think I am?!” Miu taps her forehead as she leans forward, other hand resting on her hip. “S’all in here, baby! Eidetic memory’s good for more than midday fantasies, y’know!”
The maid makes a face - one of those fun ones, where you can see their emotions warring for dominance and whatever - before she decides to brush off Miu’s general Miu-ness and focus on the task at hand. In a literal blink the various cleaning supplies scattered across the room are tidied up and the floor is actually sparkling, wow, and she’s pretty positive Momota almost slipped and fell on his ass because he’s doing that forced casual nonchalant lean against a desk. “You positive?”
“What part of ‘gorgeous girl genius with a golden brain’ don’t you get , dumbass?” She turns her hand to jab at him and emphasize her scowl. He raises his hands and backs off, rightfully fearing another swat. Satisfied, Miu turns to lead the charge out into the hallway. Momota follows her, and Tojo does a final sweep of the room. Certain that the room meets her standards - distraction it might’ve been, the Ultimate Maid wasn’t gonna do a half-assed job - she locks it behind them, and the trio retreats to the first-year dorms.
Tomorrow they’ll let Bakamatsu jot down the date - June 21st, Miu informs them - and things will go on as usual. Until Ouma figures out they know his birthday, but that’s future class 79’s problem.
“Wait. Wait, Iruma.”
“What is it, dumbass?”
“What year was it?”
“Huh?”
“What year was Ouma born?”
“What’s it matter?”
“...What year, Iruma.”
“Seriously, what’s it matte-”
“HE CAN’T BE OLDER THAN ME, IRUMA! I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT OUMA MIGHT BE OLDER THAN ME-!”