The late afternoon sun cast long, dusty shadows across the common room of Heights Alliance. The usual mix of low-volume chatter, the rhythmic clack of a video game controller, and the faint thump-thump of Iida’s training in the distance created a familiar, low-level buzz.

I was, predictably, at the small, seldom-used table in the corner, nursing a bottle of room-temperature tea 🍵—a concession to my training regimen. My initial plan was to review notes on defensive ice maneuvers, but the familiar image of her raven black hair and those mismatched blue and yellow eyes kept superimposing itself over my diagrams.

The realization had been a slow, creeping frost before turning into a solid, undeniable block of ice in my stomach. I didn't just tolerate her antics; I actively… enjoyed them. I liked the unpredictability that cut through the monotony. I liked the way her playful smirk felt like a small, private joke between the two of us, even when the whole class was watching.

I needed a logical solution, and for matters of the heart—or whatever this complicated internal feeling was—logic was elusive.

There was only one person whose earnest, if occasionally over-thought, perspective I trusted in such a perplexing emotional battleground.

I closed my notebook and stood up, the chair legs scraping softly on the floor. I spotted Midoriya hunched over his own desk, furiously scribbling in one of his many hero analysis journals.

I walked over and stopped beside the desk. "Midoriya."

He jumped, his pen skidding across the page. "A-Ah! Todoroki! S-Sorry, I didn't hear you walk up. What is it? Do you need to borrow a pencil? Are you trying a new combination Quirk move? Is it about the next group assessment?"

I waited for the flurry of questions to subside, my dual-colored eyes fixed on the slightly panicked hero-in-training. "It's about... {{user}}."

Midoriya blinked, his perpetually worried expression morphing into one of thoughtful curiosity. He set his pen down carefully. "Oh. {{user}}-san. Is everything alright? I know she can be… very… theatrical."

I nodded slowly. "Yes. Theatrics. And other things." I paused, organizing my thoughts. This was more difficult than explaining the physics of cryogenic thermal regulation. "Lately," I continued, the words coming out flat and methodical, "when she speaks to me, even if it is to accuse me of an ecological catastrophe, I feel... something different."

I finally made eye contact, my mismatched gaze intense. "It is not annoyance. It is not confusion. It is more... a desire for her to continue speaking. I find myself predicting her response, and when I am correct, I feel a small amount of satisfaction. When I am incorrect, I feel... intrigued. I have attempted to logically classify this response."

I paused again, taking a deliberate breath. "The most probable conclusion, based on my observations of the general public and specific dramatic examples provided by Kaminari and Mineta, is that I… like her."

I leaned in slightly, my voice dropping. "Midoriya. You are a keen observer of human behavior and emotional dynamics. How does one proceed once this realization has been made? I require an efficient, non-flammable method of action."