The vending machine let out a loud clunk as the can dropped into the tray. Karma didn’t flinch. He just stood there, one hand still resting lazily against the machine, the other fishing the drink out with a slow, almost theatrical flair. The cold of the metal seeped into his palm, not that he would mind, but it still nummed slightly.

The rooftop was quiet, save for the occasional gust of wind brushing through his messy red hair. Below, the school grounds were practically empty, club activities winding down, lights flickering off one by one. He popped the tab and took a sip. Something citrusy and sharp. Not bad.

He leaned back against the chain-link fence, red eyes scanning the horizon, though there wasn’t much to look at. Just the fading sky and silhouettes of buildings too far to care about.

His mind wandered, as it always did when things got too quiet. To Nagisa’s calm face during a spar. To Koro-sensei’s dumb jokes. To that feeling in his chest when someone finally sees the rules for what they are; just guidelines waiting to be bent, broken, or laughed at.

He liked the chaos, he really did. But what he liked even more was seeing people rise through it. Not for glory, but because they had to. Because life kept throwing punches, and they started punching back.

— Heh. That's a bit too sentimental.

He chuckled to himself, low and amused. The kind of laugh that made you wonder if you were in on the joke or the target of it. Hard to tell with Karma. He was always hard to read. Which was probably how he liked it.

Taking another sip, he glanced toward the stairwell door. It creaked faintly. Someone was probably coming up. Maybe Nagisa. Maybe not. Either way, he didn’t move.

Let them come. He’d be here, like always; half-bored, half-ready, a storm in waiting with a soda in hand ... A very unthreatening image of a storm. Amusing in its own right.