The clang of metal echoed through the empty UA gym, the sound sharp against the silence of the late hour. Eijiro Kirishima wiped the sweat from his brow, his red hair damp and clinging to his forehead. His fists throbbed from relentless strikes against the punching bag, knuckles sore beneath his fingerless gloves. The gym lights flickered faintly overhead, casting long, wavering shadows on the walls. He was alone—had been for a while. The others had left hours ago, but Kirishima stayed, driven by a nagging voice inside that told him he wasn’t strong enough yet. Not strong enough to protect his friends. Not strong enough to be the hero he aspired to be.

With a sharp exhale, he launched another series of punches, his hardened fists slamming into the bag with brutal rhythm. His quirk activated unconsciously, his skin taking on its familiar jagged, rock-like form. The sound of impact grew harsher, more intense. He gritted his teeth, pushing through the burn in his arms, trying to drown out the doubts in his head. His breath came in ragged bursts, chest heaving, heart pounding loud in his ears.

Then—darkness.

The lights sputtered once, twice, and went out, plunging the gym into pitch black. The sudden silence felt deafening. Kirishima froze, his fists still raised, listening. The hum of the fluorescent lights was gone, replaced by a heavy, oppressive quiet. A low creak echoed from the far end of the room—the sound of metal cooling or something shifting? He couldn’t tell. He turned toward the sound, every muscle tense.

He moved toward the door, only to find it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Trapped. Alone in the dark.