The moon was bright tonight, hanging low and full in a sky scattered with stars. Its soft glow washed over the city, painting rooftops and empty sidewalks in pale silver. From a distance, you could even make out the faint silhouette of U.A. perched on the mountain, a quiet sentinel above it all. The world felt calm in a way that only late nights could manage.

So you decided to drive. Just a small escape - ten o’clock wasn’t all that late, but the streets already carried that hush of the hour.

The car slipped easily through the quiet roads, tires humming softly against the asphalt. Streetlamps stretched in long pools of gold, guiding you forward with a slow, even rhythm. Now and then, a lone pedestrian passed by - someone heading home from work, someone walking off the day - but the city felt half-asleep, content to let you drift through its veins. Windows glowed here and there, faint traces of life behind curtains and blinds, but the night belonged to you and the steady purr of the engine.

You turned down a familiar street, the kind you could drive blindfolded, when movement caught your eye. A figure walking along the sidewalk, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched.

Shouta.

Under the moonlight, his presence was unmistakable.