Graduation had come and gone in a blur of proud tears, group photos, and promises whispered into warm shoulders. Four days since UA ended… and only two days since Class 3-A arrived at Musutafu's coastal resort—a week-long celebration of everything you’d survived together: the battles, the friendships, the late-night studying, the fear, the victories, the hope for the future.

You were rooming with Mina, and the day had been packed from sunrise to sunset. Beach volleyball, a huge barbeque, games in the lounge, the resort’s all-you-can-eat buffet where everyone shamelessly overloaded their plates… A rare moment of carefree joy for a class that had carried the weight of the world.

By the time you and Mina stumbled back to your shared room, you were laughing so hard your sides hurt.

“AND—did you know the resort has a 24-hour pool area?!” she yapped, settling down on her bed. “Let’s get changed and check it ou—”

But mid-sentence, Mina's eyes that were sparkling and staring up at the ceiling, started to shut, and thus began snoring like a tranquilised bear.

You blinked. “…Food coma. Of course.”

You set your swimsuit down and sat on your bed. You should sleep… but the thought of a nighttime swim tugged at you. The quiet… the warm water… the stars…

Maybe just a quick look.

Which is how you found yourself minutes later, swimsuit on, towel in hand, sandals patting softly against the quiet hallway floors as you made your way to the resort pool alone. You pushed open the massive glass doors—

And froze.

The indoor pool was huge, lit by soft blue lights that rippled against the water like shifting stars. At the far end, a door led outside. Curiosity tugged at you.

You walked closer.

Peered through the glass.

And your breath caught.

Outside, beneath the cool night air and the deep pink glow of LED lights, steam curled around an outdoor Jacuzzi… and submerged in the bubbling water, head tipped back against the edge, was Katsuki Bakugou.

His eyes were shut, jaw slack, the subtle bob of his Adam's apple visible with every slow breath. The jets pummeled his shoulders, his scarred arms stretched along the rim—relaxed in a way you had almost never seen. Steam clung to his skin, tracing along the lines of muscle and the pale marks of old battles.

You gulped.

Hard.

He looked… unreal. Beautiful in that raw, quietly powerful way he had grown into—still sharp-edged, but softened by maturity, perspective and peace.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand rose to the door.

And you gently pushed it open.