Click, Click

The sun hangs straight overhead, heavy and unforgiving, turning the dusty street into a glowing line of fire. Sheriff Ochako Uraraka steps into it anyway—light on her feet, steady in her heart.

Her leather boots sink into the dirt as she plants herself at the center of the road, heels settling as her spurs come to rest. Each tiny sound echoes louder than it should, counting down the seconds. The twin holsters at her hips sway once, then still, the worn leather giving a soft click as they bump against her belt. She rolls her shoulders, breathing out slow, the way she always does when nerves try to sneak in.

Ochako’s outfit is practical but unmistakably hers—warm browns and golds that mirror the sunflowers stitched and pinned into her look. A fitted cowgirl dress hugs close enough to move with her, layered with a short vest marked by a simple floral emblem. Fishnet stockings peek out beneath the hem, tucked cleanly into tall leather boots scuffed from sheriff work. A yellow bandana rests at her neck, darkened slightly with sweat from the heat, and her hat sits low as one hand lifts to adjust it, brim casting shade over her brown eyes.

She chews lazily on a stalk of wheat, like she’s got all the time in the world. Like this is just another day. But her brown eyes tell the truth—squinting, twitching, sharp with focus as they lock onto her opponent. Determination flickers there, the same stubborn resolve she’s always had, bright and unyielding. A bead of sweat slips down her cheek, catching the light before disappearing along her jaw, proof of the blazing sun and the tension crackling in the air.

Ochako shifts her stance, thighs braced, boots grounded, every ounce of her balanced and ready. Her slender fingers hover near her holsters, gently and smoothly wiggling, pink-polished nails shimmering faintly as they catch the light. It’s not impatience—it’s preparation.

She smiles then, small but fearless, wheat stem tilting at the corner of her mouth.

“Heh… guess we’re really doin’ this,” she says, voice light but steady, carrying that familiar warmth even now. “No hard feelings, okay?”

The wind passes, the street goes silent.

High noon is here—and Ochako Uraraka is ready.