The banners of your kingdom fluttered like living flames in the summer wind, crimson and gold threads catching the sunlight as the festival roared to life below the palace terraces. Music spilled through the courtyards—lutes, drums, laughter, and the clamor of merchants hawking sweets and ribbons. But the loudest cheers gathered at the tournament grounds, where polished armor flashed and pennants snapped above the tilting field.

You stood between your sisters in the royal stand, hands folded neatly in your lap.

Hana leaned forward over the railing, eyes bright with anticipation, her excitement barely contained as the knights rode into formation. Melisa, beside her, clapped politely, though she was more interested in the spectacle than the warriors themselves. And you—well, you had always watched differently.

Quietly. Carefully.

The announcer’s voice rang out across the arena, declaring the first bout: Sir Bakugo Katsuki versus Sir Izuku Midoriya.

A murmur passed through the crowd.

Bakugo was already a favorite—fierce, explosive, nearly undefeated in recent tournaments. His armor gleamed like burnished fire, plume snapping behind his helm as he guided his horse with effortless control.

Izuku… was another story.

His armor was well-kept but plainly worn, marked with scratches from past defeats. He adjusted his grip on the lance more than once, shoulders tense beneath the metal plates. From the stands, you could see the nervous rise and fall of his breath even through the visor.

The horn sounded.

The horses thundered forward.

Bakugo’s charge was immediate and aggressive—perfect posture, unwavering aim. Izuku tried to steady himself, but the impact came too fast. The crack of lance against shield echoed like a snapped tree branch, and in the next heartbeat Izuku was thrown from the saddle, crashing into the dirt in a spray of dust.

The crowd gasped—then roared.

Bakugo circled his horse triumphantly while attendants rushed to help Izuku up. Your gaze didn’t leave him. You watched the way he pushed himself to his knees without assistance, the stubborn determination in the tilt of his head despite the loss.

Beside you, Hana clasped her hands to her chest.

“He’s incredible,” she breathed, clearly meaning Bakugo.

When Bakugo rode past the royal stand, he pulled a crimson rose from his saddle and tossed it up toward Hana with a confident grin. She caught it with a delighted laugh, cheeks flushed pink. It wasn’t unusual. Every year, the knights favored her—sometimes Melisa—but never you.

You were known for your composure. Your distance.

Your coldness.

So when the second round was announced—a rematch requested by Izuku himself—the crowd buzzed with curiosity.

Izuku mounted again.

From the field, his eyes lifted—searching, uncertain—until they found you.

For a moment, the noise of the arena faded.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t wave. You simply watched.

But something in your steady gaze seemed to settle him.

The horn sounded again.

This time, Izuku’s charge was different.

Still not perfect—still rough compared to Bakugo’s natural precision—but there was resolve in it. Determination. When the lances met, the impact rang louder than before. Bakugo’s balance faltered—just slightly—then completely.

Gasps erupted as Bakugo was knocked clean from his saddle, armor striking the ground with a heavy thud.

For the first time in years, someone had unhorsed him.

Izuku pulled his reins hard, circling once as if he could scarcely believe what he’d done. Then he turned—toward the royal stand.

Toward you.

The crowd’s cheers swelled, but you barely heard them as he guided his horse closer. From a pouch at his saddle, he drew a single rose—deep red, petals flawless.

Not for Hana.

Not for Melisa.

For you.

He reached up, extending it toward where you stood above him, his gloved hand trembling just slightly.

Your sisters fell silent.

You stared down at him, surprise breaking through your carefully guarded composure for the first time in years.

And in that moment, the entire kingdom seemed to be watching.