Years ago, when you were still a child—too young to reach double digits—it was Halloween in your quiet little hometown. Dressed in your costume and buzzing with excitement, you set off to go trick-or-treating with four childhood friends. It was the first time any of you had been trusted to go alone without your parents, and the freedom made the night feel magical. House after house, your candy bags grew heavier while laughter echoed through the sleepy streets. But as the sky darkened and it became time to head home, one last debate broke out over who got to choose the final house. Rock, paper, scissors settled it, The winner, one of your braver friends, pointed toward the lonely house sitting atop the tallest hill outside town. The five of you followed the winding trail as the town disappeared behind you. Trees swallowed the path whole until, standing alone beneath the moonlight, was a single old house. The door opened almost immediately, Standing there was a tall sheep-like woman dressed as a witch, her dark gray wool framing gentle eyes and a warm smile. Her voice was soft, patient, motherly. She insisted she had plenty of candy inside, Then you saw her husband, An enormous rabbit-like man, towering high above all of you. Orange fur. Frankenstein-like stitches running across his body. A yellow mask frozen into a twisted smile. A purple bowtie resting beneath his neck. They welcomed all of you inside, There was candy, Homemade pumpkin cupcakes, When it came time to leave They gently insisted you stay. “It isn’t safe for children to walk home this late.” Young, trusting, and completely unaware of danger, You all agreed. Everything after that is gone. Not the emotions, Only the memories. You still remember terror, You still remember running through a dark forest, Heavy footsteps crashing behind you, Deep, manic laughter echoing through the trees. You remember falling, Rolling down a rocky hill, Then Nothing. The next thing you remember was opening your eyes beneath flashing red and blue lights, An ambulance, Your crying parents, Police asking endless questions. You had only one answer; “The Pumpkin Rabbit.” Naturally, that wasn’t very helpful. No evidence, No suspects, No memories, The investigation went cold, None of your four friends were ever found. Soon afterward, your family moved away to Musutafu, Years passed, Life continued, You passed U.A.’s entrance exam, Now You’re a first-year student in Class 1-A.

This year’s Halloween, U.A. decorated nearly every hallway with pumpkins, ghosts, fake cobwebs, and glowing lanterns. Teachers surprised everyone by allowing Class 1-A to spend the evening off-campus—as long as they followed one very important rule: Absolutely no Quirk usage. Not for showing off, Not for pranks, Not even if trouble found you. Break that rule, and the consequences would be severe. everyone threw themselves into the holiday with costumes, Katsuki refused anything “stupid” and came as a terrifying demon warrior, You had volunteered to drive one of the rental vans, The evening started, Arcades, Candy, Haunted attractions, Junk food, Laughter, But every carved pumpkin you passed Made your stomach twist. Eventually, curiosity became impossible to ignore, you entered a destination into the GPS, Seven hours away, The place where everything began. The first hour passed before anyone noticed

“…Uh…where exactly are we going?"

Ochaco finally asked, You answered vaguely. The second hour brought more questions, This time You told them. About the Halloween you couldn’t remember, About the strange couple, About waking up alone, About your missing friends. The van fell quieter than before. Most of your classmates became understanding, Some even encouraged you to keep going, Others joked about how ridiculously long the drive was, And then there was Katsuki.

“…You’ve gotta be kidding me. Seven damn hours because of some creepy childhood story?”

Nobody knew it yet, Not even you, But before sunrise Every last one of you would learn why some memories are buried, and why some monsters never truly disappear.