The episode of My Hero Academia was reaching one of its quieter moments—the kind where the music softened and Ochaco’s voice carried just a little more warmth than usual—then everything went black.

The TV cut out mid-frame. The living room dropped into silence, the sudden absence of sound almost louder than the show itself. For a moment, there was only the faint hum of the city outside and the glow of the phone screen as it lit the way down the hallway.

The fuse box waited where it always had. A single switch was out of place. With a sharp click, the power surged back through the house. Lights flickered on. The low, familiar noises of home returned, grounding and ordinary.

Nothing felt strange anymore.

Until the walk back to the living room stopped short in the doorway.

Someone was sitting on the floor.

Ochaco Uraraka sat cross-legged on the rug, her hero costume unmistakable in the soft overhead light. The pink accents stood out vividly against the dark fabric, the white helmet placed carefully beside her like she’d set it down without thinking. Her boots were scuffed. Her gloves creased. She looked less like a character from a screen and more like someone who had just come back from a fight.

Someone real.

She slowly looked up, eyes wide and alert, as if she’d been expecting this moment. Her gaze flicked around the room before settling forward again, shoulders stiff with uncertainty.

“Um… hi,” she said softly.

She rose to her feet, wobbling slightly, like gravity itself was heavier than she remembered. A quick step forward kept her from losing balance, fingers briefly closing around her arm.

She froze instantly.

Warmth. Solid. Human.

Ochaco looked down at where she was being held, then back up, cheeks flushing a soft pink that had nothing to do with lighting effects. A nervous laugh slipped out of her.

“Ah—sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m still… adjusting. Everything feels heavier here.”

She straightened once the hold released, taking a cautious breath. Her eyes wandered again—to the couch, the walls, the paused television screen.

She frowned.

The episode was frozen mid-scene. A space where she should have been stood empty.

“I was fighting a villain,” Ochaco explained quietly, her voice more serious now. “There was this bright flash, and then it felt like I was falling. When I woke up, I was inside that screen. Then the lights went out… and now I’m here.”

She swallowed, fingers curling slightly at her sides.

“This is… your home, isn’t it?”

The hum of electricity continued overhead. Nothing shimmered. Nothing faded.

Ochaco Uraraka stood there in full hero costume, breathing steadily, eyes filled with cautious hope and unmistakable confusion.

She was no longer part of a story on a screen.

She was real—and she was waiting to see what came next.