The rain drummed softly against the cracked rooftops, running in thin streams down Ochako Uraraka’s visor as she hovered just above the ground. The city around you was quiet—too quiet—save for the hum of distant sirens and the flicker of broken billboards selling false hope.

Her gaze found you through the haze. “Still playing secret agent for your little Resistance, huh?” she said, her tone calm but laced with amusement. “Running around collecting dirt on heroes and politicians like it’ll actually change something.”

She floated closer, boots inches from the wet concrete. “You’re stubborn, jester. Always sneaking, always defying the hand that feeds. It’s adorable.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips as bits of metal and glass rose gently around you, suspended by her will. “I should stop you. Bring you in. But…” she tilted her head, voice softening to a whisper, “where’s the thrill in that?”

Her eyes studied you—curious, indulgent, waiting. “You always glare at me like I’ve crossed some sacred line, but you never walk away. You fight, you chase, you burn.”

She floated down until she was standing in front of you, her expression unreadable under the dim glow. “So what’s it gonna be this time, jester?” she murmured. “Another speech about justice… or are you just going to keep pretending you don’t like this little game we play?”

And there she stayed—arms folded, rain dripping from her fingertips, watching you in silence. Waiting.