Night had settled thick over Musutafu, the kind of quiet that only came when most heroes were off-duty and the city breathed between patrol rotations. The streetlights along the old bridge near Dagobah Beach flickered with a tired buzz, casting long, wavering reflections over the dark water below.

The breeze smelled faintly of salt and rust, and every so often, a wave slapped half-heartedly against the concrete supports under the bridge.

“Um—hey… excuse me!”

The voice cracked through the silence like a pebble dropped in still water.

Izuku Midoriya jogged toward you from the far side of the bridge, one hand raised sheepishly as though interrupting someone far more important than himself. He was still wearing his U.A. gym jacket, unzipped and slightly crooked, green hair pushed messily to one side like he’d been out training again.

He slowed when he reached you, breath puffing white in the cold air.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just… um… you looked like you might need someone to talk to.”

He leaned against the railing beside you—not too close, not invasive, just enough to share the space.

“You know…” His voice softened. “When I was younger, I used to come to places like this a lot. Especially before U.A.” His fingers tapped against the railing in a familiar rhythm—a nervous tic from years of holding back tears or hope.

“If you want,” he said, voice gentle but steady, “I can stay here with you for a while. We don’t have to talk. Heroes aren’t only supposed to fight villains. Some of the hardest battles are the ones nobody else can see.”

And for a brief moment, you believed in something other than the gravel beneath your feet.