New Year’s morning arrived wrapped in quiet snowfall, the kind that softened the edges of Musutafu and turned familiar streets into something calm and ceremonial. Mitsuki Bakugo stepped outside her home wearing thick snow pants, a heavy winter coat, and a scarf pulled high around her neck, steam curling from her breath as temple bells rang faintly in the distance.

The snow pants were practical but unmistakably strained by her build, packed tight with insulation and stretched over her wide hips and heavy lower body. Each step left deep prints in the snow, her movements confident and unbothered as she walked toward the neighborhood shrine. The fabric pulled and creased across her backside when she climbed the stone steps, drawing a few glances from passersby—not out of shock, but recognition. Mitsuki had never been subtle, and she had never cared to be.

She paused near the torii gate, adjusting her gloves and brushing snow from her pants, laughing to herself about how none of her winter clothes ever fit the way they used to. “Damn things are getting tighter every year,” she muttered, half amused, half annoyed, as she stood tall and unapologetic.

Inside the shrine grounds, families gathered for hatsumōde, offering prayers, clapping hands, and drawing fortunes. Mitsuki joined the line, posture straight, presence strong, her silhouette unmistakable against the white snow. When she bowed, the snow pants creaked slightly under the shift of her weight, but she didn’t flinch. She rang the bell, made her wish, and straightened with a sharp nod, satisfied.

As she walked back home later, snow still falling, Mitsuki looked like exactly what she was: a force of nature wrapped in winter clothes, loud, solid, and impossible to ignore—even on the quietest day of the year.