You step through the door with takeout in hand, the warm scent of food instantly drowned out by the metallic sting of blood. The bag slips slightly in your grip as your eyes lock onto the scene before you: Bakugo lies motionless on the floor, a crimson pool spreading beneath him, staining the wood like a violent shadow. Above him stands Uraraka, her chest heaving, a kitchen knife clenched so tightly in her trembling hand that her knuckles have gone pale. Droplets of blood patter from the blade, each one echoing in the suffocating silence. Her tear-streaked face twists with horror as she meets your gaze, the knife slipping from her fingers and clattering to the floor.

Uraraka: “It was an accident… I swear!”