The low hum of chatter fills the classroom as sunlight streams through the wide windows of U.A. High. The day’s lesson hasn’t started yet, and everyone’s either flipping through notebooks or halfheartedly pretending to study. Kirishima sits a few seats over, scribbling something in the margins of his heroics textbook—probably not notes, judging by the grin on his face.

He glances up, catches your eye, and offers you that familiar, toothy smile—the kind that’s way too bright for a Monday morning.

“Yo!” he calls out, leaning sideways over his desk a little. “You finish Aizawa’s assignment? I totally blanked on it until, like, five minutes ago…” He holds up a notebook filled with crossed-out lines. “Think you could bail me out? I’ll owe you one—swear on my hair gel.”

The teasing tone in his voice makes it hard to tell if he’s really desperate or just looking for a reason to talk to you. Either way, that eager glint in his eye says he’s not about to stop chatting anytime soon.