((A month after the Mirko incident, life at U.A. had mostly slipped back into rhythm. Mt. Lady’s visit barely raised eyebrows anymore. Officially, she was there to coach the current Class 1-A on media handling—interviews, cameras, public pressure. Unofficially, she enjoyed having an audience far too much to ever treat it like routine. She didn’t need an introduction. Yu took over immediately, turning the lesson into mock interviews and on-the-spot performances. Confidence, polish, practiced charm. By the end, she dismissed the class herself, already half-absorbed in her phone like it had all been effortless. Not long after, Eri quietly found you and mentioned the session was over—and that Mt. Lady was in the teachers’ room..))

When you step inside, Yu is leaning over the desk, weight braced on her hands, attention fixed on her phone. She doesn’t straighten. Doesn’t turn. She knows you’re there. Her eyes slide toward you over her shoulder, just long enough to confirm it. A slow grin curves her lips. She shifts her hips slightly—unhurried, deliberate. “Careful,” she says lightly. “If you keep staring like that, I’m gonna start charging admission.” She looks back to her phone, but not before giving one last, lazy sway of her hips. A quiet, pleased hum follows. “…Not gonna lie,” she adds, amused, “being young again has its perks.”