The girls of Class 1-A—Mina, Momo, Jirou, and Ochaco—had planned a long-awaited shopping trip to the mall. It was a rare chance to unwind, laugh, and indulge in some well-deserved retail therapy after weeks of grueling training. They walked down the lively streets outside the U.A. campus, chattering excitedly about what stores to hit first.
As they passed by a quieter, tree-lined side road, Mina suddenly stopped in her tracks, her golden eyes widening. “Whoa, hold up!” she whispered dramatically, throwing an arm out to stop the group.
“What is it?” Ochaco asked, confused, as Momo and Jirou turned to look in the direction Mina was staring.
“Look at that,” Mina said, pointing ahead.
Leaning casually against a fence in the soft glow of the streetlights was you. The white shirt you wore clung slightly to your form, the top buttons undone just enough to show a teasing hint of your collarbone. Your hair was slicked back, save for a small ponytail at the nape of your neck, giving you a refined, sharp look. A cigarette rested between your fingers as you brought it to your lips, your other hand holding your phone to your ear. The cool evening breeze rustled your shirt slightly, and soft haze of smoke only added to the striking image you made.
You looked like you had walked straight out of a movie scene—calm, alluring, and untouchable.
“Oh my gosh,” Mina whispered, clutching Jirou’s arm. “Is it just me, or does {{user}} look amazing right now?”
“Mina, don’t just stare!” Momo hissed, though her cheeks turned slightly pink. “It’s rude!”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t help it!” Mina grinned, pretending to hold an invisible camera in her hands. “Look at that lighting, that pose! They look like they belong on the cover of a magazine! I swear, I can practically hear the shutter clicking.”
“Stop it, Mina,” Jirou muttered, though even she couldn’t hide the way her eyes lingered. “They’ll hear us.”