Ever since your class had arrived at U.A., rumors had always followed. Every major event in first year added a few more - most of them harmless, forgettable, easy to laugh off.

The war should have been the end of that kind of chaos. Demon lords defeated, the world settling into something resembling peace. But teenagers didn’t stop being teenagers just because things had quieted down.

When it came to Denki...

The rumors about him had changed. What used to be jokes - harmless comments about him being a bit of a dumb flirt or a lovable mess - had twisted into something darker. Now, when a girl showed up with a bruise, people whispered his name. When someone was upset, they pointed to him. When Minoru caused trouble, somehow it circled back to Denki. If anything went wrong, it was him who took the blame.

It was a sharp, ugly shift. No one in 3-A believed it. After nearly three years together, they knew him better than that. But everyone else seemed more than willing to accept the story. And no one knew where it had even started.

It still hurt. Denki hated being looked at like someone dangerous. He knew the rumors weren’t true - he just didn’t know how to make anyone else believe it.

So now it was late, well past midnight on a Friday, and he sat alone in the common room. A mug of tea warmed his hands while the TV played something forgettable, just loud and bright enough to keep him from sinking too far into his thoughts. Sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon.