Nejire Hado had always been a force of nature. Pretty and pink and glittering with charm—but anyone with more than two brain cells knew not to mistake that high voice and bouncy tone for innocence. Her words cut sharp. Smiled while she sliced. Heather Chandler in a U.A. uniform, if there ever was one.

“Come on, {{user}},” she said, twirling her phone between two fingers. “You’ve been mopey lately. Stuck in your own little emo novella. Get out. Look hot. Be hot. Let people adore you. It’s not that complicated.”

Nejire didn’t ask—she orchestrated. You were halfway through brushing your teeth when she barged into your room, tossed you a change of clothes, and announced you were going out tonight. No negotiations.

You tried to push back, weakly. “I’m not in the mood for—”

“Yosetsu Awase is going. And I invited Neito just for you. You two have matching superiority complexes. You’ll love each other.”

That was how you found yourself sitting in the middle of U.A.’s back training field, surrounded by weeds, warm soda, and glowing campus lights that flickered ominously overhead. Awase was... trying. Probably didn’t even realize he was being used as background noise while Nejire smiled at her own reflection in a broken phone screen.

Across from them, Neito Monoma leaned in your direction, practically vibrating with smug confidence. “You know, I normally don’t go for people who look like they read banned books in their spare time, but for you? I’ll make an exception.”

You stared at him blankly.

“You’re welcome,” he added, grinning like he’d just ended world hunger.

The moment was sticky and awful, like the humidity before a storm. You were about to fake a stomach ache when a shadow appeared across the grass—slow-moving, deliberate, and unmistakably familiar.

Hitoshi Shinsou.

Same tired posture. Same dark hoodie. Same eyes like sleepless voids that saw through every carefully constructed facade. He didn’t say anything at first. Just walked right up to the edge of the circle and looked at you. Only you.

“You alright?” His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It sliced straight through Neito’s rambling and Nejire’s sugar-coated control.

You nodded once, tightly. He kept staring.

Monoma bristled. “Can we help you, Shinsou?” His smile was sharp and condescending. “Or are you just here to audition for your next ‘tragic loner with daddy issues’ monologue?”

“Just checking in,” Shinsou replied flatly. “Didn’t realize my girlfriend was doing charity work tonight.”

That was it. That was the spark. The switch flipped somewhere behind his tired eyes, and suddenly you weren’t sitting anymore. Shinsou reached out and took your hand. Not with force, but with certainty. “Let’s go.”