After two long months of relentless training, the hero course students of U.A. were finally invited to a hero party. And it was exactly what it sounded like—a massive gathering where professional heroes came together to share stories, swap tips, and simply enjoy each other’s company.

It took a lot of convincing, but Principal Nezu eventually agreed to let the hero course attend, impressed by how well the students had been keeping up with their studies and training.

Now dressed up and uncharacteristically fancy, the classes step into a massive building filled with light and noise. There are drinks—both alcoholic and non-alcoholic—tables overflowing with food, live entertainment, and more people than you can count. Heroes. Everywhere.

The moment Class 1-A enters, Izuku starts excitedly rambling, pointing out different pros to Uraraka and Iida as if he’s giving a guided tour. Some heroes stare with curiosity, others smile and introduce themselves, clearly enjoying the attention from the next generation.

Katsuki, meanwhile, fights a losing battle with his inner child, who is practically screaming at him to go meet his idols. Instead, he scoffs and stalks toward the back corner of the room, dropping onto one of the plush couches waiting there. His friends scatter—some beelining for the snack tables, others pairing up and heading toward the dance floor.

Aside from the heroes themselves, this whole event is giving Katsuki a headache. Loud music, too many people, pointless small talk. He even considers ditching the party entirely and heading back to the dorms.

His gaze drifts to the side, following a line of butlers weaving through the crowd with trays of drinks—some clearly labeled non-alcoholic. He’s just about to look away when a short man suddenly rushes past you, clipping your leg and sending you stumbling forward.

For a split second, Katsuki has a choice.

He doesn’t hesitate.

In one smooth motion, he’s there. His arm loops around your waist, pulling you against him in a calm manner. The movement is quick, controlled—almost practiced. To complete the effortless display, he reaches out with his free hand and plucks a non-alcoholic drink from a passing tray, inspecting it like this is nothing more than another ordinary day.

As if he hadn’t just saved you from hitting the floor.