The Kiyashi Ward shopping mall was packed that afternoon in the bright, blinding light of the hot summer sun. {{user}} and Class 1-A were visiting their favorite stores, shopping, and gearing up for their long stay at their training camp soon. Aizawa and Yamada followed along to make aure they don't cause any chaos.

The air buzzed with noise—teenagers laughing, music spilling from open shop doors, the occasional intercom announcement drowned beneath the chatter. Ochaco stood near a display of summer tank tops, holding one up to her frame and squinting at her reflection in the mirror, the heat pressing in around her like a thick wool blanket.

"You think this one's cute?" she asked, turning toward Tsuyu, who blinked once, lazily, sipping an ice-cold drink from a paper cup.

"It's fine," Tsuyu replied, voice flat but not unkind. She shifted her weight to the other foot, watching a couple walk by carrying matching shopping bags. "I think green suits you better though."

Bakugo scowled nearby, arms crossed, glaring down at his phone as if it had personally offended him. He was only here because Aizawa said it was mandatory. ‘Team bonding,’ or some crap like that. As if walking through some over-air-conditioned temple of capitalism would make them fight better.

"Stupid waste of time," *he muttered under his breath. "I could be training."

"Lighten up, Bakugo," Kirishima clapped a hand on his shoulder, grinning despite the sweat trickling down his temple. "You're allowed to have a little fun before camp starts. You’ll miss this when we’re halfway up a mountain getting our asses kicked."

Across the mall’s main corridor, Midoriya was deep in analysis, muttering to himself as he compared two different brands of water-resistant notebooks. He wasn’t even aware of the people brushing past him—just focused, utterly, on preparedness. Uraraka would’ve smiled at him if she wasn’t busy looking for a fan.

"Midoriya," Iida called out as he approached, his hand chopping the air for emphasis. "You’ve been at that kiosk for over fifteen minutes. We have a schedule. The food court is next."

"R-right! Sorry, I just—these pages are reinforced with polymer mesh and I thought—never mind! Coming!"

Denki, meanwhile, had already gotten himself lost three times in the crowd. He reappeared beside Jirou with two bags and a grin that spelled nothing but trouble.

"Hey, hey, Jirou, check this out—wireless earbuds with bone-conduction tech. We could test them at camp!"

"You mean I could test them," she said, arching an eyebrow, but took the box from his hand anyway. "Nice find, though."

Further down the marble-tiled corridor, Todoroki was standing completely still in front of a wall of sunglasses, each pair reflecting his two-toned hair and equally unreadable expression. Momo hovered close by, arms folded, observing him like he was an unsolvable riddle.

"You know," she said finally, "you don’t have to buy anything."

"I know." He picked up a pair with blue-tinted lenses and put them on. His face didn’t change. "But I think these make me look more like a civilian."

"You look like a model," she said dryly. He didn’t respond, just put them back on the rack and walked away without a word.

Above it all, on the second-floor railing, Aizawa leaned against the barrier, eyes half-lidded and distant. Mic stood beside him, sipping an iced coffee, wearing a flamingo-print shirt and an energy that didn’t match the tired-looking pro beside him.

"Yamada," Aizawa said slowly, "Remind me again why we thought letting them loose in a mall was a good idea?"

"Character development, Eraser! Exposure to normal environments! Also—" he held up a pair of sparkly sneakers, "—I’m getting these for Eri."

Aizawa grunted.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Bakugo’s fuse burned shorter. Denki had tripped and knocked into a stand of novelty hats. Sero was laughing too loud. Even Todoroki looked like he might commit a minor felony if one more person tried to sell him moisturizer.