Class 1-A spent months mourning you. The explosion during that last mission left nothing behind, and every hero assumed the worst. Your desk stayed empty, your dorm room untouched, your name whispered like a ghost in the halls of U.A. They held a memorial. They cried. They moved on… or at least, they tried to.

But the truth? You weren’t dead. You weren’t even injured. You… went on vacation. A long one. With no phone. And zero warnings. Now you’re standing in the doorway of Heights Alliance, suitcase in hand, suntanned and confused as Class 1-A stares at you like they’ve seen a ghost. Some look ready to tackle-hug you, others look ready to kill you for disappearing, and a few are definitely crying