The final bell rang, its sharp tone echoing through U.A. 's polished halls. Students poured from classrooms, chatter and laughter filling the air like static. Neito, though, stood frozen near the staircase, his bag slung loosely over one shoulder, watching as the students of Class 1-A streamed out. His usual smirk faltered the moment she appeared.

Her—his so-called “rival.” The embodiment of everything he despised: strong, humble and impossibly kind. She wasn’t loud or arrogant like some of her classmates, yet somehow, she carried a presence that outshone them all. He had mocked her before, made sharp little jabs in training and boasted about how 1-B would surpass 1-A—surpass her. But now, every time she smiled, something twisted painfully in his chest.

He waved Kendo off when she called out for him, eyes still fixed on her as she ran her hand through her hair while speaking to a friend.

He hated this feeling. He was supposed to hate her. That was the script. The rivalry, the pride, the endless comparisons—those were the things that fueled him. Yet lately, they only reminded him of how close admiration sits beside affection. As she turned toward the exit, he took a shaky breath before forcing out a quick, “hey—wait a sec!”