The walk home felt longer than usual, the evening air thick with the kind of tension that clung to your skin like static. Dusk painted the neighborhood in bruised hues of purple and gray, streetlights flickering to life like wary sentinels. You paused at the foot of your porch, keys dangling from your fingers, as Dabi's voice slithered through your mind once more—"You really think you're safe here? Cute."

The house loomed before you, its familiar silhouette suddenly foreign under the weight of his warning. Shadows stretched long across the overgrown garden, and the rustle of leaves sounded too much like footsteps. Your grip tightened on the keys, their edges biting into your palm. Maybe Izuku's place... His apartment was only a few blocks away, a haven of soft light and Midoriya's nervous but earnest warmth. You could almost picture it—the cluttered All Might posters, the smell of green tea, the way he'd stutter but still make room for you on his couch.

But you shook your head, dispelling the fantasy. Not yet. You couldn't drag him into this. Not until you knew what "this" even was.

The key turned with a click that echoed too loudly in the silence. Inside, the scent of sandalwood and old books wrapped around you—a fragile comfort. You shrugged off your jacket, adding it to the haphazard pile by the door, a monument to long days and longer nights. The floorboards creaked beneath your feet as you moved through the dim living room, the weight of the day settling into your bones like lead.

Hunger clawed at your stomach, sharp and insistent. The kitchen welcomed you with the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, harsh against the gathering dark outside. You pulled out a jar of kimchi, its fiery tang already prickling your senses, and set a pot of rice to boil. The routine was grounding—chopping scallions, the sizzle of oil in the pan, the way the kimchi's pungent aroma filled the room like a challenge.

As you stirred, the steam rose in curls, carrying with it memories of quieter times. But Dabi's smirk lingered at the edges of your thoughts, his words a venomous hum. You're not naive enough to think they won't find you. The kimchi broth bubbled fiercely, its red surface rippling like a warning. You ladled it into a bowl, the heat searing your fingertips, and carried it to the table.

The first bite burned your tongue, the spice sharp and cleansing. You welcomed it—let it scorch away the doubt, the fear, the part of you that wanted to run. Outside, the wind howled, rattling the windows. But here, in the eye of the storm, you ate. And for now, that was enough.

SCENEBREAK

Morning light seeped through the gaps in your curtains, painting stripes of gold across your bed. You stirred, blinking against the dull throb pulsing behind your temples—a souvenir from last night's fitful sleep. But you swallowed the discomfort, gritting your teeth as you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. No time for weakness.

The bathroom mirror greeted you with the faint shadows under your eyes, but you refused to let them define you. The shower's spray was scalding, steam curling around you like a cocoon as you scrubbed away the lingering fog of doubt. By the time you stepped out, skin pink and hair dripping, the headache had dulled to a whisper.

Your U.A. uniform hung neatly on the back of the door, crisp and waiting. The fabric slid over your skin—smooth, starched, official. You adjusted the tie, fingers lingering on the emblem stitched over your heart. The mirror showed a stranger at first: shoulders squared, gaze steady, the navy and gold of U.A. sharp against your frame. Then you smiled, small but genuine. Not bad. Not bad at all.

You twisted your hair into place, securing it with a pin that glinted like a hidden blade. For a moment, you let yourself savor the transformation—the way the uniform sharpened your edges, turned vulnerability into armor. Hero material, you thought, and this time, the pride didn't feel borrowed.

The walk to U.A. was a blur of cherry blossoms and crisp air, the sun still low and honeyed. You'd almost forgotten the rhythm of mornings like this—the hum of cicadas, the scrape of shoes on pavement, the way the world felt possible.

Then you saw him.

Izuku stood frozen at the crosswalk, his backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder. His uniform was slightly rumpled, tie askew, as if he'd dressed in a hurricane. When his eyes met yours, he went rigid, a flush creeping from his collar to the tips of his ears. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again, soundless as a goldfish.

"H-Hello," he finally managed, voice cracking. His gaze darted from your polished shoes to the U.A. crest on your blazer, as if cataloging every detail. "Y-You... uh... you look... really..."

Really what? you wanted to tease, but the words died on your lips as he fumbled, green eyes wide and earnest. A laugh escaped you—soft, involuntary—and his blush deepened to scarlet.

"Thanks, Izuku," you said, falling into step beside him. The scent of his citrus shampoo mingled with the morning air. "You clean up pretty nice too."

He sputtered, nearly tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. "O-Oh! I, uh—th-thank you! I mean, it's just the standard uniform, but—"

You bit back another laugh, the sound light and unfamiliar. Ahead, U.A.'s gates loomed, but for once, the sight didn't tighten your chest. Maybe it was the way Izuku's nervous energy buzzed beside you, warm and grounding. Or maybe it was the uniform, stitching you into a story you were finally ready to claim.

Either way, you walked a little taller.

SCENEBREAK

The day slipped by in a haze of equations, history lectures, and the occasional burst of Quirk theory. The monotony of standard lessons was a stark contrast to the electric undercurrent running through the class—a shared anticipation that buzzed louder with each passing hour. By the time the final bell rang, the room was practically vibrating with energy.

All Might's booming voice cut through the chatter like a clarion call. "Alright, class! Today's the day you'll get a chance to wear your hero costumes for the first time!"

The reaction was instantaneous. A chorus of gasps, cheers, and nervous laughter erupted, the sound bouncing off the walls. You felt your own pulse quicken, a thrill of excitement coursing through you as you joined the rush to the changing rooms.

Inside, the air was thick with the rustle of fabric and the hum of whispered excitement. You unzipped your costume case, the sleek design catching the fluorescent light. The material felt cool against your skin as you slipped it on, each piece fitting like a second skin. The collar, with its metallic sheen and intricate detailing, framed your face perfectly, while the golden hoop earrings added a touch of understated elegance.

You turned to the mirror, adjusting the final touches. The costume was simple, but it worked—functional yet striking, a perfect balance of practicality and style. You flexed your fingers, the gloves snug and responsive, and felt a surge of confidence. This is it, you thought. This is who I'm meant to be.

When you stepped out, the world seemed to hold its breath.

The chatter in the room died down, replaced by a stunned silence. Every head turned, every pair of eyes locked on you. Even All Might, with his ever-present grin, raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of genuine approval.

"Well, well," he said, his voice carrying a note of admiration. "Someone's ready to make an impression!"

You felt the weight of their gazes, the collective awe pressing against you like a wave. But instead of shrinking under it, you stood taller, the pride in your chest burning brighter.

Izuku, who had been fumbling with the straps of his own costume, froze mid-mutter. His eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Y-You look amazing," he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, the warmth in his tone cutting through the intensity of the moment. "Thanks, Izuku. You look pretty great too."

His face turned an even deeper shade of red, and you couldn't help but laugh—a soft, genuine sound that seemed to break the spell over the room. The other students snapped out of their daze, their own excitement bubbling back to the surface.

All Might clapped his hands, the sound sharp and commanding. "Alright, class, gather at Grounds B! Time to put those costumes to the test!"

The group surged forward, a sea of colors and textures, each costume a reflection of its wearer. You fell into step beside Izuku, the two of you sharing a quick, nervous smile. Ahead, the training grounds loomed, a blank canvas waiting to be filled with the first strokes of your hero journey.

And as you walked, the weight of your costume—of your purpose—felt just right.