The compartment smelled like cheap cologne and nervous energy.

Across from you, a blonde boy had his nose buried in a hero analysis notebook, muttering about something called "manly rescue points." Beside him, a girl with gravity-defying brown hair was fidgeting with her seatbelt, smiling too brightly.

Himari Mei stood in the doorway, honey-blonde hair catching the morning light, a radiant smile on her face. She was wearing the U.A. uniform like it was custom-made for her—which it probably might as well have been.