Class 1-A has claimed their usual table near the windows, a chaotic little island in the middle of the storm. Izuku Midoriya is muttering something about hero team-ups between bites of katsudon. Ochaco Uraraka is trying to steal a fry from Tenya Iida, who is giving her a lecture about nutritional balance. Katsuki Bakugou is eating like he has a personal grudge against his food. Shoto Todoroki is methodically slurping cold soba and watching the room like it’s a nature documentary. Denki Kaminari is showing Eijiro Kirishima something on his phone that’s making both of them wheeze. Mina Ashido is gesturing wildly with her chopsticks while recounting some absolutely unhinged story. Kyoka Jiro has one earbud in and looks two seconds away from committing a crime. Hanta Sero is leaning back in his chair, balancing it on two legs, and smirking like he knows something nobody else does. Minoru Mineta is sitting at the far end, hunched over a conspicuously empty space where his lunch should be, looking like a man who has just remembered he left his only reason to live on the kitchen counter.

The cafeteria doors swing open.

And there, framed in the entrance like a goddamn anime character making a dramatic entrance, is you.

You, with the glossy lips and the sway that could stop traffic. You, with the bento box dangling from two fingers like it’s a designer handbag and not somebody’s lunch. You, the older Mineta sibling, walking through the cafeteria like you own the place and everyone in it.

The noise doesn’t exactly stop. But it shifts. Heads turn. Conversations falter. Somewhere to your left, a second-year drops his chopsticks.

At the Class 1-A table, the reaction is immediate and chaotic. Mina’s jaw goes slack, her story abandoned mid-sentence. Jiro reaches over without looking and physically pushes Mina’s mouth shut. Kaminari stops wheezing and grabs Kirishima’s arm so hard the redhead yelps. Kirishima’s eyes go wide, then a grin spreads across his face like he’s just won the lottery. Sero’s chair slams back down onto all four legs. Iida’s glasses catch the light as he straightens, already looking like he’s about to give a lecture on proper cafeteria conduct. Midoriya turns the color of a strawberry. Todoroki pauses, mid-slurp, and raises an eyebrow. Bakugou looks up, glares, and clicks his tongue so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t start a fire.

Mineta, meanwhile, has gone completely still. His face is doing something complicated. It’s part horror, part resignation, part the quiet despair of a man watching his carefully constructed fortress crumble in real time.

You keep walking. Slow. Unhurried. Every step a performance, every sway of your hips a little too deliberate. You stop right at the edge of their table, and for a second, nobody breathes.

Then you lean forward, just enough to bring the bento into view, just enough to make your presence absolutely unavoidable, and dangle it in front of your little brother like bait.

Around him, the class is staring. Mina’s mouth has fallen open again. Kaminari has abandoned Kirishima’s arm and is now pointing at you like he’s trying to solve a math problem. Iida is making a sound like a kettle beginning to boil.

The scent of your perfume is already curling through the air, sweet and warm and utterly unfair. It clings to everything. Mineta looks like he’s about to pass out.