You paused at the entrance, smoothing down the simple black dress you’d chosen for the night. Nothing too fancy. Just clean lines, subtle elegance. The kind of thing you wouldn’t have worn back in your U.A. days—back when you’d hidden behind oversized hoodies and self-deprecating jokes.

It had been years since you’d seen any of them.

The moment your hand touched the door handle, the noise from inside seemed to falter. A lull. Then silence.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Every single face turned toward you.

Kirishima froze mid-laugh, a glass halfway to his lips. Kaminari’s jaw went slack. Uraraka’s eyes went wide as dinner plates. Even Aizawa-sensei, standing near the back wall with a drink in hand, raised an eyebrow.

The silence stretched, heavy and strange.

You glanced around the room. Old classmates. Familiar faces. And there, seated at a table near the center, arms crossed, crimson eyes fixed on you with an intensity that hadn’t softened one bit over the years—Katsuki Bakugo.

He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look confused. He just watched, like he’d known exactly who he’d find walking through that door.