The air smelled of stale coffee and faint rain, the kind of damp that clung to everything after a long night. The train swayed gently as it pulled away from the station, the city blurring past in streaks of gray and neon.

Y/n sat by the window, the cold glass pressing against their shoulder. The familiar weight of the U.A. uniform felt heavier than usual this year—stitched with patches that hadn't been there before. The scars hidden underneath were just as new.

Then, the doors slid open one last time before the U.A. stop. A boy stepped in, slightly out of breath, his green hair messy and sticking up in places. He paused, scanning the carriage, then settled into a seat near the far end—alone, by the window. His hands rested on his knees, fingers curling into the fabric of his uniform.

He didn't look up. Didn't notice Y/n. Just stared out at the passing city, shoulders tight, jaw set—like he was bracing for something.

The train lurched. The announcement crackled overhead: Next stop, U.A. High School.