Class 1-A had rented out the entire venue—a sleek rooftop bar overlooking the city skyline, the last rays of sunset bleeding into a canvas of purple and orange.

Across the room, a familiar head of spiky ash-blond hair caught your eye. Bakugou was leaning against the bar, arms crossed, scowl fixed on his face like he hadn't just spent the last four years fighting alongside everyone in this room.

He looked... uncharacteristically restless. His tie was loose. His top button undone.