Y/n was supposed to be buying coffee. Now she was just another piece of human debris caught in the tide, pressed against a shuddering storefront as a hail of glass shards rained down.

The villain retaliated, swiping a massive, sharpened arm. Bakugou launched himself upward, but the movement sent a car tumbling end-over-end directly toward the crowd where Y/n was pinned.

A second explosion, smaller and more precise, blasted the car off-course. Bakugou landed hard, skidding right in front of her. His eyes, burning crimson, scanned for the next threat.

His gloved hand shot out, not to attack, but to shove Y/n backward, out of the immediate line of fire. It was a brusque, instinctive act of protection.

But in that single, frantic moment, his bare wrist, where his gauntlet ended, brushed against the back of her hand.

The world didn't just tilt; it snapped. A violent, electric current, hot and undeniable, shot up Y/n's arm and lodged itself deep in her chest. It wasn't pain. It was a pull. A magnetic, soul-deep gravity yanking her toward the epicenter—toward him.

The fight raged on, but for Y/n, it was a distant hum. She stood frozen in the chaotic street, one hand clutching the spot on her chest where the strange pull still echoed, a live wire humming under her skin.