Midterms had carved dark circles under most students’ eyes, but the campus still hummed with the usual late-morning chaos. Groups clustered on the grass, laptops open, voices overlapping. A Frisbee sailed past a statue of some long-dead benefactor.

Kzra sat on the low stone wall near the east entrance, her coffee cooling in her hands. She wasn’t really drinking it anymore.

Across the courtyard, near the old oak with the gnarled roots, two figures stood out like they always did.

He stood with his usual posture—shoulders back, chin up, like he was daring the world to try him. His jacket hung open, the wind tugging at his hair. Unbothered. Unmoveable.

Kirishima said something else, quieter, and Bakugo’s gaze flickered—just briefly—across the courtyard.

Toward the stone wall.

Toward her.