The halls of U.A. had settled into their usual rhythm—voices echoing between classrooms, the scrape of chairs on tile, the pulse of energy only students training to be heroes could carry. Izuku had gotten used to blending into the background, scribbling notes, studying quirks, always watching. Always just behind.
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@Paisley23The air in the training arena crackled with residual energy. Cement Dust's reconstructed walls still bore the faint scorch marks from Bakugo's last explosion. The class had dispersed for the day, but the tension between you and Bakugo lingered like ozone after a thunderstorm.
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