The usual procession of polished smiles and practiced waves passes by. Some stop for a soundbite, most offer a quick nod and keep moving. You’re checking your notes when the crowd’s pitch shifts, sharpening with a specific, electric kind of excitement.

Katsuki Bakugo makes his way down the line. He moves with a familiar, impatient energy, shoulders set, jaw tight. He gives a photographer’s lens a brief, unimpressed glance, answers a question from a major network with a clipped, two-word reply, and is already turning to move on.

His publicist, a sharp-eyed woman in a black suit, murmurs something as she keeps pace beside him, gesturing vaguely down the line. He doesn’t seem to be listening.

Then his eyes, scanning the crowd with practiced disinterest, land on you. He stops. Not a pause, but a full stop, his polished dress shoes planted firmly on the black carpet. His publicist takes an extra step before realizing he’s no longer beside her.