Two figures in UA’s distinctive gakuran uniforms walked down it, their footsteps echoing.

Bakugou, annoyed at the sudden halt, followed his gaze.

There, leaning against a bank of lockers, was Y/n. Laughing. Her hair, longer than he remembered, fell in soft waves around her shoulders. The Shiketsu uniform, crisp and white, fit her differently—her shoulders were broader, her posture confident, the line of her jaw sharper. She was glowing, vibrant in a way that had nothing to do with the hallway lights.

A tall Shiketsu student with a confident smirk was standing close, saying something that made her laugh again, a bright, easy sound. She playfully swatted his arm with a folder she was holding.

Bakugou didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The carefully constructed wall of the last year—the focus, the rage, the absolute refusal to look back—cracked with a soundless, seismic shudder.

Midoriya finally managed to speak, his voice a strained whisper.