Classes had let out over an hour ago. The front doors opened and closed, footsteps came and went, and the usual end-of-day racket poured down the hill toward the dorms—Mina's laugh cutting through everything, someone's training bag thumping against the pavement, a distant argument about whose turn it was to buy snacks.

No one looked back.

Over by the wall, out of the way of the door and the path and everyone, Katsuki Bakugou stood with his shoulders pressed back against the brick.

His arms were crossed, jaw set, spiked hair catching the last of the light. He'd been there long enough that the concrete beneath his boots had gone cold.

He didn't check his phone. He didn't pace. He just watched the path.