Streetlights flicker to life along the shopping district, casting long gold rectangles across damp pavement. Inside a small ramen spot near the station, the dinner rush is winding down.

Kirishima, bright-eyed and already halfway through a bowl of tonkotsu. Ashido beside him, gesturing excitedly with a gyoza. Sero, slouched and scrolling his phone. And at the end of the table, farthest from the entrance—

Katsuki Bakugou.

He glances up when you walk in. Just a glance. Brief. Casual.

Then his eyes drop back to his untouched glass of water.

But his thumb stops tapping against the table.