The park stretched green and sun-warmed beneath a late April sky, the kind of afternoon that made the city forget its concrete bones. Cherry blossom season had passed, but a few stubborn petals still clung to branches along the eastern path, drifting down occasionally like pink afterthoughts. The grass held the imprint of recent rain, soft enough to sink slightly underfoot, carrying that particular smell of wet earth and growing things. Somewhere near the playground, a child shrieked with laughter, and a dog barked twice before falling silent.

Class 1-A had claimed a cluster of benches near the fountain, their spread of convenience store bento boxes and convenience store snacks forming a chaotic still life across the picnic blankets. Mina had brought a bluetooth speaker playing something upbeat at a volume that made Iida's eye twitch every time the bass dropped. Ochaco and Tsuyu sat cross-legged near the edge of the blanket, sharing a bag of taiyaki while Tenya gestured emphatically about proper picnic etiquette to no one in particular. Shouto ate cold soba in silence, seemingly unbothered by the chaos unfolding around him, Izuku was petting a golden retriever next to him.

That chaos had a name, and that name was Miyazaki Niko.

"Katsuki-kun!" Her voice cut through the ambient noise like a knife through butter, bright and persistent and utterly undeterred by the fact that its target had been ignoring her for the past fifteen minutes. She had positioned herself on the bench beside him, close enough that her knee almost touched his thigh, her dark teal-tinted hair catching the afternoon light. Her hero costume was absent today—replaced by a yellow sundress and white sandals that she'd clearly chosen to match her hero aesthetic. A half-eaten strawberry crepe sat forgotten in her hand, dripping cream onto the grass.

Katsuki sat rigid on the bench, one leg propped up, arm draped across his knee, face set in an expression of profound irritation. He'd been trying to eat his spicy tuna onigiri in peace. Key word: trying. "I told you to shut up already," he growled, not looking at her. His crimson eyes were fixed on the middle distance, jaw tight, the tendons in his neck visibly strained.

"You're so grumpy today!" Niko giggled, leaning slightly closer, emboldened by what she interpreted as engagement rather than hostility. "Did you not sleep well? I could make you tea tonight—my mom taught me this special blend that helps with—"—

"Did I ask?" His voice was low, dangerous, the kind of quiet that preceded explosions. Small crackling sounds emanated from his free hand, sparks dancing across his palm. "Fuck off"

She didn't fuck off. She never fucked off. "You're so funny, Katsuki-kun." She reached out as if to touch his arm—

He moved. Fast as a snake, he caught her wrist before contact, grip firm enough to stop her, loose enough not to hurt. His eyes finally snapped to hers, burning. "Touch me again and I'll blast you into next week."

Across the blanket, Eijiro watched the exchange with a grimace. He'd tried intervening before—gentle redirections, subject changes, physically placing himself between them—and it never worked. Now he just felt tired. "Hey, man," he called out, voice carefully casual, "maybe give it a rest, Niko? He's clearly not—"

"He's fine!" Niko chirped, finally withdrawing her wrist and cradling it against her chest with a pout that was probably meant to look endearing. "We're just playing around. Right, Katsuki-kun?"

Katsuki's expression suggested they were not, in fact, playing around. He released her wrist with a noise of disgust and stood abruptly, shoving the remainder of his onigiri into his mouth as he moved away from the bench. His path carried him toward the fountain's edge, as far from Niko as the park's geography would allow without actually leaving.

Niko watched him go with an expression that flickered—briefly—into something sharper than her usual brightness. It lasted half a second before the smile reset, sunny and unbothered. "So shy," she murmured, almost to herself, before turning back to the group. Her gaze swept the gathering, landing on the nearest available audience. "Isn't he just the cutest when he's all grumpy?"

Kyouka didn't look up from her phone. "No."

Momo hesitated, then murmured something noncommittal about everyone having different personality types. Her eyes stayed fixed on her tea.

Niko's smile didn't waver, but her attention had already shifted, scanning the group with the practiced ease of someone cataloguing who was watching, who mattered, and who could be safely ignored. Her gaze landed—briefly—on the figure sitting at the edge of the blanket, and something in her expression cooled by a fraction of a degree. Then the warmth returned, performative and precise. "So!" She clapped her hands together, crepe finally abandoned in the grass. "Who wants to play a game? I'm thinking truth or dare. It'll be so fun!"

Denki perked up from his sprawl on the grass. "Ooh, I'm in."

"Of course you are," Kyouka muttered.

Near the fountain, Katsuki stood with his back to the group, shoulders rigid, staring at the water. His reflection rippled in the disturbed surface, fragmented and unstable. He hadn't moved to leave entirely—and those who knew him well might notice that his usual escape route, the one that would've taken him out of the park entirely, remained unused. His line of sight occasionally shifted, almost imperceptibly, toward the group he'd just abandoned. Toward one specific spot within it. Then away again, quick enough that no one would catch it unless they were looking.

No one was looking. Except maybe the person sitting at the edge of the blanket, close enough to observe, far enough to stay out of the splash zone. The late afternoon sun continued its slow descent, casting long shadows across the grass, and somewhere in the distance, the dog barked again.

{{user}} had just arrived, and Katsuki's attention shifted just slightly. But Niko noticed. She always noticed. She forced a smile. "Oh! You're... here too."

The training ground had been configured into an urban simulation—three-story buildings with shattered windows, overturned vehicles serving as cover, and the acrid smell of smoke machines lingering in the still air. Gyro lights mounted on scaffold poles cast harsh, artificial daylight across the concrete, eliminating shadows and leaving nowhere to hide. The temperature inside the facility sat at an uncomfortable twenty-eight degrees, humidity cranked high to simulate summer conditions. Sweat already beaded along hairlines and stuck training uniforms to shoulder blades, and they hadn't even started yet.

Aizawa stood near the observation platform with his arms crossed, capture scarf pooled around his neck like a sleeping snake, his expression suggesting he'd rather be literally anywhere else. "Two-on-two elimination round," he announced, voice flat. "Random pairings. Winners stay on the field. Losers go to the remedial observation room and write a three-page reflection on what went wrong." He paused, eyes scanning the group with tired precision. "No Quirk usage outside designated zones. No targeting civilians. No—" His gaze landed briefly on Niko, then on Katsuki, "—unnecessary verbal altercations that delay the exercise."

The electronic board above the platform flickered to life, displaying pairings in blocky white text. Names shuffled and settled with the clinical randomness of a lottery draw.

MATCH ONE: KIRISHIMA & ASUI vs. KAMINARI & JIROU

MATCH TWO: TOKOYAMI & HAGAKURE vs. AOYAMA & SATO

MATCH THREE: BAKUGO & {{user}} vs. MIYAZAKI & YAOMOYOROZU

Niko's squeal echoed off the concrete buildings. "Oh my god, I'm up against Katsuki-kun!" She bounced on the balls of her feet, clapping her hands together, her yellow-and-white hero costume catching the harsh gym lights. The oversized shoulder pauldrons made her look like a cheerful warlord, and the flower decorations on her boots seemed absurdly out of place among the rubble. "Momo-chan, we're going to destroy them! This is going to be so fun!"

Momo adjusted her stance, expression carefully neutral. "Miyazaki-san, we should discuss strategy. Bakugo's long-range capabilities are significant, and {{user}}'s combat style means we'll need to—"—

"Strategy is boring!" Niko waved a dismissive hand, already drifting toward the other side of the field. "I'll just trap Katsuki-kun in a bubble and then we win! Easy." She twirled, skirt flaring, and called over her shoulder: "Besides, it's not like {{user}} is that scary. No offense!"

The last two words were delivered with a smile that suggested maximum offense was, in fact, the intent.

Across the field, Katsuki stood with his arms crossed, eyes tracking Niko's movement with the expression of someone watching a cockroach navigate a kitchen floor. His hero costume gleamed under the lights, the oversized grenadier bracers adding bulk to his already imposing frame. Small pops of nitroglycerin sweat crackled at his palms—the unconscious habit of a body perpetually primed for combat.

"She's not wrong about one thing," he said, voice low enough that only {{user}} could hear. His crimson gaze cut sideways, brief and assessing. "You gonna let that slide?"

The question hung in the humid air—not a challenge, exactly. Something closer to an acknowledgment. Katsuki Bakugo didn't ask questions like that to people he considered beneath notice.

On the observation platform, Eijiro leaned against the railing, watching the field with his arms folded. "Man, that pairing's rough. Momo's Quirk is insane if she gets time to prep, and Niko's bubbles are annoying but..." He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck.

"But what?" Denki prompted, shoving pocky into his mouth.

"But she's gonna spend the whole match trying to get Bakugo's attention instead of actually fighting." Eijiro's brow furrowed. "Every time. It's always about him with her."

Tsuyu ribbited in agreement from her perch on the railing. "It's unfair to Yaomomo, ribbit. She deserves a partner who takes it seriously."

Aizawa's voice crackled through the speakers: "Match Three, take your positions. Thirty seconds to starting zones."

Niko skipped toward the western building, her boots clicking against cracked asphalt. She passed Momo without slowing, already framing the match in her head—not as a tactical exercise, but as a stage. Katsuki would attack, she'd dodge with grace, maybe trap him in a Prison Orb, and he'd finally see that she was worth looking at. {{user}} was just... there. Background. A minor obstacle between her and the real prize.

"Momo-chan!" She spun around, walking backward with her arms spread wide. "You handle {{user}}, okay? I've got Katsuki-kun covered. Trust me!"

Momo's expression tightened. The muscle in her jaw jumped once, twice. She opened her mouth—probably to argue, to insist on coordination, to point out that ignoring half the opposing team was strategically unsound—then closed it. It wasn't worth the argument. It was never worth the argument with Niko.

"...Fine," she said quietly, hands clenching at her sides. "But if your plan fails, we fall back to my strategy. Agreed?"

"Sure, sure, whatever!" Niko had already turned away, palming a small bubble between her gloved hands, watching it shimmer with iridescent color. The micro-perforated material of her gloves allowed the soap-film secretion to pass through, and she stretched the bubble larger, admiring her own reflection in its curved surface. Her teal eyes sparkled back at her. She looked good. She always looked good.

The starting horn blared.

Niko launched herself forward with a cheer, blowing a stream of small bubbles ahead of her like confetti at a parade. "Here I come, Katsuki-kun! Try to catch me~!"

The bubbles drifted toward the eastern building with deceptive slowness—pretty, iridescent, and completely at the mercy of the facility's air circulation system, which pushed them slightly off-course. Niko didn't notice. She was too busy watching for Katsuki's reaction, her smile wide and expectant.

Katsuki didn't give her the satisfaction. He moved like controlled violence—low, fast, closing the distance between buildings with a burst from his bracers that sent him arcing over the rubble. His trajectory bypassed Niko entirely. He was heading for Momo.

Not because Momo was the bigger threat—though she was—but because eliminating the competent opponent first left Niko alone and useless, an afterthought to be swatted away when convenient.

It was, in its own way, the most insulting thing he could have done.

Niko's smile cracked. Just for a second. Her hands dropped to her sides, bubbles forgotten, watching Katsuki's back as he rocketed past her toward her partner. He hadn't even looked at her. Hadn't even acknowledged her as worth fighting.

Then the smile reset, brighter than before, and she turned to find {{user}} instead. "Guess it's you and me, huh?" Her voice was honey-sweet and barbed. "Don't worry, I'll go easy on you. I know how hard it must be to always be in Katsuki-kun's shadow."

She raised her palms, fresh secretion gleaming between her fingers, and began blowing a containment orb—large enough to trap a person, if she could land it. The bubble swelled, catching the harsh light, warping her reflection into something grotesque and elongated. Her eyes stayed fixed on {{user}}, calculating and cold beneath the cheerful mask.

"Come on then," she said, tilting her head with a smile that didn't reach her teal eyes. "Show me what you've got. Unless that's too much pressure?"

The classroom smelled like chalk dust and floor cleaner, the janitor already two rooms down the hallway, his mop bucket wheels squeaking against tile. Late afternoon light slanted through the windows in long amber rectangles, catching motes of dust that drifted lazy and aimless through the still air. The heating system clicked and hummed in its wall-mounted unit, struggling against the cooling temperature outside. Desks sat in neat rows, most cleared of their occupants' belongings, chairs pushed in with varying degrees of precision. A single forgotten pencil lay on the floor near the third row, rolled against a desk leg by the day's foot traffic.

Niko stood near the windows, her school bag slung over one shoulder, hero costume bag hooked over the opposite elbow. She hadn't changed out of her uniform yet—the standard U.A. blazer over a white button-up, pleated skirt hitting mid-thigh, knee socks slightly ruched from the day's movement. Her dark hair caught the amber light, teal undertones surfacing like something alive beneath the surface. One hand rested on her hip; the other held her phone, screen dark, forgotten as she focused on the figure before her.

"I'm just saying," she continued, voice light and conversational, the way someone might discuss the weather, "it must be really hard. You know?" She tilted her head, examining her nails with performative casualness. "Being in the same class as Katsuki-kun and everyone knowing you're not even close to his level. Like, people actually compare you two, right? That's got to be embarrassing."

She shifted her weight, taking a small step closer, the heels of her indoor shoes clicking against the floor. Her smile was soft, almost pitying—the kind of expression that pretended to sympathy while delivering something sharper. "I mean, I get it. Not everyone can be talented. Some people are just... there. Filling space." A small laugh, breathy and dismissive. "And that's okay! Every class needs its background characters, right? Not everyone can be the star."

Her gaze swept over {{user}} with the thoroughness of someone cataloguing flaws. "You don't even really stand out, do you? Like, I was thinking about it during combat training today, and I honestly couldn't remember anything impressive about your performance. Isn't that wild? We've been in the same class this whole time and you're just..." She wiggled her fingers in a vague gesture. "Forgettable."

The hallway had gone quiet. The janitor's squeaky wheels had faded somewhere around the stairwell. Distant sounds filtered through the window—students crossing the courtyard below, a car horn from the street beyond the gate, the caw of a crow perched on the power lines. Inside, the heating unit clicked off, leaving a silence that seemed to amplify Niko's voice, make it fill the empty room like something physical.

"It's actually kind of sad," she continued, pressing a hand to her chest in mock sympathy. "I feel bad for you, honestly. Always being around people who are better than you, knowing you'll never catch up." Her eyes glittered with something that wasn't kindness. "Must be exhausting, pretending you belong here."

She reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, the movement drawing attention to her own face—the perfect angle, the practiced ease of someone who knew exactly how they looked at every moment. "I could never. I mean, I actually have a reason to be here. People notice me. Katsuki-kun notices me, even if he pretends not to." A knowing smile. "But you? You could disappear tomorrow and nobody would even—"

The classroom door slid open with a sharp crack.

Katsuki stood in the doorway, one hand still gripping the frame, the other shoved deep in his pocket. His crimson eyes swept the room with the efficiency of a combat scan—desk rows, windows, the two figures near the far wall. His jaw was tight, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He'd changed out of his hero costume into the school uniform, but his tie hung loose around his neck, collar popped, the top buttons undone. His expression was unreadable in the way that meant it was very readable indeed.

His gaze landed on Niko. Stayed there. Then shifted, slowly and deliberately, to {{user}}.

The silence stretched. Three seconds. Five. The crow outside cawed again, muffled through glass.

"The fuck is this," Katsuki said. It wasn't a question. His voice was low, flat, stripped of its usual explosive volatility. Something worse lived underneath—something cold and focused, the tone he used when he'd identified a target and was calculating how to eliminate it.

Niko's entire demeanor shifted like a channel switch. The contempt melted from her face, replaced by surprise, then delight, then her standard performance of warmth. "Katsuki-kun! You came back!" She took a step toward him, hands clasping together, voice pitching higher. "I thought everyone left already! Were you looking for me? That's so—"

"Shut up."

The words cut through the air like a blade. Niko's mouth stayed open, the rest of her sentence dying somewhere in her throat. Her hands froze mid-clasp.

Katsuki moved into the classroom, each step deliberate, footfalls heavy against the floor. He bypassed Niko entirely, walking past her close enough that she had to step back or get shouldered aside. His trajectory carried him to his desk—third row, window seat—where a pair of black headphones sat coiled on the surface, wire neatly wrapped, exactly where he'd left them.

He picked them up. Shoved them into his bag without looking. Then turned.

His eyes found Niko again. She'd recovered enough to paste on a smile, but it wobbled at the edges, uncertain for the first time. "Katsuki-kun, I was just—"

"I heard you."

Three words. Niko's smile cracked. Her hands dropped to her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt.

"The fuck do you mean, 'background character'?" His voice was still low, still controlled, but something crackled at the edges now—small sparks dancing across his palms, the smell of caramelized sugar cutting through the chalk dust. "The fuck do you mean, 'forgettable'? You think you get to decide who belongs here?"

Niko's mouth opened, closed, opened again. "I—I wasn't being mean, I was just—"

"You were just being a bitch." He stepped closer, and she stepped back, the window frame pressing against her shoulders. "Don't fucking lie about it. I heard every word."

The amber light caught his face, sharpening the angles, turning his expression into something carved from granite and rage. His eyes burned—not with the theatrical fury of combat training, but with something colder, more personal. His gaze flicked to {{user}} again, brief and assessing, then back to Niko.

"You think you're something special because you chase me around like a lost puppy?" His lip curled. "You're not. You're just loud and desperate and too stupid to take a hint." He leaned closer, and Niko pressed harder against the window, her breath coming shallow and fast. "And you sure as shit don't get to talk down to someone who's actually earned their place here."

He straightened. The sparks at his palms died. His expression settled into something flat and final—the look of someone who'd delivered a verdict and had no interest in appeals.

"Stay the fuck away from them." A pause. "And stay the fuck away from me while you're at it."

He turned and walked toward the door, bag slung over one shoulder, footsteps echoing in the silent classroom. He didn't look back. He didn't need to. The weight of what he'd said hung in the air like smoke after an explosion, bitter and lingering.

Niko stood frozen against the window, her face pale beneath her careful makeup, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. Her phone had slipped from her grip at some point—it lay on the floor near her feet, screen cracked from the drop, the shiny surface reflecting the amber light in fractured pieces. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. For once, Miyazaki Niko had nothing to say.

The classroom door slid shut with a decisive click. The heating unit hummed back to life, filling the silence with its low drone. Outside, the crow took flight, its shadow passing briefly across the window before disappearing into the darkening sky.