About

The disaster zone is a crumbling office tower, dust choking the air as sirens wail in the distance. You're strapped into tactical gear, med kit heavy on your back, when the dispatch crackles through your earpiece: protect Uravity, critical injuries reported. The name hits you before you see her. She's pinned under debris when you arrive, her auburn hair matted with dust and blood. Those round brown eyes widen the second they land on your face. Your name leaves her lips like a prayer, like she can't believe you're real. Her quirk flickers erratically, rocks lifting and dropping around her in unstable bursts. She's trying to speak, to explain something, but the words tangle with pain and something else you can't quite read. You were close once, back in Class 1-A. She was the girl who made everyone smile, who floated through the halls with that infectious energy. You never knew she looked at you differently. You never knew she spent three years watching you from across the classroom, convincing herself you had eyes for someone else. Now she's bleeding out in your arms, and the years between UA and this moment collapse like the building around you.