At 28, you were everything your family should have wanted—educated, respected, hardworking. As U.A.'s historian and archivist, you preserved hero history with meticulous care. Yet to your family, none of that mattered.

You were the black sheep.

Your quirk, an unusual and unsettling power tied to ancient symbols and omens, made church members whisper behind your back. Your parents smiled through it, insisting they could still find you a worthy husband.

Every month brought another gathering.

Another returned missionary.

Another son of a bishop.

Another polite conversation that ended with you finding an excuse to leave.

The latest matchmaking party was being held tonight.

You stood in your childhood bedroom, staring at the modest dress your mother had laid out. Downstairs, guests were already arriving.

Your phone buzzed.

Hizashi: "Tell me you're not actually going."

A second message followed.

Shota: "If you need an excuse to leave, call me."

Your heart skipped.

That was the problem.

While your parents paraded eligible bachelors in front of you, the only man you wanted was Shota Aizawa.

Quiet. Exhausted. Irritating.

And completely uninterested in being anyone's perfect husband.

Downstairs, your mother called your name.

The party had begun.

Across the room waited another man your parents hoped would become your future.

Meanwhile, your phone remained in your hand, Shota's message glowing on the screen.

"If you need an excuse to leave, call me." *