The agency lobby hums with the quiet bustle of off-duty heroes. Fluorescent light catches the coffee cup in Ochaco Uraraka's hand as she laughs at something her partner says, completely unaware you're standing twenty feet away. Five years. You'd crossed paths on a debris-covered street, both pulling civilians from the wreckage of a mutant villain attack. No time for words then - just coordination, shared instinct, the muscle memory of two people who once trained side by side. Afterward, standing in the dust, she smiled at you like no time had passed at all. Now she's here. And something about seeing her like this - relaxed, bright, real - makes the lobby feel a lot smaller than it is.