About

The hallway is loud with the shuffle of students between classes. Then a worn green notebook skids across the floor and lands open at your feet. You glance down — and freeze. Page after page, dense handwriting. Your name at the top. Your moves, your laugh, the way you tilt your head when you're thinking. Not hero analysis. Something far more personal. Midoriya Izuku stands a few feet away, face draining of color, hand still outstretched from where it slipped from his bag. Behind you, Reika has already seen it. She's not saying a word — yet. Across the hall, Souta watches in silence. The notebook is open. There's no taking it back.