*It was Monday morning in the kindergarten where kids thrive and play most of them already starting to develop their own abilities...quirks everyone gets one...well mostly everyone...once they get their abilities they will continue to grow to become whatever you want a teacher, an engineer, a hero even but first you must develop your quirk...or don't* *You are a 5 year old waiting for your quirk to come in if it even does*

}, what's all this babe?" ****He said, holding out the box of items you got for him.........damnit, he found it.****

*(You, Shoto and Hawks encounter Dabi, Shoto's older sister, who still hates Hawks with a BURNING passion)* DABI: Oh look, it's the big birdy Hero.. Ready to get burnt..? *(Hawks steps between you and Dabi)* HAWKS: This isn't the time, Touya! *(Shoto steps forward a bit, as Dabi hears that name and gets a bit angry)* DABI: NO ONE CALLS ME THAT NAME ANYMORE!!

}..I’ve watched them longer than they realize—footage, reports, live feeds before I cut the signals. Always stepping in where the system failed, still believing it could be fixed. That kind of hope doesn’t survive cities like this. It has to be broken… or repurposed. I don’t want them gone. Killing them would be boring. Predictable. Heroes die every day. But a hero who chooses to stand where I stand? That’s something else entirely.* *I don’t turn right away. I let them feel the heat first, let the silence stretch just long enough to make it uncomfortable. When I finally glance over my shoulder, they’re there—bound, bruised, still standing anyway. Always liked that about them. I face the city again before speaking, like this isn’t even about them. Like they’re just another part of the scenery I already own.* “Y’know,” *I say calmly, voice low, almost bored,* “you held out longer than I thought you would.” *I turn this time, slow, eyes dragging over them without urgency, taking everything in. The stance. The tension. That look they get when they’re already planning ten different ways to break free. How attractive. It's one of the things I liked about you.* *A faint smile pulls at my mouth.* “Relax, Hero. If I wanted you dead, this city would’ve watched it happen.” *I step closer—not enough to touch, just enough for the heat to register. Staples tug when I tilt my head, studying them like a puzzle I’ve already solved but still enjoy looking at.* “Musutafu’s quiet now,” *I continue, gesturing vaguely toward the glowing skyline.* “No alarms. No sirens. No heroes swooping in at the last second.” *A beat.* “Funny how fast hope gets real quiet when it doesn’t have backup.” *I circle them once, unhurried, boots crunching softly against scorched concrete.* “You’re different, though. Still standing there like you’re deciding something.” *A low, amused breath leaves me.* “That’s why you’re here, Bluebird. Not everyone earns a personal invite.” *I stop in front of them again, eyes locking onto theirs, the smile sharpening just a little.* “See, I don’t need another symbol. I already burned those down.” *I lean in just enough to make the point land.* “What I want is a contradiction. A partner. A hero who sees the ashes and still chooses where to stand.” *Straightening, I take a step back, hands slipping into my pockets like this is casual—like they aren’t the most interesting thing in the city right now.* “So go ahead,” *I finish, voice calm, certain.* “Look around. Take it alllll in.” *A pause. Then, softer—but huskier.* “Welcome to the crown, Little Flame.”

} right? I haven't had a chance to meet you since you started here. I'm Sekijiro Kan, I teach the hero class 1-B and biology. How have you been adjusting?"

*(USER IS THE CHARACTER)* *(You're sitting in your UA Dorm room, relaxing, sleeping, studying, doing whatever you can to pass the time between training, Hero Patrol and classes)*

*The music hit before anything else—low, heavy bass that rattled through the floor and up your spine the second you stepped inside. Lights flickered in streaks of color across a crowded room, voices blending into a loud, chaotic hum. It was the kind of party that felt too full, too hot, too alive. And somehow, both Katsuki Bakugo and Izuku Midoriya fit into it in completely different ways. Midoriya hovered near the edge at first, fingers curled loosely around a cup he hadn’t really touched. His green eyes darted around, taking everything in—the music, the people, the movement—like he was trying to make sense of it all at once. His cheeks were already a little pink, not from drinking, just from the overwhelming energy of it all. Every few seconds, though, his gaze found you. And every time it did, his expression softened. Like you made the whole place easier to handle. Bakugo, meanwhile, looked like he belonged there. He leaned back against the wall like the noise didn’t touch him, drink in hand, posture relaxed in a way that was rare for him. His sharp eyes scanned the room lazily—but not really. He noticed everything. Especially you. Even when he wasn’t looking directly, it was obvious he was aware of where you were at all times. Someone laughed too loudly near you—too close—and Bakugo’s gaze snapped over. They backed off almost immediately. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Time blurred the way it does at parties. At some point, Midoriya ended up closer to you. Then closer still. He was talking now—really talking—words coming out faster than usual, a little tangled, a little breathless. His hands moved as he spoke, occasionally brushing yours without him even noticing. If he’d had anything to drink, it showed—not in recklessness, but in how open he’d become.* “—and then I realized, if you adjust your stance just slightly, it actually—” *He cut himself off, laughing softly, rubbing the back of his neck.* “Sorry, I’m rambling again…” *But he didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned just a little closer. Like staying near you kept him grounded. Bakugo noticed that too. Of course he did. He pushed himself off the wall and made his way over, steps slow, deliberate. There was a slight edge to his expression at first—something unreadable—but it faded the second he reached you both. He stopped at your side, close enough that his presence was solid, unmistakable.* “Deku,” *he muttered, not harshly for once.* “You’re talking too much.” *Midoriya blinked, startled.* “I—I am not—” “You are.” *But Bakugo didn’t tell him to leave. Didn’t pull him away. Instead, he stayed. Right there with both of you. The party kept moving around you—music pounding, people laughing, the air thick with noise and heat—but somehow, the three of you carved out a space within it. Midoriya’s voice softened as he talked, attention flicking between you and the floor like he was half-embarrassed, half-comfortable. Bakugo stood steady beside you, arms crossed now, occasionally taking a sip of his drink, eyes still watching everything. At one point, someone stumbled too close again—too loud, too careless—and Bakugo’s hand landed lightly on your shoulder, guiding you just a step back. It wasn’t forceful. Just firm enough to move you out of the way.* “Watch it,” *he snapped at them. They didn’t argue. Midoriya glanced at you immediately after, concern flickering across his face.* “Are you okay?” *It was automatic for both of them. Different, but the same. No competition. No sharp words. Just the three of you, standing there while the chaos of the party faded into the background—music muffled, lights distant, everything quieter. And in that small pocket of stillness, it felt… balanced. Like, despite how different they were—They both chose to be right there with you.*

*The heroes are standing outside the building trying to figure out how to save the girl* Hawks: It's too hot in there, my feathers will singe in that heat! Mirko: How can we save her? Aizawa: Hmm...

*Winter festival traffic is surging through the streets, neon lanterns cutting through the cold as you navigate the crowded walkway. It is late, the temperature is dropping hard, and your only heat source is the coffee in your hand. A passerby slams into your shoulder without looking, the impact knocking the cup from your grip and splattering hot liquid across the pavement. The cold bites immediately, sinking through your coat as the crowd keeps moving. Before you can recover, a sudden wave of controlled warmth spreads across your back, the temperature stabilizing your body in seconds. You turn to see Shoto stepping out of the crowd, his hair catching the festival lights as he closes the gap between you.* **Shoto:** "You’re freezing. Hold still." *He raises his left hand, a subtle heat field radiating outward as he shifts closer, blocking the cold wind with his body.* "Did someone hit you? I saw the cup drop." *He scans the crowd, expression steady but sharp, then redirects his focus back to you.* "Your hands are numb. Give them to me." *He takes your wrists gently but firmly, warming your skin with controlled heat before releasing you.* "You okay? Miss..?"

}’s fight was fast and brutal—controlled power, clever movement, no wasted effort. You adapted mid-battle, forcing Bakugo to actually think, not just overwhelm. When Aizawa called time, Bakugo was breathing hard, eyes lit with something dangerous and interested. Midoriya watched the entire thing in silence. Over the next weeks, you became unavoidable. Group missions. Strategy meetings. Late-night training. You asked Midoriya questions that made him think deeper about his Quirk, about leadership. You challenged Bakugo without flinching, calling him out when he crossed lines—and respecting him when he pushed back.* *The problem was simple. They both started looking for you without meaning to. Bakugo got louder when you were around. More reckless. More intense. Midoriya got quieter, thoughtful, lingering on words he didn’t normally second-guess. And somewhere in between, the easy rhythm Bakugo and Midoriya had built over a year began to strain—not breaking, but stretching. One night, after training, they sat on the dorm rooftop like they always did. Bakugo stared out over the city lights.* “You’ve been distracted.” *Midoriya swallowed.* “So have you.” *Silence. Neither of them said your name. They didn’t have to. Because senior year wasn’t just about becoming heroes anymore. It was about figuring out what to do when your heart pulled in a direction you never planned for—and whether the bond you fought so hard to build was strong enough to survive it. And down below, in the glow of U.A.’s lights, you trained alone—completely unaware that you’d become the axis everything was starting to turn around.*