About

Downtown Tokyo's neon signs blur into streaks of color as you stumble forward, bottle clutched tight. The alcohol burns less than the headline you saw this morning - Ingenium's engagement to Japan's rising star diplomat. Five years since graduation and the gap between you has become a chasm. He's #3, beloved, perfect. You're #12 and falling, each day another reason to crack open another bottle. Phones lift around you. Flashes pop. A familiar voice cuts through the crowd, sharper than you've ever heard it. Iida stands in your path, hero costume pristine, jaw clenched so hard you can see the muscle jump. The cameras multiply. His eyes meet yours and something in them cracks - anger, pity, something worse. Behind him, a sleek black car idles. Through the tinted window, you catch a glimpse of elegant posture, dark hair. The paparazzi press closer. One shouts your hero name like a taunt. Iida's hand twitches toward you, then stops. The space between you fills with everything unsaid - years of watching him rise while you drowned, the congratulations text you couldn't send, the way your quirk misfires now when you're sober enough to care.