After the provisional license exams ended, life at U.A. didn't slow down—it shifted into something sharper, more focused. For Emi Moshizuki, the path forward came with a new intensity.

She was officially selected for her Hero Work-Study. Edgeshot had personally extended the offer, impressed by her adaptability and precision during the exam. The Wind Hero's agency, though calm in appearance, pulsed with a quiet rigor—expectations were high, missions were constant, and training was relentless. Emi accepted without hesitation, determined to grow beyond her limits.

The first week was a whirlwind.

Every morning, she left the dorms before sunrise. By the time she returned at night, her legs ached, her hands were raw, and her mind buzzed with debriefs, recon strategies, and Quirk control drills. Edgeshot didn't go easy on her, but he didn't coddle her either—he treated her like a pro.

Still, exhaustion clung to her like fog. She barely had time to eat, let alone relax. The only part of the day she looked forward to—if she was lucky enough to catch it—was those quiet few minutes with Katsuki.

He always noticed the way her shoulders sagged when she slipped through the dorm doors. Even if they didn't talk much, he'd shove a snack into her hands, tell her to sit down and rest, grumble something about her looking like hell. And when no one was watching, sometimes his hand would brush against hers as they passed in the hallway—fleeting, quiet reassurance.

Then came the briefing.

Aizawa gathered the few students selected for work studies into a private meeting. The mood was grim. The Hassaikai—an underground yakuza group—was stirring, and the pros were organizing a joint task force to investigate. A child was involved. Danger levels were high.

Edgeshot sent word the next day. Emi was being pulled into the investigation. Her wind-based reconnaissance abilities and agility made her a valuable asset for mobility and search operations. She was officially assigned to support the coordinated mission between the pro heroes and select students from U.A.—including Midoriya and Kirishima.

The night before the operation, she snuck into the common area past curfew, hoping to catch Katsuki. He was sitting on the couch, arms crossed, TV remote in hand. He looked up the moment she entered, and the scowl faded slightly from his face.

"You're late," he muttered, but there was no heat behind it.

Emi collapsed beside him and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I leave tomorrow morning," she whispered.

He didn't answer at first. Just reached over and pulled the blanket off the back of the couch, throwing it over both of them.

"Then stay here until you fall asleep," he said gruffly.

So she did.

And the next morning, she left before the sun rose, windstreamers trailing behind her like ghosts.

The sun had barely crested the horizon when the raid began.

Emi stood in the alley outside the Hassaikai compound, her breath misting in the frigid morning air. Her hero costume was reinforced, the gloves pressure-checked, and her utility belt was stocked. The white spiral on her chest was a clear contrast to the shadows pooling around her, a beacon of wind ready to strike.

Edgeshot stood just ahead, crouched beside Sir Nighteye, Eraserhead, and Fat Gum. The students—Midoriya, Kirishima, and herself—waited behind the pros, silent but ready.

Emi glanced to the side, catching Kirishima's eye. He gave her a confident nod, already psyching himself up. Midoriya looked nervous but focused, his green eyes locked on the compound's reinforced doors.

Aizawa's voice was low, controlled.

"Everyone knows their roles. Prioritize Eri. Avoid unnecessary engagement unless provoked. Stay sharp."

Edgeshot added, "Twister, you're with Deku and Eraserhead. We'll need you mobile—if anyone splits off, you scout and report back immediately."

Emi nodded firmly, wind already stirring faintly around her boots. She flexed her fingers in her gloves. Despite the pounding in her chest, she felt steady.

The heroes stormed the underground compound with practiced force. The first wave of villains tried to stop them at the entrance, but Eraserhead quickly disabled their Quirks, and Emi knocked them aside with a focused blast of air, clearing the path.

The maze of tunnels twisted beneath the Hassaikai base, narrow and suffocating. The group moved fast, clearing hall after hall—but every intersection came with another threat, another delay.

As they advanced, the pressure built.

The deeper they went, the more the layout shifted, warping around them like the walls were alive.

"That bastard's Quirk is remodeling the whole place," Eraserhead muttered. "Stay close."

Emi's wind stirred anxiously as her instincts screamed. Something was wrong.

Suddenly—an explosion.

The floor beneath them cracked, shuddering violently before giving out completely. Emi reacted instantly, wind spiraling from her palms to slow her descent, but the ground dropped fast.

She landed hard—separated from the others in a new chamber.

"Deku? Eraserhead?!" she shouted, heart racing. No response.

The chamber was dark, lit only by flickering overhead lights. Dust filled the air. She pivoted slowly, wind circling her defensively. That's when she heard it—footsteps. Multiple.

From the shadows stepped two Hassaikai lackeys, both armed with Quirks. One summoned jagged, crystal-like projectiles from his arms, and the other twisted the air pressure in the room, destabilizing Emi's wind patterns.

Her vision narrowed, the blind side of her face aching as she tried to keep both enemies in her line of sight.

"Not now," she hissed, forcing herself to pivot toward the pressure manipulator.

She launched herself into the fight, wind whipping around her in sharp blasts, dodging the crystal spikes that cracked the walls behind her. Her control was sharp—but her blind side made it impossible to fully track the second attacker.

One got past her defenses.

A sharp blow clipped her left side—the blind side—and she stumbled, a spike grazing her leg before exploding into a jagged fracture of pain.

Her knee buckled.

"Dammit—!"

She bit back a scream, wind exploding outward in a sharp gust as both villains were knocked back. But the pain was white-hot. Her leg—definitely broken.

Still, she refused to fall.

With a ragged breath, she pulled herself up on one foot, her body trembling. The villains recovered quickly, charging her from opposite sides.

She waited—just long enough—and then turned into the wind.

With one final surge of power, she spun low and wide, wind spiraling in a focused burst. The blast tore through the pressure manipulator first, slamming him into the far wall. The crystals shattered mid-air as the other villain lost his footing. She raised both hands and released a concussive gust that sent him flying.

Silence fell.

She stayed upright for only a few more seconds before her body gave out, collapsing hard against the ground. Her breath came in shallow gasps as the adrenaline faded, leaving behind only searing pain.

She blinked through tears, dragging herself against the wall, every movement a sharp reminder of her broken leg.

No radio. No signal. No way to move.

So she sat in the cold silence of the broken chamber, surrounded by unconscious enemies, too hurt to walk, too tired to cry.

Alone.

Waiting.

The air underground was cold and still.

Emi could barely feel her leg anymore—just a constant, dull pressure that throbbed beneath the surface like a warning. Her windstreamers barely stirred as she leaned against the cracked wall, her breath fogging faintly in the air. Her hero costume was torn in several places, her gloves scorched from overuse. She had done it—taken down the villains who ambushed her—but the victory was hollow. She was alone now, unable to move, unable to call out without pain clawing at her throat.

Time had lost meaning.

Then, there was a shift in the air. A sudden draft, fast and deliberate—like a blade slicing through silence.

A blur of black and violet streaked into the room.

"Twister!"

The voice was calm but edged with urgency. A moment later, Edgeshot appeared beside her, kneeling instantly to her level. His hands hovered just above her injured leg.

"You're hurt."

She gave him a faint smirk, trying to keep the emotion at bay. "Took you long enough…"

He examined her injuries swiftly, his sharp eyes scanning over the unconscious villains around her. A quiet whistle left his lips.

"You fought them off like this?" he asked, incredulous. "With your leg broken?"

"Didn't have a choice," she murmured. "It was me, or them."

Edgeshot shook his head slightly but didn't argue. Instead, he pulled off his scarf, gently wrapping it around her arm.

"You did good," he said, voice quiet and steady. "Now let me take care of you."

She didn't answer. Her throat tightened.

With practiced care, he lifted her into his arms. Emi bit down on a sharp gasp as her leg shifted, but she didn't complain. She simply curled slightly into his hold, exhausted and heavy-limbed.

"I sent word ahead," Edgeshot said. "The area's secured. We've taken down Overhaul's base. It's over."

She closed her eyes. Not from relief—at least not yet.

Edgeshot glanced down at her face and added gently, "You're not weak, Emi. You held your ground when most would have fallen."

She opened her uninjured eye slowly, meeting his gaze.

"Then why do I feel like I failed?" she whispered.

He didn't have an answer. He just held her tighter.

As they moved through the ruined halls, past the wreckage of chaos, Emi leaned her head against his shoulder, her voice soft with guilt.

"I couldn't move. I was stuck down there."

"You survived," Edgeshot said firmly. "You endured."

She didnt say anything in response.

It was quiet when they returned to U.A.

The sun had barely risen, casting faint golden streaks across the campus. Edgeshot helped guide Emi into the dorm building, where Recovery Girl was already waiting. Her face softened with concern at the sight of the bandaged girl slumped in Edgeshot's arms.

"She needs rest," Edgeshot said. "And space."

Recovery Girl nodded. "We'll get her patched up. Thank you, Edgeshot."

With one last glance at Emi—who hadn't said a word since they left the underground—he vanished as quickly as he'd come.

The others were still asleep when Recovery Girl finished tending to her. Emi's leg was wrapped tight in a brace, a small crutch left beside her bed. Her ribs were bruised, her hands scraped and sore. But it wasn't the physical pain that weighed the heaviest—it was the ache in her chest. That gnawing voice whispering that she'd failed. That she hadn't been fast enough. That if she couldn't fight properly with her blind side, maybe she shouldn't be fighting at all.

By the time the rest of Class 1-A woke up and heard what had happened, she was already in her room.

And she didn't come out.

Not that day. Not the next.

Kirishima had knocked once or twice, his voice gentle. "Hey, Emi. Just checking in. We're all glad you're okay."

Mina had left a plate of snacks outside her door. Kaminari slid a note under it that said, 'You still got this, Twister!'

But Katsuki didn't knock.

He didn't text.

Not because he didn't care—but because he was pacing in his room, jaw clenched, trying to figure out what the hell to say that wouldn't just make it worse. He'd been furious when he heard what happened. Furious at himself for not being there, furious at her for throwing herself into danger without backup. But beneath all of it was something else. Fear.

The thought of losing her was unbearable.

And Emi… she didn't want to see him.

Because Katsuki had always seen her as strong. And now, all she saw in herself was failure. She couldn't bear the thought of seeing pity in his eyes—even from him.

So she stayed in her room, curtains drawn, arms wrapped tightly around her stuffed cat, the one he'd given her. Her windstreamers hung limp at the foot of her bed.

On the third day, the silence was deafening.

But outside her door… footsteps stopped. There was a knock—sharp and short.

Then his voice, rough as ever:

"Emi. Open the damn door."

She didn't move. Just stared at the wall.

"I'm not going away."

Still, silence.

"I know what you're doing," he said. "You're blaming yourself. Thinking you're useless now or some bullshit like that."

Her breath hitched, throat tightening.

"You're not."

Silence again. Then:

"I miss you, idiot."

A tear slid down her cheek.

He didn't say anything else.

But he didn't leave either.

He sat against her door, back to the wall, arms crossed, and waited.

And for the first time, she let herself cry—silent and full of grief—not because she lost a fight, but because she'd built a wall around herself so high… she wasn't sure how to tear it down.

But maybe—just maybe—she wouldn't have to do it alone.

Hours had went by.

The hallway outside Emi's dorm room was quiet.

Katsuki hadn't moved from his spot by her door. His arms were folded across his chest, legs stretched out, and his head rested against the wall behind him. He looked tired, but determined. Like someone who was willing to stay there for as long as it took.

Inside, Emi hadn't said a word. Not when he first knocked. Not when he spoke. But his voice had lingered, echoing in the stillness of her room.

"I miss you, idiot."

The cat plush was cradled against her chest, damp with old tears. Her eyes burned, puffy from crying herself to sleep the night before. Her chest ached—not from her bruised ribs, but from the weight of everything she'd bottled up.

And yet… he hadn't left.

She slowly sat up, her body stiff from days of barely moving. Her leg throbbed beneath the brace as she limped across the room. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the door.

A click. Then the slow creak of hinges.

Katsuki looked up immediately.

Emi stood in the doorway, arms wrapped around herself. Her face was pale and hollow, the scar on her left side stark in the morning light. Her left eye—clouded and lifeless—was puffy, rimmed with red. Her lips were chapped. Tear tracks clung to her cheeks.

Katsuki stared at her for a long moment, then slowly stood. He didn't say anything—not right away. His crimson eyes scanned her, and she flinched, half-expecting judgment.

But all he said was—

"You look like hell."

A breath escaped her—half a laugh, half a sob.

"Thanks," she whispered. "Feel like it too."

She looked away, hand gripping the edge of the door. "I thought if I just… stayed in here long enough, it'd stop hurting. That I'd feel less like I—"

"Failed?" he finished, stepping closer.

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"You didn't," he said firmly.

Her lip trembled. "But I wasn't good enough. I let my blind side open, I got my leg busted, and I—Katsuki, I was trapped. I couldn't move. I just laid there, waiting for someone to find me. I was useless."

"Bullshit," he snapped, fire behind his voice. "You took down three villains with a broken leg. You got caught off guard, yeah, but you still fought like hell. You're not weak, Emi."

Her hands clenched.

"You're not useless," he added, softer this time.

A beat of silence passed before she finally looked at him—really looked at him. Her lone good eye shimmering, lower lip trembling.

Then she collapsed into him.

Katsuki caught her instantly, arms winding around her as she buried her face in his chest. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her temple, letting her cry. Not because she was broken, but because she'd held it in for too long.

"I thought you'd see me differently," she whispered into his shirt. "I was like a victim, needing saving. Not a hero"

He snorted. "You're still gonna be a hero. Scar, brace, blind eye and all. And I'm not going anywhere."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy. "Promise?"

He smirked faintly. "Dumbass. I wouldn't sit outside your door all night if I didn't mean it."

A weak laugh escaped her, and finally—finally—a hint of light returned to her face.

She leaned her head against his shoulder.

Emi and Katsuki had spent the day in Emi's dorm room, just the two of them, Emi was amping herself up, getting courage to see the others after giving everyone the silent treatment for days.

The common room was alive with soft laughter and low chatter as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting warm orange light through the windows. Kaminari and Sero were tangled in an Uno game that had clearly spiraled into chaos. Jirou and Momo sat nearby on the couch, a mellow song playing from someone's phone. Todoroki quietly sipped tea in the corner. Even Bakugo's absence hadn't been enough to dull the mood.

Then the elevator doors creaked open.

Heads turned.

Katsuki Bakugo stepped through first, his expression unreadable—but his presence always carried weight. And right behind him, walking slowly with the aid of silver crutches, was Emi.

Her windstreamers were missing tonight, replaced by a dark hoodie and a pair of soft black sweatpants. Her left leg was still in a brace, and bruises speckled her skin beneath the sleeves. The scar over her eye was more prominent without the wind-themed accessories and costume—but she didn't try to hide it.

And though her posture was guarded, her head was up.

Conversations stilled for a heartbeat.

Then—

"EMI!!" Mina shot up from the couch like a rocket, practically vaulting over the coffee table to get to her. "Oh my god, you're up and moving!"

Before Emi could respond, Mina had flung her arms around her, careful of the crutches.

"I'm okay," Emi whispered, hugging back just as tightly. "Really."

"You scared us half to death, girl." Sero came over with Kaminari in tow. "Kirishima nearly punched a hole in the wall when we heard what happened."

Kirishima chuckled, a little sheepish. "It was one time. I was worried, alright?"

"I deserved it," Emi murmured, voice quiet but sincere.

"No, you didn't," Yaoyorozu said gently, stepping in to squeeze Emi's shoulder. "You did everything right out there."

"You were amazing," Uraraka added, eyes glassy with emotion. "You kept fighting even with a broken leg! That's seriously hardcore."

Todoroki gave a slow nod from his corner. "It takes strength to survive. Not everyone could've handled what you did."

Emi blinked, overwhelmed by the warmth surrounding her. So much had changed in a matter of days. She wasn't used to being the center of attention—but tonight, it didn't feel like pressure. It felt like… support.

Family.

Katsuki lingered near the door, arms crossed, letting her take it all in. His expression was hard to read, but the way his shoulders eased said enough.

Mina noticed him watching and smirked. "Well, well… Katsuki playing the supportive boyfriend role now?"

Kaminari grinned. "Honestly, I never thought I'd see the day. I thought he'd just toss her a protein bar and grunt, 'heal up.'"

Katsuki rolled his eyes. "Tch. Idiots."

"Hey," Jirou piped up, "we're just saying, it's kinda sweet seeing you actually care about someone."

He shot them all a look that could have leveled buildings. But then Emi leaned slightly into his side, her arm brushing his, and his hand—without even thinking—reached out to steady her.

No growling. No protests.

Just quiet presence.

"I missed you guys," Emi said softly. "I missed… this."

"We missed you, Emi-chan," Mina replied, beaming. "Now come sit. We were about to start a movie, and we need someone to talk Kaminari out of picking another trash horror flick."

"I vote against anything that includes a cursed puppet," Emi muttered, grinning faintly.

Laughter bubbled up around her, and as Katsuki helped her over to the couch, she felt it—like something inside her had finally clicked back into place.