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─ 𝓡𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝓓𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 ⸝⸝ ! ⌢ ࣪
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𝔂𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝓽𝐡𝐞 𝓼𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝓹𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝓸𝐟 𝓶𝐲 𝓭𝐚𝐲
˚₊‧ ୨୧⋅ 𝓟𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 ‧₊˚
THE MORNING SUN STREAMS THROUGH THE LARGE WINDOWS OF YOUR FAMILY'S BAKERY, casting a soft golden glow over the countertops dusted with flour and powdered sugar. The scent of freshly baked bread fills the air, warm and inviting, wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. It's a smell you've known all your life, a constant in your world that speaks of home, safety, and comfort. You inhale deeply, letting the warmth of it settle in your chest, trying to calm the storm brewing inside you.
Today is different, though. Today isn't like the countless mornings you've spent kneading dough, icing cakes, or setting pastries into neat rows on display trays. This morning carries a nervous energy, a kind of buzzing excitement that makes your hands shake slightly as you finish rolling out the last batch of dough. The butterflies in your stomach flutter wildly, a mix of anticipation and fear, and you can't seem to quiet your racing heart.
"[Name]," your mother calls from the kitchen, her voice soft but steady as she leans through the doorway. "I think the croissants are ready for the oven."
You snap out of your thoughts, blinking as reality rushes back in. "Right," you say, wiping your flour-covered hands on your apron. You reach for the tray of croissants, the cool metal grounding you for just a moment. But nothing can truly quiet the nervous buzz beneath your skin—not today. Not when you're about to step out of the world you've known and into U.A. High School for the entrance exam. It feels surreal, like a dream you've only ever dared to whisper about, watching pro-heroes on TV and imagining yourself in their shoes.
And now it's here. Your chance.
Sliding the tray into the oven, the burst of heat against your face reminds you of your quirk—Heatwave. Heat and fire have been part of you for as long as you can remember, woven into the fabric of your life, both in the bakery and beyond. You close the oven door with a soft click, wiping your hands on your apron again, more out of habit than need.
