"Just don't make a mess," Rina muttered as she finally let herself rest, curling up in the chair, her body aching with exhaustion. She could still hear the soft rustle of Dabi shifting on the couch, his movements slow and deliberate.
"Mess?" he scof...
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Rina Nakamura stood across the street, headphones snug over her ears, the sound of heavy guitar riffs and low drumbeats drowning out the world around her. She needed the silence. The steady hum of city life, the chatter of people passing by, the distant whir of traffic—all of it felt like too much. Her quirk, Echo Sense, was sensitive to sound, and in a city like this, it was more a curse than a gift. The clatter of a crowded street was enough to scramble her senses, leaving her with the distorted echoes of voices, footsteps, and the faint, unsettling hum of every noise that had lingered too long.
With her music as a barrier, the world faded to dull background noise as she focused on the present. In front of her, the students of UA High School were gathered, some wearing their hero costumes, others just in casual clothes, chatting and laughing under the bright sky. They looked so... free. Young, hopeful, and perfect.
She watched them from a distance, her gaze drifting from group to group. Some of the students had that unmistakable energy—too bright, too eager to be anything other than heroes. They seemed to belong here, in this perfect little bubble of idealism. Everything was so neat—their smiles, their outfits, their lives. They were everything Rina had never been and never would be.
A small part of her envied them. Envy wasn't a foreign feeling—Rina had learned to bury it a long time ago—but today, it gnawed at her, a quiet ache that wouldn't leave. She watched a boy with wild, spiky hair laugh loudly, his hand slapping another student's back. A girl with short, pink hair skipped past, humming a tune as if she had no cares in the world. They had futures that were paved with golden opportunities. And here she was, an ordinary girl without a quirk, no future in the hero world, just trying to get through the day without being noticed.
Rina wasn't supposed to care. She'd long stopped pretending to fit into their world, where everything was about power, about quirks, about fame. But standing there on the sidelines, she couldn't help but feel its weight. The weight of being nothing in a world that only cared about something.
Her fingers twitched against the straps of her bag. She didn't belong here, and she knew it. The music in her ears became louder, the distorted sound a comforting mask against the ache that was slowly creeping up her chest. She turned her back on the students, taking a slow breath to clear her mind before beginning her walk.
The city's pulse beat around her, the noise swelling and subsiding with each step. Rina felt herself moving with the crowd, but never quite part of it. The streets she walked now weren't the ones you saw in commercials or hero interviews. The buildings were older, the concrete cracked, and the air tinged with the smell of cheap food and too many cigarettes. This was the side of the city no one advertised—the forgotten part where survival mattered more than ideals.
As she walked, her quirk pulsed quietly, the residual sounds of conversation echoing in her mind as she passed by—fragments of laughter, faint whispers of deals being made in the alleyways. A flicker of a conversation from a group of tired men lounging against a convenience store caught her attention:
"Did you hear? That freak, Dabi, was back in town. Found him near the alley behind that old theater again. Gotta keep an eye on him, y'know? Last time, things didn't go too smoothly when he showed up."
Rina's lips twitched at the mention of the name. Dabi. She hadn't seen him in weeks, but he was always a presence that lingered, whether he was around or not. The League of Villains had a way of moving like shadows, and Dabi was a shadow Rina had learned to notice. She had her own reasons for keeping her distance from him, but there was something magnetic about his coldness—his quiet rage that seemed to resonate with her in ways she didn't want to admit.
"Wonder what he's doing here again," one of the men muttered.
Rina shook her head, pushing the thought away. Dabi wasn't her problem. He was a shadow in her life, and she had enough shadows of her own. Her thoughts returned to the city's hum, and with a deep breath, she steered herself toward the darker part of town—the side that no longer cared for heroes or villains, just survival.
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The streets were quieter now. The music in her ears kept her grounded, but her mind wandered as she walked. The dim alleyways, the flickering neon signs, and the smell of cheap beer mixed with burnt tobacco all felt like home. It was familiar—the exact kind of familiarity she needed. She didn't belong in the shiny world of heroes or villains; she belonged in places like this, where everyone had something to hide.
The Midnight Ember bar was just a few blocks ahead. She could already hear the thrum of bass and the hum of murmured conversations as she neared the alleyway where it was hidden. It was her sanctuary—the only place where she could fade into the background and just exist. No questions, no expectations. Just the low pulse of music, the murmur of voices, and the quiet weight of secrecy hanging in the air.
As Rina pushed open the door, the familiar scent of incense, leather, and stale beer hit her. The dim lights flickered overhead, casting shadows on the worn wood floors. The bar was busy tonight, the usual crowd of antiheroes, low-level criminals, and misfits filling the space. A group of patrons sat in a booth by the back, whispering in low voices. Some of them glanced up as she entered, but no one paid her any real attention. That was the beauty of Midnight Ember—here, she was invisible.
Tat was behind the bar, as usual, his sharp eyes flicking over the room with the practised ease of a man who had seen too much to be fazed. He gave her a nod as she passed by, his eyes briefly assessing her, but not probing. There was a quiet understanding between them—she worked, she listened, and she stayed out of his business.
"Ready for your shift?" he asked, his gravelly voice carrying just above the noise.
"Yeah," Rina said, dropping onto a stool at the bar. She pulled her headphones off, letting the last echoes of music fade as the bar's low murmurs filled the space around her. It was a relief. In here, she didn't have to listen to the world.
A few patrons nearby were talking about Dabi again, their hushed voices carrying over the bar. "I heard he's making moves again," one of them said. "This time, he's targeting that pro-hero, Endeavor. Wouldn't be surprised if he pulls something major."
Rina's gaze flickered toward the conversation but quickly turned away. She wasn't interested in the League's business. Not tonight.
She was here to escape the world that felt too loud and too bright. For the first time in hours, she could breathe.
And for a moment, that was enough.
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