Beneath the high ceiling, dozens of chandeliers spilled light like falling snow. The air trembled with the mingled sounds of clinking glasses, laughter, and the flutter of camera shutters. On every table lay flowers, champagne, and neatly folded invitations.

  Across a giant screen, highlights from the earlier ceremony played on endless repeat.

  “Look, that part—doesn’t it feel like a movie?” Mirio’s voice cut through the chatter—bright and excited.

  “Yeah… that kick’s angle still doesn’t seem real.” Tamaki turned his glass slowly in his hands.

  “They say Mirko’s arriving soon.” Kendo set her drink down, scanning the room.

  “I can’t wait to see her!” Pony nearly bounced from her seat—she was anticipation itself.

  Komori, tracing the frosting on a cake topper with a finger, murmured to herself, “A mushroom-shaped cake… that’s adorable, shroom.”

  In one corner, Best Jeanist, Mount Lady, and Wash greeted the reporters. Jeanist adjusted his tie with practiced precision, Mount raised her glass and struck a pose, and Wash sent up a spray of bubbles in place of words.

  The cheers from the ceremony still lingered faintly in their ears. And the one who had earned them was about to walk through the door. The champagne glasses met with a clear, crystalline chime.

  Then, through the weave of colored light, a flash of golden hair swept into view.

  “Ojiro, Shoji! It’s been forever since the Lurkers days!” Mount Lady waved brightly, her voice carrying warmth and confidence alike. “Oh, and—” her gaze flicked sideways. “Phantom Thief! You’re on a roll lately, huh? No. 10 on the hero charts already? At this rate, you’ll steal my spot next!”

  Monoma set his glass down with theatrical timing.

  “Haha, that’s not all! My exploits are literally in textbooks now. During the final battle against All For One, I copied Warp to deploy heroes across the field, and at the U.A. Fortress, I maintained continuous Erasure on Shigaraki alongside Aizawa—an act of true heroism, I’m sure you’ve all heard of it!”

  His words poured out like water breaking through a dam, his hands slicing the air. Tokage shrugged. “See? Compliment him once and he’s off again.”

  Mount Lady laughed aloud. “Hahaha, you’re all the same as ever. On a night like this, a little noise just makes it better.”

  While Monoma’s boasting filled the air, Kendo didn’t raise her hand to stop him. She simply set her glass down and smiled quietly—a smile touched with mischief and a faint warmth, as though the scene before her was both familiar and dearly missed.

  Kendo met his eyes, her tone playful but steady. “Monoma, I saw you differently today.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “At the end of the ceremony—when Mirko leapt into the air… you cried.”

  “W–What!?” Monoma froze, his expression caught mid-panic. “I didn’t cry!”

  Pony shot her hand up. “Monoma, your eyes were red during the Edge Shot tribute! Tears, Monoma! Absolutely tears!!”

  “T-That was dust! Dust got in my eyes!” Monoma waved his hands wildly, his face growing redder by the second.

  Laughter rippled around the table. Tokage doubled over, clutching her stomach, while Komori laughed through her own words, “I’m tearing up… shrooms…”

  Kendo chuckled softly and patted his shoulder. “It’s okay. You had every reason to.”

  Monoma turned away, raising his glass. His face was still bright crimson—but a faint, breath-like smile brushed the corner of his lips.

  The laughter around the table slowly faded as Mount Lady’s smile stiffened. The wine in her glass trembled ever so slightly.

  “…The final battle at U.A. Fortress,” she murmured. “Not just Monoma—Aizawa, Jeanist…” She paused for a breath. “Nejire, Tamaki, Mirio… even Deku and Bakugo—and at the end, Edge Shot and Mirko. They all went through hell.”

  The room grew quiet. Beneath the chandeliers, the sound of laughter was replaced by the weight of breathing.

  Monoma hesitated, then spoke softly. “Especially Mirko. She kept fighting, swapping out prosthetics as they broke—over and over. In the process, she lost her right arm all over again. And Edge Shot… he turned his body into thread to restore Bakugo’s heart.”

  Kendo nodded. “He’s been in recovery treatment ever since—eight long years. It feels like a lifetime.”

  Mount Lady stared into her glass for a long moment before speaking again, her voice low. “The plan was to hold their return ceremony together… but fate had other plans.”

  Ojiro added gently, “But he’ll be back before the year’s over. I’m sure of it.”

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  Kendo slowly lifted her glass, tilting it toward the light. The chandelier’s glow fractured inside the wine like shards of memory. The chandeliers still blazed overhead—but the light felt colder now, detached from the warmth it once held.

  Mount Lady set her glass down. “The Jakku Hospital ruins went as smoothly as we could’ve hoped. Thanks to Shinso, we managed to subdue Gigantomachia. If it hadn’t been for him, we’d all have been finished.”

  Kendo rolled her glass gently, nodding. “I was stationed at the evacuation shelter, protecting civilians. The villains broke through, but Tetsutetsu and I held them off without any casualties.” Her eyes drifted, unfocused. “But… at U.A. Fortress—”

  The words caught in her throat. Momo stepped in softly.

  “Even so, we kept fighting till the end. Everyone came together for that last battle… and in the end, Deku stopped All For One.”

  Mount Lady lifted her glass again. Her lips trembled faintly. “I wasn’t there for it. All For One took me out early. When I woke, the sky was quiet, and it was already over.”

  The banquet hall fell quiet. In someone’s glass, the chandelier’s reflection rippled in silence.

  Kendo spoke again, her voice steady. “But we won. …That’s what matters. The fact that their sacrifice wasn’t in vain—we’re proving it right here, right now.”

  Mount Lady let out a slow breath. “Yeah… you’re right. That’s everything.”

  A faint smile passed over her face—less bitter than before, closer to something like pride long kept alive.

  Then, slow footsteps echoed from the banquet hall entrance. Two familiar silhouettes emerged through the light.

  Best Jeanist and Aizawa.

  Jeanist adjusted his tie with careful precision, a calm smile on his face. “Mirko and Edge Shot… I’ll always be grateful to them both.” His voice was gentle, yet carried weight. “Compared to what they endured, I was merely spared. Fortune, not merit.”

  Beside him, Aizawa quietly raised his glass. The single visible eye between his dark hair caught the chandelier’s light and gleamed faintly.

  For a moment, silence.

  Ojiro spoke carefully. “Please don’t say that, sir. You lost a lung back in Kamino.”

  Jeanist shook his head slowly. “That was just my share to bear.” His smile stayed composed, though a trace of exhaustion passed behind it.

  Aizawa lifted his glass higher. “We’re all here. Alive. That’s enough.”

  The laughter faded, replaced by a quiet current of respect. Shoji set down his drink. “Still, it’s good to see you both fully recovered.”

  Aizawa tilted his glass, the light stretching his shadow long across the floor. “We’re not quite at the stage where I can let my guard down.” He set his glass down. For a moment, that soft sound was the only one that moved the air.

  “I can’t share details,” he said quietly, his lone eye glinting under the light, “but there are… lingering effects from Mirko’s treatment.”

  The air turned cold. Mount Lady asked carefully, “What kind of treatment are we talking about…?”

  Jeanist answered at once. “Classified.”

  The word cut through the air like a blade.

  No one spoke further. Mount Lady lowered her gaze, sensing a wall she shouldn’t climb. Only the light on the glasses quivered softly—as if the light itself were the only one that knew the truth among them.

  City lights streamed past the car windows, ribbons of neon sliding over glass. The low hum of the engine pulsed through the floor—steady, weighty, almost calm.

  In the back seat sat Hawks and Mirko, side by side. Dressed sharply in a black suit, Hawks tilted a wine bottle with an easy smile.

  “Special night calls for a special setup. Top-shelf wine… and the rarest carrots ever cultivated.” He nudged a small plate toward her beside the glass tray. “Go on, try one. The aroma’s different.”

  Mirko chuckled, picking up her fork. Thin slices of carrot glimmered in soft orange under the cabin light. She took a bite. A quiet crunch—then sweetness blooming across her tongue, earthy and clean, chased by a faint trace of green.

  “Not bad,” she said, raising a brow. “Good texture, too.”

  Hawks laughed as he lifted his glass. “Knew it. Specially grown for the Rabbit Hero herself.”

  Mirko set the fork down and let her eyes wander for a moment before smiling. “Reminds me of that ad shoot—chewing carrots all day long. But this… this actually tastes new.”

  Hawks shrugged lightly. “Guess your taste’s gotten more refined.”

  She laughed quietly, turning to the window. “No, not refined. Just… too vivid.

  City lights rippled across her reflection, layering over her face like passing waves. Hawks asked, “You nervous?”

  Mirko smiled. “Not really. Just… that moment before a run—steadying your breath.”

  “Good. It’s your stage tonight.”

  She didn’t answer, only laughed softly. Neon streaks flowed through her white hair, the tips of her rabbit ears catching the light like a slow, silver flame.

  “By the way,” Hawks said, glancing at her, “at the end of the ceremony—you touched your temple. You okay?”

  Mirko turned her head slightly. “That? Probably just a headache. Nothing to worry about.”

  Hawks’ fingers brushed the rim of his glass, watching her. “If you’re not feeling well, you don’t have to do this. I can cover for you.”

  Mirko rolled her shoulders, uncrossing her arms. “I’m fine. Happens sometimes.” Her gaze steadied, bright and unflinching. “Besides—what kind of guest of honor skips her own party?”

  She laughed—loud and alive, like the sound itself was shaking off dust.

  Hawks smiled faintly, nodding once. “…Yeah. That’s you.”

  The limousine picked up speed again. The Hero Public Safety Commission’s emblem came into view—a cold, white glow cutting through the color of the city, filling the car with a clean, unfeeling light.

  At the center table, Nejire, Tamaki, and Mirio stood side by side. The ‘Big Three,’ survivors of the U.A. Fortress battle. Talk of the return ceremony came up naturally between them.

  Mirio glanced down at his glass before speaking. “Because Mirko-senpai held the line, we were able to fight until the very end. Edge Shot saved Bakugo, Aizawa-sensei bound Shigaraki’s Quirk… and at the heart of it all—was Mirko.”

  Tamaki lowered his head. The rim of his glass caught the pale light, a thin gleam trembling with his voice. “That word—‘hero’—it doesn’t even begin to cover her.”

  Nejire’s eyes fell on the champagne glass before her. The faint pop of rising bubbles echoed in her chest. “We all owe our lives to her. She burned everything she had to keep fighting. But…”

  Her voice trembled at the edge.

  “Nejire.” Tamaki’s quiet voice broke the moment.

  Mirio set his glass down, smiling gently. “She’s back now—as the Rabbit Hero. So let’s greet her with smiles this time.”

  A spark of light returned to Nejire’s eyes. “Yeah… you’re right.”

  She opened her mouth to say more—but then the lights began to shift, slowly tracing toward the entrance. The chatter softened, fading into stillness, and every gaze turned to the door.

  It opened.

  The sharp sound of footsteps echoed first, followed by light spilling down the hallway like water.

  A pair of white rabbit ears swayed quietly in its glow. Below them, a fluffy white tail bobbed with each confident step. The metal fittings of her combat suit gleamed silver under the chandelier. Her arms and legs—honed and unyielding.

  And that smile.

  She stood there, whole again—Rabbit Hero, Mirko.