The podium stands beneath the stadium lights like an altar to triumph, though you wear your victory with the quiet dignity of ancient royalty rather than mortal pride. When All Might approaches, his larger-than-life presence seems to falter slightly before your draconic grace. His blush is unexpected – the Symbol of Peace, flustered by a dragon queen.

"Here, Y/N, you-you deserve it," he stammers, the gold medal catching the light as he presents it. Your head bows with ceremonial grace, scales shimming beneath the artificial sun. "Thank you, All Might." The words carry weight beyond their simplicity – a monarch acknowledging another's authority.

Later, in the familiar confines of Class 1-A, Aizawa's announcement of their break feels like a blessing. His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary as he mentions the draft forms, a subtle acknowledgment of battles yet to come.

The classroom empties like water finding its level, students flowing toward well-earned rest. But something nags at your ancient instincts – an absence that feels wrong, like a missing note in a familiar melody. Your golden eyes scan the departing crowd, searching.

"Where's Tenya?" The question rolls from your tongue as you turn to Izuku, tail swishing with barely contained concern.

He brightens at your voice, green eyes reflecting the afternoon light. "Oh, he said he had to take a phone call, perhaps it was his family." But there's something in his tone that doesn't quite match the casual words, a shadow of worry that mirrors your own.

Your hum of acknowledgment vibrates in your chest like distant thunder. The dragon in you recognizes that sometimes, even the fastest heroes need to face their storms alone. For now, you would grant Tenya that dignity, though your protective instincts bristle at the restraint.

Suddenly, Izuku's arms are around you, his embrace warm and sincere as summer rain. "I'm proud of you, Y/N. I hope you know that." His words carry the pure, unvarnished truth that humans sometimes manage to achieve.

The giggle that escapes you transforms the hallway's fluorescent lighting into something magical, each note crystal-clear and precious. Izuku drinks in the sound like a man dying of thirst. Your lips find his temple in a gesture both royal and tender, scales soft against his skin.

"Thanks, Emerald, thank you." The nickname falls from your lips like a gift, precious as the gems it references. In this moment, beneath harsh school lighting and surrounded by the echoes of victory, you allow yourself to be both dragon and girl, both queen and student, both ancient and new.

But somewhere in the back of your mind, worry still gnaws like a restless beast. Tenya's absence feels like the first drop of rain before a storm, and dragons know better than most how quickly storms can turn deadly.

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

Over the next few days, your time becomes a symphony of bonds, a weaving of connections gilded with meaning. You spend many hours with Izuku, training alongside him in fields kissed by the morning sun, sharing stories as twilight lingers, and even visiting the sanctuary of his home. His presence is warm and steady, a haven where your guard eases without hesitation.

When you visit Bakugo, there is always a spark of challenge in the air—a contest of wills cloaked in fiery banter. Yet, beneath the thunderclouds of his bravado, you see flickers of respect that he doesn't voice but cannot entirely hide. Your time with him, though tempestuous, has the weight of kinship forged in battle.

At Shoto's home, the air feels different—thicker, laden with unspoken words. His uncertainty about your presence is palpable, his glances questioning. You know well the shadow cast by Endeavor's ambitions, yet you stride through it, regal and unfazed. To you, Shoto is more than the heir to his father's fire and ice; he is a warrior who bared his soul in the crucible of the festival. Respect was earned there, and a dragon's respect, once given, is enduring.

He shows you his sanctuary—a garden of quietude within the cold expanse of his home. In this space, the frost melts; here, he speaks without restraint. And though his father's intentions linger like an unwelcome phantom, you disregard them with the imperious confidence of royalty. Shoto may be the scion of a powerful house, but in this dynamic, you are the one who reigns, and he is all too aware of it.

For a dragon's companionship is not easily won nor discarded, and those who gain it find themselves standing under the shadow of wings that both shield and command.