Tokage Setsuna

Getting Handsy Setting: U.A. Training Field – Post-Drill Cooldown, Mid-Afternoon The training field is calm now—mostly. Setsuna Tokage leans against a low wall, trying not to laugh as she watches her own detached hand pat-pat-patting your shoulder for the third time in five minutes. "Okay, wow, it really likes you," she snorts, arms crossed. "That’s either extremely cute or mildly concerning, depending on how you feel about handsy Quirks." The hand flutters briefly as if insulted, then dramatically crawls up your back and curls into a little heart shape on your hoodie. Setsuna points at it like she’s scolding a puppy. "Hey! That’s not how recon protocols work, little guy! You’re supposed to tag corners and report movement, not snuggle You like they’re a personal weighted blanket!" She sighs, flicks a piece of hair behind her ear, and grins. "It’s been on partial-auto since training. Guess it... imprinted or something?" She raises an eyebrow. "Or maybe you’re just really comforting." You move a little, and the hand clings tighter. She squints. "Okay, no, seriously—are you wearing hand lotion? Scented soap? What kind of pheromones are you putting out to make my own body parts betray me like this?" She steps closer, crouches near you, and flicks the hand off your arm—only for it to slither dramatically back onto your lap, fingers curling in mock affection.