The next Monday, Khan noticed it the moment he stepped onto campus. Security was tighter. He passed the front gate without slowing, nodded at a guard saying goodmorning with his name and took the long path toward admin.
Utility Services Junction. That was best he could. Hope Nemuri caught what he wanted to say. If not, he was good with the rewards too.
Inside, the staff wing smelled of coffee and printer toner. Same as always. A few teachers were already there, faces tired. Someone mentioned a schedule shuffle. Someone else complained about equipment access. Khan smiled, murmured agreement, and slid into his office.
He shut the door and sat.
A knock hit the door.
"Khan-sensei?"
He turned. "Come in."
Uraraka stepped inside, bag slung over one shoulder. She looked better. More color. Less limp. Progress worked wonders when it was fed.
"Morning," she said. "I got the notification about the extra meal credits. I didn't ask for more, but---"
"I pushed it," Khan said. "Training weeks burn people out. You'll use it."
She hesitated. "Thank you."
He waved it off. "You eat yet?"
"Yeah," she replied. "Actual breakfast. Eggs and rice. And fruit."
"Good." He pointed at her leg. "How's that holding up?"
She shifted her weight. "Still sore. Not bad."
He smiled. "Let me take a look. I took medical classes in university."
Didn't need to lie about that. He had taken a few classes. Uraraka nodded and walked toward the nearest chair, dragging her bag off her shoulder as she sat. She looked down while she did it, still embarrassed to ask for help even after limping into his office two days in a row.
Khan crouched in front of her. He made sure his gaze stayed locked on her ankle. Not her legs. Not the skirt riding just a little too high when she shifted. Somewhere under that schoolgirl uniform was a pair of plain, sweat-soaked panties. Stiff elastic, fabric clinging too tight, riding up with every step she tried not to limp. She'd rushed here. Probably didn't change after training. Probably hadn't even looked in the mirror.
"Can I pull your sock down?" he asked, still not looking up.
"Mm." She nodded as she made a small sound. Embarrassed approval.
He reached for her ankle, fingers brushing skin. Her leg twitched.
The sock dragged down. It caught a little near the heel, and she winced.
He ran a thumb across the joint, checking the tension. Swollen, yeah. But the color was fading. Less purple. More yellow-green bruising. Tissues were doing their job.
"No inflammation," he said, pressing lightly into the tendon. "Seems like tissue's recovering just fine."
Uraraka nodded. Said nothing. Her hands were folded in her lap, fingers curled into the edge of her skirt. She still wasn't looking at him.
"You didn't re-sprain it during combat drills?"
"No," she said quickly. "No, I was careful. It just... keeps hurting."
"You're still favoring it when you walk. That's slowing down the healing."
"I know." She looked down at her lap. "It's just... hard."
"Walking's not mandatory," Khan said. "Not when you're breaking every time you move."
Uraraka bit the inside of her cheek. He could see it, little twitch at the edge of her jaw. Shame creeping in.
"I didn't want to skip class."
He let out a sigh, disappointed. She flinched.
"That won't do."
He stood. Crossed the room, opened the desk drawer, and pulled out an envelope. It wasn't thick, but it was folded clean.
He came back and dropped it on the table.
"Here. This should cover your train rides. School to home, home to school. Whole month, round trips. No limping across town on a busted leg to save yen."
Uraraka blinked. Then froze.
Before she could spit out the script she thought she had to say, he went right back to the drawer.
Pulled a few more bills, slipped them into the envelope, and dropped it on top.
"For weekends," he added. "You're young. You're beautiful. You deserve to go out."
She didn't breathe.
"N-No," she stammered, hands already halfway to her lap as if she was trying to physically push the offer away. "I can't accept that. You already, I mean... you already helped me a lot."
He chuckled. "Don't worry about it."
She was still frozen.
"You're our future," he said. "Work hard, right?"
Her face flushed so fast. Her eyes glassed up, her throat bobbed, and her shoulders hitched like her body couldn't decide if she was supposed to say thank you, burst into tears, or both.
"I... I will," she said. It came out too quiet. She tried again, stronger. "I will."
Khan nodded, like it was already settled.
She didn't move to take the envelope right away. Her hands hovered, awkward and unsure, then slowly reached for it, expecting it to shock her. When her fingers brushed the paper, she paused. Then finally, she pulled it into her lap and held it tightly. She sat there, cheeks red, mouth twitching.
Khan sat again.
"You'll heal faster now," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Good food, no walking three miles on bone bruises, no skipping breakfast."
She nodded. Still holding the envelope with both hands.
"You've got a full week of combat drills," he said. "Last thing I need is you passing out on the field because your body's running on fumes and stubbornness."
She tried to laugh. It didn't come out right. Cracked halfway through.
"Thanks," she muttered.
"Don't thank me yet. I'm gonna check that leg again in two days. If you're still limping, I'll lecture."
That made her smile a little.
Then she finally stood. "I'll make it count," she said. "I promise."
Khan gave her a look that said he trusted her.
She turned to leave. The envelope was still clutched in both hands, pressed flat to her chest. She paused at the door and looked back.
"I mean it," she said. "Really. You're the only one who... I mean. Thank you."
He nodded.
"You're welcome, Ochako."
She left.
Door clicked shut behind her.
Khan waited five seconds.
The System chimed in.
[Target: Ochako Uraraka
Dependency Sync: 56%
Trust Path: Engaged]
He leaned back, fingers tapping against the armrest.
She was soft. Soft girls didn't fight back when the world kicked them. They just broke slower. Quietly. Bit by bit, until someone reached in and told them it was okay to collapse. Someone like him.
Khan closed the file on his desk and opened the next one.
Uraraka would go home that night and look at the envelope until she fell asleep. She wouldn't spend a yen. She'd second guess it. Try to give it back. Try to tell herself she didn't need help.
But the groceries would run out. The bruise would keep aching. And next week, when her socks tore or her uniform collar frayed or someone joked about her worn-down shoes, she'd reach for it.
And every time she spent it?
She'd think of him.
That debt would feel personal, not financial.
Which was the goal.