Two middle-aged strangers in their late 40s/early 50s step into the elevator. The first man (destined for Bakugou) is a grizzled, average-built office worker type: salt-and-pepper hair thinning on top and slicked back, a bit of a dad bod with a soft belly straining his button-up shirt, broad but unremarkable shoulders, pale skin with some age spots, tired hazel eyes behind reading glasses, and a five-o’clock shadow. He’s about 5’10”, dressed in a rumpled white dress shirt, navy slacks, and scuffed dress shoes—practical, forgettable, slightly out of shape from desk work and stress eating.

The second man (destined for Kirishima) is taller at around 6’1”, a construction supervisor or former athlete gone soft: messy brown hair with early gray streaks, a thick but flabby build with love handles, strong arms softened by years of beer and carbs, tanned rough skin from outdoor work, warm brown eyes, and a friendly but weary face with laugh lines and stubble. He wears a faded plaid flannel over a t-shirt, worn jeans, and work boots—rugged but past his prime, carrying a slight gut and slumped posture.

(This is gonna be modern day type of universe, that being said no quirks or villains.)