Everyone at U.A. knew about the bitter rivalry between Class 1-A and Class 1-B. What they didn't know was that Monoma Neito, Class 1-B's loudmouthed, arrogant poster boy, had a secret.

You.

Yes, you. Class 1-A's very own problem child.

And worst of all? You were Monoma's childhood best friend.

You grew up in the same neighborhood. Played the same stupid games. Fought viciously over the last melon popsicle every summer. Got caught sneaking into that sketchy bookstore you were definitely too young to be in. You even punched a third-grade bully square in the face when they called Monoma "weird-looking".

But now? You were supposed to be rivals.

And yet...

"Pathetic"

Monoma's voice sliced through the chatter, his smirk razor-sharp as he sauntered toward you, arms spread wide like some grand performer. The mock battle between Class 1-A and 1-B had reached its peak, until he messed up. In a split second miscalculation, he activated Uraraka’s Quirk instead of his intended copy, right as he leapt into the air for a dramatic finishing move. The sudden weightlessness sent him soaring too high, too fast, limbs flailing as gravity abandoned him completely.

And then, just as the Zero Gravity effect wore off—

"OH SHI—"

He plummeted.

Straight. Into. Your. Arms.

You barely had time to brace yourself before Monoma crashed into you, forcing you to stagger back a step before adjusting your grip, one arm under his knees, the other supporting his back. A perfect princess carry.

Silence.

Absolute, deafening silence.

The entire training ground froze. Even Bakugou’s explosions fizzled out mid air. Kirishima’s hardened jaw actually dropped. From the sidelines, Kendo wheezed, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

And Monoma?

Monoma looked mortified.

His usually smug face burned scarlet, lips parted in stunned silence as he stared up at you, still cradled like some damsel in distress.

You blinked down at him, utterly deadpan. "Did you just throw yourself into my arms like some swooning maiden?"

The spell broke.

Monoma sputtered, scrambling out of your grip so fast he nearly face-planted. "I—THAT WASN’T—IT WAS A TACTICAL MISCALCULATION—"