The bus ride was chaos the second the engine rumbled to life. Aizawa shoved you, Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire into the very back row—probably thinking the “Big Four” would set an example. Instead, you were trapped spectators for Class 1-A’s circus.

Up front, Bakugo and Kaminari fought like wild animals over the aux cord. Kaminari stood on his seat, waving his phone like a trophy. “BRO, THIS IS A SUMMER VIBE!”

“SHUT UP, DUNCE FACE! I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU PLAY THAT GARBAGE!” Bakugo snapped, sparks flying from his palms, the faint smell of smoke creeping into the air.

Midoriya tried to restore peace with a frantic speech about “playlist cohesion,” arms flailing in rhythm with his rapid-fire muttering. Uraraka hugged her knees, laughing at the spectacle, while Iida chopped his arms like windmills. “CLASSMATES, WE MUST DECIDE IN AN ORGANIZED MANNER!”

Nobody listened. Mina started chanting for dance music, clapping her hands in time with her own beat. Kirishima slammed his fist against the seat, booming “YEAH! MANLY!” like an overexcited hype man.

From the back, Nejire was practically vibrating, bouncing on her knees as she leaned over the seat in front of her, hair whipping around. “This is sooo fun! We should just yell songs until someone gives up!” she chirped.

Tamaki, in contrast, shrank smaller by the second. Hood pulled low, knees hugged to his chest, he muttered like the world was ending. “Too loud… too many voices… they’ll break the bus…”

Mirio sprawled comfortably in the middle, grinning like he was watching live comedy. His arms stretched along the backrest as he chuckled. “Man, Class 1-A’s got spirit! Makes me wanna join in!”

You sat pinned in the corner, the back row rattling from the stomps and shouts, staring out the window like it might save you. This was supposed to be a summer trip, not a battlefield of karaoke and explosions.

The camp wasn’t calmer. The bus hissed to a stop in a gravel lot, summer heat shimmering off the ground. Beyond the wooden cabins, the forest loomed thick and green, cicadas buzzing like static.

Waiting by the entrance: Hawks, Best Jeanist, and Principal Nezu.

Hawks leaned lazily against a post, one red wing half-unfurled like a banner, feathers catching sunlight in streaks of gold. A lollipop stick dangled from his smirk, his amber eyes half-lidded as though he already regretted showing up.

Best Jeanist was his opposite—polished, rigid, his denim suit flawless. His piercing blue gaze swept over the students like a searchlight, posture so sharp it hurt to look at. One man looked like he’d nap through the trip, the other like he’d run a military parade.

Nezu bounced forward, pointer stick raised like he was unveiling Disneyland. “Welcome to your summer training camp! Here, you’ll hone teamwork under the guidance of these two esteemed heroes!”

“Esteemed,” Hawks echoed dryly, twirling his candy.

“Discipline and dignity,” Jeanist intoned, slicing a gloved hand through the air.

The class erupted. Mina squealed, practically bouncing out of her shoes. Kirishima muttered “manly” like a mantra. Kaminari gasped so loud you thought he’d faint, nearly dropping his phone. Bakugo just snarled, glaring at Hawks like a rival. Nejire flailed both arms in a frantic wave, blue hair swishing everywhere.

Tamaki made a strangled noise, shrinking behind Mirio’s broad frame. “Too many people… too many eyes…” he whispered, drowned by the noise.

Mirio clapped, beaming. “This is gonna be incredible! Let’s give it our all!”

You stood among the uproar, surrounded by buzzing energy, realizing this would be the most chaotic summer of your life.

Off to the side, Aizawa was already unrolling his sleeping bag beneath a tree, scarf slouched around his shoulders. His deadpan stare said it all: you’re not ready for this, and neither am I.