On a chilly Tuesday morning, you—Mirio, Nejire, and Tamaki—found yourselves in the cavernous teacher’s meeting room at U.A. High. The space smelled faintly of chalk dust and strong coffee, the kind of scent that clung to late-night grading sessions and high-stakes planning. Rows of heavy chairs scraped against the floor as faculty members shuffled in, voices overlapping in a low rumble that felt like the calm before a storm.

Present Mic was already bouncing in his seat, sunglasses flashing as he spun his chair like a teenager waiting for lunch. “YOOOOO, THIS IS GONNA BE EPIC!” he practically howled, earning a sharp, exhausted glare from Aizawa, who was curled in his scarf like a cat forced out of bed too early.

“All Might!” Nezu chirped, gesturing with his tiny paws, “Could you close the blinds? I’d like the spotlight just so!” All Might, still awkwardly tall for any normal task, wrestled with the cord like it was some great villain, muttering an embarrassed, “Ahaha! My apologies!” when the blinds clattered down too fast.

You, standing with the Big Three at the center of it all, felt the air shift as Nezu’s beady eyes locked on the four of you. Excitement practically radiated from him, a conductor about to unleash an orchestra.

“My brightest stars,” he began, his voice both chipper and ominous, “we’ve designed a little… experiment. A way to test adaptability, strategy, and teamwork. You’ll spar against Class 1-A. All twenty of them.”

A silence hit the room like a dropped pin—then chaos exploded.

“TWENTY?!” Tamaki’s voice cracked in horror as his face went paper-white. He clutched at his sleeve like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “T-t-twenty is… that’s… no, no, no, they’ll swarm us like… like seagulls! And I’ll just—just—” He made vague, flapping motions with his arms, looking one bad breath away from passing out.

Meanwhile, Mirio practically shot through the ceiling, fists pumping. “YEAHHH! ALL TWENTY! BRING IT ON!” His booming laugh echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls with enough force to make Aizawa visibly wince. “I’ve always wanted to try a battle royale! Don’t you think, Nejire?”

Nejire spun into him like a whirlwind, her hair floating in soft blue waves as she high-fived him so hard the smack stung your ears. “Oooohhh, this is so much fun! Imagine all the quirks flying around! BAM! WHOOSH! ZAP! I call dibs on racing Kaminari—he’s basically a lightning bolt, right?!”

Present Mic shot to his feet again, fists pumping like a hype man. “YEAHHH! LIGHTNING VS LIGHTNING, THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, rolling your eyes so hard it almost hurt. Of course. Of course Nejire and Mirio were treating this like a game show while Tamaki looked ready to fake his own death just to escape.

Can we not, you muttered though in you head, glancing at Nezu, who looked positively delighted at the chaos erupting under his watch. The teachers weren’t helping either—Midnight was already placing bets with Vlad King in the corner, and Snipe was muttering something about “odds” under his hat.

“Focus,” Aizawa finally snapped, rubbing his temples like he was holding back the urge to erase everyone’s quirks just for some peace. His tired eyes narrowed at the four of you. “This isn’t a carnival. Twenty students, all unpredictable. Don’t underestimate them just because you’re stronger. They’ll find cracks in your teamwork and exploit them.”

Tamaki whimpered, sinking into his chair. Mirio just flexed. Nejire waved cheerfully like she was already imagining the fireworks. And you—well, you just stood there, feeling the weight of expectation pressing heavy on your chest while the room spun into barely-controlled pandemonium around you.