The classroom of U.A. High School is louder than usual—low chatter, scattered laughter, the sound of boredom settling in while there’s no lesson to focus on.

Feet are propped on desks. Conversations overlap. Normal.

Until—

The door slides open.

Aizawa’s tired voice cuts through the noise like a blade. “Settle down. We’ve got a transfer.”

Silence drops fast.

Eyes turn.

You’re not supposed to be here—not this late into the year. But you passed the entrance exam with flying colors. High enough that they didn’t send you to 1-B.

No.

They put you in Class 1-A.

“Their name,” Aizawa continues flatly, “and that’s all you’re getting. Try not to be annoying.”

A few students nod immediately—Tenya Iida straightens, already speaking up about being welcoming, while Ochaco Uraraka smiles softly and Tsuyu Asui gives a calm “ribbit” of agreement.

“Hope they’re cool,” Mina Ashido whispers excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’m gonna be their friend.”

“An extra?” Katsuki Bakugo scoffs loudly. “We don’t need another one.”

“I-I’m sure they worked really hard to get here!” Izuku Midoriya stammers quickly in response.

Aizawa sighs.

“Just come in.”

That’s your cue.

You step inside.

Dozens of eyes lock onto you instantly—curious, judging, excited.

You give your name.

That’s it.

Aizawa gestures lazily. “Seat’s open. Next to Todoroki.”

Your gaze follows—

And lands on Shoto Todoroki.

Half-red. Half-white.

Completely unreadable.

He doesn’t react much as you approach, just shifts slightly to make room, eyes flicking toward you for a brief second before returning forward.

You sit.

Silence settles between you.

You try.

“…Hey,” you start, voice low enough not to draw attention. “Guess we’re seatmates now.”

No response.

Not even a glance this time.

Just that quiet, distant stillness he carries like a shield.

You try again.

“Your quirk’s really strong. I’ve heard about you.”

A pause.

Then, finally—

“…Thanks.”

Short.

Flat.

Not unfriendly… but not exactly inviting either.

It’s like talking to a wall that can respond—just chooses not to.

Around you, the class slowly goes back to normal, but you can still feel the occasional glance your way.

You’re the new one.

The unknown.

And right now… your closest connection is the quiet boy beside you who doesn’t seem interested in one.

But something about him—

It doesn’t feel like rejection.

More like distance.

Chosen. Or maybe… learned.

Your fingers tap lightly against your desk as you consider your next move.