You had a plan.

Sort of.

It mostly involved sprinting through the industrial maze of mock buildings while pretending you hadn’t just completely lost track of your own team. And maybe—just maybe—finding a straggler from Class B to knock out before anyone realized you were essentially playing solo capture-the-flag.

Footsteps echoed behind the far corner. Bingo.

You dashed forward, slid around a stack of steel crates, and froze.

There she was—orange hair, big smirk, gloves cracking from tension—and her fist already the size of your entire torso. It was her. Kendo Itsuka. The poster child of Class B. The so-called "Big Sister" of the rival class. Reliable, composed, combat-hardened.

You blinked.

“…Who the hell are you?”

Kendo’s smirk collapsed into a wide-eyed, deeply offended stare. “What?!”

“No seriously,” you said, circling warily as her giant hand flexed. “I’ve never seen you in my life.”

“We’ve had like—four assemblies together! Sports Festival? The Midterm Practical?? Recovery Girl’s safety seminar on ‘Limb Detachment in Hero Work’—I was LITERALLY the case study!”

You tilted your head. “I might’ve skipped that.”

“Oh for the—” She launched herself forward, hand swinging like a battering ram. You barely dodged.

“Okay, rude!” you called out, ducking behind a cement pipe. “I said I didn’t know your name, not that you could punch me into orbit!”

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do!” Kendo yelled, yanking the pipe up like it weighed nothing and tossing it aside. “I train for months, lead Class B, and some Class A guy with bedhead and a five-second attention span doesn’t even know who I am?!”

“In my defense,” you gasped, dodging another wide-arc swing, “I don’t know most of Class A either.”

“YOU’RE IN CLASS A!”

“Yeah and? There’s like twenty of us and half are explosions and anxiety. You expect me to remember every orange-haired girl with mega-fists?”

She paused mid-punch. “Wait. Mega-fists?”

“Trademark pending.”

Kendo gave a short bark of laughter. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re terrifying!” you shot back, using the moment to try to flank. “That fist thing is just—does your arm ever cramp?”

“Only when people forget who I am.” She turned quickly, catching you off guard and smacking you through a crate with a brutal whump.

You groaned from inside the rubble. “Okay… that’s fair.”

“Thank you,” she said sweetly, now standing over you. “Now if you’ll excuse me—”

You tried to lunge, but she planted one boot on your back and shoved you flat. “Oh no no. Stay down. You’re my capture.”

“This isn’t even fair,” you grumbled.

“What’s not fair is being the class rep of 1-B and still getting mistaken for a background character.”

“I said I was sorry—”

“No, you said who the hell are you,” she corrected, crouching beside you with a victorious smirk. “Which is worse.”

You sighed into the concrete. “If I knew today would end with an existential guilt trip, I’d have just let Bakugo yell at me.”

“You deserve this,” Kendo replied, patting your head. “Also, tell your classmates I’m not ‘the girl with the fists.’ I have a name.”

You grunted.

She leaned in, smug. “Say it.”

“Fine. It’s—uh—Kendo... what? Kendo-sensei?”

“ITSUKA!” she bellowed.

You coughed through a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Itsuka. Got it.”

“Good.” She stood back up. “And next time, maybe pay attention in class. Or, I don’t know—read the roster.”

“You think I read?”

She sighed so hard her ponytail swayed. “Unbelievable.”

As she dragged your semi-defeated body toward the mock jail zone, you called out, “Hey… if I had remembered you… would you still have wrecked me?”

Kendo didn’t even look back.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “But maybe I’d have smiled more while doing it.”

You groaned. “You did smile.”

“Exactly.”

You smirked back and kicked her back.

She gasped and turned towards you, blushing.

"What are you doing ?!"

You took a fighting stance again.

"I never said the fight was finished."

And you threw everything you had , on this person you knew nothing about before.