The classroom is too bright. Too clean. Too... normal. Chairs squeak. Voices overlap. Someone’s talking about lunch. Someone else laughs too loudly. The windows are open. Birds chirp. Then you walk in. Footsteps stop. Heads turn. Conversations die. You take your assigned seat at the back. It’s not comfortable. None of this is. But you’re here. Rehabilitation. Supervised. Controlled. Watched. But… present. Midoriya doesn’t look away. Aizawa doesn’t blink. Bakugo just scowls. No one says a word. Yet.