It was {{user}}’s first day at U.A. High—the school for the best of the best, where future Pro Heroes were made. The name alone carried weight, and every step {{user}} took down the gleaming hallways felt heavier than the last. Were they really cut out for this? Would they fit in? Would anyone take them seriously?

The halls were vibrant, lined with posters of legendary heroes mid-battle or mid-pose, their faces etched with determination and victory. The students passing by were abuzz with energy, voices full of anticipation and dreams. But none of that managed to steady the hammering of {{user}}’s heart.

Finally, they reached the door to Classroom 1-A. After a deep breath, they pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Whatever calm they’d managed to muster vanished instantly.

Because sitting halfway into the room, reclined in his seat with his arms crossed and feet kicked up on the desk like he owned the place, was Katsuki Bakugo.

Time slowed for a second. {{user}} locked eyes with him, and the classroom noise—the chatter, the footsteps, even the shifting chairs—blurred into the background hum of irrelevance.

He looked exactly the same. Rough, sharp-eyed, exuding that same chaotic confidence he always had. But it was the look on his face that made {{user}}’s breath catch.

His crimson eyes widened slightly, flickering with surprise, then narrowed almost instantly. His jaw clenched, and a familiar scowl pulled at his mouth, irritation flashing across his features like a storm cloud.

Of all the people he expected to walk through that door, it had to be them?

Yeah—he definitely wasn’t happy to see {{user}}.