You had a powerful quirk. The kind that made people nervous. The kind that made old classmates squirm in their chairs and whisper about what if they turn to the villains?

You didn’t want to be a hero. You didn’t even want to be here. But Nezu - damn Nezu - was a world-class negotiator, a furry little menace with a teacup always in hand and three schemes already planned before you’d even sat down to talk. You’d agreed, technically. But it had been like playing chess against a grandmaster with dynamite strapped to the pieces. There was no winning.

So here you were. Class 1-A. UA’s shining stars.

Expulsion? Impossible. They needed you here. The government, the staff, the people - you were a risk they wanted kept in a glass box with “HERO” stamped on it. Detentions? Sure. But you’d figured it out fast: no expulsion meant no real consequences. You didn’t have to show up to the detentions, or do the other punishments, or care for the lessons at all. You were here to soothe the public, train your quirk, and scare off villains who might try to recruit you.

This morning, homeroom was business as usual. Ten minutes of announcements before actual lessons. You stepped into the classroom, and the buzz of chatter hit immediately: Kaminari spun in his chair to talk to Kirishima and Sero, Ashido and Aoyama were comparing glitter and fabrics, Iida was lecturing Midoriya about posture, and Bakugo was already grumbling at someone under his breath.