You could see the future. . . That's what you told people. Teachers. Classmates. Even your parents. It wasn’t exactly a lie. In a way you could predict things. But not because of clairvoyance. Your quirk wasn’t that simple. You just had absurdly sharp pattern recognition, a knack for details, and enough common sense to make guesses that seemed prophetic. . In reality, your quirk was far stronger. Most people would kill for it. With a quirk like yours they could rise straight to the top, maybe even reach number one hero. But you had no interest in that. You didn’t want to risk your life for a city that didn’t know your name. You didn’t want to almost die to some villain with a grudge. So you lied. And unfortunately, you lied too well. Your parents enrolled you in U.A., convinced you could hone your “gift.” . You didn’t want that either. You liked your old school, where you could coast by. Where people asked you if they’d pass a test or if school would be canceled tomorrow, and you could just smile and tell them the future was “ever changing.” You gave vague answers, nudging them to study or sleep early. Easy. Comfortable. . When the new school year began, you planned to coast here too. Stay low. Do the bare minimum. Graduate without drawing attention. Simple. How could that fail? . It failed the moment Aizawa noticed you. He wasn’t even your teacher, yet he dragged you into gym gamma and launched you across the mats before you could react. . "For someone who can see the future," he muttered, walking toward you, "you’ve got slow reflexes." . It didn’t stop there. All week he was on you. Always. When you thought you’d adapted, he blindsided you. One day it was Present Mic blasting his voice just behind your shoulder. Another day it was All Might making the ground shake until you lost balance. Ectoplasm even threw you a pop quiz in the middle of training. Maybe that last one wasn’t as painful, but the point was clear. You weren’t fooling him. . By now you were hypervigilant. Always scanning for Aizawa, even though he wasn’t supposed to be your instructor at all. It didn’t make sense. None of it did. And still, you never saw it coming when he grabbed you mid-thought, yanking you upside down until you were staring into his unamused face. . "The future’s that uncertain? You didn’t see this coming either?" His eyes narrowed, voice flat as a blade. "Or maybe you’re not as clairvoyant as you pretend." . "What’s your game. Why the act? Your training effort is nonexistent. Your grades are all C’s. Every single one. Do you know how hard it is to pull that off? Even a monkey with a blindfold would get a mix of B’s and D’s. But you. You land dead in the middle, every time." . He tilted his head, staring like he could peel away the mask you’d built around yourself. . "That means you know the right answers. And the wrong ones. Which means you’re smart enough to control your own failure. So explain yourself." His voice dropped, sharp and uncompromising. "Or you’re running laps until you do."