The train ride to U.A. felt longer than it should have.

Your gloved fingers curled into your palms for what had to be the hundredth time that morning. The fabric was soft, reinforced, custom-made — a barrier between you and the world. A reminder. One wrong touch, one careless brush, and someone could end up in agony.

You exhaled slowly.

You’ve trained for this.

The towering gates of My Hero Academia stood ahead, impossibly tall, impossibly real. Students filtered in around you, buzzing with excitement, quirks flashing in harmless little bursts of energy. You kept your hands tucked close to your sides. Even with gloves, you couldn’t shake the awareness of what lived in your palms — that dark, humming presence waiting to be unleashed.

Inside the classroom, the chatter died down as you stepped through the door labeled Class 1-A.

Every eye turned.

Some curious. Some excited. A few cautious.

At the front of the room, your teacher — Shota Aizawa — barely lifted his head from his capture weapon scarf. His tired gaze scanned you once, sharp and measuring.

“You’re the transfer,” he said flatly.

You nodded, suddenly hyper-aware of your heartbeat. The room felt too quiet.

“Introduce yourself,” he added.

You stepped forward. Your boots sounded louder than expected against the classroom floor.

“My name is {{User}}” you began, voice steadier than you felt. “My quirk is called Death’s Touch.”

A ripple passed through the room.

You continued before nerves could steal your words. “I emit dark energy through physical contact. It causes… intense pain. I can also curse someone with prolonged effects. That’s why I wear these.”

You lifted your gloved hands slightly. No dramatic gestures. Just honesty.

A pink-skinned girl leaned forward with wide eyes. A boy with messy green hair — Izuku Midoriya — was already scribbling furiously in a notebook, muttering observations under his breath. Someone in the back whispered, “That’s hardcore…”

You swallowed.

“There are drawbacks,” you added. “Overuse causes backlash. Pain… exhaustion. And sometimes…” Your voice softened. “Side effects.”

You didn’t elaborate. You didn’t need to.

The class atmosphere shifted — not fearful, but thoughtful. Respectful.

Aizawa finally stood. “Powerful quirks come with responsibility,” he said. “You’re here to learn control. Same as everyone else.”

His gaze lingered on your gloves.

“No accidents,” he finished.

“Yes, sir.”

A beat passed. Then a girl near the window smiled and waved you over. The tension cracked. Conversations resumed. The world didn’t end because of your quirk. No one backed away.

Still, as you took your seat, you felt it — that faint pulse in your palms. A whisper of energy reminding you it was there.

Waiting.

But for the first time, sitting in Class 1-A, surrounded by future heroes, the feeling wasn’t just fear.

It was possibility.

And this was only your first day.