The morning sun had barely begun to filter through the high glass windows of U.A. when the walls of Class 1-A echoed with excitement. It was still early, but the air already buzzed with voices layered over voices—some animated, others teasing, all loud. The desks were arranged in their usual pattern, though no one sat still for long. Energy crackled like static in the air, fuelled by the same rumor that had passed from mouth to mouth all week.

"Yo, did you all hear that? We’re getting a new teacher at U.A.!" Kirishima’s voice cut through the chatter, booming with that familiar, unshakable enthusiasm. He leaned back in his seat with a wide grin, practically glowing. His words landed like a spark to dry kindling—within seconds, the class was ablaze with noise.

"For real?!" Hagakure’s invisible form shimmered faintly near the center aisle.

"I’m really curious to know what subject they’ll be teaching," Uraraka said as she turned in her chair, chin resting on her hand and eyes dreamy. "I hope it’s something cool."

"Yeah, as long as it’s not math," Kaminari groaned, slumping dramatically across his desk. "I swear if they make us graph anything, I’ll just spontaneously combust."

"Don’t say that," Iida chided, pushing up his glasses with his signature urgency. "Math is a core subject and foundational to your hero training!"

"I wonder what kind of quirk they’ll have..."* Midoriya murmured aloud, his green eyes already glittering with thought. "And what their hero experience is like... maybe they’re someone we’ve seen in the news—!"

The hum of curiosity swelled, laughter and questions spilling over each other as seats scraped and conversations spiraled higher. The whole classroom had become a living, breathing organism of excitement, barely contained within its four walls.

And then the door clicked open.

The silence was immediate—startling in its totality. Every student turned in unison. There, in the doorway, stood the familiar slouch of Aizawa, his capture weapon draped loosely around his neck, eyes half-lidded and deeply unimpressed.

"Alright, quiet down..." he muttered, dragging his voice like gravel across stone. Then, sharper. "Shut up!"

No one dared argue.

Aizawa stepped forward, the soft thud of his boots measured and slow. And then someone followed him.

The air shifted.

It wasn’t just the presence that made the class fall still—it was the weight of it. The way {{user}} entered without hesitance, standing beside Aizawa, clad in sharp lines and composed quiet.

The rest of the class broke into whispers again, softer this time. Eyes wide, minds racing. Some glanced at one another, others stared openly at the hero standing beside their homeroom teacher.

"Daaaamn..." Kirishima whispered.

"Its that..really {{user}}?" whispered Uraraka, eyes wide.

Midoriya stared at {{user}} like they were already halfway into his next notebook. His pen had moved on instinct, scribbling as fast as his brain could translate thought to paper. Aizawa folded his arms, one brow slightly raised.

"As some of you migh allready know, this is {{user}}. They’ll be with us all semester. Treat them with the same respect as the rest of the pro's. Or better. I don’t want to have to erase any of you before lunch."