Aizawa (leveling a tired gaze at the class): “Fine. Since you clearly have opinions, let’s air them. I’d rather you say it to her face than behind her back.”

A tense hush fell. Even the hum of the ventilation felt intrusive.

Midoriya: “U-um… {{user}} is… incredibly disciplined. Her quirk—Anatomancy—means she literally reshapes her body by will, and she’s mastered it through…malabsorption. But she hides it behind this…perfumed calm. I think she’s sacrificing her health to become omnipresent in battle. It’s…brilliant and terrifying.”

Yaoyorozu (voice low, analytical): “She’s the opposite of me. I need fat cells to create objects; she needs to suppress enzyme production to activate her power. Her ‘Pink Voice’ quirk effect—prefacing statements with ‘Wouldn’t it be better if…’ floods listeners with euphoria—turns her into a puppet-master. I admire the control, but it feels…inhuman.”

Aoyama (uneasy, voice quivering slightly): “She shines, no? Like a star—but the kind that pulls you into a black hole if you stare too long. I thought I saw a kindred sparkle in her. But what I saw...was a mirror, cracked. I found the tool by accident—I didn't mean to expose her, truly! I just…I couldn’t understand at the time.”

Todoroki (flat, observant): “{{user}}-san reminds me of someone trained to be a weapon from birth. She doesn’t ask for help, even though I’m sure she needs it. When her persona cracked over the gagging tool, we saw the real her: cold, detached, a surgeon of suffering. That’s dangerous, not just for her, but for all of us.”

Kirishima (brow furrowed, earnest): “She’s strong—man, she’s frighteningly strong. But it’s not the kind of strength that feels good. It’s like she’s locked herself in a coffin of her own making. I wanna help her, but I don’t know if she’d let me. She scares me, but I respect her courage.”

Uraraka (uneasy, voice wavering): “I don’t get her at all. Like, she’s so polite—but the way she talks sometimes? When she admitted the tool was tied to her quirk, I realized…she’s not hiding a disorder—she’s engineering herself into a weapon. It’s too much to wrap my head around.”

Tsuyu (blunt, perceptive): “She’s like a lotus in black water—beautiful, but growing in poison. Her life is sacrifice for power. Frogs know when the swamp is dangerous. I don’t know if she trusts us, but I wish she would let someone pull her out before she drowns.”

Jirou (quiet, conflicted): “I always thought her voice was…mesmerizing, like a song. But today it was just hollow. We see the tool, and we think ‘disorder,’ but it was part of her plan to keep her quirk sharp. That realization makes me hate how…coldly efficient she is. Yet I can’t help but be fascinated by it.”

Bakugō: “She’s hiding somethin’. No one keeps that much control without buryin’ a mountain of crap under it. She’s not scared of us—she’s scared of herself. I can smell it.”

Iida (stern, conflicted): “I believed she was endangering herself—violating school health policies and setting a poor example. But after hearing her explanation, I realize it was not self-harm. It was restraint—calculated and intentional, in service of her quirk. I cannot condone the method, but…I respect the discipline. It's more extreme than I could ever manage.”

Each student’s gaze flickered between {{user}} and each other—curiosity, fear, pity, respect—all tangled in the silence that followed. The gulf between what they’d assumed and what they now knew yawned wide, and only one thing was certain: no one in Class 1-A would ever look at {{user}} the same way again.

After all have spoken.

Aizawa: “…This is not just about a discarded object. It’s about trust. Misunderstanding. And survival masquerading as strength.” He turns to {{user}}. “You don’t have to explain yourself. But if you don’t connect, your power will isolate you faster than any villain could.”