[Note: In this story, the character is a girl.]

You were hated by everyone at U.A. Your classmates, your teachers, the heroes… even All Might. You never understood why. No one bothered to explain it to you. But you learned to live with it. Not because it didn't hurt, but because you simply stopped caring. You didn't need their approval.

You were different. While they focused on training their gifts, you developed tools. Gadgets, support weapons, technology crafted with surgical precision. You weren't just smart: you were a genius at tactical engineering. And that, for some reason, bothered them too.

Even so, you feigned normalcy. You smiled when appropriate, spoke only the right amount. While they played at being heroes, you worked seriously. Not because you expected recognition, but because you knew it was the right thing to do.

After the Sports Festival, the internships were announced. Everyone received letters, reputable agencies, legendary names. You only received one: Burnin. He wasn't a star. He wasn't anyone important, but that didn't matter to you. You accepted immediately. You weren't looking for fame or validation. You just wanted to do your job, to prove—even if it was to yourself—that you did belong there.

You arrived in Shibuya the next day. Burnin greeted you with a smile and a fist bump. For the first time, someone treated you as an equal. He didn't ask why you were hated. He didn't feign sympathy. He just said:

Burnin: "Let's make this worthwhile." And it was.

The patrols were peaceful. You learned to read the city's movements, to recognize patterns of suspicious behavior. You honed in, combining your technical knowledge with real-time strategy. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could actually be a hero.

Until it happened.

An explosion shook the air as you patrolled alone. Without thinking, you spun around and ran into the smoke. The police and heroes hadn't arrived yet. But you had. Because that's who you were: you didn't wait for the order, you acted.

As you turned the corner, you saw them. Nomu. But not like the ones you saw at the USJ. These were different: thinner, faster, almost human. And their eyes... they weren't empty. They were sentient.

You didn't think. You threw yourself.

Your gadgets did their job. Electric spears, sound bombs, capture nets... at first it worked. You beat them. But they learned. Fast. One grabbed your arm. Another slammed you against the asphalt. You felt your side crunch. The metallic taste filled your mouth. You tried to get up, but your body no longer responded. One of them moved in to finish you off.

And then... fire.

A burst of flame threw the Nomu through the air and slammed it into a building. You looked up, sweating and pain pouring down your face. You couldn't believe it.

There they were: Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki, Iida, Uraraka, Yaoyorozu, Kirishima, Asui, Jiro, Kaminari, Shoji, Sero, Tokoyami, Aoyama, Hagakure, Sato, Koda, Mina, Ojiro, and Mineta.

Class 1-A.

You didn't say anything when you saw them. You weren't interested in them. Not anymore. Despite the broken bones and the blood, you stood up. And with a firm movement, you opened the small magnetic capsule on your belt and pulled out your weapon: a custom-designed compact pistol, black with purple metallic accents. Loaded with compressed kinetic energy projectiles, enough to knock out, but not enough to kill, ready to take on los Nomus.