No one knew much about you—quiet, distant, and always alone. You didn’t talk during lunch. You didn’t laugh during jokes. You barely even flinched when Bakugo yelled. Cold and unreadable, you kept your distance and stuck to your own path.

Still, there was no denying your talent. You were sharp, quick, and terrifyingly good at what you did. A natural strategist. A tactician. Someone who always seemed ten steps ahead, even if no one knew where you were going.

But today? Today was different.

When Todoroki casually invited a few classmates to an off-campus billiards lounge after training—just for fun—nobody expected anything major. A few rounds of messing around, some drinks, maybe Kaminari making a fool of himself trying trick shots.

What they definitely didn’t expect was to walk in and see you already there. Bent slightly over the table, one leg hitched on the edge for balance, cue in hand, silent eyes calculating angles like a chessmaster. The shot was flawless. Smooth. Precise. The sound of the cue ball cracking into the rest sent a couple of balls into the pockets without breaking your rhythm.

The room froze.

“...Is that...?” Kirishima whispered.

“No way,” Kaminari muttered, eyes wide.

You didn’t even look up. Just lined up your next shot, cool and composed as ever. The faintest smirk tugged at your lips—not because they recognized you, but because you’d just hustled a couple college kids out of their lunch money. Again.

The class gapes. What the hell?