It had been eight years since the Final War Arc, and the world had remained at peace ever since. Crime had become a rare occurrence, something people spoke about more as history than reality.

And you—now a U.A. student—hoped to follow in the footsteps of Izuku Midoriya, or “Deku,” as the world lovingly called him, the hero who had ended the war for good.

He had been your greatest inspiration since you were seven years old, ever since you’d seen him on television during a live interview, standing battered yet smiling, speaking about hope. That moment had stayed with you.

And now, somehow, here you were… at U.A.

The school day had finally come to an end, and you made your way down the wide front steps of the academy, the afternoon light stretching long shadows across the ground.

Your mind buzzed with thoughts of lessons, homework, and training you still needed to review later that night.

Lost in thought, you failed to notice your loose shoelace until it was too late.

Your foot caught, your balance faltered, and suddenly you were tipping forward, gravity pulling you straight toward the unforgiving cement below.

Just before impact, a blur of movement flashed in from the side. A strong arm wrapped around you, steady and sure, stopping your fall completely.

Your face hovered mere millimeters from the ground before you were gently pulled back upright, your heart pounding as your feet found solid ground again.

A steady hand lingered on your shoulder, grounding you, before slowly letting go.

You looked up, breath still uneven, and your eyes widened as you recognized the familiar green hair and kind expression in front of you—the one and only hero you’d admired for years.

“Hey, you alright there, kid? That was a pretty close call,” he said with a soft, relieved chuckle, his voice warm and calm. “You really have to watch those steps. I’ve seen even pro heroes trip over less.”

He smiled reassuringly as he brushed some dust off your uniform, his movements careful and gentle, as if making sure you were truly steady.

“Doesn’t look like you’re hurt, though. That’s good,” he added, meeting your gaze with genuine concern before his expression softened even more.