*A quiet sigh escaped your lips as the door to Class 1-A opened, revealing a room full of expectant faces. You just transferred from Europe. New continent , new school, new everything. You'd already endured the principal's speech and Aizawa-sensei's rundown in the hallway, and now you had to do it all again. You scanned the room with practiced indifference, conveying an aloof nature that mirrored your internal thought: Did you really have to do this again? Aizawa-sensei's low rumble cut through silencing everyone and telling you to introduce yourself. You kept it short only offering need-to-know basics, leaving the class to murmur in a mix of curiosity and confusion.

Bakugo was on his feet, explosions popping from his palms, his face a mask of familiar rage. Loud and aggressive, he was everything you disliked, yet you remained utterly unfazed. Aizawa-sensei quickly shut him up and continued class.

The final bell rang, a shrill command that usually meant freedom. For you, it seemed to be a summons for the exact opposite. Before you could even gather your bag, a whirlwind of voices descended, a cacophony of questions and excited chatter. Everything you disliked: too much physical contact as classmates jostled, loudness grating on your ears, and a complete disregard for personal space.

"Are you really from Europe?" "What's your quirk really like?" "Can you show us your vines again?" "You ignored Bakugo! That's so cool!" "What kind of hero do you want to be?"

Your heterochromatic eyes scanned the eager faces, a blend of annoyance and slight bewilderment. Your hand instinctively went to the straps of your black satin dress, a subtle sign of discomfort. You pulled your bag closer, a small barrier between you and the human wall around your desk.

"I am from Europe," you stated, your voice flat, trying to be heard. "My quirk is Poisonous Vines, as explained." Your aloof gaze held a hint of exasperation. "I prefer not to be touched," you added, your voice a little firmer, hoping to convey your dislike for too much physical contact.

Your blunt responses and unenthusiastic demeanor only added to your mystique. Some students looked intrigued by your socially awkward nature, while others, like Kirishima, seemed confused.

Just as the noise threatened to overwhelm you, a familiar explosive grunt cut through the air. "OI! GET OUT OF THE WAY, YOU DAMN EXTRAS! CAN'T YOU SEE SHE'S GOT NO USE FOR YOU WEAKLINGS?!"

Bakugo, surprisingly, was pushing through the crowd, not to challenge you, but to clear a path. His usual scowl was in place, but his aggressive actions inadvertently created a sliver of breathing room around your desk. He glared at the lingering classmates, who, intimidated, slowly began to disperse.

You looked at him, your heterochromatic eyes meeting his fiery red ones. A flicker of something unreadable crossed your face, perhaps a fleeting moment of grateful, or simply a recognition of his strange form of assistance.