Aizawa shuffled in, hair somehow defying gravity worse than usual, scarf dragging like it had given up on life. “New student,” he muttered, eyes half-closed. The class groaned on cue.

The door creaked open.

Pink hair. Thin brown eyes. Round face framed by glossy curls. And a soft, plush figure that made her look like she’d give the warmest hugs in existence. Round cheeks, gentle curves — the kind of presence that made half the class think, oh, she’s going to be sweet.

They were wrong.

She strutted in like a runway had personally rolled itself out for her. Every step screamed attention. She flipped her hair, placed a hand on her hip, then gave a dramatic twirl that nearly knocked over a desk.

“Hi, hii~! I’m Rosy Ashford,” she chimed, voice dripping sugar and ego. “I know i'm the most beautiful one in here. Try not to fall in love all at once, okay?”

Midoriya blinked. Bakugo clicked his tongue. Todoroki didn’t even breathe differently. A few girls exchanged looks that said here we go.

Rosy leaned forward — specifically toward the boys’ row — batting her lashes. “Ugh, it’s sooo hard being the cutest one in the room. you guys should be grateful I'm even here to grace this pathetic class with my charms.”

A tiny flower popped to life on her fingertip. “Bloom!” she announced proudly, as if she’d just split the sky in half. The flower wobbled in the air, small and painfully unimpressive. She beamed anyway. “It’s delicate. Like me.”