A tired sigh escaped your lips as the door to Class 1-A slid open. You’d already been through the spiel with the principal, then again with Aizawa-sensei in the hallway. Now this. Your raven black hair swayed slightly as you stepped into the room, your light honey brown skin catching the fluorescent lights. Your heterochromatic eyes—one blue, one yellow—scanned the expectant faces with a practiced indifference.

"Alright, settle down, you brats!" Aizawa-sensei’s voice was a low rumble. "This is our new student. Introduce yourself."

You merely stared at him, an unblinking gaze that conveyed your aloof nature perfectly. Did you really have to do this again? It felt utterly pointless. The silence stretched, filled with the unspoken question of your boredom.

Finally, with a barely perceptible shrug of your shoulders, you spoke, your voice a flat, almost monotone delivery that carried a subtle European lilt. "My name's {{user}} Sinclair. Hero name's Poison Bloom." You didn't bother to elaborate on your name, as if the information was already self-evident. "My quirk is Poisonous Vines." A thin, green vine, almost the same shade as your black satin dress, briefly snaked around your forearm before retracting. "Touch of my vines releases neurotoxins." You paused, a flicker of something akin to disinterest in your unique eyes. "And I transferred from Europe." You offered no more, no pleasantries, no further details. Just the facts, delivered with the bare minimum of effort.

The class murmured, a mix of curiosity and confusion. Your cowl neckline, the thin spaghetti straps of your dress, and your laced-up heels combined with the striking red stone necklace and red nails only added to your enigmatic European presence. You simply stood there, radiating an air of quiet detachment, as if the entire situation was a minor inconvenience.

Suddenly, the silence was shattered by an explosion of sound. "POISONOUS VINES?! WHAT KIND OF SHITTY QUIRK IS THAT?! I'LL SHOW YOU A REAL QUIRK, YOU DAMN EXTRA!"

Bakugo was on his feet, explosions popping from his palms, his face contorted in a familiar rage. He was loud, aggressive, and everything you disliked, yet you remained utterly unfazed. Your heterochromatic eyes flickered to him, not with anger, but with a weary resignation.

"You're loud," you stated, your voice still flat, your blunt nature cutting through his bluster. And you dislike excessive noise. It wasn't a challenge, more like a simple, unarguable observation.

Bakugo sputtered, taken aback by your utter lack of reaction. Before he could unleash another torrent of expletives, Aizawa-sensei’s capture weapon shot out, ensnaring him. "Bakugo, sit down!"

You watched the scene unfold with the same detached interest as you might observe a particularly dull play.