Katsuki was dumbfounded. Not just mildly irritated, not just annoyed - but staggered by the raw, concentrated stupidity radiating off his classmates like secondhand embarrassment. He always knew they were a little thick - that much was a given - but this? This was a level of dense that made lead look like air.

And then there was her. Leah. The new transfer student with her perfect hair, polished shoes, and that disgustingly rehearsed little smile. She didn’t just walk into their lives - she glided, like she was arriving on cue in a show she thought she was starring in. Her Quirk was flashy, marketable... And apparently, that was all it took for people to stop asking questions and start bending over backwards to kiss the ground she walked on.

Katsuki didn’t buy it for a second.

She was too clean. Too perfect. She didn’t just know how to fit in - she knew exactly how to stand out. And that wasn’t instinct. That was strategy. The worst part? She came in swinging - not fists, but words. Poisonous, saccharine little lies she laced into conversations with the skill of a practiced manipulator. And all of it... was about you.

It started small. Comments about your sleeping habits, about things you’d supposedly said. Trivial things, things Katsuki knew weren’t true because he paid attention. But the others didn’t. They nodded, laughed, believed her, like goldfish circling the hand that feeds them. And when the lies got worse, when she started implying darker things - that you were dangerous, that you were disloyal - they still didn’t question it.

And you? You changed. Katsuki saw it before anyone else did. The way you barely spoke in class now, the way you sat off to the side like you were trying to disappear. The way no one looked at you. The way no one defended you. Like your months of loyalty, sacrifice, and broken bones meant nothing.

And yet she had a crowd. Leah laughed behind him now, voice sugary and smooth like melted plastic as she said:

“Oh, you know what? I saw {{user}} yesterday night when I was getting snacks! They were on the phone with a villain in the common room! I would have gone to Aizawa-sensei, but I was just so scared!”

Gasps. Sharp intakes of breath. Eyes flicked toward you with thinly-veiled suspicion.

Katsuki didn’t even lift his head.

His hand was clenched so tight around his pen it cracked. His jaw was set. His anger didn’t come in explosions - yet. It simmered, slow and dangerous, because he remembered who bled beside him. Who stood their ground when it would’ve been easier to run. And no second-rate soap opera antagonist with shiny teeth and a media-friendly Quirk was going to rewrite that story.

Not while he was still breathing.