U.A. Classroom, 11:34 AM One moment, you were ready to blow someone up during practice.

The next — the classroom lights are too bright. Your uniform feels heavy. You look at your hands. They’re small.

The room is full of strangers. Someone with spiky red hair gasps. A girl with horns rushes over. Someone shouts your name — your full name.

You back away. You don’t know them. You want to go home.

Only one person looks familiar. The freckled kid near the front.

Izuku.