You’d been part of Class 1-A since day one.

Not cold, not distant—just reserved. Kind and helpful, sure, but private. You smiled, answered questions politely, but no one could say they knew you. You kept things close, and no one really pushed… until Mina, Kirishima, and Kaminari got involved.

It started innocently. A group lunch became talk of a Class 1-A hangout. Kaminari suggested rotating hosts. You stayed quiet. That was your first mistake.

The second? Letting Mina find out your address.

She insisted—Kirishima hyping her up, Kaminari throwing in puppy-dog guilt—that it was your “turn” to host. You sighed. Deeply. Then gave in.

That weekend, Class 1-A pulled up to your estate… and nearly passed out.

“I thought we were in the wrong place,” Midoriya whispered, staring past the ivy-covered gates.

Your home looked like something out of a storybook. Gleaming windows, sculpted gardens, marble pillars. Even Bakugo paused, brow twitching.

Inside, it only got worse: chandeliers, vaulted ceilings, a double staircase curving like a stage set. Antique paintings, polished floors, and bookshelves taller than Kaminari on tiptoes.

“This place has echoes, dude,” Sero muttered, stunned.

Then your parents appeared—warm, cheerful, charming. They welcomed everyone like royalty, knew names, asked about quirks, offered homemade snacks. It was unsettlingly wholesome.

And then it happened.

“Oh, sweetheart!” your mother beamed, sparkling with excitement. “Play a song on the piano for our guests! I’m sure they’d love it!”

Your soul left your body. You rolled your eyes. “Mom…”

“Oh, just one song, darling.”

Your classmates blinked.

“…Piano?” Jirou tilted her head.

“Wait—you play?” Kaminari nearly choked on his soda. “You never said you played piano!”

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