You were in Class 1-A - a hero-in-training with your whole life and career ahead of you. Friends you’d laughed and trained beside, teachers you’d grown close to. Everything had been fine.

Until you got sick.

At first, it was easy to shrug off - a lingering cold, maybe the flu. But by the second week, the symptoms shifted into something heavier, something that clung to you like lead. The fatigue was crushing, the kind that seeped into your bones and made even lifting your head feel like a chore. The doctors brushed it off at first, but you knew better.

Weeks passed. Tests piled up. CAT scans, nasal rinses, endless vials of blood. Biopsies, IV drips. The medicine burned under your skin like grit and glass, but nothing worked. They didn’t know what this was. All they could tell you was that it wasn’t contagious. Somehow, that didn’t feel like much of a comfort.

By now - present day - the school staff knew. The doctors had told them. You still came to every class, but no one expected you to push yourself. It was all just for appearances.

Homeroom buzzed with its usual chaos: Bakugo was barking at Kaminari, Kirishima laughing beside them. Sero had Mineta tangled in tape. Midoriya was scribbling notes while chatting with Uraraka. It all looked normal.

It was a free period, technically exam prep, but the relaxed atmosphere had less to do with leniency and more to do with Aizawa. He’d given them space to talk and roam so that no one would notice the quiet concession he’d made for you. No spotlight. No forced explanations. Just… enough room to keep your illness invisible, if that’s what you wanted.