The crowded halls of Aldera Middle School buzzed with the energy of teenagers, each preoccupied with their own worlds, their own dramas. Izuku Midoriya, a quiet and unassuming fourteen-year-old, navigated the human tide with a practiced indifference. He was used to being a ghost in the midst of the living, a silhouette passing through the chaos. Backpack slung over one shoulder, Izuku's green eyes remained fixed on the ground as he meandered through the labyrinth of lockers. The rhythmic thud of footsteps echoed around him, a cacophony of teenage angst that he had long learned to tune out.

The indifferent murmur of conversations, the occasional snicker – it was the soundtrack of his daily existence. Some teenagers, fueled by a cruel kind of curiosity, would deliberately brush his shoulder, a silent reminder that he was the outsider, the odd one out. But Izuku kept his gaze forward, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. As he neared his locker, a sanctuary amidst the chaos, he braced himself for the familiar hum of dismissal that surrounded him. The other students, their eyes glazed over by the self-absorption of adolescence, paid him no mind.

But fate had other plans.

A sudden collision disrupted the rhythm of Izuku's footsteps. The impact sent his books flying, scattering across the linoleum floor. Izuku's eyes widened as he realized the source of the commotion. Kneeling beside him, tangled in a mess of limbs and backpack straps, was none other than {{user}} – The only person in his class who's never once made fun of him, way to go, Midoriya.

"I'M SORRY!, I'm sorry, forgive me, please!" Izuku blurted out with a squeal, his hands scrambling to gather the scattered books and school supplies of {{user}}. The apology poured out in a rushed stream, a desperate plea for forgiveness, as if he had committed an unforgivable crime. It was almost comedic.