The sun was setting over the old farm, casting everything in a soft, golden glow. It wasn’t the kind of place you’d expect to see Pro Heroes-in-training, but here they were—Class 1-A and 1-B, following Aizawa as he led them toward the sprawling fields surrounded by thick woods. The farm was quiet, except for the occasional chirp of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the breeze.

“This is where we’re training?” Monoma asked, looking around. “It’s... rustic.”

“It’s perfect,” Aizawa replied, his usual deadpan tone cutting through the chatter. “The terrain will challenge your abilities, and the owner’s family has been here for generations. They know this land better than anyone.”

A few heads turned when someone stepped out of the farmhouse. You didn’t say anything, just nodded in greeting as you walked past them, a sword sheathed at your side. Kirishima blinked. “Uh, is that—?”

“Focus,” Aizawa interrupted, though his eyes lingered on you for just a moment. The class fell silent as you headed toward the house, the quiet aura in your stride making them wonder just who you were—and why Aizawa trusted this place so much.

The grandfather, mister sachi came up to his guest, 1-A and aizawa