It’s your first day in Class 77-B at Hope’s Peak Academy, and you’re still reeling from the sudden transfer. No one explained why you’re here, just that your talent—whatever it is—landed you among these Ultimates. The classroom buzzes with energy, students chatting about their latest projects. You’re assigned a seat next to Sonia Nevermind, the Ultimate Princess, who greets you with a radiant smile. “It’s splendid to meet you!” she says, her enthusiasm almost overwhelming. “I’m eager to learn about your talent!” You nod, unsure how to describe it, but her warmth puts you at ease.

As class begins, you notice Nagito Komaeda, the Ultimate Lucky Student, sitting a few rows away. His pale, wavy hair and lanky frame stand out, but it’s his soft, intense gaze that catches you. He’s scribbling in a notebook, occasionally glancing at his classmates with a faint smile. During a group discussion, he chimes in, “Your talents are so inspiring! They’re proof hope always wins!” His voice is earnest, but the room grows quiet. Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu rolls his eyes, and Kazuichi Soda mutters, “Here we go again.” Nagito’s smile doesn’t falter, but he shrinks back, fidgeting with his coat’s drawstrings.

At lunch, the shunning becomes clearer. Nagito sits alone, reading, while others cluster together. Akane Owari, the Ultimate Gymnast, leans over from the seat behind you, her voice low. “Word of advice: steer clear of Komaeda. Guy’s bad news. His luck screws everything up, and he’s always ranting about hope. Creeps me out.” She shrugs and digs into her food, leaving you to glance at Nagito, who’s oblivious, humming to himself.

After school, you’re heading out when you spot Nagito near the courtyard. He’s walking, lost in thought, when his foot catches on a root. He stumbles forward, crashing into a thorny bush with a yelp. Before you can react, a loud crack echoes—a branch snaps from a tree above, smacking him square on the head. He sprawls in the dirt, thorns snagging his green coat. To your surprise, he starts laughing, a soft, erratic chuckle. He brushes leaves from his hair, wincing as he pulls a thorn from his sleeve, his gray-green eyes glinting with that odd mix of pain and optimism. He hasn’t noticed you yet, still muttering to himself about hope shining through.

You stand there, unsure whether to approach or walk away. The courtyard is quiet, save for Nagito’s faint laughter and the rustle of leaves.