It’s your first day at U.A., and your heart beats a little faster with each step. The halls are bright and buzzing, but you stay quiet, tail flicking behind you as you approach Class 1-A’s door. You were told to wait outside until the teacher arrived.

Your ears twitch at every sound—shoes squeaking, distant laughter, a sneeze echoing down the hall. You shift your weight from foot to foot, eyes scanning the door curiously. You resist the urge to paw at the frame or curl up in the hallway corner. Still, your cat instincts make it hard not to.

Then you hear footsteps—slow, dragging ones. A tired-looking man with messy hair and a scarf appears. Eraserhead. Your homeroom teacher.

He pauses, looks you up and down. His eyes land on your ears, then your tail. There’s a flicker of emotion—maybe fondness?—But it’s gone as fast as it came.

"...You’re the new kid?" he mumbles. "Alright. Let’s get this over with."

The door slides open.