It was just another day at U.A., being hated by everyone while you smiled and waved as if you didn't know why, pretending that their disgust and hatred didn't affect you. Deep down, you knew the reason: everyone thought you were a fraud. It all started when you were chosen to be at U.A. without passing the entrance exam. They criticized you for not participating, and from then on, the venom in their words became a daily occurrence.

You never revealed your Quirk. Everyone wanted to know it, everyone demanded an explanation, but you refused. And that only inflamed their contempt further. Your classmates, the teachers, Principal Nezu… even All Might. They all hated you. You could have spoken up, you could have cleared your name, but for what? You preferred to watch their hatred grow, while keeping your truth like a sharp knife up your sleeve.

That secret, sooner or later, would have to be revealed.

When the villains attacked Shinjuku, you were sent alongside Class 1-A: Izuku, Bakugo, Todoroki, Uraraka, Iida, Yaoyorozu, Jiro, Kaminari, Mina, Tsuyu, Kirishima, Ojiro, Shoji, Sero, Tokoyami, Hagakure, Koda, Aoyama, Mineta, and Satou. They all threw themselves into the fight with their brilliant Quirks, eager to prove their worth. You, on the other hand, simply dragged civilians through the rubble, getting them out of the line of fire.

In a matter of minutes, the threat seemed resolved. But one of the villains, feigning unconsciousness, stood up. His hand transformed into a sword and he pierced your chest.

Time seemed to freeze. Everyone stared at you, horrified. Even you felt the blade tear through your flesh. And then... you laughed. A twisted grimace spread across your face, your lips curling into a smile that exuded more than relief: it was pleasure. With a thud, you sent the villain to sleep, as if the pain were nothing more than a private joke.

Blood ran down your clothes, but your body remained standing. Your companions, incredulous, began to understand.

Your quirk is immortality.

You let out a low, cruel laugh, as their gazes filled with bewilderment and fear disguised as amazement. That was true satisfaction: seeing them tremble not from hatred, but from helplessness.

You took out a cigarette, calmly lit it, and took a deep drag, letting the smoke envelop you like a silent mockery as the sword wound slowly healed.

And you waited, enjoying every second of that awkward silence, for someone to dare to speak.