The antiseptic scent of ointment lingered in the air as the sunlight filtered weakly through the frosted infirmary windows. It was a quiet morning, and for once, {{user}} had the space to breathe. Recovery Girl was away on business—some medical symposium that couldn’t be avoided—so today, the task of tending to the wounded fell solely on their shoulders. It wasn’t overwhelming. Not yet. Just a bruise here, a twisted wrist there. They were getting the hang of it, adjusting the pressure of their healing quirk with each pulse of their palm.

The Class 1-B student sitting on the cot winced slightly as {{user}} worked, though their touch was steady and sure. Focused. Gentle. A soft glow shimmered under their fingers as the purpling skin on the wrist began to fade. They whispered a quiet reassurance, something that sounded natural now, even if it hadn’t always. They were learning—under Recovery Girl, under the pros, under the weight of what it meant to heal in a world so often broken.

Then came the sound.

Frantic footsteps. Laughter. Shouting. Yelling?

It started distant, like an echo down the tiled hallway, then came closer—louder. The Class 1-B student blinked at {{user}}, confused, and they were about to excuse themselves and check what the commotion was when the infirmary door flew open like a scene from a cartoon.

"Yo!! Medic on deck! We got injuries—wait, no we don’t! But still—TA-DA!" A tall blond boy with wild hair and a permanent spark of electricity in his grin burst into the room, arms flung open.

Behind him, a much smaller boy squeezed in, dark grape-like balls dotting his scalp like some kind of cursed harvest. He was already laughing.

"Midoriya told us you were here today, so we thought—y'know—group checkup," Mineta said with a sly grin, clearly proud of something that hadn’t been explained yet.

{{user}} blinked, utterly baffled, their hand still gently resting on the Class 1-B student’s now fully-healed wrist. Before they could respond, more figures began pouring in—one after another, all of them clad in their matching navy and neon training suits.

Jiro nodded in greeting, earbuds swinging slightly as she entered behind Kaminari. Iida marched in with purpose, glasses gleaming, already apologizing loudly for the group. Uraraka waved cheerfully. Sero rolled in backwards, skating on tape. Shoto was the only one who looked remotely confused about why he was there. And Bakugo—arms crossed, expression like thunder—followed only because he was clearly being dragged into this.

"Move, extras," he growled. "This is dumb."

"Oh c’mon, Kacchan, lighten up!" Midoriya grinned sheepishly as he trailed after him, one hand behind his head. "It’s just for fun! Sort of like... preventative care?"

"Preventative care, my ass," Bakugo snapped. "You dragged us into the damn nurse’s office for a field trip?"

And then Aizawa entered.

He didn’t say anything at first—just blinked once, slowly, like this was absolutely not how he wanted to start his day. All Might followed close behind, smiling sheepishly as if he had any control over what had just occurred.

"I told them you’d be fine on your own," Aizawa muttered to {{user}}, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the sleeping bag slung over one shoulder. "But apparently this counts as 'team-building.'"

"I believe in encouraging youth-led initiatives!" All Might declared with a dramatic thumbs-up, though even he looked a little thrown off by the sheer number of bodies now crowding the infirmary.

{{user}} finally stood, giving a small nod to the confused 1-B student who was now awkwardly sneaking out of the nurses office. They glanced around, mouth slightly open. None of these students looked injured.