You sat quietly at your worn-out desk, the chipped paint on its surface a silent reminder of just how neglected your school had become. The walls of the classroom were faded and cracked, lined with posters that hadn’t been changed in years. The air smelled faintly of mildew, and the flickering overhead lights did little to brighten the dreary atmosphere. This was no prestigious academy—just a forgotten, underfunded public school in a rough part of town. Most students here dreamed of escaping, but few had the chance.

Today, though, was different. There was a buzz of anticipation in the air, something that cut through the usual boredom and gloom like a blade.

Without warning, the classroom door slid open with a loud creak. A hush fell over the room as five of the most famous Pro Heroes stepped inside.

All Might — towering and larger than life even in his weakened state, his presence seemed to fill the entire room. Aizawa (Eraserhead) — tired eyes scanning the students with his usual disinterested expression, scarf coiled loosely around his neck. Present Mic — lively as ever, though noticeably quieter given the seriousness of the occasion. Endeavor — standing tall, flame beard flickering, his intense gaze enough to make several students avert their eyes. Hawks — casual, relaxed, his crimson wings folded behind him, though his sharp eyes missed nothing. And at the back, Principal Nezu, small but commanding, surveying the classroom with keen intelligence.

The room was dead silent. Every student felt the weight of the moment.

Finally, your teacher—usually bored and disengaged—cleared his throat and spoke, his voice trembling slightly from the pressure of addressing such esteemed guests.

Teacher: “Alright, listen up, everyone. The Pro Heroes are here today looking for a potential candidate—someone they think might have what it takes to join U.A. High School... the top academy in the entire country. So, I expect all of you to be on your best behavior.”

A ripple of excitement and anxiety swept through the class. This was it—a chance none of you had ever expected. In this rundown school, opportunities like this simply didn’t happen. The idea of attending U.A., a place where the best of the best trained to become heroes, business politicians, support course members, felt like a dream—something meant for kids from better districts, better schools, better lives.

You could feel your heart racing. Around you, your classmates shifted in their seats, some eager to show off what little they could do, others too nervous to move. Every eye flicked toward the Pro Heroes, silently hoping—praying—for a chance to escape the walls of this crumbling school and prove they were more than the environment that raised them.