A Young Girl's Victory

Once again Special thanks to Lorelei, Drkshadow, and Yertosaurus for being the true heroes of this story. Couldn't have done it without you three!

Tanya Yamada, Hero Student, 1-A Seat # 6

Returning home after the long day was a boring affair. Midoriya offered to walk with me to the train, however at the gate we were intercepted by his father. I waved off his worries and said my farewells to the two. While Midoriya may have been pleasant company I'd rather limit my interactions with the Number One until I had a better grasp on his character.

Once more alone with my thoughts, I observed the setting sun over the city. The sky was filled with shades of orange, pink, and purple, creating a calm atmosphere over the urban landscape. It was a moment of quiet beauty, a break from the chaos of daily life. It seemed like a briefly borrowed moment. As I walked the familiar path to the train station, a growing unease began to take hold. I was only a few blocks from the school, yet with each step, I listened to the sounds around me, staying alert to my surroundings. A truck honked around the corner, its yellow lights momentarily illuminating the area.

I blink away the lights, clench my teeth, and refocus on the waves. A sense of unfamiliar anger was growing within me, like a slowly fanned flame. Being X seems to be attempting to take this away from me. The city streets, which used to be vibrant and full of life, now feel stifling. The bustling crowds and towering buildings that once inspired wonder now seem oppressive, as if they are closing in on me as I walk through them. It's as if the world around me is conspiring to undermine me and take away my hard-earned peace. The feeling intensified the further I walked from the school, with more people becoming active, their distinct noises contributing to the complex tapestry of sounds in the air.

Making my way through the crowded throng of people, I felt irritation rising within me. The mix of sounds—the honking of car horns, the chatter of passersby, and the distant hum of traffic—filled the air, making it difficult to think clearly. The scents that once seemed pleasant now felt overwhelming and intrusive.

Nearing the train station, my frustration grew. A vague memory of a familiar scene tugged at the edges of my mind. Each step became heavier, weighed down by the realization that Being X, the source of my challenges and frustrations, was beginning to reveal his influence. The electronic display boards at the station flashed updates and schedules, serving as a reminder of the relentless progression of life.

Amidst the bustling crowd, I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white. The distant train's whistle, instead of bringing comfort, brought a sense of unease. It felt as though someone was observing, waiting—a sound that echoed alongside the others around it.

As if a switch had been flipped, the sensation of a phantom hand on my back made me turn around abruptly. No one was there. My sudden movement, however, seemed to have caught the attention of an older school girl a few meters away, her feline eyes observing me with a cat-like smile. The stare was slightly unsettling, but she thankfully looked away when I raised an eyebrow at her. Glancing around, I noticed that my swift actions had caused those nearby to edge away.

I clicked my tongue, keeping my head low but my senses alert, listening to the mix of sounds echoing around me, and keeping an ear on the distant song. The train finally arrived, and I followed the others aboard, remaining vigilant for anything unusual. The overhead lights flickered, casting long, monstrous shadows that danced along the train's walls.

To my left was a woman with a deer quirk; her eyes were wide and doe-like, flickering with nervous energy. Her antlers protruded from her head, nearly scraping the ceiling of the train car, and her slender fingers trembled subtly. Scratch that—her antlers had obviously damaged the doorway when she entered the car. The ceiling bore divots where she must have stabbed the ceiling. Regardless of that she stood alone, an isolated presence in the crowded car, her gaze fixed intently on the phone in her hand.

Across from me sat a man with distinctly wolf-like features. His piercing yellow eyes darted around the carriage, sharp and alert. His hair, a blend of grizzled greys and midnight blacks, cascaded over his broad shoulders. He also stood apart from the crowd, his posture rigid, a silent observer of those around him. Next to me, near the subway doors, was a young boy with bird-like characteristics, perched alone on a seat. His attire was like the plumage of a bird of paradise, a riot of colors that emerged from beneath his clothes and curled around his neck. His black, glossy eyes stared off into the distance, and his small beak opened and closed in a silent, errant song. Despite their differences, they all wore the same expression of quiet resignation. The train car was a mix of unique passengers, but the divide was clear. Those without animal-like traits clustered together in tight-knit groups, casting covert glances at the animal-like individuals, their faces a mix of curiosity, fear, and pity.

Grateful that my quirk allowed me to blend in with the rest, I continued to listen to the music bouncing off the train's walls. I left the train frustrated.

Nagant's Children's Home was a dull pink stone building with peeling purple shutters. This building was probably once a shining pearl in the city. It was likely the brainchild of the once-famous heroine to "give back" to the community, but like all passion projects without the founder to keep the passion alive, someone else got involved and ruined it. In the case of this children's home, the meddling came from the HPSC and a very special hidden group within. I had noticed, but not acknowledged years ago, that Mita was so eager to reveal her heroic prospects to her contact in the government that she didn't seem to realize the potential trafficking she was subjecting these kids to. When I discovered my quirk and learned how to prevent it from harming me, I did everything in my power to harness the gift I'd been given. Knowing my previous life and how Being X's schemes had destroyed everything, I threw myself into training with a focused determination.

Only then did I comprehend the trap closing in around me. The trainer, a government employee, was documenting everything I did and questioning various things. I spoke of the songs I perceived in the air, and he had me perform karaoke, despite those songs being far from what I was experiencing. I mentioned this to him, and he merely smiled, instructing me to comply. It was at that moment I decided that whatever organization he represented wasn't one I needed to be part of. So, I withdrew. On my own, I attempted to experiment, but when I only ended up hurting myself, I decided to stick to what I knew worked and ceased further experiments. I noticed increased strength and energy when I echoed the energetic tones of a hyper Mita. Drowsiness and calmness came when imitating the low drone of Okuma's icy voice.

One thing the military and education shared was routine. Be at a specific location at a designated time, with all equipment ready to carry out duties as instructed by a commanding officer. Perform tasks to standard, repeat the cycle until it was time to head to the mess hall to refuel, and then start over. I found comfort in the monotony. My memories of being a salary worker in my first life were similar. Routine allowed me to anticipate everything in life. There is a certain joy in simplicity. At the orphanage, it was much the same: wake up at a set time, leave at a set time, eat at a set time...

Speaking of which, as I entered the building and removed my shoes, I immediately felt eyes on me. The high-strung tempo of clicking signaled that Mita was right behind me. "You have some explaining to do, young lady." After explaining my situation to the caretaker, I received a deservedly stern lecture about the school's safety and security, with even the top hero present. Once everything was settled, I returned to my room, set the alarm on my phone for the next day, and checked the news...

The following day, as soon as the lunch break commenced, I acted swiftly. I tucked my notebook back into my backpack and made my way to the lunchroom, which I had memorized beforehand. Upon my arrival, the line had just begun to form, so I promptly joined it. There was no need for anyone to be aware that my early arrival was thanks to a slight, harmless use of my quirk.

Lunch Rush, the hero responsible for preparing all the meals and overseeing the cafeteria, was quite a sight—a living meat grinder, one might say. The peculiarities brought about by Quirks were certainly remarkable. Despite this, he was remarkably cheerful and exceptionally skilled at his job, serving students swiftly and cooking fresh batches of food as quickly as they were requested.

And the food was impressive. I was pleased to see a variety of meals available at very affordable prices. The quality surpassed what I was accustomed to in both this life and the previous one. Admittedly, I occasionally yearned for the artery-clogging cuisine of the Empire out of nostalgia, but the local dishes, particularly those prepared by Lunch Rush himself, convinced me of the merits of dining in the Akanese world. Finding an empty table, I began to eat, observing as my classmates gradually filled the spacious hall. Their reactions upon seeing me already enjoying my meal were amusing, though not enough to divert my attention from savoring the delightful food.

As I worked on the dark chocolate cake dessert, my classmates occupied many seats around me. I greeted them briefly before returning my focus to my food, letting their conversations flow around me. There would be time for socializing once I was finished. They seemed to be discussing the various teachers and how dull the classes were. Typical teenage chatter—until Uraraka's voice chimed in, "Did you see the look on the boys' faces when Aizawa told them to sit down? That was hilarious."

When did that happen? "What are you talking about?" Ashido voiced the question I had.

"That morning, a few days ago, after he made us think he left—"

"Oh, that was Tanya!" Toru interrupted, sending a ripple of reactions around the table.

Ochako blinked. "Wait, what?"

The table fell into silence, all eyes now on her. I raised a brow in her direction, while Momo gave her a puzzled look. "Ochako… you're just now figuring that out?"

Ochako's face scrunched in confusion. "You're telling me that wasn't Aizawa? Tanya was the one who told us to sit down?"

I cleared my throat. "Uh… yeah?"

Ashido snorted. "Oh my god, how did you not know? Most of the class probably figured it out by now."

"Except maybe Mineta," Jirou added with a smirk.

"And the other dumb boys," Toru chimed in, giggling.

Ochako groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I can't believe I didn't notice! I just thought Aizawa was being extra grumpy!"

"Well, to be fair, that's kinda normal for him," I said with a small grin.

Ashido nudged Ochako playfully. "You're lucky we like you. If it were anyone else, we'd be making fun of you for weeks."

Ochako pouted. "You mean you're not going to anyway?"

Ashido and Jirou exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. "Oh no, we absolutely are."

I decided to save her from some embarrassment, I cleared my throat, drawing everyone's attention before speaking in Midoriya's stuttering tone, "C-Can you p-please stop staring—" A growl interrupted Midoriya's voice as Bakugou's tone took over, "Shut up extra! I don't want to get expelled!"

After a moment of silence, they applauded the performance. Some of the girls asked me to imitate someone else or say specific things, but I waved it off, mentioning that I wanted to rest my voice before training today, which led Ashido to ask, "So what do you think the training will be today?"

Yaoyorazu's almost regal tone broke the silence, "According to the syllabus, we'll be covering some basic first aid today."

"First aid? Well, at least it's not the crowd control training yet. That's scheduled right after the USJ, right?" I mentally began counting down the days. "What do you mean? It sounds like it will be fun!"

I glanced over at Ochako and raised an eyebrow. She seemed earnest. Internally, I labeled her a bit of a thrill-seeker before responding, "I doubt having Devil Spit in your eyes is enjoyable."

"What—they're actually going to use it on us!? I thought we just had to us—"

The bell rang, cutting off her anxious questioning.

I stood up from my seat. The other girls could handle that conversation.

As I left the lunchroom, I slowed my pace, allowing a few groups of older students to pass in front of me, observing them. A few upper-class girls were clustered together, looking at their phones while walking, likely helping each other avoid obstacles as they networked.

I should consider getting into their undoubtedly extensive network of contacts. It would certainly be advantageous.

One step at a time, though.

Today's first aid class felt repetitive to me. The only notable differences from my past experiences were the emphasis on minimizing hand contact, avoiding direct physical touch, and prioritizing gathering as much information as possible about the victim's state, whether conscious or not. These points were logical, considering the variety of skin and touch-related quirks. Paramedics needed comprehensive information to ensure proper treatment, along with the specific materials required for each individual. No one wanted to be the one who accidentally killed someone by stitching their gills shut.

Unfortunately, despite the grim subject matter, today was entirely theoretical. During practical sessions, I would have to hold the mannequin's hand and use unsuitable materials for wounds. Today, however, was more of a "death by slideshow" situation. Ectoplasm had led the class into a monotonous trap, and half the class was showing advanced signs of PowerPoint poisoning. The only thing keeping me awake was observing the various frequencies of ectoplasm clones and how closely they resembled the original. I could only imagine having a quirk like that.

Still, I would give him an A for knowledge and a D for his presentation. I could already faintly hear the sound of snoring in the dim room. Didn't these students realize that sleeping in class could lead to failure?

The bell rang, and the lights came back on, as I heard Mineta's nasal voice ask, "What happened?" How did his balls not get stuck to the desk? Do they only get sticky if they are tugged on? "That concludes the lesson. Make sure to remember it, as you'll be tested on your knowledge next week. Good luck in the next class!" With that advice, Ectoplasm left the room. Within moments, any lingering tiredness vanished, replaced by anxiety when Recovery Girl, whom I recognized as the nurse, and Aizawa entered the room, followed by a small robot pushing a cart.

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Aizawa and Recovery Girl entered, followed by a small robot pushing a cart. The usual murmurs of side conversations faded under Aizawa's tired but ever-intimidating gaze. He let the silence hang for a moment before speaking.

"Today marks the start of your first aid training," he said, his tone flat but firm. "As future heroes, you'll be the first on the scene when things go wrong. Your ability to act—or failure to—can mean the difference between life and death."

A few students straightened in their seats at that. Others, like Mineta and Kaminari, looked less enthused. I didn't blame them—first aid training wasn't exactly the flashiest subject. But I knew better than to underestimate its importance.

Recovery Girl stepped forward, her small frame in stark contrast to the weight of her words. "Before any of you get excited—no, there will be no hands-on training today. You'll get plenty of that later, but first, you need to learn what not to do. Most injuries get worse when handled incorrectly, and in a world with quirks, traditional first aid isn't always enough."

She gestured to the projection screen as it flickered to life, displaying a diagram of a person collapsed on the ground. "We're starting with the basics. When you come across an unconscious person, your first priority is to determine if they're breathing and if their airway is clear. But before you even touch them, you need to assess the situation. Their quirk could change how you handle them."

The slide changed to a list of factors to consider: unique physiology, touch-activated quirks, the presence of additional limbs or organs, and potential healing complications. I already knew most of this, but it was interesting to hear how much nuance quirks added to standard procedures.

Recovery Girl continued, "For example, someone with a fire-resistant quirk might not react to burns the same way a normal person would. Someone with stone-like skin may not even need bandages. And if you're dealing with a mutant-type individual—" She clicked to an image of a fish-like hero. "—you'd better make sure you don't, for instance, stitch their gills shut by mistake."

A few students winced. Jirou muttered, "That's a horrifying thought."

"That's the point," Recovery Girl said. "Mistakes in first aid can be lethal. That's why you need to think before you act. Heroes need to remain calm, assess the situation, and respond accordingly."

The lesson continued, covering everything from spinal injuries to CPR procedures and even how to operate an automated defibrillator. The screen cycled through slide after slide, detailing each step, but without any hands-on practice, it quickly became a slog.

I could already hear Mineta shifting restlessly in his seat. Even Ashido, usually energetic, was slumped forward, struggling to stay focused. This was important information, but I knew from experience that sitting through it without application made it harder to absorb.

Eventually, the bell rang, snapping some students out of their trance.

Aizawa stretched, looking as tired as ever. "You'll be tested on this next week. Study."

With that, he turned and walked out, Recovery Girl following behind with the cart.

A collective sigh filled the room the moment the door shut.

"That was so much information," Ashido groaned.

Jirou rubbed her temples. "Yeah, but it's important. The last thing you want is to mess up when someone's life is on the line."

I exhaled, resting my chin on my hand. At least that part won't be a problem for me.

Aizawa Shouta, Pro Hero Eraserhead, Homeroom Teacher of Hero Class 1-A

I view myself as many things: serious, rational, emotionally composed, and a strict taskmaster. I aim to embody these traits to ensure the kids in my class, aspiring to be Heroes, can survive in the world. Regardless of opinions on my methods, I understand that to be a successful hero—one who outlasts mere years—discipline and readiness for any scenario are essential. The peril of irrationality, of letting emotions cloud common sense, is a path that leads only to ruin.

Students arrive here lacking discipline, devoid of self-control. They are undeserving of the title of Hero. For their own sake, they must be expelled and redirected to other career paths before they become threats to themselves and those they intend to protect. This is a daily reminder to myself.

How did it come to this? Eight years ago, I faced hurdles finding work at an agency due to biases against my quirk, naively thinking high school had dispelled such prejudices. Quirkism persists—a truth I impart to my students. An old classmate informed me of the high turnover at my alma mater. Teaching seemed manageable, so I underwent a crash course, secured a position as a teacher's assistant, and became a full-time teacher when the old instructor retired.

I still patrolled the outskirts at night, maintaining my old contacts for logical reasons. Confident in my teaching abilities, I adapted quickly. The contract afforded me near-total control over discipline and training, thanks to an administration unfamiliar with the hero curriculum. Thus, I expelled students who showed no effort in honing their quirks or physiques. Training lazy, inept individuals is pointless. If they haven't invested effort by now, what more can I do but prevent their premature demise?

Quashing their futile dreams is a harsh necessity, saving them from a harsh world and from themselves. My peers may find me severe, but I believe it's better for these children to face harsh realities here than perish in the field.

Entering Nedzu's office, a flicker of frustration crossed my mind. Yearly, I'm summoned to justify my actions or endure complaints that ultimately lead to nothing due to the school's N.D.A.s and HPSC agreements. Yet, I always emerge victorious. Those students lacked hero potential, a fact evident to all post-evaluation. Some attempted to prove me wrong by training elsewhere but never succeeded.

Adjusting my capture scarf for warmth, I took a seat before the principal's desk, pondering the reason for this summons. I hadn't expelled anyone recently, and my next round of expulsion recommendations remained on my desk.

Kaminari's inability to maintain self-discipline is unsuitable for a student of this institution, and Yamada's utterly uninspiring training before joining this school—I grimaced at the recollection and quickly dismissed it before the meeting. Recalling my initial arguments from the first set of forms, I braced myself for whatever Nedzu had planned. After a curt bow, I sat across from the rat-like principal. Only one teacup was present, signifying this was no social call. Very well, let's proceed.

"Aizawa, we both know neither of us wants to be here. Let's expedite this. What compels you to persist with these threats without any authority?" Nedzu's paws clasped as he sat in his oversized chair, his beady eyes boring into mine. There was no playful demeanor today.

"It was logical. By motivating them during the test, those without potential were forced to stand out more, as my report clearly indicates." My tone was unwavering, maintaining eye contact. My lawyer had prepared me to counter these accusations. "We require an accurate assessment of their abilities to effectively train those who truly belong here." As I spoke, the atmosphere shifted, Nedzu's eyes growing darker and colder.

"I see. Resorting to logic and reason, are we?" Nedzu stood, climbing onto the desk, clapping his paws. "But for someone who claims rationality, your actions over the past three years have been driven by emotion and past experiences. Despite your belief, time has moved on, and these students are not you..." He paused, "No, you don't see yourself in them..." Nedzu briefly bared his fangs before crossing his paws behind his back. "You see, Oboro Shirakumo—" "You do not get to say his name!"

I glared at the weasel-like principal, rising from my chair. I inhaled deeply to regain composure. How dare he suggest bias or irrationality? Using the deceased as justification? Inhuman, like this creature.

I adjusted my scarf, eager to conclude this matter and return to patrolling. "My recommendations are impartial. Both Yamada and Izuku have shown reckless behavior and a lack of control over their quirks, likely from never practicing them. I question their potential as heroes and see them as liabilities. If expulsion is not an option, at least transfer them out of the Hero course." I stated flatly before turning away.

I heard a growl from one of the students and turned back, maintaining a watchful eye on them. "Even after your previous class failure due to your narrow-minded beliefs... Failing so spectacularly that they managed to file a lawsuit against the HPSC. Yet you persist in thinking you are right..." The rat continued, pacing with deliberate steps, "Let me remind you of your two 'recommendations'. Yamada is a survivor who was born in Kamino Hospital during an attack."

I recalled that day. Though I wasn't part of the operation, it dominated the headlines on HeroNet—a group of villains had seized the hospital, using hostages on the third floor and in the paternity ward. The top ten heroes responded, inflicting significant damage on the hospital. But no one died that day, or so I thought until now. I'll need to investigate that matter more thoroughly—

The weasel dismissed the thought with a wave of his arm, "Yes, yes, we are well aware. Regardless, she was then placed in an orphanage where her quirk manifested violently. She received HPSC training to control it but was ultimately rejected from their hero program when it was disbanded shortly after her discovery. You should remember how that unfolded since it's the reason you were hired here."

What relevance does any of this hold—

"Here is a quote from her file that I find particularly noteworthy: 'despite her potentially self damaging quirk, she consistently prioritizes the needs of others, even when she believes no one is watching. Her quirk is powerful and can be easily marketed for society. She is an ideal candidate to be the face of our program.'"

The weasel seems to relish his own voice. Government reports? I scoffed, "You trust the judgment of government agents? You are well aware of the incompetence of the HPS—" "I have not finished speaking." I restrained myself from rolling my eyes at the creature.

"In spite of her quirk, she continued to train under the supervision of former pro hero Joyful Fist," I scowled at the thought.

That woman was the kind of hero who never should have been given this role—too focused on networking, neglecting training. She's the reason he's dead—

"And it was with a recommendation from one of your fellow teachers that Yamada was able to take the Entrance exam."

Who?

The weasel ceased pacing and fixed me with an unyielding stare. I had turned back towards the table during his droning, "Now regarding Izuku. He was thought to be quirkless until he unexpectedly manifested his quirk just before the conclusion of the Entrance exam." That-that doesn't, "Your assumption that he is weak and can barely keep pace with his classmates without using his quirk is troubling. Particularly as someone who primarily relies on support gear and surprise tactics due to your quirk being limited to nullifying others' quirks…."

The weasel snarled, teeth bared, and I noticed the fur on his back bristling. "Moreover, your tirade earlier this year towards your students reeks of extremist ideology. You're likely aware of Destro and his Liberation Army, Might makes Righ—"

"Whoever likened me to that villain is deranged and clueless. All I said was that the school board is irrational in insisting on physical exams without quirks, as no one is create—"

"That's precisely the point. You are an educator, not a member of the school board. Your views are not facts and can be misconstrued by your students! For your information, the reason quirks are not used in those exams is to promote fitness! Encouraging healthy habits for children to engage in exercise! They do not use their quirks as not all of them will pursue careers as Heroes! It's against the LAW that YOU uphold! I will not tolerate hearing this again. Do not let me hear of you infusing your toxic perspectives on law and society into our students again."

The weasel's gaze drilled into mine; the inhuman blackness and raised fur left me weary. Nonetheless, I maintained eye contact, poised to defend myself. After several moments, it was the weasel who averted his gaze. He sighed before leaping back onto his overstuffed chair, "I'm sure I don't need to state this, but your recommendations are denied. Leave. Yagi will handle your heroic lesson tomorrow—you have your court appearance. Do not be late again."

Acknowledging the dismissal for what it was, I turned and departed.

Damn weasel. Who does it presume to be?

How dare he bring up—

I scarcely remember leaving the school, collecting my belongings, and dismissing Hizashi—Present Mic, my mind corrected—his inquiries.

Time to uncover what transpired five years ago and eliminate this problem.

Skycrawler has got to have some contacts from that time around…

Nezdu, The Principal of U.A.

The door closed with a resounding crash, the noise reverberating through the shadowy office like a gunshot. I observed Aizawa's retreating silhouette vanishing down the corridor, his anger and frustration manifest even at this distance. A deep sigh escaped me as I sank into my chair, running a tired hand through my fur.

"Humans," I murmured, my voice tinged with both irritation and melancholy. "Invariably too stubborn and obstinate for their own benefit." It pained me to maneuver my friends and colleagues like pawns on a chessboard, yet sometimes, to safeguard them and accomplish my objectives, I found myself compelled to adopt the role of the antagonist. Presently, exposing the HPSC cover-up was imperative—whatever the cost.

I reclined in my chair, gazing at the ceiling as I pondered my alternatives. Even if Eraser Head's mission faltered, his efforts would at least serve to divert the commission long enough to position other elements to prevent them from commandeering my school and molding these children into their ideal soldiers. The realization that their backing was the sole reason the lawsuit proceeded offered scant consolation and did little to lighten the burden on my conscience. "What kind of world have we constructed where heroes are driven to contend with one another?" I reflected aloud, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste.

Shaking off the lingering shadow of its presence, I fortified myself for the trials ahead. Though I abhorred resorting to such measures, I understood that sometimes sacrifices were necessary to attain the greater good.

"Very well, then," I whispered, determination settling into the core of my being. "Let's send that report to Skycrawler."

Tanya Yamada, Hero Student, 1-A Seat # 6

I'm the first one in the homeroom today, with Toru's usual floating clothes absent from her seat, if you disregard the lazy teacher sleeping underneath his desk. Thankfully, it wasn't too long before the others began to trickle in. I took note of each one as they entered, making mental notes on their uniforms, as I couldn't let standards slip while I had a leadership role. Naturally, I made sure to smile appropriately as greetings and waited for class to start.

Despite the bell signaling the start of the day, the teacher continued to sleep, and the noise level of the students only remained low for the first few minutes because I signaled everyone about the sleeping teacher. I could tell most of the class was not impressed.

Eventually, Aizawa was awoken by an alarm, likely from his phone, and with a blank stare, he uttered a single word about behaving ourselves until the next period before leaving us to our own devices. It was at this time I recalled I didn't have my friends' contact information on my phone yet and, with subtle prodding of Izuku, managed to get him to suggest creating a 'chatroom' for the class. Thankfully, he's getting used to speaking to crowds and only stuttered three times.

First period was math. The teacher, Ectoplasm, drones on, his voice blending into the monotone hum of the ventilation shaft. Numbers dance on the whiteboard in an elaborate ballet that I vaguely follow. During this time, I pretended to take notes, my pen aimlessly scribbling on the paper, while I thought about the various sounds the split copies of my teacher were making.

The bell rang, offering a brief respite from the monotony of simple equations and formulas. But the relief was short-lived, as history was next, and all I could do was take notes and study the dates to avoid falling behind.

Lunch provides a moment of brilliance in the otherwise lackluster day so far. I took a seat at my now usual spot in the bustling room, picking at Lunch Rush's meal of the day, seared salmon. This meal reminded me how fortunate I am to enjoy the creations of a culinary master at such a reasonable price.

A single bite of the seared salmon, and the flavors burst in my mouth. I savored the delicate balance of the fresh fish, the lemony tang, the richness of the butter sauce, and the subtle hint of dill. It's a symphony of flavors I have never experienced before. And it's not just the salmon; the sides, too, are exceptional. The simple green beans have been transformed into a gourmet delight, cooked to perfection and tossed in garlic and olive oil, while the potatoes, crispy on the outside, creamy on the inside, are a comforting presence on my palate.

Sometimes I have to pinch myself to ensure I'm not dreaming. I never imagined I would be eating such high-quality food in a school cafeteria. It feels like I've won some kind of food lottery. I've always appreciated good food, but I never realized how much until now.

Each day promises a new discovery, a new flavor, a new experience, and it fills me with a sense of joy—no, more than joy, a sense of privilege—that I get to savor this level of culinary skill daily. It's like having access to a top-tier restaurant without the hefty price tag.

My classmates' chatter blends into a pleasant background noise as I focus on enjoying my meal, only vaguely acknowledging the conversations around me. The world beyond the window seems far away, disconnected from this small slice of school life.

But then the brilliance of lunch fades, and it's back to the slow routine of school. Biology, literature, art—each subject feels like a different flavor of the same dish. The teachers speak, we listen, the bell rings, and we move on. It's a dance everyone has unknowingly perfected, a simple ritual of routine.

Even today's Heroics lessons were uninspiring, with Aizawa putting on a short film about firefighting while he dozed off. Finally, the last bell rings, signaling the end of the school day. I pack my things and head for the door, a sigh of relief escaping my lips. Another day done, another small victory in the ongoing battle against Being X.

As if the halls of U.A. came alive with the final bell, the usual frenetic energy erupted. Students shuffled out, a sea of colorful uniforms, masks, and hairstyles. As I paused to gather my belongings, I heard Kyoka, Toru, and Mina, each unique in their way, gather around my desk. Kyoka, with her dark, shoulder-length hair and cool demeanor, contrasted sharply with Toru's bubbly, invisible presence.

"Finally, school's over," Mina sighed, stretching her arms. "I thought Aizawa's class would never end."

Toru's floating uniform giggled. "You're still not used to our hero studies, huh?"

Kyoka, packing her earphone jacks, smirked. "Well, it's not every day you get to toss your classmate across a room in the name of education."

Reflecting on yesterday's events caused me to groan, prompting a round of laughter from the other two. Thankfully, the laughter faded quickly, with Toru clapping her invisible hands together. "Alright, ladies, what's the plan for our girls' day out?"

"Girls' day out?" I inquired. Kyoka simply nodded, casting a glance at me with a raised brow. Suddenly, I recalled nodding and agreeing to something while I was eating... I guess I have no choice but to go along with it.

In no time, we were making our way downtown, walking swiftly. As we walked, the others chatted about everything from school to movies, and even their favorite music. I joined in occasionally, adding my thoughts.

Toru mentioned feeling lost with academics, having previously focused more on the physical aspects of Heroics before joining U.A. Kyoka talked about her family and their music store, reminiscing about performing at various venues before settling down to teach others their passion for music.

The conversation eventually turned toward my life at the orphanage, and they seemed interested. Although I didn't find it all that fascinating, I shared stories about the other kids and how I resolved disputes among the younger ones.

Our first stop was a popular crepe stand, according to Toru. The food was good—not quite on par with Lunch Rush's meals—but the cook had already prepared the food as soon as we ordered, perhaps due to a precognition quirk.

I finished my crepe, while Toru's seemed to float in midair, vanishing piece by piece. Kyoka appeared more focused on the street musicians nearby than on her snack. Toru noticed this and exclaimed, "Kyoka, you should join them. I bet they'd love it!" Her voice was filled with excitement.

Blushing slightly, Kyoka shook her head in refusal, "Not today, Toru." Without missing a beat, Toru turned to me, "You should have heard her yesterday~ she can sing like you wouldn't believe!"

"Oh, I'll have to hear that sometime."

Embarrassed, Kyoka quickly finished her treat.

Afterwards, the girls led me into a clothing store. Toru found a white sundress she claimed would 'look absolutely stunning' on her. Meanwhile, Kyoka stood beside me, nodding along with whatever the invisible girl suggested.

We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring, each girl offering her unique perspective and interests. As the sun began to set, we found ourselves at a park.

The park was much grander than I had expected. A sprawling public space nestled in the heart of the bustling city, Green Hill Zone stretched over a few hills amidst the towering skyscrapers, providing a peaceful escape from urban life.

We entered through the east gate, following a wide cobblestone pathway lined with towering oak and maple trees. The leaves offered a cool canopy under the sun's rays.

To our left, expansive, well-maintained lawns stretched out, dotted with groups of people enjoying their leisure time. Some had spread colorful picnic blankets and were sharing meals; others were lying back, reading books, or simply soaking up the sunshine. Children ran around with their pets, their laughter piercing the crisp air. To our right, a lake glimmered under the sunlight. Ducks and other birds glided gracefully over the water, leaving gentle ripples behind. A small stone bridge arched over the narrowest part of the lake, and its reflection in the water was flawless. From this distance, I could see several visitors paused on the bridge, feeding the ducks or just watching the calm water, their silhouettes framed by the setting sun. I tried to let my mind drift as we walked, with Kyoka and Toru also taking the time to relax alongside me as we absorbed the scene.

Further along the path, we passed by a variety of amenities. A modern playground was bustling with children, their joyful screams filling the air as they swung, slid, and climbed. Nearby, a beautifully landscaped garden bloomed with myriad colors, the scent of roses, lilies, and gardenias mingling in the air. Artificial beehives seemed strategically placed around the garden, buzzing with activity and contributing to the park's ecosystem.

A small fountain with a stage nearby featured a band and a pink-haired idol who was currently dancing and singing to a crowd. The adult, eyepatch-wearing idol demonstrated her quirk by jumping off heart-shaped platforms and kicking up her skirt, with the city's silhouette providing a stunning backdrop to the performance. We clapped along with the music before leaving as "Pop-Step" waved goodbye to everyone and vanished in a cloud of smoke. The name seemed familiar, perhaps a small-time hero on a day off?

Regardless, we reached the end of the park just as the sun was setting. The paths were illuminated by tasteful lighting fixtures, casting a warm and inviting glow. The city skyline reappeared beyond the park's borders, the buildings twinkling like stars against the darkening sky. Green Hill Zone is not just a park; it's a refuge in the city, a place where urban dwellers can reconnect with nature and escape the hustle of city life, even if only briefly. The decision to stay and watch the sunset was unanimous, and we sat at the park's edge, gazing toward the lake.

The tranquility of the moment enveloped me as we sat together, the musical notes of Kyoka and Toru soothing my senses—this was what I desired. Below, the city began to sparkle as lights flickered on, one by one, like stars emerging in the night. With my two friends by my side, I felt a rare sense of happiness, a feeling I hadn't experienced in some time. But as the sun sank further, casting long shadows that mingled with the darkness, I faintly heard laughter. The peace gradually gave way to an unsettling sense of dread, like the calm before a storm.

Being X.

The city that had felt vibrant and welcoming during the day now seemed eerie and unfamiliar. The distant laughter and shouts, once pleasing, now echoed ominously. The buildings, once grand, now loomed like menacing silhouettes against the night sky. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to dispel the feeling.

The tranquility of the sunset had turned into an uncomfortable silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or a distant car horn. My heart pounded in my chest. I could feel my breath catching, my palms growing clammy.

As the sun vanished completely and the night's chill set in, I felt warmth surrounding me. Kyoka leaned against my side, a smile on her face as her earjacks moved behind us. A moment of confusion struck me before the other girl wrapped her arms around us both, squeezing me between the two. I chuckled, finding it absurd that a hug could momentarily make me forget my paranoia... "We should do this again later." They agreed. As we stood up to leave, Kyoka asked, "So, are you guys excited for rescue training this week?" "Yeah! We get to go to Universal!" Toru exclaimed, excitedly talking about her desire to ride the coasters. She didn't seem to question how the park was connected to rescue training though… I rolled my eyes and, trying to remain calm, explained, "No Toru, the USJ stands for the Unforeseen Simulation Joint…"

AN: Back to new threadmarks! Spot the cameos~