The room had mostly filled out now. Students settled into their own groups.
Mineta, Kaminari, Sato, and Sero formed a group like they'd already decided their collective IQ wasn't worth splitting up. Toru and Jiro leaned toward each other, close enough that their conversation was meant to be private. Then there were the ones keeping to themselves, minding their own business: Tokoyami, Todoroki, Shoji, Aoyama, Ojiro, and Asui.
And there was also Bakugo who stayed quiet in his corner. Leaning back in his chair with his shoes on top of the desk in front of him, eyes closed, arms crossed. He hadn't acknowledged anyone since sitting down. Just sat there like a landmine waiting for a trigger.
Which didn't take long.
Across the room, Iida suddenly stood, posture snapping into rigid attention like someone flipped a switch.
I followed his line of sight. Sure enough, it landed on Bakugo—specifically, on his shoes. I personally don't consider it a big deal, but for Iida it must be an affront to classroom etiquette.
He marched toward Bakugo, his movements stiff and exaggerated.
"You there," he called out, adjusting his glasses with one hand. "That behavior is highly disrespectful. This institution is a place of discipline and honor—you cannot treat the furniture, or this classroom, with such disregard!"
Bakugo cracked one eye open.
"What?" he said flatly.
"Remove your feet from the desk at once!"
Bakugo sat forward slowly, placing his feet back on the floor—not because he was backing down, but because he was about to lean into the conversation.
"You serious right now? You're really pressed about where my feet are?"
"I am," Iida snapped. "U.A. is a symbol of heroism and excellence. To treat it like your personal lounge is an affront to every student who fought to be here."
Bakugo scoffed, eyebrows raising like he witnessing the birth of a new kind of stupid. "Man, hop off my dick. I'm just sitting here. Mindin' my business."
Iida's face twitched. No, his whole existence twitched.
"You're making yourself comfortable at the expense of the institution that's training you, that desk is not your personal footrest. And your 'business' disrupts the professionalism of this space!"
"And you think marching across the room yelling at people isn't more disruptive?" Bakugo shot back, voice low and sharp.
"I wasn't yelling—!"
"Sure sounded like it."
The tension spiked.
Even the conversations around them started to quiet.
"Yikes," Ashido muttered, half-turned in her seat. "Early morning dick-measuring contest."
Kirishima leaned back slightly, just enough to glance at me. "You think those two even know each other?"
"Doubt it," I said. "But you don't need history to hate someone. Sometimes opposites just recognize each other on instinct."
Momo sighed quietly. "His language is rather… coarse. Not the sort of vocabulary I'd expect from someone entering a professional field."
"Sure," I said, "but personally? I'd be more annoyed by the other guy."
Momo blinked. "You mean Iida?"
"I mean, imagine you're just sitting there, not bothering anyone, and someone gets in your face over your posture." I shrugged. "Talk about a power trip."
The door slid open again.
Another figure stepped in—messy green hair, eyes scanning the room like every glance might come with a slap. Shoulders hunched. Hands curled into anxious fists.
Izuku Midoriya.
His gaze flickered from desk to desk, but when they landed on Iida and Bakugo, his whole posture shifted.
Iida turned at once and started walking to Midoriya, abandoning his argument without hesitation.
"Midoriya, correct?" Iida said, voice firm but not unfriendly. "I remember you from the exam. It's clear now—you understood the true goal behind the practical, didn't you?"
Midoriya blinked. "Uh… well—"
"I didn't realize it at the time," Iida continued, not waiting for confirmation. "But looking back, I completely misread your actions. You're sharper than I gave you credit for. I admit, as a student, you're far superior to me."
Midoriya's eyes went wide. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
Before he could find them, a bright voice rang out from behind him.
"Oh! That curly hair!"
Ochaco Uraraka entered the classroom with an enthusiastic pep in her step, immediately locking onto Midoriya.
"You're the plain-looking one! You passed, just like Present Mic said! Of course you did, your punch was amazing!"
Midoriya's face turned beet red.
"Ah—th-thank you! I wasn't really thinking—just moving—"
She didn't seem to notice his flustered spiral.
"I'm so excited to meet everyone! I wonder what we're doing today. Orientation, probably? I hope they show us around the campus—do you think we'll meet the teachers?" She glanced around. "They're probably all amazing."
"If you're here to socialize, you can pack up your stuff and leave. You're clearly in the wrong program." A rough voice cut through the air like a scalpel.
Everyone turned.
Right outside the entrance, a figure stood up—slouched and expressionless, hair a messy curtain over his eyes. He'd been in a sleeping bag on the floor, unnoticed until now.
Tired eyes that scanned the room with the apathy of someone who'd already decided most of us wouldn't last.
Shota Aizawa. Eraserhead.
"Welcome to U.A. University's Hero Course," he said, tone flat and unimpressed. "I'm Shota Aizawa. I'll be your main instructor. Congratulations on making it this far."
He didn't smile. Just let the silence stretch before continuing.
"It took you eight seconds to quiet down after I entered. That's a problem. In this line of work, hesitation gets people killed. If you need a tour, a warm-up speech, or a hand to hold, transfer to General Studies."
He stepped forward with slow, deliberate steps, then dropped a bundle of navy-blue fabric onto the front desk. It unfolded slightly—revealing the U.A. gym uniform, crisp white lettering cutting across the dark fabric. A stylized 'U' running up the torso, and an 'A' that carved down the legs
"Put these on. We're going outside."
There were a few blinks, but no one moved. Not fast enough, anyway.
Aizawa's gaze swept across the class like a blade.
"Let me be clear—this is not high school. You're not children. You don't get a grace period. Every day here is a filter. Some of you will pass. But from my experience, most of you won't."
A heavy pause filled the air.
"This is your first assessment. I need to see what I'm working with, and more importantly, who's worth my time. If you came here expecting orientation, icebreakers, or some motivational speech about dreams, lower your expectations now."
He turned for the door, already walking away.
"You have fifteen minutes to get changed. Meet me at Training Field One. If you're late, don't bother showing up at all."
The door clicked shut behind him.
For a second, the room held its breath.
Then I stood.
"Well," I said, tone dry but not unfriendly, "he's not exactly the welcoming committee. But we should get moving. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting."
Ashido let out a short laugh as she stood. "Right? That guy sounds one bad day away from erasing us."
Kirishima rose next, stretching his shoulders. "Tough love, huh? Guess that's the U.A. way."
Momo simply adjusted her blazer, composed as ever, and stood with practiced grace.
A few others started rising from their seats, movement rippling outward now that someone had finally broken the tension.