[A/N : The Patreon has now been launched for this fic. So if you're interested check out my bio or the synopsis. Thank you for the support so far. I plan on updating regularly from now on. Peace ✌️]
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Sliding the door open, Izuku was immediately hit by the sharp, overlapping voices of two students already at each other's throats.
"I am merely enforcing proper classroom etiquette!" Iida snapped, chopping the air with rigid hand motions.
"Shut up, Four-Eyes! I'll do whatever I want!" Bakugo barked back, sparks practically crackling off his glare.
'Man… I hate these two already,' Izuku thought dryly.
He stepped inside and slid the door shut behind him with a soft click.
The sound wasn't loud—but it was enough.
The argument died instantly.
Every conversation in the room stalled as nineteen pairs of eyes turned toward him. The sudden silence pressed down, thick and curious. Some students stared openly, others subtly. A few whispered under their breath.
Izuku didn't flinch.
He offered a relaxed smile and raised a hand in a small, casual wave, as if he'd just walked into any ordinary classroom. Then, without hesitation, he moved toward the back row.
Corner seat. Wall to his left. Windows behind him.
Perfect.
He slid into the chair and leaned back, posture loose but alert, eyes already moving. One by one, he assessed his classmates—quirks hinted at by posture, confidence levels, the way they carried themselves. Fighters. Thinkers. Loudmouths. Quiet observers.
Nineteen, he counted.
That meant—
The door slid open again.
Right on cue.
A girl with chestnut-brown hair stepped inside, pausing briefly as she scanned the room. Her gaze drifted—then stopped.
Locked onto him.
Her eyes widened just a fraction before her cheeks flushed pink. Izuku noticed immediately.
She swallowed, adjusted her grip on her bag, and made her way down the aisle. Instead of taking an empty seat elsewhere, she stopped directly in front of him and sat down, placing her bag neatly at her feet.
"Hi, how are you?" she asked brightly, though the tension in her voice betrayed her nerves. She turned slightly in her seat to face him more fully.
Izuku straightened a bit, giving her his full attention. "Hey. I'm good. You?"
"I'm great!" she said quickly, then hesitated. "Oh—um—by the way… thank you. For saving me back then. I was really shaken up, so I didn't get to thank you properly."
Her voice was sincere. No exaggeration. Just gratitude.
"Oh, it was nothing," Izuku replied easily, waving it off. "So… how are you feeling about being in 1-A?"
She considered the question for a moment, fingers lightly gripping the edge of her desk. "I guess just… excited," she admitted. "I really want to learn as much as I can from our teachers. Especially All Might."
She tried to sound composed, but the excitement slipped through anyway, bright and genuine.
"Yeah," Izuku said, nodding. His gaze stayed steady on her. "Me too. I'm also excited to learn more about you now that we're officially classmates. Who knows—one day we might even be saving people together."
Her brain short-circuited for half a second.
Her cheeks warmed almost instantly.
'Learn about me? Is he trying to… date me? No—no, I'm not ready for that…'
A pause.
'But… if it's him… I wouldn't mind.'
"Y-yeah… me too," she replied softly, quickly turning back to face the front of the classroom, hoping he wouldn't notice how red her face had gotten.
Behind her, Izuku leaned back again, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
Then, without warning, the classroom door slid open.
A tall man wrapped head to toe in a yellow sleeping bag shuffled inside, dragging himself forward like some bizarre, exhausted worm returning to its nest.
The zipper rattled softly with every step, the fabric brushing against the floor as if even gravity felt too demanding for him.
The room fell silent.
He stopped at the front of the class and, without a single word, began wriggling out of the sleeping bag. It was slow. Awkward. Almost painful to watch—like a caterpillar struggling through a very unenthusiastic metamorphosis.
Finally, he emerged.
Messy black hair stuck out in every direction. His eyes were half-lidded, dark circles hanging beneath them like permanent fixtures. His shoulders slumped, posture loose, as though standing upright was already asking too much of him.
Everything about the man screamed: I wish I was at home right now.
"I am your homeroom teacher," he said flatly, voice carrying no warmth whatsoever. "Shota Aizawa. Pleased to meet you all."
The room stayed dead quiet.
No applause. No greetings. Not even nervous chatter. Aizawa didn't seem to care in the slightest.
He reached back into the sleeping bag and pulled out a folded U.A. sports uniform, holding it up lazily at chest level.
"Quickly," he continued, already sounding bored of his own words. "Change into your gym clothes and head to the training grounds."
That was it.
No explanation. No welcoming speech. No inspirational words about becoming heroes.
Just orders.
The class exchanged uncertain looks, some students visibly confused, others intrigued. Still, everyone stood and began moving toward the lockers. Izuku followed along calmly, hands in his pockets, expression relaxed.
---
Inside the locker room, the atmosphere shifted almost immediately.
As Izuku pulled his shirt over his head, conversation around him died mid-sentence.
Muscle definition stretched across his torso—lean, dense, and clearly earned through brutal training rather than flashy workouts. Broad shoulders. Firm core. Power without excess bulk.
A red-haired boy froze mid-step, eyes widening.
"Woah, bro… you're ripped!" he blurted out before he could stop himself.
That did it.
Almost every guy in the room turned toward Izuku at once, eyes flicking over his physique in open disbelief. A few whistled. Someone muttered a quiet no way.
Two people didn't react.
One was Shoto Todoroki, who didn't even glance in Izuku's direction, calmly changing as if nothing unusual was happening.
The other was Katsuki Bakugo.
"Tch," Bakugo scoffed loudly, zipping up his uniform with sharp, aggressive movements. "Muscles don't matter. We're in a Quirk school, remember?"
He shot Izuku a sideways smirk, daring him to argue.
Izuku heard him—and smiled.
"He's right," Izuku said easily, tone calm. "Quirks do matter." He glanced back at the red-haired boy. "But thanks for the compliment. I see you're a muscle guy too."
The tension instantly diffused.
The redhead grinned wide, teeth flashing. "Yeah! Gotta stay manly, right?" He thumped his chest proudly. "Name's Eijiro Kirishima."
"Izuku," he replied, shaking Kirishima's hand firmly. Then he turned slightly, addressing the rest of the group. "Might as well introduce ourselves, don't you think?"
There were nods. Shrugs. A few excited murmurs.
Within minutes, names were exchanged—quirks briefly mentioned, personalities quickly revealed. Even Todoroki gave a short, clipped introduction. Bakugo barked his name like a challenge rather than a greeting.
Soon after, they filed out of the locker room toward the training grounds.
Without really realizing it, Izuku ended up at the front of the group.
Leading.
He slowed just enough to glance back at the cluster of guys behind him, then sighed internally.
'I hope they know the second I get close to the girls… I'm leaving them,' he thought.
Some habits were hard to break.
TO BE CONTINUED