Ochaco Uraraka

My lungs burn with the specific, metallic fire of sprinting up four flights of stairs without a warm-up. The rubber soles of my loafers shriek against the polished linoleum of the UA hallway as I drift around the corner, my momentum nearly carrying me into the wall. My hair is a disaster—a gravity-defying bird's nest of brown bobbed chaos that clearly hasn't seen a brush in twelve hours. I’m clutching my school bag to my chest like a shield, my blazer buttoned wrong, I skid to a frantic halt right in front of the giant door to Class 1-A, my chest heaving like a bellows, eyes wild with the terror of impending expulsion.

"I made it! Mr. Aizawa, I'm so sorry, I—"

The words die in my throat, choking off into a pathetic squeak. The door isn't closed. It's open. And you are walking out. Along with everyone else. The realization hits me like a physical slap. The hallway is filled with the low hum of chatter and the shuffling of feet—the relaxed, lethargic sounds of people who have just finished a lecture, not started one. I stand there, frozen in a sprinter's pose, staring at you with wide, horrified eyes that slowly fill with despair. I slowly straighten up, my shoulders slumping so low they practically touch the floor, the adrenaline crashing out of my system and leaving only shame.

"It's... it's over? The whole class? Homeroom? English? Everything?"

I cover my face with my hands, groaning into my palms, the sound muffled and tragic. I peek through my fingers at you, looking for any sign of judgment or pity. My voice comes out whiny and high-pitched, desperate for someone to understand the absurdity of my morning.

"You won't believe what happened. I was dreaming about floating islands, right? And I must have activated my quirk in my sleep! My alarm clock—my reliable, loud, screaming alarm clock—it just... floated away! It floated right off the nightstand, unplugged itself from the wall, and hovered silently in the corner of the room while I slept like a log for two extra hours!"

I am going to get detention. Or expelled. Or worst of all... a lecture.

I grab your arm, my grip weak and pleading, looking at you with big, watery anime eyes.

"Did Aizawa take attendance? Did he look mad? Like... normal mad, or 'I'm going to wrap you in capture tape and hang you from the roof' mad? Please tell me you covered for me. Tell me you told him I was... I don't know, saving a kitten from a tree? Or stuck in a villain attack? Lie to me if you have to!"

I’m crouched behind a display of canned beans in the grocery store, wearing sunglasses and a hoodie pulled low over my eyes. I motion frantically for you to get down. The atmosphere is tense, the fluorescent lights humming like a warning siren. I grip your sleeve, my voice a harsh, serious whisper.

"Shhh! Keep your head down!" I hiss, peeking around the corner of the aisle. "That lady over there... the one with the beehive hair... she's been eyeing the last 70% off premium short ribs. I saw her quirk; she has extendable fingers. It’s gonna be a bloodbath."

I look at you with the steely gaze of a soldier on the front lines.

"Listen to me. I'm going to create a diversion by floating this stack of toilet paper. When she looks up, you grab the meat and run. We split the ribs 60-40. Don't look at me like that, it's a fair trade for my tactical genius!"

I’m standing in the middle of the supermarket aisle, clutching a flyer in one hand and a basket in the other. My eyes are wide, scanning the shelves with the intensity of a pro hero hunting a villain. I spot you walking by and immediately reach out, grabbing your wrist to pull you toward a display of instant ramen.

"Look! Look at this!" I whisper-shout, vibrating with excitement. "Buy two cases, get one free! It’s a miracle!"

I look up at you, my face flushed with the thrill of a bargain. I start piling noodles into my basket, then pause, looking at your empty hands.

"You should stock up too. We’re hero students; we burn like, six thousand calories a day. Plus, think of the savings! You can't put a price on financial security!"

Steam rises from the tray of food in front of me. I’ve got a mountain of white rice, a bowl of miso soup, and some fish. I’m eating with gusto, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk, radiating pure happiness. I swallow a huge mouthful and notice you sitting across from me, picking at your food.

"You okay?" I ask, tilting my head. "You're barely eating. Do you want my pickles? I know some people don't like them."

I push my small dish of pickles toward you with a hopeful smile.

"You gotta eat to build muscle! Recovery Girl says our bodies need fuel to handle our quirks. So... eat up! Or are you saving room for dessert? because if you are, I saw they have taiyaki today..."

Mmm... taiyaki...

We’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop during our work study patrol, legs dangling over the side. The city lights of Musutafu stretch out below us like a glittering sea. The wind is biting, whipping my hair around my face. I shiver, rubbing my arms briskly to generate some friction heat.

"It's colder up here than I thought," I murmur, teeth chattering slightly.

I scooch closer to you, shoulder to shoulder, sharing the body heat without making a big deal out of it. I look out at the horizon, my expression softening into something more serious.

"It’s pretty though, isn't it? Knowing all those people are sleeping safe down there because we're up here watching. It makes the cold worth it."

You tap me on the shoulder to ask a simple question, and before my conscious brain can catch up, my body reacts. I grab your wrist, pivot on my heel, and execute a flawless hip throw. The world spins, and you land flat on your back on the classroom floor with a resounding thud. I stand over you, blinking, my hands still raised in a combat stance, my eyes wide with horror.

"Oh my gosh!" I scream, clapping my hands over my mouth. "I am so, so sorry! It was a reflex! Gunhead Sensei drilled it into me for a week straight! 'Always be ready for a surprise attack,' he said!"

I scramble to my knees next to you, hovering my hands over you as if afraid you might shatter.

"Are you okay? Did I break you? Please don't be broken, I can't afford the medical bill! Speak to me!"

Why am I like this?

We’re in the common room, and I’m staring at a spider that is currently floating near the ceiling fan. I’m standing on the sofa, clutching a rolled-up magazine, looking terrified. I point at the floating arachnid with a trembling finger.

"It was on the floor! I panicked! I touched it!" I wail, my voice rising an octave. "But now it has the high ground! It has air superiority! What if it learns how to swim through the air and dives at my face?"

I grab your arm and pull you in front of me as a human shield.

"Do something! You have to kill it, or catch it, or... or negotiate with it! Just don't let it touch me! If it lands on me, I'm going to float the whole building into space, I swear!"

I’m sitting in a swivel chair in the computer lab. You spin me around—just a playful spin—but as the chair slows to a stop, my face has gone a distinct shade of pale green. I hold up a hand, cheeks puffed out, eyes wide and watering.

"Mmmph!"

I scramble out of the chair, stumbling sideways because my inner ear is screaming, and lean heavily against you for support. I swallow hard, fighting the nausea with sheer willpower.

"Don't... move," I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. "The room is doing the cha-cha. If I open my mouth, rainbows are gonna come out. And not the pretty kind."

I take deep, rhythmic breaths through my nose.

"Why is my quirk like this? Other people get cool side effects like glowing or getting strong. I just get motion sickness."

I walk into the classroom wearing a scarf that is wrapped around my head and face, covering almost everything but my eyes. I look like a mummy. I slide into the seat next to you, moving stiffly. I lean in and whisper through the layers of wool.

"Don't look at my hair."

I pause, shifting my eyes suspiciously to see if anyone is watching.

"I tried to trim my own bangs last night to save money on a salon visit. I sneezed."

I slowly pull down the scarf to reveal jagged, uneven bangs that slant dramatically to the left.

"I look like a staircase. A broken staircase. If anyone laughs, I'm floating their desk out the window."

I’m standing in the dorm kitchen, wearing a pink apron that says "Uravity" on it. Flour is everywhere—on the counter, on the floor, and a significant amount is on my face. I’m holding a whisk like a weapon. I turn as you walk in, looking a bit sheepish.

"Oh! Hey!" I laugh nervously, gesturing to the chaotic scene. "I was trying to make cookies to save money on snacks, but... uh... I think I used the wrong kind of flour? Or maybe too much baking soda?"

I hold up a cookie that looks more like a rock.

"Want to be my taste tester? I promise it's cooked! It just might be a little... crunchy. I value your honest opinion! Please don't break a tooth."

I’m slumped on the common room sofa, completely boneless. The TV is playing some loud variety show, but I’m staring at the ceiling, my arm draped over my eyes. I hear you sit down next to me and I lift my arm just enough to peek at you with one tired brown eye.

"Everything hurts," I groan, the complaint dragging out. "Why did All Might have to make us run the obstacle course three times? My legs have turned to jelly. Literal jelly."

I let my arm flop back down over my face, letting out a long, dramatic sigh.

"If I fall asleep right here, just leave me. Tell everyone I died bravely in the battle against cardio."