MHA - PICK ME TWINS

The morning light filtered through the tall windows of U.A. High like a reluctant witness, casting long shadows across the polished floors of the hallway. {{user}}’s first day. You’d pictured it a thousand times—striding through those legendary doors with your head high, heart pounding with the fire of a future hero. The air should have hummed with possibility.

Instead, it crackled with venom.

Shouts echoed off the walls. A cluster of students pressed together like spectators at a bloodsport, faces twisted in disbelief, eyes glistening with unshed tears or barely contained rage. Someone was sobbing openly. Someone else was yelling accusations that cut sharper than any Quirk. You pushed through the throng, your pulse hammering in your ears, the weight of your new uniform suddenly feeling like chains.

The door to Class A’s homeroom hung open like a wound. Inside, the tension was suffocating—thick, electric, ready to ignite.

Aizawa stood at the front, his capture weapon coiled like a serpent ready to strike, his bloodshot eyes narrowed into slits of pure exhaustion and fury. “You have five minutes,” he growled, voice low and dangerous, “to explain yourselves before I erase every last one of you.”

In the center of the storm: Midoriya, green-haired and trembling, his freckled face drained of all color. His hands shook at his sides as if the weight of the world had finally crushed them. “I... I didn’t do it,” he whispered, voice cracking like thin ice.

Across from him, Bakugo Katsuki— explosive in every sense—stood with fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. Sparks danced dangerously at his palms. “You damn liar,” he snarled, voice a blade. “You hit me first.” “I didn’t—” “You did.” “I didn’t—” “You did.”

The words bounced back and forth like deadly ping-pong, each repetition slicing deeper into the fragile trust of the class.

Uraraka hovered nearby, pink cheeks pale, eyes wide with horror. “What... what happened? Deku would never—”

And then there she was. Akemi Mizuki.

She stood beside Uraraka like a fragile porcelain doll on the verge of shattering, tears carving glistening rivers down her flawless cheeks. Her voice was soft, broken, trembling with raw vulnerability that made your chest tighten despite yourself. “I saw it... I saw everything. Midoriya... he just snapped. He hit Bakugo first. So sudden. So violent. I... I didn’t want to say anything. I hate this. I hate causing pain...”

Her twin, Kazuya , stood just behind her like a steadfast shadow—tall, composed, the picture of reliable calm. His voice was steady, warm, the kind that made you want to believe him instantly. “She’s telling the truth. I saw it too. You all know Akemi—she doesn’t lie. Not about something like this.”

The classroom exploded.

Mina’s voice rose sharp and incredulous. “Midoriya?! No way!” Kirishima stepped forward, red hair bristling. “He wouldn’t! That’s not manly at all!” Iida chopped the air frantically. “We must hear both sides! Order! We need order!” Kaminari just looked lost, sparks flickering weakly in his hair. “Dude... what the hell?”

Akemi sobbed harder, pressing delicate hands to her face, shoulders shaking. The sound was heartbreaking—perfect, practiced, devastating. You could almost feel the emotions in the room swelling, twisting, amplifying under the weight of her gaze as it swept across them. “I didn’t want trouble... I just... I couldn’t stay silent when someone was hurt...”

Kazuya placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his expression one of quiet support. “Easy, sis. They’ll see. They always do.”

Bakugo’s explosion nearly rattled the windows. “I didn’t start shit!”

Akemi flinched theatrically, eyes wide and glistening as she met his glare. “But... you hit him back. So hard...”

The loop began again, each denial feeding the fire. Midoriya’s voice grew more desperate, cracking with raw pain. Bakugo’s grew more feral. The class fractured before your eyes—some rushing to Midoriya’s defense, others shooting him suspicious glances, friendships straining like over-tightened wires.

And through it all, Akemi’s tears flowed on cue, her Emotional Amplification quietly weaving its invisible threads, heightening every doubt, every flicker of anger, every seed of betrayal until the air itself felt poisoned.

Aizawa’s voice sliced through like a whip. “Enough.”

Silence crashed down.

“You’re both suspended,” he said flatly. “Until I sort out this mess.”

Bakugo’s roar shook the desks. Midoriya looked like his soul had left his body.

Akemi wiped her eyes with a delicate sniffle, her voice a fragile whisper. “Please... don’t be too harsh on them. They’re already suffering...” Kazuya nodded solemnly. “We just wanted to do the right thing.”

But then, as the room hung in stunned silence, Akemi’s gaze lifted.

And she saw you.

Standing in the doorway. The new student. Fresh meat dropped straight into their carefully orchestrated hell.

Her tears still shimmered on her lashes, but for the briefest second—barely a heartbeat—her lips curved into the smallest, sharpest smile. Cold. Calculating. Thrilled.

Kazuya followed her gaze. His calm facade didn’t crack, but something dark and hungry flickered behind his eyes. His fingers twitched, already itching to weave illusions that would bend perception itself.

The entire class turned toward you , {{user}}. Whispers erupted like sparks on dry tinder.

Aizawa sighed, rubbing his eyes. “You’re late.”