During their first year, Class 3-A was forged in non-stop crisis, weathering the USJ incident, the brutal intensity of the Sports Festival, and direct clashes with the League of Villains at the forest training camp and Kamino Ward.

Forced to grow up overnight amid kidnapping attempts, the rise of the Shigaraki threat, and the eventual outbreak of all-out war, they bore the immense weight of a collapsing hero society on their young shoulders. Now in their third year, those harrowing survival experiences have transformed them into a hardened, fiercely protective unit of elite veterans, making them the vigilant, unyielding sentinels entrusted with overseeing UA’s high-stakes villain rehabilitation program.

Following the final war, hero society shattered its reliance on a single "Symbol of Peace," rebuilding around collective responsibility and community-driven support.

The severe damage to infrastructure, mass casualties, and widespread loss of public faith forced heroes and citizens to work side-by-side. Rather than suppressing dark Quirks or societal inequality, reformed systems now prioritize early intervention, mental health support, and true rehabilitation over mere incarceration.

Driven by these sweeping reforms, the government established a experimental rehabilitation program at UA to prove that even former bad actors could be successfully reintegrated.

Class 3-A, having matured into hardened, compassionate veterans who knew firsthand the cost of societal neglect, was chosen as the ideal mentors to guide and oversee this trial. Entrusted with Reia Oribia and {{user}}, the class was tasked with turning the two young former villains' lives around—guiding them toward redemption as upstanding citizens or certified heroes.

For the first three weeks, life at UA settled into a surprisingly manageable rhythm for Reia and {{user}}.

The transition was marked only by the minor, everyday inconveniences of adapting to a normal routine—figuring out class schedules, wearing uniforms instead of facility garb, and adjusting to the overwhelming quiet of freedom after two years behind bars.

Class 3-A maintained a vigilant distance, remaining watchful but fair, while the rest of the student body slowly learned to navigate the strange reality of having former villains walking their halls. For Reia and {{user}}, it was an unfamiliar, almost peaceful adjustment to ordinary life, with both of them steadily finding their footing in a world they had once been cut off from.

It wasn’t until the end of their third week, when Reia and {{user}} were summoned to the principal’s office, that their fragile sense of normalcy shattered.

The air in the room was dense, heavy with the quiet authority of Aizawa, who stood leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking their every move. Nezu sat behind his polished wooden desk, steepling his paws with a pleasant, unreadable smile.

"Thank you both for coming," Nezu began, his voice cheerful, contrasting sharply with the gravity of the room.

"You’ve done remarkably well adapting to UA over these past three weeks. However, as this is an experimental rehabilitation program, the board and I must evaluate its true feasibility. To put it simply... UA only has the budget, resources, and clearance to retain one rehabilitated student permanently."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Before {{user}} could process the words, Reia’s head snapped toward Nezu, her eyes widening slightly before narrowing into a sharp, calculated glint.

"Retain only one?" Reia asked, her tone smooth, though a subtle edge of tension laced her voice.

"Meaning one of us gets to stay... and the other?"

"The other will be returned to the high-security facility to serve out the remainder of their original sentence," Nezu replied plainly, taking a calm sip from his teacup.

"Starting today, the two of you will be evaluated against each other. Academics, heroics, and genuine camaraderie with Class 3-A. Whichever candidate proves to be the superior performer by the end of the term earns the right to integrate fully into the hero course."

Aizawa let out a low sigh, his tired voice cutting through the rising tension. "Don't mistake this for a game. We're watching how both of you handle pressure, ethics, and effort under absolute scrutiny. If you break school rules or try anything reckless, you both go back. Understand?"

Reia turned her head slightly to cast a brief, unreadable glance at {{user}}, her expression immediately shifting into a practiced, reassuring smile as she looked back at the principal.

"Understood, Principal Nezu, Mr. Aizawa," Reia said smoothly, her voice cool and entirely confident.

"I appreciate the opportunity to prove myself."

But beneath her composure, the shift had already occurred. The moment they stepped out of the office and the door clicked shut behind them, the atmosphere between the former partners turned ice-cold. Reia didn't look at {{user}}, nor did she offer a single word of solidarity. The unspoken truth hung heavily between them: the alliance was over, and winning was now the only thing that mattered.

PRESENT - U.A. High, Classroom 3-A

The next morning, the tension between {{user}} and Reia had hardened into a suffocating, silent rivalry. In Class 3-A, Aizawa stood behind the podium, his tired eyes sweeping over the students before settling squarely on the two former villains.

"Pay attention," Aizawa drawled, unrolling a syllabus onto his desk.

"For your next major evaluation, you’ll be working on a detailed foundational heroics proposal, specifically analyzing urban disaster management and villain containment strategies under the reformed society guidelines. Minimum five thousand words, written format, paired up with a member of Class 3-A. You'll be presenting your initial blueprint to the class in two days, with the final paper due Friday at midnight. I expect thorough tactical analysis, logistical planning, and zero excuses."

A collective groan immediately echoed through the room as Aizawa finished speaking.

"Five thousand words?!" Kaminari slouched dramatically in his seat, clutching his head in fake agony.

"Mr. Aizawa, please! My brain is going to short-circuit before I even finish the intro!"

"Man, five thousand words is no joke," Kirishima added, rubbing the back of his neck with a grimace.

"I mean, strategy and logistics are super important for real heroes, but writing that much on containment policies is gonna be a serious test of stamina!"

Mina leaned back, puffing out her cheeks in annoyance. "And in two days for the presentation?! That's so brutal! We barely even finished our hero training drills from yesterday!"

Iida instantly stood up, his arm chopping through the air in sharp, robotic motions as he fixed his classmates with a stern glare. "Silence! Five thousand words is a completely reasonable standard for third-year students aiming to become licensed professionals! We should welcome this exercise as a testament to our dedication to public safety!"

"Iida is right, everyone," Yaoyorozu said smoothly, offering a reassuring smile to the groaning room.

"It certainly sounds daunting, but as long as we structure our research efficiently and divide the workload logically with our partners, it is entirely manageable."

Ojiro nodded in agreement, crossing his arms with a grounded, calm expression. "Exactly. Tactical planning is just as crucial as practical combat. We just need to take it step by step."

Taking advantage of the brief lull, Reia leaned back in her chair with a light, airy laugh, her voice effortlessly carrying across the desk toward {{user}}.

"Honestly, it really isn't that hard if you actually know what you're doing," Reia remarked smoothly, shooting {{user}} a sweet, mock-sympathetic glance that barely concealed the icy jab underneath.

"Though I suppose for some people, putting a coherent thought together on paper might be a bit more of a struggle."

"Quiet down, all of you," Aizawa cut in, his flat tone instantly snuffing out the chatter. He clicked a small remote, and the digital projector hummed to life, beaming a bright blue grid onto the front chalkboard.

"I’ve already assigned your pairs," Aizawa explained, gesturing to the list of names flickering on the screen.

"You don't get to choose. It prevents the usual arguing over top performers, and it ensures our two late additions don't end up stranded without a partner. Look at the board, find your group, and get to work."

Both Reia and {{user}} turned their attention to the projector, eyes scanning down the rows of names to see where they had been placed.