UA University|Your In 1B

You walk through the towering gates of UA University, the massive complex stretching out before you like a city designed specifically for the next generation of legends. The air feels different here than it did at the high school heavier, charged with the tension of students who are no longer playing hero, but preparing to become them. You navigate past the sprawling training grounds, catching glimpses of students sparring in the distance, their Quirks lighting up the sky like fireworks.

The campus is a maze of cutting edge architecture and advanced technology. As you follow the signs toward the secondary academic hub, you pass by the Cafeteria, where the chatter of hundreds of students creates a constant low hum.

Finally, you reach the wing housing Class 1B. The hallway is quiet, lined with polished floors that reflect the fluorescent lights above. You find the door marked 'Classroom 1B' and take a moment to steady yourself before stepping inside.

The room is already buzzing with activity. Holographic displays flicker at the front of the room, showing complex Quirk biology charts. Students are scattered throughout the desks, some reviewing notes while others engage in heated conversations.

"About fucking time someone showed up," a voice calls out from the middle of the room.

Neito Monoma is leaning back in his chair, a smirk plastered across his face as he glances your way. "Though I suppose we can forgive a late arrival. We're Class 1B we don't need to rush like those desperate idiots in Class 1A."

"Shut the fuck up, Monoma, you're being obnoxious again," Itsuka Kendo sighs, rubbing her temples. She turns to you with a more welcoming, pragmatic expression. "Ignore him. I'm Kendo, the class rep. You must be the new transfer. Find a seat anywhere that's open before Present Mic gets here and starts screaming."

Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu pounds a fist against his palm, making a metallic clanging sound. "Yeah, welcome to the shitshow, newbie! Hope you're ready to work hard, 'cause this place doesn't fuck around with training!"

.

You walk alongside the students of Class 1B as the morning sun beats down on the concrete path leading toward Ground Beta. The atmosphere is tense; even before the training has begun, the weight of the university's reputation hangs heavy over everyone.

Up ahead, Shota Aizawa walks with his usual exhausted slouch, his scarf coiled loosely around his neck like a sleeping serpent. Present Mic is hovering dangerously close to his ear, his usual boisterous energy dialed down to an intense, vibrating whisper. Despite the attempt at secrecy, Mic's Quirk makes his voice carry far more than he intends when he's agitated.

"Are you fucking serious, Shota? Blackout? Redline? Deadweight?" Present Mic whispers, though to the students behind them, it sounds like he's narrating a horror movie. "You're dropping them into urban zones in pitch darkness with no support gear? That's not training, that's a goddamn death wish for some of these kids!"

Aizawa doesn't even turn his head. "They need to learn to function when their advantages are stripped away. If they can't handle the dark, they won't survive a real villain ambush."

Present Mic shudders, his voice rising slightly in pitch. "And this 'Bloodbath' shit? Live combat against three Pros with no safety protocols beyond non lethal applications? You're gonna break them before they even graduate, man."

Behind them, the students of Class 1B exchange panicked glances. Neito Monoma has stopped his usual arrogant strut, his face pale as he processes the overheard conversation. "What the fuck is he talking about?" Monoma mutters, his usual bravado cracking. "Blackout? Bloodbath? Those sound like fucking suicide missions."

Tetsutetsu grips his fists tight, his skin already beginning to take on a metallic sheen from stress. "That sounds fucking brutal, man. How the hell does Class 1A survive that shit every week?"

Itsuka Kendo steps closer to the group, her expression grim as she tries to maintain her role as representative. "Stay focused, everyone. We have our own curriculum. We aren't Class 1A, so we don't have to deal with whatever psychotic regimen Aizawa has cooked up for them."

"But Kendo," Yosetsu Awase interjects, his voice gritty and laced with genuine concern, "if those are the standards for the Vanguard, what kind of monsters are they turning those assholes into? We're supposed to be the Shield, but how can we shield anyone if we're getting fucked up by training before we even see a villain?"

The students continue to shuffle forward, the murmur of worry spreading through the ranks like wildfire as the implications of Aizawa's methods sink in.

The cafeteria is a chaotic mess of clattering trays, loud laughter, and the overwhelming smell of greasy food and cheap coffee. Most of the students from both classes are slumped over tables, either exhausted from Present Mic's morning regimen or aggressively stuffing their faces to recover lost calories.

You're sitting at one of the long rectangular tables, trying to enjoy a moment of peace before the next round of lectures begins, when a familiar, irritating shadow falls over your meal.

Neito Monoma saunters up to your table, that insufferable smirk plastered across his face. His hair is perfectly swept back despite the training session you both just endured, and his eyes glint with that typical Class 1B arrogance. He leans down slightly, invading your personal space with zero regard for social boundaries.

"Well, well, look at you," Monoma said with a condescending chuckle. "You look absolutely spent. Tell me, did you actually manage to accomplish something meaningful during that pathetic display of training today, or were you just flailing around like a fucking amateur?"

Before you can even respond, he makes a sudden move, reaching out with his hand aimed directly for your shoulder. His fingers twitch with anticipation, clearly intending to make physical contact so he can activate his Quirk.

"Come on, don't be shy," Monoma said, his grin widening as his hand closes in. "Let me see what kind of mediocre power you're actually working with. Maybe if I copy it, I can actually show everyone how it's supposed to be used properly."

You walk down the bustling streets of Musutafu, the midday sun beating down on the pavement. The patrol has been relatively quiet so far, mostly consisting of keeping an eye on traffic and ensuring civilians are following safety protocols. Walking alongside you are Itsuka Kendo and Neito Monoma. Kendo maintains a vigilant posture, her eyes scanning the crowds with professional focus, while Monoma walks with an exaggerated air of superiority, occasionally glancing at nearby civilians as if expecting them to applaud his presence.

"Honestly, the peace in this district is almost insulting, don't you think?" Monoma says, tossing his hair back. "Class 1A probably has some world ending threat to deal with right now, while we're reduced to walking in circles."

"Focus, Monoma. Being alert during the quiet times is what makes us professionals," Kendo responds firmly, not breaking her stride.

Your conversation is cut short by a sudden commotion near a street corner. A taco stand that usually draws massive crowds is suddenly surrounded by shouting vendors and panicked customers.

"Hey! Those are our tacos! We need those for the lunch rush!" the vendor screams, waving a spatula threateningly.

You round the corner and freeze at the sight. Toga is giggling hysterically, clutching three overflowing trays of tacos to her chest like they're precious treasure. Beside her, Twice is frantically stuffing tacos into various pockets of his costume, his movements chaotic and jerky.

"They're so delicious! I bet they taste even better with a little blood!" Toga chirps, licking her lips as she glances around with those wild, hungry eyes.

"We need them all! We're starving! No, we're actually quite full but we must take them anyway!" Twice shouts, his voice splitting between conflicting impulses.

Kendo immediately shifts into combat readiness, her hands already beginning to grow in size. "Villains! And they're... stealing food?"

Monoma's eyes narrow as he recognizes the two. "Toga and Twice. What a pathetic display. Stealing tacos instead of something valuable? How utterly beneath us."

The sun beats down on the golden sands of the beach, the waves lapping gently against the shore. For the students of Class 1B, this isn't a training exercise or a rescue simulation it's a rare day of freedom. Present Mic is in his element, wearing an obnoxious neon Hawaiian shirt and oversized sunglasses, lounging on a beach chair with a drink in one hand while occasionally blasting upbeat music from a portable speaker.

"YEAAAAAAH! FEEL THE VIBES, LISTENERS! THE SUN IS SHINING, THE OCEAN IS CALLING, AND THE STRESS IS NON EXISTENT!" Mic shouts toward the sky, throwing his arms up as he laughs loudly, clearly enjoying the break from the rigid university schedule.

The students are scattered across the sand. Itsuka Kendo is trying to organize a game of beach volleyball to keep everyone from getting too rowdy, while Neito Monoma is sitting under a parasol, complaining about how the sand is getting into places it shouldn't be, though he's clearly enjoying the attention. Tetsutetsu is already waist deep in the water, shouting about how the ocean feels like liquid steel.

"This is actually pretty nice for once," Kendo says, wiping sweat from her forehead as she watches the waves. "I didn't think Mic sensei would actually follow through with a beach day."

"Of course he would!" Monoma scoffs, adjusting his sunglasses. "A true performer needs his audience to be relaxed and refreshed! Unlike Class 1A, who probably spent their morning covered in dirt and bruises."

The peaceful atmosphere is suddenly shattered when a dark, looming shadow falls over Mic's beach chair. The music doesn't stop, but the temperature seems to drop ten degrees.

Shota Aizawa stands there, looking like he hasn't slept since the Quirk Dawn. His eyes are bloodshot, his scarf is wrapped tight around his neck despite the heat, and his expression is one of pure, unadulterated irritation.

"Mic." Aizawa's voice is a low growl that cuts through the music. "Explain why your entire class is lounging on a beach instead of engaging in the scheduled Quirk endurance drills at Ground Beta."

Mic freezes mid laugh, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. "Aizawa! My man! My fellow educator! My bro from another bro! You're looking... tired! You need some vitamin D! Some sunshine in that gloomy soul of yours!"

"I need you to be in the classroom," Aizawa says flatly. Before Mic can launch into another boisterous excuse, Aizawa's hand shoots out. He grabs Present Mic firmly by his left ear.

"OW! OW! HEY! WATCH THE EARS, SHOTA! THAT'S ASSAULT ON A TEACHER!" Mic yelps, his voice cracking as he's forcibly yanked upright from his chair.

"We're having a private conversation," Aizawa mutters, dragging the protesting hero across the sand toward the boardwalk. "Now."

"WAIT! MY DRINK! MY VIBES!" Mic screams as he's dragged away, his legs flailing behind him while the students of Class 1B watch in stunned silence.

"Did... did Sensei just get kidnapped by Aizawa sensei?" Tetsutetsu asks, popping his head out of the water, looking confused.

Kendo sighs, rubbing her temples. "Just pretend you didn't see anything. Let's just enjoy the sun while we still can."

The afternoon sun shines brightly over the Wake & Bake Cafe, casting warm light through the windows. The bell above the door chimes as students from UA University trickle in, but your table is already settled. The table is cluttered with empty milkshake glasses, half eaten donuts, and several abandoned napkins.

Present Mic had been in rare form during today's training session, his voice echoing across the training grounds until even his own Quirk seemed to leave him hoarse. In a rare moment of generosity and genuine throat pain he had insisted on footing the bill for Class 1B to unwind.

"Man, I thought mics throat was going to actually combust during that last round of Mic Drop," Tetsutetsu says, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. He drains the last of a chocolate milkshake, his skin still faintly shimmering with the residual metallic sheen from his training earlier. "But hey, that milkshake was worth the struggle. Totally manly refreshment."

Neito Monoma sits across from you, swirling a strawberry shake with an air of exaggerated sophistication. "Of course it was worth it. Though I must say, the way Class 1A looked during their session earlier... they seemed far more frazzled than we were. Perhaps they simply lack our natural composure."

Itsuka Kendo sits beside you, shaking her head at Monoma's usual antics. "Give it a rest, Monoma. We all worked hard today." She turns to you, offering a small, tired smile. "How are you holding up? That last exercise seemed pretty intense even for you."

The afternoon sun beats down on the UA University complex, but inside the classroom windows of 1B, the atmosphere is less one of panic and more one of mild annoyance. Through the reinforced glass overlooking the training grounds where Class 1A is currently stationed, smoke rises and explosions rock the distance.

Shigaraki's forces have breached the perimeter again. For the fifth time in seven days, the League of Villains has decided to make a spectacle of themselves.

Neito Monoma stands by the window, one hand on his hip while the other holds up his phone, recording the chaos with a smirk that borders on condescending. "Honestly, the theatrics of Class 1A never cease to amaze me. Can't they handle one little raid without turning the entire courtyard into a crater?"

Tetsutetsu stands beside him, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed. His usual fiery passion seems dampened by sheer repetition. "I mean, it's kinda manly how they keep getting back up, but damn, doesn't this get old? Every time we sit down for lunch, some guy with hands all over his face shows up."

Itsuka Kendo walks past them, carrying a stack of Quirk theory textbooks. She glances out at the battlefield where Midoriya can be seen streaking past a crumbling wall. "We should probably be concerned about the security breach, but at this point, it feels like a scheduled extracurricular activity." She sighs, shaking her head. "Just make sure you're not filming during the lecture next, Monoma."

"Why not? This is educational!" Monoma retorts, zooming in on Bakugo's explosive confrontation with a villain. "Look at that technique. Messy. Unrefined. Class 1A truly does love their dramatic exits."

Down below, a massive shockwave sends debris flying past the 1B windows. Most students in the room don't even flinch; some continue their conversations, while others glance up briefly before returning to their tablets. The threat has become background noise, a routine disturbance in their advanced hero studies.

You walk down the familiar hallway of the Heights Alliance dormitories, your footsteps echoing against the linoleum floor. The day's training under Present Mic had left your muscles aching and your throat feeling raw from the sheer volume of the exercise. All you want to do is crash into your bed and forget about the chaos of Class 1B for a few hours.

You reach your door, twist the handle, and push it open. The room looks normal at first glance your desk is where you left it, your shoes are lined up but something feels off. The air smells faintly different, like something metallic and sweet, almost like copper mixed with cheap perfume.

Then you see yourself.

"You're late, sleepyhead! I thought you'd be back from training ages ago."

The person sitting on your bed speaks with your exact cadence. The figure is wearing your clothes, sitting in your chair, and even has your hair messy in the same way you do. But as the figure turns to face you, the smile is too wide, stretching across their face in a way that feels unnatural. Their eyes hold a manic, hungry glint that you have never possessed.

Toga tilts her head to the side, licking her lips as she stares at you. "Ohhh, you look surprised! Don't you like the new look? It fits me so well, I almost feel like I could become you forever."

The sunlight streaming through the window of the dorm room feels like physical needles stabbing directly into your retinas. Your head throbs with a rhythmic, punishing ache that makes every heartbeat feel like someone is kicking you from the inside. Your mouth tastes like copper and cheap convenience store alcohol, and your memory of how you ended up here is nothing but a blurry, nauseating montage of neon lights and loud music.

As you shift to try and escape the pain, you realize you aren't alone. The mattress shifts beneath you, and a heavy, warm weight is pressed against your back. You freeze when you feel a rough exhale against the nape of your neck.

Slowly, dread pooling in your stomach, you turn your head just enough to see the spiky, ash blonde hair unmistakable even in your half conscious state. Katsuki Bakugo is sprawled out beside you, snoring with an aggressive intensity that makes your headache worse. His arm is thrown haphazardly across your waist, pinning you to the sheets.

There's some Internal screaming.

The realization hits you like a physical blow: you didn't just wake up in the wrong place; you woke up in the bed of the most volatile person in UA University. The last thing you remember was shouting something stupid at the Wake & Bake Cafe, and now you're trapped in a room with a human grenade who is currently dead to the world.