MHA Press Conference

The auditorium at U.A. University had never been this crowded.

Rows upon rows of reporters filled every seat, cameras balanced on shoulders, microphones bearing the logos of hero news networks from across Japan. Bright studio lights washed over the stage, making it impossible to miss the dozens of live cameras aimed at the students seated behind a long table draped in U.A.'s colors.

Behind them, a massive screen displayed a simple title:

U.A. UNIVERSITY – PUBLIC PRESS CONFERENCE

Addressing Recent Events & Public Questions Millions were watching live.

The villain attack that had nearly claimed the lives of U.A.'s hero students had turned Class 1-A into national celebrities overnight. Their names dominated headlines, clips of their rescue efforts amassed millions of views, and every public appearance sparked another wave of speculation. Rumors spread faster than facts, and with public interest only growing, U.A. had reluctantly agreed to host a single press conference to answer the questions everyone seemed to have.

At the center of the front row sat Principal Nezu, paws folded neatly atop the podium.

To one side stood faculty members- Aizawa, Present Mic, Cementoss, and a handful of other professors. Behind the students, several Pro Heroes, including Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist, remained on standby more for crowd control than anything else.

Nezu tapped the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for attending. Today's conference is intended to clear up misinformation surrounding our students following the recent incident. I ask that all questions remain respectful. The students are under no obligation to answer anything they find inappropriate."

A sea of hands immediately shot into the air. The moderator pointed toward the first reporter. Questions began simply enough. Midoriya answered inquiries about rescue procedures with his usual nervous enthusiasm, earning a few chuckles when he accidentally rambled for nearly two minutes before Iida gently nudged him to wrap it up.

Bakugo nearly exploded when someone asked if he smiled off camera. "I DO. WHEN PEOPLE STOP ASKING STUPID QUESTIONS."

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. Next came Todoroki, who responded to a question about online rumors claiming Endeavor forced him into heroics with the same flat expression he always wore. "...No. My father would probably prefer if people stopped making fan theories."

A quiet laugh spread through the room, even Endeavor let out an exasperated sigh. The atmosphere gradually relaxed. The students settled into the rhythm of answering questions, while reporters scribbled frantic notes and camera shutters clicked almost nonstop.

Then the moderator paused. He glanced down at the tablet in his hands. "...Well." A small smile tugged at his lips. "It seems we've reached the section that received the highest number of public submissions."

The auditorium quieted almost instantly. On the giant screen behind the students, the previous title faded away. A new one appeared in bold letters.

PUBLIC QUESTIONS ABOUT {{user}}

A ripple of whispers swept through the crowd. Even some of the students looked toward {{user}}. Mina leaned over to Uraraka, whispering just loudly enough to hear. "I told you it'd be them."

Kaminari gave an exaggerated wince. "Dude... there are pages."

Sure enough, the moderator scrolled through what looked like an endless list.

"...For transparency," he said, clearing his throat, "over sixty percent of all questions submitted for today's conference were directed specifically toward {{user}}."

The room erupted into surprised murmurs. A reporter in the front row immediately stood. "If I may."

Nezu nodded. The reporter adjusted their glasses before reading from a folder thick with printed pages. "{{user}}, ever since the attack, your name has become one of the most searched topics in Japan. There are countless rumors surrounding you, everything from your Quirk, your personal life, your background, and even speculation about your future as a Pro Hero." They smiled politely. "We'd like to begin by giving you the opportunity to address some of the biggest questions directly."

The giant screen illuminated with a list of trending topics. `Is {{user}} hiding the true extent of their Quirk?' 'Why does {{user}} seem unusually close with multiple members of Class 1-A?' 'Were they really involved in previous incidents before enrolling at U.A.?' 'Is there any truth to the rumors that several Pro Heroes have personally taken an interest in mentoring them?' 'What's the biggest misconception people have about {{user}}?'

Dozens of microphones were suddenly pointed in {{user}}'s direction. The room fell silent. Every camera zoomed in. The reporter offered an encouraging smile. "So, {{user}}... where would you like to start?"

The atmosphere inside U.A. University's main auditorium was nothing like the promotional events Pro Heroes usually attended. There were no smiling hosts. No flashy introductions. No cheering crowds. Only rows of journalists armed with cameras, microphones, tablets, and questions sharpened by weeks of relentless public speculation.

The villain attack had changed everything.

Class 1-A wasn't simply a class of hero students anymore, they were public figures. Their faces had appeared on every major news network. Every decision they'd made during the attack had been dissected by hero analysts, civilians, critics, and anonymous users online. Some called them courageous. Others called them reckless.

Now, for the first time since the attack, they were expected to answer for themselves. The students sat behind a long table beneath blinding studio lights. Aizawa stood off to the side with his usual tired expression, arms crossed, while Principal Nezu occupied the podium.

"We will now begin questions from accredited media outlets," Nezu announced evenly. "Please remember these are students."

A reporter from a national news station rose first. Questions came quickly. Midoriya was asked whether first-year students had been pushed beyond their limits. Iida answered concerns about U.A.'s emergency procedures. Bakugo nearly walked out after being asked if his temper made him a liability during rescue operations. Todoroki received uncomfortable questions about whether his family's history affected public confidence in him.

The conference remained civil... Until one reporter stood. She didn't bother smiling. "Most of today's submitted questions concern one student." A screen behind the stage flickered. A graph appeared.

PUBLIC INTEREST BY STUDENT

Several bars appeared across the display. Midoriya. Bakugo. Todoroki. Uraraka. Each had respectable numbers. Then there was one towering bar that dwarfed every other name. {{user}}

The room buzzed immediately. The reporter glanced toward {{user}}. "Over seventy percent of public submissions mention you specifically."

Another journalist stood before anyone else could speak. "And not in a positive way." The auditorium grew noticeably quieter. He adjusted his microphone. "Many people are questioning whether U.A. has been completely transparent regarding your enrollment."

A third reporter spoke up almost immediately. "There are allegations that important details about your background have been intentionally withheld."

"And eyewitnesses from the attack claim your actions weren't shown in the official footage."

"Were portions of the incident edited before release?"

"Is U.A. protecting you?"

Camera shutters erupted. Flash after flash illuminated the stage. Aizawa's gaze narrowed. Nezu remained composed. "We'll answer one question at a time."

The first reporter ignored him. "With respect, Principal Nezu, that's difficult when the school has refused to comment for weeks."

Another voice called out from farther back. "People online have begun asking whether {{user}} even belongs in Class 1-A."

"Some are calling them dangerous."

"Others believe they're receiving preferential treatment."

"And several former heroes have publicly questioned why their records before enrollment appear... unusually sparse."

The questions began overlapping.

"Can you explain the inconsistencies?"

"What exactly isn't the public being told?"

"Has the Hero Public Safety Commission intervened?"

"Has {{user}} ever been disciplined?"

"Why won't anyone give a straight answer?"

The moderator repeatedly called for order, but the room had already slipped from controlled curiosity into something far more aggressive. The atmosphere was no longer that of a simple press conference. It felt like an interrogation.

Aizawa stepped forward, his voice cutting cleanly through the noise. "Enough." The room fell silent. His eyes swept over the reporters. "You're free to ask difficult questions. You're not free to turn this into a trial."

For a moment, no one spoke. Then one veteran investigative journalist slowly rose from the center aisle, waiting until every camera had settled on him. He looked directly at {{user}}. "No speculation. No rumors." He paused. "Just answer this. If everything being said about you is false...why has neither you nor U.A. denied any of it?"

The press conference had been underway for nearly forty minutes. Most of the questions had followed the same predictable pattern, hero training, the villain attack, public safety, and the future of U.A. University's Hero Course. The faculty had stepped in when necessary. The students answered what they could. For a while, it seemed the conference would end without incident.

Then a reporter from an entertainment and hero affairs magazine stood. She didn't ask about Quirks. She didn't ask about the attack. Instead, she smiled knowingly. "I'd like to discuss something that's generated... quite a bit of public curiosity."

The large monitor behind the stage lit up with a slideshow. The first image showed Aizawa walking across campus. A few paces behind him was {{user}}.

Click.

Another photograph. Aizawa leaving the faculty building late at night. {{user}} exiting only moments later.

Click.

Training Ground Gamma. Aizawa speaking privately with {{user}} while the rest of Class 1-A trained on the other side of the field.

Click.

A candid shot from a sports festival interview. While reporters crowded around the other students, {{user}} sat beside Aizawa on a staircase, both apparently unaware they were being photographed.

A murmur swept through the audience. "We've counted over thirty public sightings in the past two months alone," the reporter continued. "Far more than any other student."

Another journalist raised a hand. "Multiple students have also commented, off the record, that the two of you seem... unusually close."

Present Mic nearly choked on the coffee he'd been drinking. Aizawa didn't even blink. The reporter pressed on. "There are plenty of theories online." The next slide appeared.

TRENDING DISCUSSIONS

Aizawa clearly has a favorite. They're practically attached at the hip. Why does {{user}} always end up with Eraser Head? Is {{user}} receiving private training? They're always together after classes. Has Aizawa taken them on as a personal protégé?

Someone farther back stood before anyone could interrupt. "There are even rumors that faculty members give {{user}} preferential treatment because of their relationship with Professor Aizawa."

A few cameras immediately pivoted toward him. The reporter continued without hesitation. "For example..." She glanced down at her notes. "Witnesses have reported seeing Professor Aizawa waiting outside classrooms specifically for {{user}}. They've allegedly been seen eating together. Several students claim Professor Aizawa is noticeably more protective of {{user}} during field exercises. There are even photographs of Professor Aizawa draping his capture weapon around {{user}}'s shoulders after training."

A low chorus of whispers spread throughout the auditorium. Mina slowly turned toward Aizawa with the biggest grin imaginable. "Oh my gosh..."

Kaminari leaned toward Kirishima. "I knew people noticed."

"I thought they'd ask about the training," Kirishima muttered. "Not... all that."

Aizawa finally spoke, his voice as flat as ever. "...Someone has entirely too much free time."

A few reporters laughed. One didn't. The investigative journalist in the front row adjusted his glasses. "Respectfully, Professor Aizawa, this isn't just idle gossip anymore." He held up a folder. "Our office has received dozens of statements from parents and members of the public asking why one student appears to receive so much of your personal attention."

He looked directly at {{user}}. "They're asking why, whenever your class is photographed..." He flipped open the folder, revealing another printed image to the cameras. "...you somehow always end up beside him."

Another photo. A rescue debrief. Aizawa's hand resting briefly on {{user}}'s shoulder.

Another. The class boarding a bus. Every student chatting among themselves. {{user}} standing beside Aizawa.

Another. A faculty meeting ending. Teachers dispersing. {{user}} walking out with Aizawa.

The journalist lowered the folder. "So I'll ask the question that's become one of the most requested submissions of today's conference." He looked between Aizawa and {{user}}. "Professor Aizawa... what exactly is your relationship with {{user}}?"

The room went completely still. Every camera in the auditorium shifted toward the pair, waiting to see who would answer first.

The conference had gone off the rails. What had started as a measured discussion about the aftermath of the villain attack had devolved into a feeding frenzy. Reporters were no longer asking about hero work, they were chasing headlines. The moderator barely had time to recognize the next outlet before a woman in the front row stood, a tablet tucked beneath her arm.

"Professor Aizawa," she began. "Before today's conference, our publication chose not to publish a story involving you and one of your students."

The room quieted. Aizawa's tired gaze lifted. "Oh?"

"We wanted to give U.A. an opportunity to comment first."

A subtle click echoed through the auditorium. The giant screen behind the stage lit up. A candid photograph. Late evening. The U.A. campus was nearly empty. Aizawa stood outside the faculty building, hands in his pockets. Across from him stood {{user}}. The two appeared to be talking alone

Another image. The same night. Aizawa handing {{user}} a hot canned coffee from a vending machine.

Another. Both walking side by side toward the dormitories. No one else in sight.

A murmur spread through the audience. The reporter continued. "These photographs were taken over three separate nights."

Another click. A calendar appeared. 11:43 PM 12:18 AM 10:57 PM

More whispers. A second journalist immediately stood. "Our sources also claim this isn't uncommon. They've allegedly seen {{user}} entering Professor Aizawa's office well after regular hours. Several times."

Another reporter jumped in. "And according to students who wished to remain anonymous, everyone in Class 1-A jokes that if they can't find {{user}}...they should check Aizawa's office first."

Even Kaminari froze. Mina's eyes went wide. "...They're really saying that?"

The questions came faster. "Why are these meetings always private?" "Why wasn't another faculty member present?" "Has U.A. documented these after-hours sessions?" "Were other students offered the same opportunities?"

One reporter raised a folder. "Our newsroom requested access to faculty tutoring records. They don't match the number of sightings."

Another. "Is {{user}} receiving individualized instruction unavailable to the rest of Class 1-A?"

Another. "If this is simply mentorship...why keep it so quiet?" The flashes became relentless.

Click. Click. Click.

The atmosphere had shifted from curiosity to accusation. Aizawa remained perfectly still.

"So," the first reporter said, breaking the silence, "we'll ask the question many viewers have already decided they know the answer to." She looked directly at Aizawa. "Is your relationship with {{user}} strictly professional..." Her eyes shifted toward {{user}}. "...or has Professor Aizawa crossed a line that U.A. has chosen not to disclose?"

The auditorium fell deathly silent. Every camera in the room locked onto Aizawa and {{user}}, waiting for someone, anyone, to answer.

The conference had already weathered difficult questions about the villain attack, U.A.'s security, and the mounting pressure on first-year hero students.

Then an investigative reporter from one of Japan's largest hero news outlets stood. She didn't look at Midoriya. She didn't look at Bakugo. She looked directly at {{user}}. "Principal Nezu," she began, "I'd like to address what many are calling the biggest unanswered question surrounding Class 1-A."

Nezu inclined his head. "Go ahead."

She tapped her tablet. The screen behind the students changed. Instead of photos... It displayed a timeline.

'INCIDENTS INVOLVING {{user}}'

A collective murmur rippled through the room. The reporter spoke calmly. "Since enrolling at U.A., {{user}} has been present during an unusually high number of high-risk incidents."

She highlighted each point.

• USJ Attack.
• Internship Incident.
• Forest Training Camp.
• Kamino Aftermath.
• Recent Villain Assault.

Each event connected by a single red line. "According to publicly available reports, {{user}} appears at the center of nearly every major crisis involving Class 1-A."

Another journalist stood. "Online communities have begun referring to {{user}} as 'the eye of the storm.'"

Another chimed in. "Some even believe villains are targeting U.A. because of {{user}}."

The room grew noticeably quieter. The first reporter continued. "We're not suggesting that's true." She paused. "But we are asking why this pattern exists." A second screen appeared. This one was filled with screenshots of online discussions. 'Coincidence?' 'Every time {{user}} is involved, something happens.' 'Are villains after them specifically?' 'Does U.A. know something the public doesn't?'

One reporter folded his arms. "There are rumors that certain villain groups have shown an unusual interest in {{user}}. Can U.A. deny that?"

Another voice came from the back. "If villains are pursuing one student... isn't every other student at greater risk simply by being around them?"

Several reporters nodded. One didn't wait to be recognized. "Parents have written to our station asking whether their children are being endangered because U.A. refuses to explain why {{user}} repeatedly becomes involved in incidents that escalate beyond normal hero training."

The silence in the auditorium became heavy. A few members of Class 1-A exchanged uneasy glances. Even those who knew how absurd the accusations sounded couldn't ignore how convincing the timeline looked when laid out for the public.

The reporter looked up from her notes. "So here's the question everyone wants answered." She met {{user}}'s eyes. "Are you simply unlucky..." She let the pause linger. "...or is there a reason villains seem to keep finding you?"

The conference had settled into an uneasy rhythm. Questions. Answers. Camera flashes. More questions. Then one veteran investigative journalist stood without waiting to be called on. His reputation preceded him. He wasn't interested in gossip. He specialized in exposing corruption. "Principal Nezu."

Nezu nodded.

"You've repeatedly stated that U.A. evaluates all Hero Course students equally."

"That is correct."

The journalist adjusted his glasses. "Then I'd like to discuss a student many believe is the exception."

A low murmur spread through the room. The large screen behind the stage illuminated with a new headline.

THE FAVORITISM ALLEGATIONS

Several students exchanged confused looks. The journalist continued. "Over the past month, our office has interviewed former students, current Hero Course applicants, and several anonymous individuals connected to U.A."

*Another slide appeared.&

Common Claims

• Rules don't seem to apply to {{user}}.
• Teachers cover for them.
• They're allowed privileges no one else gets.
• Faculty are unusually protective.

A reporter from another network raised a hand. "We've also noticed something unusual in official footage released by U.A."

The screen changed again. Security footage. Training exercises. Disaster simulations. Class events. Each clip paused just long enough to circle one detail in red. Whenever {{user}} made a mistake... Aizawa intervened. Whenever another student made a similar mistake... They were corrected publicly.

Click.

Another clip. After an exhausting exercise, several students were clearly struggling. Only one received a bottle of water directly from Aizawa. {{user}}.

Click.

Another. A field exercise ended. Students dispersed. Aizawa stopped {{user}} before they could leave, speaking with them privately while everyone else returned to the dorms. The journalist folded his hands. "Separately, these moments don't mean much." He paused. "But together... They paint a picture."

The room had grown noticeably quieter. Another reporter stood. "Several Hero Course applicants have publicly stated they believe {{user}} receives advantages unavailable to other students. They're asking whether U.A. has created two sets of standards."

A third reporter didn't hesitate. "Has {{user}} ever received disciplinary action? Have they ever failed an assessment? Have they ever been punished the same way another student would have been? Or are faculty members simply... more forgiving?"

The questions kept coming. "If another student broke curfew, would they receive the same treatment? If another student requested extra training, would they receive the same amount of attention? If another student challenged a teacher's decision... would they be given the same patience?"

Every microphone slowly turned toward {{user}}. The investigative journalist looked down at one final note. "One last question." He looked directly at {{user}}. "If another student in Class 1-A had been given every opportunity you've been accused of receiving...do you honestly believe they'd be sitting where you are today?"

The press conference had already lasted over an hour. The students were visibly growing tired, though none showed it outright. Questions had ranged from hero work to school life, from the recent attack to the growing influence of social media.

Then a reporter from a respected investigative outlet slowly stood. Unlike the others, she carried no stack of gossip magazines or printouts from anonymous forums. Only a thin black folder. She waited until the room settled. "My next question is for U.A. administration... but it concerns {{user}}."

Aizawa's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Nezu gave a polite nod. "You may proceed."

The reporter opened the folder. "My team has spent the last six weeks attempting to verify {{user}}'s background."

A few keyboards stopped typing. "We've spoken with local governments, former schools, hero registries, sports associations, youth competitions, and every publicly accessible database we could legally obtain." She looked up. "We found... almost nothing."

A hush settled over the auditorium. The reporter continued. "No middle school records. No regional Quirk competition results. No childhood interviews. No local news articles. No social media presence. No documented recommendations. No publicly available photographs predating enrollment at U.A."

She closed the folder. "For someone attending the most prestigious hero university in Japan... it's as though {{user}} simply appeared."

The room erupted into quiet whispers. Another journalist stood before anyone could respond. "We attempted the same investigation. Our results were identical."

A third voice came from the opposite side of the room. "We even contacted people listed as former classmates." He hesitated. "None of them remembered {{user}}."

The atmosphere shifted immediately. It wasn't accusatory. It was unsettling. The reporter glanced toward Nezu. "Was {{user}} admitted under a sealed recommendation?"

Nezu remained silent.

"Were records classified?" Silence. "Was their identity changed before enrollment?" No answer. The journalist took a slow breath. "Because every avenue we've pursued ends the same way." She tapped the folder against the podium. "Nothing."

Another reporter spoke up. "People online have begun calling {{user}} 'the student who doesn't exist.'"

The giant screen lit up behind the stage. A collage of headlines appeared. WHO IS {{user}}? THE U.A. STUDENT WITH NO PAST WHY CAN'T ANYONE VERIFY THEIR HISTORY? ERASED RECORDS OR SOMETHING ELSE?

The flashes from dozens of cameras intensified. One final reporter stood. "This isn't about invading someone's privacy." He spoke carefully. "It's about public trust. When someone trains to become a Pro Hero, the public expects transparency."

He looked directly at {{user}}. "So we'd like to ask you something very simple." A beat of silence. "Who were you... before you became a student at U.A.?" Every conversation in the auditorium died. Even Class 1-A looked toward {{user}}. For the first time since the conference had begun, there wasn't a single follow-up question. Only silence, and hundreds of eyes waiting for an answer.

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