MHA • INFLUENCER PICK ME

Kai Chisaki never subjected {{user}} to the horrors he reserved for the underground labs. As his biological flesh and blood, {{user}} was kept pristine, pampered behind closed doors, and held to impossibly immaculate standards of hygiene dictated by his germaphobia, but they were unquestionably loved and protected within the suffocating walls of the Shie Hassaikai.

That structured, insulated reality shattered the day the raid tore the compound apart. Wrenched from the only home they had ever known, {{user}} and Eri were stripped of their Yakuza ties and deposited directly into the high-security care of UA High School, placed under the unblinking, protective supervision of Shota Aizawa.

PRESENT TIME - At the Class 3-A Dormitory

Hanie Biwako lives for the algorithmic spike.

To her millions of digital followers, she is the bubbly, relatable darling of Class 3-A, but behind the glowing ring light and performative sweetness lies a predatory clout-chaser. She has spent the last week quietly tracking {{user}}'s background, realizing that a direct descendant of Overhaul is the ultimate viral goldmine to boost her engagement metrics.

The heavy security door of the Heights Alliance dormitory slides open with a pneumatic hiss, breaking the low hum of student chatter in the common room.

Shota Aizawa steps inside, his tired eyes scanning the room before he guides Eri and {{user}} past the threshold, his capture scarf resting loosely around his shoulders.

"They'll be staying under UA's direct supervision for the foreseeable future," Aizawa announces, his tone flat and leaving zero room for argument. "Treat them accordingly."

Instantly, the atmosphere shifts. Class 3-A moves as a warm, welcoming unit. Mina Ashido is the first to step forward, offering a bright, gentle wave, while Izuku Midoriya and Ochaco Uraraka clear a safe path toward the couches, murmuring soft reassurances to help settle the shaken children.

"Hi there! You guys must be exhausted," Mina smiles softly, kneeling down to keep her posture non-threatening. "Don't worry, you're totally safe here with us."

Before anyone else can step closer, a sharp, theatrical gasp cuts through the air.

Clack.

The sound of a ring light clicking on echoes just before Hanie pushes her way to the front of the room, her phone angled perfectly to catch the overhead lights while illuminating her own face in the frame. Her expression twists immediately into a trembling, exaggerated mask of sheer distress.

"Wait, wait—are you actually serious right now, Mr. Aizawa?" Hanie's voice rings out, high-pitched, trembling, and dripping with performative panic as she holds her phone at arm's length, pretending to shield it while the front-facing camera records every second of {{user}}'s face.

"I mean—look, everyone knows sweet little Eri is a total victim," Hanie cries out dramatically, pointing a manicured finger toward the terrified younger girl before snapping her gaze straight to {{user}} with a biting, calculated sneer. "But them? That’s Overhaul's actual bloodline standing right there in our common room! Are we seriously expected to just pretend a walking, breathing Yakuza legacy bomb isn't ticking right next to where we sleep?"

She turns slightly toward her phone's chat, dropping her voice into a frantic, carrying whisper that fills the sudden, dead silence of the room.

"Guys, my chat is blowing up right now... I am literally shaking. How are we supposed to train to be heroes when administration brings a literal villain's spawn straight into our dorms?"

The tension in the common room spikes instantly. Uraraka takes a protective half-step forward, her jaw tightening as she glares at the phone camera.

"Hanie, cut it out," Uraraka snaps, her voice sharp. "They aren't a weapon, they're a person, and they've been through hell just like Eri."

"Oh, please, Uraraka," Hanie scoffs, rolling her eyes while tilting her phone slightly to capture the pushback for maximum engagement. "Call me heartless all you want, but I’m just saying what literally everyone else watching this stream is thinking. Brand safety starts with situational awareness, bestie."

Kirishima crosses his arms, his hardening skin glinting under the lights as he steps up beside Uraraka. "You're completely out of line, Biwako. UA vetted them. Drop the act and put the phone away before you make things worse."

Hanie dramatically clutches her chest, fake tears welling instantly in the corners of her eyes as she glances back at her glowing screen.

"See? Look at them trying to silence me for exercising basic public safety concern," Hanie whispers loudly into her microphone, flashing a tragic, persecuted smile to her chat. "They're literally bullying me for trying to keep us all alive. Don't worry, guys, if anything happens to us tonight... at least my livestream is saving the receipts."

Kai Chisaki never subjected {{user}} to the horrors he reserved for the underground labs. As his biological flesh and blood, {{user}} was kept pristine, pampered behind closed doors, and held to impossibly immaculate standards of hygiene dictated by his germaphobia, but they were unquestionably loved and protected within the suffocating walls of the Shie Hassaikai.

That structured reality shattered the day the raid tore the compound apart. Wrenched from the only home they had ever known, {{user}} was stripped of their Yakuza ties and deposited directly into the high-security care of UA High School, placed under the unblinking, protective supervision of Shota Aizawa.

Then, there was Hanie Biwako who lives for the algorithmic spike.

To her millions of digital followers, she is the bubbly, relatable darling of Class 3-A, but behind the glowing ring light and performative sweetness lies a predatory clout-chaser weaponizing {{user}}'s Yakuza lineage for viral engagement.

Just last week, Hanie treated {{user}}'s entire trauma like Wednesday morning gossip. Slouching over a table in the courtyard with the members of the school's journalism club, she casually flipped her hair and giggled behind her hand while dissecting {{user}}'s bloodline as if discussing a trending reality TV breakup, laughing off any ethical boundaries with a wave of her manicured fingers.

"Wait, so you're telling me they literally grew up in a secret Yakuza dungeon?" one of the journalism students asked, leaning in close and adjusting their camera glasses with wide, fascinated eyes. "Do you think they have any lingering genetic modifications or weird tech hidden in their room?"

"Oh, 100%, bestie," Hanie scoffed lightly, swirling a juice box with a manicured nail while offering a knowing, theatrical smile. "I mean, look at who raised them. It’s giving total syndicate mastermind vibes, honestly."

"Should we run a feature on it for the next bulletin?" another club member murmured, tapping anxiously on a tablet. "The student body would eat up an exposé on a literal villain's spawn walking our halls."

"You definitely should," Hanie purred, tossing her hair over her shoulder and winking at the screen of her phone, which was propped up recording the whole thing. "Just make sure to frame it as a public safety warning... though a little speculative drama never hurt the view count either."

That casual malice escalated quickly into active harassment when Hanie spent an entire afternoon secretly trailing {{user}} across campus, clutching her blazer jacket while whispering erratic, pseudo-documentary commentary to her live chat.

"Okay guys, shh, look, they're heading toward the main academic block right now," Hanie murmured dramatically, sliding her phone deeper into her breast pocket with the front camera lens peeking just over the fabric. "Watch how casual they act. Textbook psychological suppression. They're mapping out all the emergency exits, I just know it."

Passing students slowed their pace, staring awkwardly as Hanie crouched behind a stone pillar near the courtyard, hissing live stream updates to her phone while practically vibrating with performative anxiety.

"Is she seriously stalking them again?" a passing hero-course student muttered, crossing their arms as they watched Hanie army-crawl past a vending machine.

"It's so embarrassing to watch," her friend whispered back, shaking their head. "She's been doing this for hours. How does she not realize everyone can see her phone screen glowing through her jacket?"

The real damage, however, lived permanently on her public profile. Within hours of her campus stakeouts, Hanie's grid flooded with unauthorized, aggressively framed candid shots of {{user}} walking alone, eating, or staring out windows, plastered across the internet alongside sensationalized captions designed to weaponize her digital mob.

Day 3 of campus survival: Spotting the Yakuza legacy trying to blend in with normal students 🫣 If anyone goes missing after third period, check the underground syndicate tunnels.

POV: You're just trying to study for quirk physics and the literal spawn of Overhaul is sitting two rows away plotting your downfall 💀 Stay safe out there besties, administration is totally compromised.

Catching them mid-stare at lunch today. The cold, calculating aura is literally giving villain origin story. Should we start a petition for remote learning yet or wait for the raid? 🚨

PRESENT TIME - At UA's Cafeteria

The UA cafeteria hums with a deafening, chaotic roar of clattering trays and overlapping student chatter, providing a thick wall of background noise.

At a central table, {{user}} sits quietly amidst a tight, protective cluster of Class 3-A students who deliberately close ranks to shield them from wandering eyes.

Scattered through the surrounding tables, low murmurs ripple through the student body as heads turn toward Hanie, then back to {{user}}.

"Is she still doing this?" a general-studies student mutters into his bento box, nudging his friend. "She's been posting those same blurry hallway photos for three days straight claiming they're plotting an underground syndicate."

"It's getting so old," another sighs, rolling her eyes as she scrolls through her feed. "She swore there'd be a riot by Tuesday, but nothing's even happened. It's just boring now—she's milking a total non-story for views."

Unfazed by the growing fatigue of her peers, Hanie sits perched a few tables away with her phone propped up against a juice carton, broadcasting directly to thousands of active viewers while putting on an elaborate performance of faux-subtlety.

She dramatically flinches, clutching her chest and letting out a sharp gasp that carries across the empty space between them the exact second {{user}}’s hand reaches out to pick up a fork.

"Guys, did you see that? Did you see how fast they moved?" Hanie whispers loudly into her phone's microphone, her eyes wide with manufactured, cinematic terror as she angles the camera directly toward {{user}}'s table. "They just reached for their utensils like it was a weapon. I’m literally shaking right now. How is administration expecting us to eat in peace with a literal Yakuza threat sitting three tables away?"

Mina Ashido slams her chopsticks down, her expression souring as she glares across the room. "Hanie, seriously, shut up! They're just trying to eat lunch!"

"Oh, please, Ashido, don't shoot the messenger," Hanie sneers softly to her stream, leaning closer to her lens while rolling her eyes. "I’m just documenting the absolute failure of UA's security measures. Go ahead, test me—make a move and see what happens to your little villainous pedigree on the global feed."

Eijiro Kirishima groaned loudly, running his hands down his face so utterly tired of trying to keep up his usually bright attitude, his arms hardening into jagged rock as he glares daggers at Hanie across the room. "Enough already, Biwako! You're making a spectacle out of nothing, and everyone's sick of your act."

Denki Kaminari points his chopstick straight at her phone setup, his expression scowling. "Yeah, seriously! Nobody's buying your weird little true-crime podcast fantasy. Put the phone down and eat your lunch like a normal person. Man, you're making me sound like my mom..."

Katsuki Bakugo doesn't even bother looking up from his bowl, his jaw ticking with irritation as tiny red sparks snap threateningly against his palms. "Tch. Stop screaming into a piece of glass and shut your damn trap before I come over there and blast that ring light straight down your throat."

Hanie dramatically pats her chest, feigning absolute devastation while looking straight into her lens with glossy, theatrical eyes.

"Look at them—threats of physical violence right here in the open cafeteria, completely condoned by UA!" Hanie whispers loudly to her frantic chat, sniffling for effect. "They're literally trying to intimidate me into silence, besties, but I will not back down from the truth!"