The gates of U.A. University tower behind me like the entrance to some ancient cathedral of power. Marble and steel reach toward the sky, gleaming in the morning sun. Students and families flow past me in both directions—some tearful, some excited, all of them insignificant extras in the grand production that is my life.
Alright, new life, new digs. Number one prospect, coming through.
I adjust my leather jacket and pick up my suitcase, feeling the satisfying weight of quality luggage. Everything I own is packed inside—clothes, toiletries, the essentials of a man about to conquer the world's most prestigious hero academy.
Time to see what kind of five-star suite they give to the man who broke the curve. Room 3-I, let's go.
The campus spreads out before me like something from a fever dream. Pristine pathways wind between buildings that look more like monuments than classrooms. Gardens burst with color, fountains sparkle in the distance, and everything screams "we have more money than several small countries."
Perfect. This is exactly the kind of stage I was born to perform on.
I pull out the campus map from my welcome packet, unfolding it with the confidence of a man who has never met a challenge he couldn't charm his way through.
What the hell is this, a treasure map drawn by a lunatic?
The map is a masterpiece of artistic incompetence. Color-coded buildings blur together in a rainbow of confusion. Winding paths spiral off in directions that seem to defy basic geometry. Stylized landmarks dot the landscape like hieroglyphs from a civilization that valued beauty over functionality.
Where's the giant, glowing 'You Are Here' sign for idiots?
I stare at the map, rotating it ninety degrees, then one hundred eighty, then back again. Nothing makes sense. The cool facade I've spent years perfecting develops its first crack of the day.
A family walks past me—mother, father, and a daughter about my age struggling with an oversized duffel bag. The girl has short brown hair and kind eyes, the sort of wholesome prettiness that screams "future rescue hero." Her mother hovers nearby, fussing over every detail, while her father carries the heavy stuff without complaint.
Perfect marks for the charm offensive.
I shifted my grip on my suitcase, letting my shoulders slump just a fraction. I met the mother's eyes first, offering a lazy, one-sided smile that didn't quite reach my eyes.
"Excuse me," I say, letting my voice carry that slight rasp that makes people lean in closer. "I don't suppose you could point me toward Alliance Heights? I'm afraid this map was designed by someone who clearly failed basic geography."
The daughter's cheeks turn pink the moment our eyes meet. She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again like a fish trying to breathe air.
"Oh my," the mother says, her own cheeks gaining color. "What a polite young man! And so handsome! Dear, look at his hair—it's like fresh snow!"
The father's expression shifted to the kind of suspicious glare usually reserved for door-to-door salesmen and politicians. His eyes narrowed, and he took a half-step closer to his daughter.
"Alliance Heights," the mother continues, completely oblivious to her husband's growing hostility. "Oh yes, it's just over that way, past the beautiful fountain and near the big, modern-looking building! You can't miss it, sweetie!"
She gestures vaguely toward what appears to be half the campus. Through the trees, I can see at least three fountains and approximately seventeen buildings that could be described as "big and modern."
"Thank you so much," I say, adding just enough genuine gratitude to sell the performance. "You've been incredibly helpful."
The daughter finally manages to speak. "G-good luck at U.A.!"
"I'm sure I'll see you around," I reply, giving her a smile that makes her duck behind her bag.
I walk away before the father can start asking uncomfortable questions about my intentions regarding his daughter. The mother's directions echo in my head—completely useless but delivered with such enthusiasm that I almost feel bad about how little they helped.
Almost.
Thirty minutes of wandering later, I admit defeat. The campus is beautiful, I'll give it that, but it's also a labyrinth. Every path leads to three more paths, every building looks like every other building, and every helpful sign points toward facilities I've never heard of.
I follow a simple sign that reads "Student Residences" because sometimes the direct approach is the only approach left. The path leads me away from the main thoroughfares, through a quieter section of campus where the landscaping takes on a more traditional Japanese aesthetic.
Old oak trees provide shade over carefully maintained stone pathways. Paper lanterns hang from wooden posts, currently unlit but promising magical ambiance come evening. A gentle stream winds through the area, its soft babbling mixing with the distant sounds of campus life.
The stream feeds into a large koi pond, its surface like black glass reflecting the sky above. Orange and white fish drift lazily through the water, their movements hypnotic in their simplicity. Stone benches are positioned at perfect viewing angles, inviting contemplation and quiet reflection.
Beautiful. Peaceful.
Utterly, infuriatingly unhelpful.
I drop my suitcase beside one of the benches and run both hands through my hair, messing up the carefully styled white locks.
"Of course," I mutter to the koi fish, who seem smugly amused by my predicament. "The one thing my Quirk can't blow up is my own terrible sense of direction."
The fish continue their lazy circles, offering no sympathy for my plight. One of them—a particularly fat orange specimen—surfaces near the edge of the pond and stares at me with what I swear is judgment in its beady little eyes.
"Yeah, laugh it up," I tell the fish. "At least you know where you're going."
"Hey, hey! Your hair is so white! Is that your natural color? Are you a new student? You look totally lost!"