I followed Aizawa down the hallway, my shoes squeaking against the polished marble floor. The silence pressed in from all sides, broken only by Bakugo's labored breathing and occasional mumbled curses. My chest throbbed where his explosion had hit me, the smell of my own scorched flesh mingled with the antiseptic scent of the hallway.
Bakugo didn't look much better. His left eye was already swelling shut, a purple bruise blooming across his cheekbone where my fist had connected.
Good.
My eyes flicked to Aizawa's back. His shoulders were slumped, his hair hanging limp around his face, but there was nothing relaxed about his posture. His capture weapon coiled around his neck, ready to strike at any moment. I'd underestimated him during the Quirk assessment. I wouldn't make that mistake again.
Bakugo glared at me, his crimson eyes practically glowing with hate. "You're fucking dead, you hear me? The second he's done with us—"
Aizawa stopped. He didn't turn around fully, just angled his head enough to fix Bakugo with a single, bloodshot eye. The hallway temperature seemed to drop ten degrees.
Bakugo's mouth snapped shut.
We continued walking.
I ran through potential scenarios in my head. Best case: detention. Worst case: expulsion. The thought of returning to our apartment, telling Kimiko I'd been kicked out on day one, made my stomach twist into knots. I couldn't fail her. Not after everything she'd sacrificed.
We took the elevator to the top floor. I'd expected the principal's office to be intimidating – all dark wood and stern portraits of past heroes. What I got instead was...unsettling.
Sunlight poured through floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a space that looked more like a luxury penthouse than an office. Tasteful modern furniture. Expensive-looking art. A panoramic view of the entire campus. The air smelled of jasmine tea and old books.
Behind an immaculate glass desk sat Principal Nezu. I'd seen him in interviews, of course, but up close, he was even more bizarre. A small, white-furred creature somewhere between a mouse, a dog, and a bear, dressed in a bespoke suit. A jagged scar ran across his right eye.
"Ah, Aizawa-kun. These must be our pugilists." His voice was cheerful, almost sing-song. He gestured to the teapot on his desk. "Tea?"
Aizawa shook his head. "Physical altercation in the boys' locker room. Quirk usage was present but contained. Property damage is minor, consisting of several dented lockers."
Nezu nodded, as if this was all perfectly normal. "Please, sit."
Bakugo and I sat stiffly, neither wanting to be the first to speak. Nezu poured himself a cup of tea, the liquid steaming gently as it filled the delicate porcelain cup. The principal took a small sip, his eyes never leaving us.
And that's when it hit me.
I wasn't sitting across from a principal. I wasn't even sitting across from a teacher.
I was sitting across from The House.
In every casino I'd ever worked, there was always The House. Not just the building or the corporation, but the entity that controlled every card, every die, every chip on the table. The player you could never truly beat because they'd written the rules of the game.
Nezu was The House of U.A.
For the first time since waking up in this world, I felt genuine fear crawl up my spine.
Nezu set his teacup down with a delicate clink. The sound echoed in the silence.
"Fighting on the first day is, of course, grounds for immediate expulsion. That is the rule. It is simple, clean, and entirely logical."
Nezu's small paws reached beneath his desk. I tensed, half-expecting an alarm button or security call. Instead, he withdrew two slim folders and placed them precisely in front of him, aligned with the edge of his glass desk.
"However," he continued, his cheerful tone never wavering, "I find that rules are best viewed as... guidelines for common situations. And you two are anything but common, aren't you?"
He opened the first folder. Bakugo's name was printed in neat block letters across the top.
"Katsuki Bakugo," Nezu read, his beady eyes scanning the document. "Quirk: Explosion. Entrance exam score: second highest in your year. Academic performance: consistently top of your class." He looked up, studying Bakugo. "A natural-born combatant with the intellectual capacity to match. UA accepted you expecting greatness."
Bakugo's chest puffed up slightly. The idiot was actually preening under the assessment.
"And yet," Nezu continued, "your psychological profile indicates a fascinating dichotomy. Your power is immense, but your pride is a fragile fortress built on insecurity. It makes you predictable, reckless, and easily provoked. A dangerous combination for a hero whose decisions will affect civilian lives."
Bakugo's fingers twitched, small sparks popping between them.
"I suggest you control that reaction, Bakugo-kun," Nezu said without looking up. "Aizawa has excellent reflexes."
I glanced at Aizawa, whose eyes had taken on a crimson glow. Bakugo's sparks instantly disappeared.
Nezu closed Bakugo's folder and opened the second one. My name stared back at me in the same neat lettering.
"Yukio Murano," he read. "Quirk: Kinetic Charge. Entrance exam score: highest in your year, with particularly impressive rescue points." He tilted his head, his eyes never leaving the page. "A remarkable strategic mind. You see patterns others miss. You calculate risks and rewards with impressive accuracy."
Unlike Bakugo, I kept my face carefully neutral. Compliments from Nezu felt like baited hooks.
"In many ways," he continued, "you see the world as a game you are uniquely equipped to win. Every person is a playing piece. Every situation is a hand to be played." He turned a page in my file. "But you have a specific, exploitable weakness."
His tiny paw tapped a section of the document.
"Your sister, Kimiko. Quirkless."
The room tilted slightly. My carefully constructed façade cracked, just for an instant. But in that microscopic falter, I knew Nezu had seen everything.
He knew.
"Family is a fascinating motivator," Nezu continued conversationally. "For some, it is a foundation for growth. For others, a chain that binds. For you, Murano-kun, it appears to be both." He closed my folder with deliberate care. "Your sister works very hard to support your ambitions, doesn't she? Multiple jobs. Graduate studies. All while being Quirkless in an industry that consistently undervalues those without abilities."
Each word was a surgical incision, precise and painfully accurate. I'd never felt more exposed, more vulnerable. This wasn't just The House—this was The House with x-ray vision, seeing straight through my cards to the palm they were pressed against.
"You initiated the altercation, Murano-kun," Nezu said, steepling his paws. "In response to Bakugo-kun's comments about Quirkless individuals being, and I quote, 'useless dead weight who should know their place.'" He turned to Bakugo. "Is that an accurate representation of your statement?"
Bakugo's jaw worked, the muscles in his neck straining. "Yeah," he finally growled. "So what?"
"So," Nezu replied, "I find myself in the unusual position of understanding both the offense and the response." He turned back to me. "Your reaction, while technically against school rules, was born from a place of deep personal conviction. And yet, it was also inefficient and potentially self-sabotaging. Surely you recognized that physical violence on your first day risked your entire future at UA?"
I remained silent. What could I say? That I'd lost control? That in that moment, Bakugo wasn't just insulting faceless Quirkless people, but Kimiko specifically?
"I see," Nezu said, interpreting my silence correctly. "A moment of genuine emotion. How refreshing."
He sat back in his chair, regarding us both with those unnerving black eyes. The air in the office felt thick, charged with potential energy just waiting for a catalyst.
"Well then," Nezu said, his tone shifting back to cheerful pleasantness. "Let me present you both with a choice."
He held up one paw. "Option A: I expel you both right now, as the rules clearly demand. I will then personally call your guardians—your proud parents, Bakugo-kun, and your hardworking sister, Murano-kun—and explain in detail why their dreams for you ended in disgrace."
"Or," he continued, raising a second paw, "Option B: you accept a punishment of my choosing, and we consider this an educational experience."
Bakugo's hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned white. "What kind of punishment?" he asked through gritted teeth.
Nezu's smile widened. "That would be revealing my hand before you've made your choice, wouldn't it, Bakugo-kun? You must decide based on the options as presented."
A classic con. Force a choice between a known terrible outcome and an unknown one. The mark always chooses the unknown, hoping it will be better. I'd run this scam myself.
"Option B," I said quietly.
Bakugo shot me a murderous look but nodded stiffly. "Option B."
"Excellent!" Nezu clapped his paws together, the sound unnaturally loud in the silent office. "For the next month, as a team-building exercise, you will both report to the Omega Mess kitchen staff after your last class." His smile grew impossibly wider. "You are on dishwashing duty."
I blinked, waiting for the rest of it. Suspension. Community service. Extra training. Something befitting the offense.
But Nezu just sipped his tea, watching us over the rim of his cup.
"Dishwashing?" Bakugo finally sputtered, his voice rising with each syllable. "DISHWASHING? I'm not some damn janitor! I'm going to be the Number One Hero!"
"And heroes never clean up their own messes?" Nezu asked mildly.
Bakugo's mouth opened and closed, no sound emerging. For once, he seemed at a loss for words.
"The punishment fits the crime," Nezu continued. "You both forgot your place in the larger ecosystem of UA. You acted as if your personal grievances outweighed the collective good of the institution. So now you will serve that institution in its most basic function—ensuring other students can eat in a clean environment."
I'd been masterfully checkmated, my ego dismantled not with a fist or a detention, but with a rubber glove and a sponge.
"You will report to Lunch Rush at 5pm today," Nezu said, closing both folders. "I suggest you use the time to reflect on the value of restraint, the power of words, and the true meaning of heroism." He nodded to Aizawa. "Aizawa-kun, please escort our students back to their dorms."
Aizawa nodded, his expression unreadable. "Let's go," he said, turning toward the door.
Bakugo and I stood in unison, both of us too shocked to argue further. The door closed behind us with a soft click that somehow sounded like checkmate.
The walk back was heavy with silence. Bakugo's eyes were fixed straight ahead, his shoulders rigid with suppressed rage. Aizawa walked between us, a weary barrier of black fabric.
"I'm going to take a nap," Aizawa said as we reached the main hallway. "I suggest you both visit Recovery Girl for those injuries."
And then he was gone, his capture weapon fluttering behind him like a tired ghost.