Three days pass before anyone at U.A. speaks to me like I'm supposed to be here.
Three days of corridors that hum too loudly, of students who glance sideways and whisper in the same breath, of teachers pretending not to measure my every step.
That's fine. Silence is a language I know.
The mornings start with training. Endurance, precision, judgment.
They call it "control."
I call it containment.
Aizawa runs most of it. His eyes cut through excuses, his voice never rises. The others fear him; I respect him. He doesn't waste sound.
Today, the class runs exercises outside, beneath a sky too bright to trust.
The air smells of burnt rubber and sweat. Robots again — smaller, faster, meant to push reflexes rather than strength.
"Pair up," Aizawa orders.
Mina Ashido's pink hair glints in the light. She beams at me before anyone else can move. "You don't talk much, huh? Guess I'll fix that."
"If you can," I say.
She grins wider. "Challenge accepted!"
Her acid melts through a practice dummy before I've even blinked. She laughs at the hiss of dissolving metal. "Come on, Arashi! Show me something wild!"
The others pause to watch. I can feel their curiosity hanging in the air like static.
I step forward and raise my hand. The world stills — air pressure, light, the distant noise of students.
I move one finger, and a column of dust lifts from the ground, spinning perfectly vertical before falling back into place without a sound.
Mina whistles. "That's… creepy cool."
"You wanted wild. This is enough."
She tilts her head, thoughtful. "You ever smile?"
"When there's a reason."
She laughs again. "I'll find one for you."
Her cheer lingers longer than I expect.
Later, we run combat drills. I'm paired with Shoto Todoroki — cold half, fire half, all calculation.
We face each other in the center of the ring, the air between us tight with unspoken testing.
He studies me. "You're not registered. Yet you're here."
"I was invited."
"By Aizawa?"
"By circumstance."
He nods, accepting that as enough. Ice creeps from his right hand, smooth and deliberate. It slides across the ground toward me, a wave of sharp glass catching light.
I step aside. The air twists around the ice, fractures it before it reaches my feet.
He switches — fire now, bright and alive. Heat brushes against my coat, warm but harmless.
"You adapt fast," he says.
"You telegraph your intentions."
A pause. His eyes narrow — not angry, curious. "You're different."
"So are you."
The corner of his mouth moves — almost a smile. Then he attacks again.
The fight becomes rhythm: his precision against my patience. Ice meets air, fire meets pressure.
When Aizawa calls it off, both of us are still standing, breathing measured.
The students murmur. Aizawa scribbles notes. I feel none of it. Just the faint ache in my arm where the wind resisted me — a reminder that even freedom has friction.
Afternoon brings written lessons. Rules, history, laws of hero conduct.
The words blur on the page. Hero rankings, Commission regulations, liability codes.
All systems to decide who gets to act.
I close the book halfway through the lecture.
Midoriya — the green-haired boy who analyzes everything — notices. "You're not reading?"
"I already know how systems work."
He tilts his head. "You don't like heroes?"
"I don't like cages that pretend to be choices."
He hesitates, then smiles softly. "Then maybe you'll change how it works."
Simple. Naive. But the kind of faith that keeps worlds from collapsing. I nod once, not in agreement, but acknowledgment.
Evening falls. The sun sinks behind the glass towers, painting the horizon orange and silver.
From the dorm roof, the view stretches endlessly — city lights, clouds, motion. The heroes' sky.
Below, laughter spills from open windows: friends eating, arguing, living. I stand apart, listening to life I don't belong to.
Neri would've mocked this view — said it looked too clean to be real.
The memory cuts deeper than I expect.
You wanted silence, I remind myself. Not comfort.
Footsteps behind me. I don't turn.
Aizawa leans against the rail, gaze fixed on the horizon. "They're starting to get used to you."
"Or pretending to."
"That's close enough."
We watch the last light fade. He breaks the quiet first. "You think you can stay?"
"You sound like you don't think I can."
"I think you'll try. But this place changes people. Not always for the better."
"Then I'll adapt."
He nods once. "The Commission sent another inquiry today. Nezu's handling it, but they'll keep pushing."
"Let them."
"They won't stop."
"Neither will I."
Aizawa's expression doesn't change, but I catch the faintest flicker of approval before he leaves.
The sky darkens into a sea of lights. Drones drift between towers, heroes patrol below. Everything in order. Everything under control.
I stand beneath it — their sky, their rules, their structure — and wonder how long it will take before the storm inside me stops obeying.
A breath of wind curls around my hands.
Not violence. Not warning. Just presence.
I let it stay.
"You've built your heaven," I whisper to the city. "Let's see what happens when freedom learns to climb."
The night swallows the words whole.
Somewhere far below, thunder mutters like a secret shared between worlds.