Class 1-A
April arrived quietly.
Too quietly, almost.
Ren had left the orphanage a few days earlier, carrying nothing more than a suitcase and a sense of forward momentum. Kyoto faded behind him without resistance. No dramatic goodbyes. No heavy emotions clinging to his back.
Just movement.
For now, he stayed in a modest hotel not far from U.A. High School. He hadn't rented an apartment yet—not out of indecision, but intent. If he could live on campus, he would. Dorm life meant proximity, safety, and convenience. He planned to ask the teachers directly rather than guessing.
A few days ago, his uniform had arrived.
It fit well.
Clean lines, simple design—nothing flashy, nothing restrictive. He'd tried it on once, studied his reflection briefly, then folded it neatly away. Today would be the first real time he wore it.
The first day of U.A. came faster than expected.
Ren arrived early.
The campus was already alive—students filtering in through wide paths, voices bouncing off pristine buildings, excitement buzzing beneath layers of confidence and nerves. The air felt different here. Sharper. Heavier. Ambition lingered everywhere.
He found his classroom without issue.
Class 1-A.
That, at least, didn't surprise him.
Ren stepped inside and chose a seat near the middle—not the front, not the back. A place where he could see and be seen without effort. He sat down, rested his arms on the desk, and let his gaze drift around the room.
Faces he recognized. Faces he didn't.
Someone's missing, he thought idly.
Class 1-A was supposed to be crowded with potential. Powerhouses. Future pros. And yet… the lineup felt slightly altered. Subtly reshuffled.
Guess that's me, Ren mused. Someone didn't make it.
He didn't linger on who that might be.
Voices grew louder as more students arrived. Introductions happened naturally. Names exchanged. Quirks hinted at but not fully revealed. Ren found it easy to talk—most of them were friendly, curious, open.
"Most," being the key word.
Bakugo Katsuki entered like a storm.
Loud. Explosive. Presence-first, people-second.
Ren watched with mild interest as Bakugo immediately clashed with Iida, voices rising within seconds. Something about rules. About respect. About volume.
Classic.
Ren chatted with a few nearby classmates while the argument escalated. Kaminari was easy to talk to. Kirishima too—straightforward, genuine. Even Todoroki earned a brief exchange, though it stayed surface-level.
Then the door slid open again.
Midoriya Izuku stood there, stiff as a board.
Bakugo snapped toward him instantly.
"YOU—"
The shouting began immediately, echoing through the classroom. Ren turned slightly in his seat, watching the scene unfold without expression. Uraraka stood just behind Midoriya, hands clasped nervously, trying to defuse the situation with polite words that bounced uselessly off Bakugo's rage.
Ren's attention drifted—not away from them, but past them.
Something felt… off.
He glanced toward the back of the room.
Then he saw it.
A large, dark shape on the floor.
A sleeping bag.
Ren blinked once.
There it is.
"Uh," he said calmly, raising his voice just enough to cut through the shouting. "You might want to lower it a bit."
Bakugo snapped around. "WHAT DID YOU—"
Ren tilted his head, pointing casually. "Teacher's here."
Silence fell like a dropped switch.
A second later, the sleeping bag shifted.
The zipper slid open just enough for a pair of tired eyes to peer out.
Shota Aizawa emerged slowly, hair wild, expression permanently unimpressed. He stared at the class for a long moment, eyes lingering briefly on Ren before sweeping the rest of the room.
"…Not bad," Aizawa muttered. "At least one of you noticed."
Ren met his gaze briefly, then looked away.
Aizawa stood, stretching lazily. "I'm Shota Aizawa. Your homeroom teacher."
He paused.
"If you're expecting a grand welcome speech," he continued flatly, "you're in the wrong place."
Groans rippled through the class.
Aizawa ignored them. "Change into your gym clothes. We're doing a physical Quirk assessment."
Confusion. Surprise. A little excitement.
Ren stood smoothly with the rest, already reaching for his bag.
As the class filed out, he felt it again—the faint sense of displacement. Something had shifted. The story wasn't exactly the same anymore. The changes were little but would add up over time .
And
He was part of the reason.