Mr. Aizawa stood at the front of the room, looking as perpetually exhausted as ever, his yellow sleeping bag draped over the podium. The class fell silent almost immediately.

The classroom door slid open again. A boy stepped inside, his light blue-purple hair tied back in a neat, low ponytail. He had sharp, orangish-red eyes that scanned the room quickly, a small, friendly mole under each one. He wore the U.A. uniform perfectly, a bright, energetic smile already on his face.

His gaze swept across the rows of desks, lingering for a half-second longer on one seat in particular—yours—before snapping back to the front.

Yuki gave a cheerful nod and began walking down the aisle. As he passed your desk, his hand brushed lightly against your shoulder.