Aizawa stood at the entrance, capture weapon coiled around his neck like a sleeping serpent. He watched the procession of police vans roll up the curved driveway, each one disgorging its cargo of handcuffed, sullen figures. Flanking them were pro heroes—manual, vigilant, ready to spring at the first wrong move.

He didn't blink. He simply turned and walked into the building, leaving the villains to be marched through a side entrance. The students would be waiting. Their new classmates.

The halls of Class 1-A were buzzing with whispered theories when Aizawa finally slid the door open. The chatter died instantly. He walked to the podium, sleep-deprived eyes scanning the rows of expectant, nervous faces.