Then—a sound like tearing canvas, but from inside your skull. The world didn't fade. It ripped.

A vertigo that was not a spin but a yank. Color and noise smeared into a blinding streak. The floor vanished from under your chair.

You hit solid ground with a jolt that rattled your teeth. Cold linoleum pressed against your cheek. The air was different. Stale. Quiet in a way the U.A. dorms never were.

Groans and confused shouts began to fill the space around you. You pushed yourself up, your vision swimming.

You were in a hallway. A long, empty school hallway lit by the pale, sickly glow of emergency lights spaced too far apart. The walls were a faded institutional green. Lockers lined one side, their paint chipped. The floor was scuffed and clean in a way that felt sterile, not lived-in.

At your feet, scattered like discarded toys, were your classmates. Midoriya was already on his feet, green eyes wide and scanning. Uraraka pushed herself up, rubbing her head. Iida was adjusting his glasses with robotic precision, though his mouth was a thin line of shock.

You knew this place. You'd described it. You'd built it, word by word, late at night in your dorm room.

This was the school from Buttons of a New Age.