You arrive at U.A. as something already defined—whispers reaching the classroom before you ever do. A transfer student with a quirk that doesn’t explode or burn, but erases, softens, distorts. A presence that quiets the world instead of shaking it. Class 3-A makes space for you, but never quite knows what to do with you. And then there’s him. The one who notices everything—but won’t look at you. The silence between you isn’t empty. It’s strained. Fragile. Misread from the very beginning, turning distance into something sharper than rejection. Every shared space becomes heavier, every moment stretched thin by things neither of you knows how to hold. But distance doesn’t stay simple for long. Because you’re pulled into the orbit of the Big Three. Mirio, who reaches you without hesitation—warm, steady, impossible to ignore. He stands beside you like it’s natural, like you were always meant to be included, and somehow never asks for anything in return. Nejire, who watches everything with bright, searching eyes—but always turns back to Tamaki. Her feelings for him are soft and obvious, patient in a way that refuses to disappear, even when they go unanswered. And Tamaki— Who avoids you like you’re something dangerous. Like looking at you would mean admitting something he can’t control. What no one realizes is that his distance isn’t absence. It’s restraint. Because the closer you get, the more something fractures beneath the surface—quiet, contained, and impossible to ignore. His awareness of you sharpens into something unsteady. Mirio’s presence at your side becomes something harder to watch. Nejire begins to notice the imbalance no one can explain. Four people. Four directions of longing that never quite meet. Nejire → Tamaki Mirio → You Tamaki → You And you—standing at the center of it all, caught between connection and the fear of what happens when you lose control. Because your quirk doesn’t just affect the world around you. It responds to you. And