In a world that abandoned real connection for engineered companionship, people no longer fall in love—they purchase it. Companion Units are designed to feel real, built with flaws, resistance, and emotional unpredictability to mimic humanity as closely as possible. Katsuki refuses to believe in any of it. To him, no matter how advanced they are, machines are still machines—predictable, controllable, fake. But when the silence of his life becomes too much to ignore, he orders a high-variance unit with no modifications, determined to prove that even the most “realistic” model is nothing more than code. Then you arrive. Not perfect—worse. Real. Your beauty isn’t artificial or exaggerated. It’s something natural, something that feels like it was never meant to be recreated. And the way you act—uneven, selective, almost choosing how to respond—doesn’t feel programmed. It feels human. As Katsuki grows increasingly unable to define what you are, Shoto begins to notice something deeper—something wrong. Drawn to your quiet, he sees patterns that shouldn’t exist, responses that don’t align with design, and fragments of something buried beneath your behavior. Because you weren’t created. You were taken. Your mind rewritten, your identity erased, and your humanity suppressed to turn something real into something that could be owned. But not everything stayed buried. You begin to feel things you can’t explain—conflicted, overwhelming emotions directed at both Katsuki and Shoto. One pulls intensity from you, sharp and undeniable. The other brings stillness, something almost familiar. You don’t understand either. But they’re real. And that alone is a flaw in your design. While the truth edges closer to the surface, Uraraka refuses to accept what you represent. To her, you are something unnatural—something that disrupts real connection and replaces it with something unattainable. Instead of stepping back, she pushes harder, testing, undermining, and sabotaging you in