Chapter Text
The classroom seemed impossibly big yet so, so small, it felt as if the walls were steadily closing in on you as you stood, front and centre, in front of twenty strangers. You looked down, avoiding the watchful eyes of your newfound classmates as you tried your best not to look like a loser as you introduced yourself.
“Um. I’m (l/n) (y/n).”
And you already made yourself look like a loser, well done.
To be fair, you had always struggled with introductions. Knowing the right time to speak, the right things to say, the wrong things to say, avoiding oversharing right off the bat—it was a complex skill to master, and that was when you were speaking to one person. Speaking to twenty other students however, made it, well, twenty times worse.
With a deep breath, you raised your head to face your new classmates and was met with forty eyes gazing at you intensely, studying you.
Actually, you were quick to realise there were only thirty eight eyes boring into your soul—there was one boy seated near the front of the classroom who wasn’t ogling you like the rest of your classmates. He was sitting on the far right of the classroom behind some invisible person, with his feet up on the desk, gazing out the window. You held back a sigh; at least there was one person here who wasn’t desperate to know more about you.
And then he made eye contact with you. Oops.
You were quick to avert your gaze, turning your attention to a boy with bright yellow hair as he raised his hand excitedly to ask a question.
“What’s your quirk?”
“Oh, well,” now this was a question you had been prepared for, mostly because you had stayed up all night rehearsing exactly how to word it without sounding absolutely insane. Still, you swallowed thickly before continuing, “my quirk is called ‘Angel’s Blessing’, it kinda grants me immortality, and I can heal myself and others pretty well—there’s a bit more to it than that, but that’s pretty much it.”
A moment of silence passed as your classmates stared at you blankly. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck and onto your face as all forty—yes, forty, that one guy was looking at you now, too—eyes waited for you to continue, to elaborate in some way.
But that was the thing. You couldn’t elaborate, not really.
In truth, you knew very little about the inner workings of your quirk—you didn’t even have a quirk until two years ago, this was all just as new to you as it was to the twenty people you’d met mere moments ago.
The yellow haired boy’s eyes seemed to light up, and he was the first to speak after the moment of silence, “ooh that’s so cool!”
With that, the floodgates opened, and you were bombarded with questions.
“So you actually can’t die?”
“How do you even know you’re immortal?”
“How does it all work, exactly?”
You could practically feel yourself cracking under the weight of all the questions when your homeroom teacher mumbled something from the corner of the classroom, “Enough. You’ll have plenty of time for questions later.” You all watched as he let out a sigh, “Now, I hope you have good eyesight, (l/n), because you’re in the spare seat at the back—go sit down and we can move on.”
The homeroom teacher, Mr Aizawa, half-heartedly pointed to an empty desk right at the back of the classroom, and you took that as your que to move. You quickly and quietly walked past the twenty sets of eyes that were still staring at you as if you were some kind of wild animal that had stumbled into their classroom.
But you supposed that was a justified comparison—moving schools almost a month into the academic year was strange enough, but moving to UA as a foreigner, just to rock up with minimal combat experience and a quirk that practically grants you immortality? You were surprised your classmates weren’t more suspicious of you. You took your seat at the back of the class, being careful not to make too much noise as your classmates gradually turned their attention away from you and towards Aizawa, who promptly began speaking in a monotonous voice.
There was one boy, however, who seemingly could not take his eyes off of you for more than a few seconds. He was seated quite far away from you and was scribbling furiously in his notebook between pauses where he would crane his neck to look at you.
You had tried your best to remain optimistic in the weeks approaching your transfer to UA highschool, and for the most part it had paid off but, sitting at the back of the classroom full of curious people with prying eyes, you wanted nothing more than to go back home.
It was a strange feeling, really, wanting to go home.
In this instance, it was justified. You were in a new school in a new country full of new people speaking a language you barely had an elementary level understanding of, who wouldn’t want to go home?
And yet, even when you were home, curled up in your bed on your phone, you still wanted to go home. You thought, perhaps, that it was because you missed your home back in England, but this heavy feeling had been a constant in your life long before the idea of moving to Japan had ever been suggested.
There were several reasons that could explain why you felt that way—but it was best not to recount every bad thing that had ever happened on your first day at a new school.
You had no idea what was in store for you and, in all honesty, you were dreading it.
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
It wasn’t long before you excused yourself and headed to the bathroom. You weren’t entirely sure if your homeroom teacher would allow it, but you were more than relieved when he let you go—though he was likely just being nice because it was your first day. Even if he’d said no you probably would’ve left anyways; being in that classroom was making you feel nauseous.
The cold water hitting your skin brought with it a sense of relief that you had been yearning for all day. Unfortunately, cold sink water wasn’t enough to completely drown the nausea, but it was enough to put a damper on it temporarily.
What were they thinking, throwing you into a school full of strangers? You hadn’t attended public school in almost two years, for god’s sake.
But the only thing you could do was grin and bear it; you’d been sent to UA for a reason, and you weren’t about to let everyone down.
Did you know the reason? Not entirely, but that’s besides the point—you were trying to ground yourself, not question your purpose.
You raised your head from the sink and met your reflection’s gaze in the mirror, you could barely recognise yourself in UA’s uniform, but you didn’t look bad. You’d spent too long trying to perfect tying a tie that morning to look bad . You looked tired, sure, but that was expected; you’d barely slept the night before. Your aunt had offered to cover your dark circles with some concealer but you’d refused, though now you were beginning to regret not taking her up on the offer.
Eventually, your gaze landed on the red mark on your cheek and you let out a sigh.
Your soulmark.
It was an ugly thing, but what it signified was even uglier.
When you first began questioning the meaning behind it, your parents had tried convincing you that the blotchy, fist-shaped mark on your left cheek was, in fact, not a punch in the face and that it was something nicer—a… a fond cup of the cheek or something, because that definitely wouldn’t be weird coming from a stranger.
Not that a punch in the face was any less weird, but that was besides the point.
What made it even worse was that everyone could see it. Everyone - every single person - you ever dared to speak to knew that you were going to get punched in the face by your soulmate.
It was an embarrassing fact that you just had to live with—but still, you dreaded the day you met your soulmate.
What kind of person would even punch someone in the face upon first meeting, anyways?
⋆⋅☆⋅⋆
Eventually, you forced yourself out of the bathroom and back into reality. As nauseous as it made you, you just had to cope.
And that’s exactly what you did until the bell rang.
Lunch time.
The thought of hundreds of people crowded into one cafeteria made you curse yourself for not bringing your own lunch, though you felt too sick to eat anything either way. You’d go find a corner to sit in until lunch was over, or you could even go back to the bathroom—
“Hey!”
Fuck.
Before you could run away like a coward, a girl with bright pink skin and short fluffy hair bounced over to you with an excited grin on her face. She looked like what you’d expect the physical embodiment of fun to look like—only you weren’t in the mood for any fun.
“Since you’re new here and all, I was wondering if you wanted to come down to lunch with me?” her voice was light and carefree, as if the two of you were already friends, “I could introduce you to everyone, if you’d like?”
As appealing as the bathroom looked, you knew it was best to play along.
“Yeah, sure.” you couldn’t quite meet her gaze, and your voice came out a little hoarse.
The girl’s grin only grew as she watched you stand up from your desk.
“Great! I’m Ashido Mina, but you can just call me Mina.” her friendliness was impressive, you hadn’t expected someone so bubbly to go to such a serious looking school, “Am I alright to call you (y/n)—or do you prefer (l/n)? ”
“(y/n)’s fine.” you said with a nod—you still weren’t entirely used to calling people by their surnames, so you were more than happy to take the opportunity.
Mina promptly led you to the bustling cafeteria, and you immediately became aware of just how out of your element you truly were. There were people everywhere - god, it was almost as if it were an actual school or something - and you said a silent prayer thanking Mina for taking you in.
By the time the two of you sat down with your food, the rest of Mina’s friend group had already sat around the table. You could discern their respective personalities almost immediately based on their appearances alone; yellow hair, red hair, black hair, blonde hair… you definitely weren’t going to get any of them mixed up—oh, and pink hair, for Mina.
There was a moment of silence where the entire group looked at you, then looked at Mina, then looked back at you. But they were smiling, so that was a good sign, right?
“They with us now?” the yellow-haired boy asked. It easily could have been meant in a rude way, but his curious, lighthearted tone made you think otherwise.
“They can hang out with us if they want, Kami.” Mina said with a smile, “there’s always room for one more, right?”
Everyone then cast their eyes to the blonde-haired boy sitting at the end of the table, he seemed to have deliberately distanced himself from everyone else, and he seemed more interested in his food than the ongoing conversation. When he didn’t respond - or even look at everyone else - they gave a collective shrug.
“Anyways, I’m Kaminari Denki.” the yellow-haired boy said after a moment, “my quirk is electrification!”
Yellow hair. Electrification.
And just like that, the rest of them followed suit.
“I’m Kirishima Ejiro, my quirk is hardening!” His phrasing garnered a chuckle from the yellow-haired boy.
Red hair. Hardening.
The black-haired boy was next to speak, “I’m Sero Hanta, my quirk is called tape.”
Black hair. Tape.
Again, everyone’s gaze landed on the blonde boy sitting next to Kirishima. He ignored them for a moment, but he soon raised his head.
“What?” he snapped.
Mina raised an eyebrow expectantly, “you gonna introduce yourself to (y/n) or not?”
The blonde boy turned his attention to you. He looked annoyed, like you had somehow ruined his day with just your presence alone—if he was trying to intimidate you, it was working.
After staring at you for a moment, he grumbled “Bakugou Katsuki.”
And promptly returned to eating his lunch.
Kirishima chuckled, shaking his head, “he’ll warm up to you eventually, maybe—his quirk is called explosion.”
Blonde hair. Explosion.
Bakugou…