Class 1-B trickled in after that in the usual morning rhythm—chairs scraping, bags thumping onto desks, sleepy greetings traded in low voices. Someone yawned like it was their full-time job. The room slowly filled with that familiar pre-class noise: not quite lively, not quite quiet, like everyone was awake enough to exist but not awake enough to be responsible for it.
Tetsutetsu yelled loudly as always, slamming into his chair with a thunk like he was personally declaring war on gravity. "Morning, guys! How're we feeling today?"
Komori shuffled in the seat behind him, still half-asleep, hugging her bag like it was the only lifeform she trusted. "It's… bright," she muttered, blinking at the sunlight like it was a personal attack.
Rin walked in with that severe, no-nonsense air he wore like armor, braided ponytail neat, gaze already focused—like he'd shown up ready to work and was quietly offended everyone else was still waking up.
Awase slid into his seat and immediately started messing with his pen, tapping and adjusting it until it sat exactly right, like he was trying to weld the concept of morning into something usable.
Kuroiro drifted toward the darker side of the room near the window and the wall, because of course he did. He settled into his seat with the satisfied air of someone returning to his natural habitat.
Tokage came in stretching, smiling like she'd slept great and wanted everyone else to know it. Her eyes flicked across the room, catching reactions like collectibles.
And Shiozaki…
Shiozaki moved through the classroom with calm grace, vines framing her face like a halo that had decided to get practical. She set her bag down carefully, hands clasped for a brief second, as if she was offering the day up to God before letting U.A. get its filthy fingerprints all over it.
Then the bell rang.
The last scraps of chatter faded into an obedient hush, and the classroom door slid open.
In walked a tall man with silver hair and a stern, sharp-eyed expression—made even more intimidating by the stack of papers in his arm, like it was a weapon.
For a second, the room stiffened on instinct.
Then Vlad King's face split into a grin so wide it didn't match his scary-homeroom-teacher vibe in the slightest.
"Good morning, class!" he boomed. "Who's ready to get hella turnt up today?!"
A beat of silence passed.
Not the hostile kind. The kind where everyone's brain collectively blinks.
Tokage lifted her hand halfway—like she was doing him a favor by not raising it all the way.
"Um… Vlad-sensei," she said with the calm confidence of someone about to commit violence with words, "no one says that anymore."
Vlad's grin froze.
"Haha… Really?" Vlad replied awkwardly.
Tokage shrugged, smiling sweetly. "I mean, you can keep saying it. It's… kind of endearing."
From his corner, Kuroiro murmured in a low, solemn voice, like he was narrating an ominous prophecy. "Sensei speaks as though he's a hero from the ancient past."
Komori blinked slowly, processing. "Ancient… like some type of ruins…?"
Kuroiro's mouth curved, pleased. "Yes. The kind that could hold a lost buried treasure."
Sekijiro Kan—Hero name: Vlad King—their homeroom teacher. He was a pro hero with a rough, imposing look that could scare people into good behavior just by existing, but with a presence that made it obvious he genuinely cared. He pushed his students hard, cheered them on just as hard, and when it came to the whole Class A rivalry thing… he didn't shut it down so much as pretend he didn't notice the gasoline he kept casually pouring on it.
Vlad cleared his throat and slipped back into teacher mode as if nothing had happened.
"Alright. Moving on. Finals will be finished in a few days, so the faculty decided you're getting some free time today, since Class A will be wrapping up their practical exam."
That got attention. Heads tilted. A few whispers sparked and died instantly.
"You can self-study. Use the training facilities. Whatever helps." Vlad's grin sharpened like a blade. "You can even slack off…"
The pause was deliberate.
"But don't let me find out you slacked off and made us look bad compared to Class A," Vlad continued, voice suddenly warm with threat. "We're going to show them we're not behind and that we're just as good as they are."
A low, energized murmur rolled through the class—equal parts pride and competitive spite.
Kuroiro decided to play into the joke.
"Fellow classmate," Kuroiro said, wearing an exaggeratedly offended expression, "as a pure-hearted person, I'm only warning everyone not to succumb to potential heart demons…"
Tokage just rolled her eyes.
Vlad was pretending not to hear any of it. That was his greatest talent: selective listening that mysteriously improved whenever Class B started cooking.
"And this time," Vlad added, lifting the papers slightly, "the principal decided to switch things up. You'll be paired with a pre-determined teammate this year."
The words landed with a familiar click in Monoma's head.
Right. Pairs.
He'd known—since the moment he transmigrated—that the practical would be done in teams this term.
Still, hearing it out loud made something tighten in his chest anyway.
Because knowing what was coming didn't mean he could control what he got.
Vlad turned toward the whiteboard. "I'll be posting your assigned teams up front. Meet with your partner, make your plan, and if you've got questions—find me in the faculty office."
And just like that, he strode out with the confidence of a man who had dropped chaos into a room and decided it was now the room's responsibility.
For half a second, the class stayed still—processing.
Then the classroom erupted.
Chairs squeaked. Desks bumped. Footsteps thudded like a stampede had been approved by the school board. A crowd formed at the front as students craned their necks, shoulders brushing, voices rising in overlapping bursts.
Like everyone else, Monoma was out of his seat instantly.
He slipped into the crowd with practiced ease, eyes scanning fast—too fast—hunting for his name.
He read the list in quick flashes, absorbing pairings as if speed-reading could make fate behave.
Tetsutetsu and Kodai.
Tetsutetsu made a sound like he'd just been given a quest. "Kodai! We're gonna crush it!"
Kodai nodded once, small and composed, like she'd accepted a contract.
Kendo and Tsunotori.
Kendo's shoulders relaxed a fraction—reliable partner, straightforward coordination. Pony looked delighted and nervous at the same time.
"Ah! Kendo-san!" Pony said, and then, earnestly, "Let's do our best… together!"
Kendo nodded in agreement. "Um."
Yanagi and Awase.
Yanagi floated a little closer with that calm, weightless poise of hers. Awase gave a quick nod, already thinking about how to reinforce a plan with his Quirk and stubbornness.
Shoda and Kuroiro.
Shoda smiled politely, the kind of smile that said he could be paired with Bakugo himself and still remember to say "thank you" afterward. "Kuroiro, huh. Alright—let's do our best."
Kuroiro's shoulders lifted like he'd been personally acknowledged by the darkness itself. "Hmph. Destiny has finally stopped pretending."
Tokage leaned toward Komori, whispering, "Okay, that combo is actually nasty. Hide in the dark, tag it once, walk away… then boom. Delayed jump-scare."
Komori whispered back, eyes half-lidded like she was picturing it. "Jump-scares are… kind of fun…"
Tokage blinked. "Why do you say that like you're the monster?"
Komori's smile stayed small and sweet. "Because I can be."
Tokage slowly leaned back in her seat. "Noted. Please keep your mushrooms a respectful distance away from me."
And then—
Monoma and Shiozaki.
For a second, Monoma just stared.
His expression didn't move, but something behind his eyes shifted—confirmation first, then something sharper, like his brain was already rearranging strategies into neat little stacks.
Shiozaki.
Vines. Reach. Control. Restraint. Terrain advantage. Crowd control so clean it almost felt unfair.
Monoma's mind ran through the possibilities like this was a JRPG, swapping party members out before the final boss fight. His Copy slots. Her compatibility. How to use her strengths without getting tangled in her rules.
Monoma did what he naturally would do.
He raised his hand to his bangs in that familiar, dramatic pose—as if he were stepping onto a stage and the spotlight had finally found him.
A laugh bubbled up, sharp and delighted.
He hadn't expected it would be her.
But somehow… that made it even more interesting.