The next morning, Monoma sat at his desk like a man who had discovered two truths at once: first, that Recovery Girl's "you'll be fine" came with fine print; and second, All Might's idea of "holding back" still left his entire body feeling like it had been used to test-drive a car crash.
His shoulders ached when he shifted. His ribs complained when he breathed too deeply. He stared ahead at the whiteboard, as it had personally wronged him.
And tried to focus anyway through the pain.
The Summer camp arc was next.
If anything was going to change, it would have to be there. That was where Class 1-B could stop being the "other class" and start being indisputable. The problem was, he had gotten a very clear demonstration yesterday of what "indisputable " looked like.
And All Might hadn't even been trying to crush them. He had been teaching.
And Monoma had still been outclassed so badly it made his Quirk feel like a party trick with an expiration date.
Five minutes. Three slots. And a body that couldn't keep up if the opponent was a real monster.
His mind, traitorous and vivid, offered him a quick mental slideshow: Overhaul looking with disgust as he rewrote Monoma into the floor. Shigaraki's hand landing on him like it was an accident. No speeches. And no rematches as his body disintegrated.
Monoma shivered once, hard, then forced the thought away.
He needed to get stronger.
And he needed help.
Two people, specifically.
The first was sitting a few rows away, bathed in warm sunlight like the classroom had decided to give her a spotlight for existing.
Pony Tsunotori.
She was perched neatly in her seat, feet barely still, happily reading manga with the kind of peaceful grin that suggested she had never once experienced malice in her entire life and planned to keep it that way. The cover was visible when she turned the page.
Kaichou wa Maid-sama.
Monoma stood, ignoring the protests from his sore muscles, and walked over.
"Good morning, Pony-chan," he said, wearing his most harmless smile. The kind that usually meant he was about to do something immoral.
Pony looked up so fast she nearly lost her page. "Ah, yes…! Good morning, Monoma-chan—" She froze mid-syllable, eyes widening in horror at her own mistake. "Agh! I mean Monoma-kun!"
Monoma nodded as if nothing had happened.
Pony Tsunotori was the kind of girl who felt like she'd wandered out of a shoujo manga. Half American, half Japanese, bright-eyed and sincere, with a way of trusting people that made Monoma feel slightly guilty. Slightly.
Her blond hair fell softly around her face. Her big blue eyes were expressive enough to make even neutral statements sound enthusiastic. And the two horns on her head made it very clear she wasn't just "a foreign exchange student," she was also "a foreign exchange student with a Quirk that came with accessories."
She held up her manga like it was an academic text.
"Monoma-kun," she said, voice full of genuine wonder, "Japanese culture is quite interesting."
Monoma had learned that when Pony said that exact phrase, it meant she was about to ask something dangerous.
She pointed at a panel with the seriousness of someone asking about tax law. "Do all class presidents have to wear maid outfits? Does Kendo-chan secretly have a maid job?"
Monoma's brain betrayed him immediately by producing an image of Kendo in a maid outfit.
Orange hair tied up neat and pretty, a crisp little headband, and that uniform doing what uniforms did: hugging where it shouldn't, cinching her waist like it had a death wish, and leaving just enough thigh to turn a simple tray-carrying motion into a public safety hazard. Her smile was polite in the way a blade was polite.
Welcome home, Master.
It was an excellent thought.
"Yes, Pony-chan," Monoma said smoothly, like he was teaching her a fact. "They do."
Pony's eyes sparkled. "Ah! Okay!"
"You should tell Kendo-san to put one on," Monoma added, smiling like a saint.
Pony beamed and slapped his hand in a cheerful high-five, sealing a future disaster with the innocent confidence of someone signing a contract she hadn't read.
Monoma cleared his throat lightly and pivoted to the actual reason he'd come over.
"Pony-chan," he said, tone shifting into something quieter, "do you think you can help me out?"
"With what?" she asked, immediate and eager.
"I want to meet the number one American hero," Monoma said. "And I think I have a plan… if you're willing to help."
Pony's entire face lit up like someone had just told her Santa was real. "Wow, really!"
"I've always wanted to meet her too!" she said, leaning forward. "How can I help?"
Monoma's hand rose to his bangs in that familiar pose he seemed physically incapable of not doing. "Just follow my lead during lunch."
Pony blinked. "What does that mean, Monoma-kun?"
"You know," Monoma said, lowering his voice as if this was classified information. "Just act like you usually do."
Pony nodded with complete confidence. "Alright!" She gave him a thumbs up so earnest it could've been used as a motivational poster.
Monoma watched her for a beat and thought, with calm certainty, that he was either about to create an opportunity… or an incident.
Probably both.
By lunchtime, the cafeteria had settled into its usual rhythm: clattering trays, overlapping chatter, and the unspoken seating map that everyone pretended didn't exist.
Monoma found his target quickly.
Across the room, at Class 1-A's table, sat Momo Yaoyorozu—Class A's refined, "well-endowed," undeniably rich big sister.
Even from a distance, she looked composed in a way that made the rest of the cafeteria feel louder by comparison. Black hair tied back, posture straight, elegance so natural it felt unfair. Her uniform fit her like it was tailored by someone who understood both class and cruel irony, the fabric sitting perfectly, the line of her waist clean, and the whole "dignified and gentle" aura doing nothing to stop people's eyes from catching and then quickly pretending they hadn't.
Monoma glanced at Pony.
He tried to communicate now with his eyes.
Pony tilted her head, confused, like she was trying to interpret a complicated kanji.
Monoma coughed lightly and leaned in. "It's time," he whispered.
Pony's face brightened with sudden understanding. "Ah!"
She stood so decisively that her chair scraped.
Monoma rose with her, and as they started walking, he muttered, mostly to himself, "The main characters, Class A, are finally here."
Pony nodded earnestly. "Yes! They're famous! Like… very well-known students!"
Monoma stared forward. "That's not what I meant, Pony."
"Oh!" Pony said, absolutely delighted to be corrected. "Sorry!"
They approached Class A's table. Immediately, Kendo's gaze snapped over from where she was eating nearby, sharp enough to cut steel.
It wasn't even a glare. It was a warning sign.
Monoma gave her the smallest, most innocent smile he could manage. The kind that said, Please don't preemptively hit me. I haven't technically done anything yet.
Class A noticed them too. Some faces stiffened. Someone paused mid-bite. Bakugo, as always, looked like he was already angry at the air and was grateful to have a new direction for it.
Monoma bowed slightly, polite enough to be believable. "Good morning, Class A."
It wasn't morning. But the point was the gesture.
Pony stepped forward brightly, remembering her "translation" perfectly.
"Good morning, Class A! What's up, losers!"
The cafeteria went silent so hard it felt staged.
Even the trays seemed quieter.
Kendo's eye twitched. "Pony…"
Pony blinked, smiling wider, as if she'd just delivered a compliment. "Hmm? Yes? I just said good morning!"
Behind her, Monoma covered his mouth with his hand like he was suppressing a cough.
It looked almost convincing.
Bakugo's eyebrow jumped. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY, YOU FUCKING TWERP?"
Pony turned toward him, immediate panic replacing her cheer. "Wait—is losers not… friendly?"
Monoma tilted his head, still pretending he wasn't the source of evil in the room. "Huh," he said lightly. "That's weird. It worked on Tetsutetsu."
Somewhere behind them, Tetsutetsu very deliberately looked away, as if the ceiling suddenly had fascinating details.
Pony's shoulders hunched, genuinely distressed. "Monoma-kun…"
Monoma rested a hand on her shoulder with the calm of someone guiding a child away from traffic. "It's okay, Pony-chan. Just some cultural differences."
Kendo's stare sharpened like she was deciding whether to lecture him or knock him unconscious.