Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She’s not supposed to be here.

Not in this country, not in this world—not in this universe damn it.

Shuya’s always know that God has it out for her. But what she hadn’t known before this was that he hated her enough to literally yeet her into a fictional anime with zero context.

Well, if she’s here—might as well fuck shit up.

It happens so suddenly.

At least her transmigration — no, her isekai — wasn’t cliche. Namely as a result of Truck-kun barreling towards her out of nowhere and knocking her ten ways to another universe. No, Shuya simply went to bed one night, and woke up the following morning lying in a filthy dumpster with a tiny feline menace going to town on her finger as if Shuya owed it money.

The dark-haired girl blinked at the tiny kitten, and then twisted her nose at the stench.

“You know what? Can’t even blame you.” She sighed, throwing her head back in defeat. “I probably smell like heaven to you compared to the shit in this trash.”

Shuya would like you to know that it didn’t take her long to realize where she was once she climbed out of the dumpster and coaxed the little kitten into her arms. Something about people with literal shark heads and weird-ass colored hair gave it away.

That was her first clue.

While people back home had brightly dyed hair — heaven knows even looked like real anime characters what with cosplayers wielding the power of nothing but morbid curiosity and makeup — they didn’t just have shark heads. Or fans on their elbows. Or — was that a dildo?

She blushed, averting her eyes and coughing. The kitten meowed judgmentally.

So definitely nowhere in the world Shuya knew about. So she wasn’t kidnapped from her couch and then unceremoniously dumped in a trash can with no recollection as to how or why. Okay, okay — Shuya breathed out slowly — though that might’ve been might better seeing as…you know, she’d still be in her own world.

Her second clue was when she finally stumbled out of the alley into the very, very, brightly colored world no doubt stinking like hell. Only to be immediately approached by a random blonde dude cosplaying as a stereo dressed in what could only be described as the unholy union between black leather and spandex —  who then proceeded to ask her if she was okay and if she needed help.

Worst of all, he looked sort of familiar.

Shuya blinked.

Was — was he wearing an actual speaker?

Choices, choices — oh well. Shuya would prioritize survival.

She gave her best I-am-two-seconds-away-from-freaking-out-but-I--pretend-I-am-still-functioning-as-a-strong-independent-woman smile and told him that not to worry, she was completely fine and she did NOT need help thank you very much. Cuz mama raised no quitter.

It was only once the words were out of her mouth that Shuya realized that something was wrong.

Her mouth was…not moving how it should. Well, it was speaking — it was doing its job, yes — but.

When she tried to make it say ‘thank you very much’ the words that came out were actually a shaky arigato gosaimasu. Which, well — she’d seen enough anime to know what that meant but like —

Why the fuck am I speaking Japanese?

She stared at the blonde weirdo speaking to her, not sure if she was high and just tripping somehow.

Scratch that, why the fuck was she understanding Japanese all of a sudden?

“Um — excuse me, do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Err yes, little listener?” Said the literal light pole of a man. He knitted his brows in concern. “Are ya sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not little.” The reply came automatically, as if on auto-pilot — vaguely defensive. Shuya was not little. She was a strong independent woman, damn it. So what if she was a little short? That was only by tall white people standards! “I’m average.”

The blonde weirdo raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “I’m sure you are.”

“But I am.” Shuya insisted.

“Gotcha.”

“But—”

“I trust ya, average sized listener.”

Shuya pouted. “See now when you say it like that, it feels sarcastic.”

That, ladies and gentleman right there, was her third and final clue. She’d hash out the details later, confirm her suspicions and pinpoint her existence in the timeline much, much later. But that ‘little listener’ endearment, alongside the leather-spandex monstrosity, gravity-defying blonde hair and a literal speaker for a statement piece—

“You’re Present Mic.” She said dully.

And Shuya was somehow in My Hero Academia.

Well fuck.

Two hours later, Shuya finds herself sitting in an interrogation room with one cat in her lap, and another human-sized one facing her across the table. There’s also a homeless dude who looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. They’re supposed to be cops, Shuya reminds herself, trying her very best not to lose her mind.

Present Mic — yes, that Present Mic — had fucked off after all but dumping her at the police station, hashing out lame excuses about how’d they able to help her better.

Not that Shuya can really blame him — she wasn’t particularly obliging throughout the whole process. After recognizing the pro-hero, Shuya’s mind decided to overload from the information and shut down. Once she woke up, Shuya was informed she’d been passed out for a full hour.

They were on a park bench, Shuya's head on Mic's lap for some reason. If she didn't know he was a hero and an overall good dude, she'd have been very, very creeped out. Still, the passing out. An hour. Yada yada. It was actually a little over half an hour, but Shuya had elected to stay prone with her eyes closed — if only to give herself some time to think.

She’s in My Hero Academia.

That My Hero Academia.

Now that she's here, in this police station, after her little melt down, part of her is still praying that the people sitting in front of her are just a furry and homeless dude — and not Detective Sansa and Pro-Hero Eraserhead from MHA. Method actors, like she’s on some sort of prank show.

But then how would that explain the floating gloves that had cheerily greeted Shuya on her way inside and handed her a cup of coffee?

So Shuya had and will pretend to stay asleep for a bit longer, if only to work out her growing hysteria.

How did I get here? Am I dead? How can I go back?

And a single terrifying thought.

Can I even go back?

And if she can’t, then—

Her fingers stiffen in the kitten’s fur, eyes flickering up towards the men observing her.

Then how I do I survive this?

No, Shuya can’t blame Present Mic at all — she wasn’t making a lot of sense when he’d tried coaxing information out of her. But that’s not entirely her fault, okay?!

It’s not as if she can just casually say that no, he can’t pull up any information on her in their databases because she doesn’t exist in their fucking universe. That she has no name, no identity, no quirk — nothing in this world that marks her existence.

That brings Shuya to her latest dilemma though.

“Do you know what your quirk is, kid?”

Shuya stares at the cat furry officer in front of her, a serene smile frozen on her face.

She could say that she was quirkless, yes. The ensuing discrimination wouldn’t be anything new— Shuya had been a minority student studying in a foreign country whose people definitely didn’t like hers. She could deal with that yeah, but that didn’t mean she wanted to.

So, well — fuck the universe — Shuya is finally gonna bite the bullet and become the compulsive liar she was always destined to be.

“My Quirk is Foresight.”

This makes both men pause, turning back toward her with renewed interest. Shuya does not flinch.

Again, she could say that she was quirkless. She could say that she had any other hard to verify quirk. They’d be forced to believe it because 1) Shuya had no official records because someone not in this universe definitely could not exist on literal government records and 2) they’d only drag her in front of an x-ray in order to confirm whether or not she had that stupid extra toe joint over her dead body and yes, Shuya could and would bite—

There was a third reason though — the reason she’d decided on Foresight over something stupidly safe like Resting Bitch Face.

It’s two months until the U.A. entrance exam. A little less than four months before the USJ.

She is currently stranded in a fictional anime world that is destined to go to complete shit in less than a year with no money, no escape and limited recollection of the manga she’d read ages ago. The only place relatively safe during the War would be U.A. so please, forgive her for trying to gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss her way into one of the best safehouses in Japan. Shuya has no intention of making this stupid fight hers — her goal is to survive.

That could mean a lot of things. Like completely running away from Japan for example. Which — nice idea, sucker — but with what money? She doesn't even have a passport here! So that's a nope situation, no running away. Escaping Japan or better yet — Shuya being the meddling bitch that she is and throwing the plot the proverbial middle finger as she fucked shit up for any and all in her path.

She runs her fingers through the kitten’s dirty fur, ignoring the way it claws irritably at her hands.

Choices, choices.

Well, that was to be seen. For now, Shuya is content to bare her teeth and ‘prove’ the existence of her quirk by ‘predicting’ what the U.A. entrance exam would be about and what would happen.

“It’s usually a hit-or-miss.” She gives an easy grin, enjoying the thousand-yard stares of the poor bastards who’d been unlucky enough to interrogate her. “People are real crazy, y’know? You never know what the future will truly be, with the possibility of infinite choices. Best I can do is list out the most probable future. Works on probabilities.”

But then she leans forward, masking her slight hysteria of what-the-fuck-am-I-even-doing with easy confidence. “The physical exam for the Hero Course will have robots. The zero-pointer will be nasty.”

“That doesn’t prove what you’re saying is the truth.” The homeless guy pipes in from the back, completely and utterly unimpressed. Shuya would like to stress that Eraserhead definitely does not look thirty in real life. “Your origins are shady. You could’ve hacked your way into the records—”

“—Or just deduced it based on patterns of previous U.A. entrance exams. Or do a cross-analysis across previous test takers. You guys aren’t particularly slick, y’know?” She grins, shrugging when Eraserhead’s gaze sharpens. “Just kidding. But if you want, I can probably do focused predictions. They’re tricky though, I’m not completely sure how to access them.”

When Eraserhead says nothing, Shuya takes it as a green light and ‘activates’ her quirk.

She places the squirming kitten down, sucks in a deep breath to prepare herself and—

Crosses her eyes.

And then whirls towards a completely unnerved Present Mic with the flair of movie-Dumbledore in the Goblet of Fire. The poor bastard had come inside at some point and had been staring at Shuya all this time as if she’d grown two heads. “You! On the day of the entrance exam, when you’re giving out the instructions — some stuck-up brat with glasses and bluish-black hair will raise his hand and tell you how you didn’t mention that there’s four types of robots instead of three—”

“—Now you’re just biasing his speech—”

“—But!” She cuts Eraserhead off easily, wagging a finger. “He will turn around and scold a curly-haired, green-haired cutie sitting a few rows behind him immediately afterward who’d been muttering to himself. That’s not connected to Present Mic’s actions, is it? Wanna bet on that?”

She meets Eraserhead’s sunken but suspicious gaze head on, allowing him to search for any sliver of deceit. Shuya lets him — cause sure, she’s lying about her Quirk — but she is not insincere. What she says will be the truth, provided she hasn’t derailed the plot too much.

“It’s two months.” She smiles challengingly. “You willing to wait that long?”

Turns out, they are.

Shuya’s well aware why. Mental quirks are rare, and those with premonition are even rarer. In both the manga and anime, Shuya only remembers one character having true foresight — even if it ended up crippling him irreversibly in the end. Sir Nighteye did end up dying after all. Meanwhile, Midoriya Izuku, or Deku’s Danger Sense was predictive yes, but it wasn’t true foresight.

So, for now it kind of doesn’t matter if Shuya turned up out of nowhere with zero memories of how she got here with enough teenage audacity to bullshit her way through police custody. Shuya’s even worked out a way to get past the truth quirk dude. It involves reading a lot of quirkless-but-masquerading-as quirked-Midoriya-Izuku ao3 fics.

Step One: Exist and NOT get arrested. Complete.

While Present Mic and the policemen were easy enough to convince that yes, she was just a harmless itty bitty teenager who was really frazzled by this whole situation — Eraserhead is harder to convince. Probably the underground experience doing him wonders, as always.

But even he softens a little when Shuya asks if it would be okay to take the kitten with her to wherever they were gonna set her up for the next few weeks.

The police suspected that she was a trafficking victim with trauma-induced amnesia, probably connected to some underground shit. Shuya is quick to decide to slowly inch them towards the Shie Hassaikai after pretending to slowly ‘regain’ her memories. She could go in guns a blazing with tons of predictions and information — but the fact was, Sir Nighteye still wouldn’t move in to save Eri until the time was right. Until the probabilities were the highest and the casualties would be lowest.

It was her word against that of a seasoned pro. Guess which one the pro-heroes would trust?

She scoffs under her breath, shouldering her backpack closer.

Besides, until then, blaming her lack of memories — and by extension — decorum on the yakuza was the best way to go. It’s the best excuse she has for the now.

Shuya tries not to think too hard about Eri for the moment.

“This will be your room.”

She blinks.

Even she didn’t expect this. Wow, all those EraserMic dad fics really did end up being true.

Shuya looks around the room. It’s carefully bare, whether because it’s a temporary guestroom or for her whims to decorate, she doesn’t know. It’s smaller that her old room — back in her real home — but the walls are painted in a faded yellow peeling at the edges, there’s a large window on the right, and there’s fresh sheets on the bed. The only indicator that she’s still in EraserMic’s apartment is the polka dot cat clock placed on her bedside table.

She smiles.

It’s a small and sad thing, but it’s sincere and fond.

As expected of her favorite characters.

Truth be told, she’s a little surprised they’d give her a room with a window, given how Shuya’s been deemed a flight risk. Hence the supervision.

“Thanks, it looks good.”

She doesn’t notice the black eyes observing every single of her micro-expressions, brows knitting at whatever they end up seeing.

Instead, what she does notice when Shuya looks back at Eraserhead, is annoyance. “Aw, aren’t you a sentimental dude.”

A hand chops the top of the head gently, but sternly. “Language. I’m older than you. Have some respect.”

Shuya was named class clown once. She was also followed up with another immediately afterward.

Class Petty Bitch.

“Right, sorry.” She grumbles, deflating. “I should probably address a veteran like you with proper respect. If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you been in the field? Thirty—no, forty years? You look so experienced.”

The baleful glare Aizawa gives her in a moment makes her snicker like a little child.

Well, he does look older in real life.

Her first night in the EraserMic household can be characterized by two major emotions.

One is this overwhelming sense of relief that despite all her lies and the literal garbage start she had in this world — at the very least she’d managed to snag a place to crash for the foreseeable future. Shuya isn’t going to be homeless.

The second emotion is overwhelming loss.

It crashes into her like a wave the moment she shuts her bedroom door and turns to face her unfamiliar surroundings. It’s not her cramped studio apartment — it’s not her childhood room at her parent’s place back home. It’s nowhere near any of those two places.

The realization is quiet, but crippling. Shuya likely won’t make it back home. She’s stuck here, for reasons she doesn’t know and she’s arguably on her own. Sure, Shuya comes in with an overwhelming advantage but—

But this isn’t home.

So she doesn’t touch the bed that night. Instead she curls up in a corner, buries herself in her arms and holds herself to sleep just like that. The same way she did her first night in college as a fourteen year old in a foreign country thousands of miles away from her family and her home.

The only difference is that this time Shuya can’t run back home.

She wakes up the next day with tear tracks on her cheeks.

“Aw fuck.” The black-haired girl groans, stretching out her legs with a low hiss. “I was hoping this would be a bad dream.”

It’s not.

However, thankfully, Shuya is self-admittedly hyper-independent and deeply neurotic and so obviously, she gets over moping very soon. Nothing to be done about it. She grabs the ratty backpack Eraser had dug out for her, fiddles inside it for a change of clothes and her toiletries. Yesterday, without her knowledge, Eraser had gone through the lost-and-found at the station for a few day’s worth of clothes for her.

“We’ll go shopping after a few days.” He’d stated, dropping them in her arms. “Get changed. You’re filthy.”

Shuya was not filthy, but she listened regardless.

Because she’s not filthy, she took a shower last night and does so again in the morning. Eraser doesn’t know shit.

And, as she lets the hot water run down her shoulders, Shuya thinks. She starts planning out her future here — namely how to prevent or at the very least survive the War.

Staying with EraserMic is probably the best outcome out of all of this. Worst case scenario she’d still be on the streets with no money or place to crash. It would have been worse because she didn’t exist on official records, because that meant there’d have been no way for her to get a job without drawing any unsavory eyes. And, even worse, no one would know if she ever went missing.

She shivers, despite the hot shower. 

It’s been a while since Shuya’s watched My Hero Academia, but she still remembers how the Nomu doctor bastard often lurked in these neighborhoods.

Instead, Shuya gets hot meals and a soft bed to sleep in. That’s the dream, isn’t it?

Well…not exactly hot.

Predictably, both Eraserhead and Present Mic were hopeless workaholics. What does that come with? Shuya being left alone for more hours that she really should be, especially since she’s supposed to be the suspect they’re supposed to keep an eye on. They’d stuck to that mindset for all of three days, until Shuya had tripped on her blanket cape and promptly face-planted into the floor.

When Mic finally asked her if she was okay after a moment of hesitation, she’d told him to just leave her there to wallow in her misery.

“Just let me die already.”

Eraser snorted into his coffee, dead as a corpse.

“That can be helped, brat.”

So yeah, they’d warmed up — even Eraser. But the true tipping point was when Shuya dragged herself into the kitchen one fine evening, took inventory of the shit (or lack thereof) in the fridge and decided that well, if these adults wanted to die of starvation, sure—but Shuya was a growing woman who needed more than coffee to sustain her soul.

(Debatable, but okay)

She started cooking.

And something about the idea of returning home to a hot meal somehow succeeded in completely disarming her unlikely hosts—

Okay, it was the cat.

Shuya wasn’t even mad. How could an awkward, knobby kneed human like her ever beat a cute, fuzzy kitty who liked to massacre your fingers at very given opportunity?

“If you like them so much, why don’t you have one already?”

She asks Eraser one evening, as she watches the man play with the kitten in his lap absentmindedly, his attention focused elsewhere on reviewing some coursework. Shuya spies the words 1-A in big bold letters and feels a twinge of pity for the poor bastards. Eraser’s dark eyes flicker towards her, then soften as the kitten meows and bats its paws against his finger.

“Neither of us has the time. It would be cruel.”

“Wow, I really blessed you two, didn’t I?" Shuya choruses, just because she can. "Cooking, cleaning, pet-sitting.”

“Ya don’t have to do that, ya know.” Present Mic—Hizashi, he’d corrected happily after exactly fifty-eight minutes and twenty seconds after meeting her for the first time — pops out of nowhere. His hair is dripping wet, a towel around his shoulders. “You’re here for protection, not—”

Shuya had decided to ignore his correction. It’s better that way.

It wouldn't do to get attached. 

“I don’t mind.” The words shoot out automatically, making both pairs of eyes look at her. She flushes a little. Instead, Shuya focuses on the kitten. “It gets boring during the day. The chores keep me occupied. And I like them.”

Mic looks concerned. “Aren’t you preparing for the entrance exam, little listener?”

“There’s only so much math I can look at before my brain implodes.”

“Touché.”

They don’t offer to help, and Shuya doesn’t ask. She knows they would if she did, but she’s perhaps the person most aware of how taxing hero work is — and to be full-time teachers too at that. Hell, Mic’s working three jobs. They have to monitor her on top of that as well.

It had taken a lot of mental gymnastics for Shuya to come up with a good reason for them to let her apply to U.A. seeing as she’s supposed to be masquerading as a trauma-induced amnesiac who has no memory of anything other than her name, age and quirk. So technically, she’s supposed to be illiterate haha.

Well, I kind of still am...Japanese and all. 

In the end she doesn’t need to at all, because the excuse ends up being delivered to her courtesy of Eraser’s growing eyebags and Mic’s weird obsession with caffeine. The night shifts keeping an eye on her are taking their toll on the two. So the two men sit her down on the couch one day and mention how this isn’t working out.

Shuya stares at them blankly. 

"Okay, should I just grab my stuff or—?" 

They both stiffen, and Mic hastily goes,

“No, no no, kid." He waves off her concerns, though Shuya was mostly being a little shit. Charming guy. "School’s going to be starting soon, little listener, so we won’t be able to keep playing some rad tunes with you because of work. So we think—”

“—It would be best for you to enroll as a U.A. student so that you’re always in close proximity to pro-heroes for your protection.” Eraser finishes blasely. “After all, U.A. is the safest place in Japan outside of Tartarus.”

What kind of comparison is that? I either go to U.A or Tartarus? What the hell did I do? 

Shuya parts her lips, a little thrown off at the offer. 

Well…less work for her.

A part of Shuya wants to laugh bitterly at just how much Eraser and Mic believe in U.A.’s safety. At how easily they’re ready to bring an unknown girl with shady origins into the halls where literal children walk. The Eraserhead and Present Mic of the future would never. Just as they’d know no fortress is truly impregnable.

But it works out for her now, so Shuya makes all the appropriate noises of hysteria, disbelief and grudging excitement as the two pro-heroes crowd her. Later that night, curled under her blankets, she stares at the polka dot cat clock and wonders about where she stands in this world’s future.

The tiny kitten she’d aptly named Bastard decides to curl up next to her out of pity.

Shuya’s already aware her presence is kind of intruding in the EraserMic household, but she isn’t quite sure how to get out until at least she can find a job here. She’s certainly old enough, and she has worked before. Technically, she should be enrolling as a third-year because of her age. But Shuya had been advised to apply as a first year for ease since, again — she’s supposed to be illiterate here. She might be able to skip a couple of grades if she shows progress during the year.

Yes, it hurts her pride as a former medical student. No, she can’t do anything about it, since she needs to get into the school somehow.

That is, of course, if she makes it in.

For all of BNHA’s intricate worldbuilding, there’s very little to no detail about the written exam that she remembers — if at all. Most of the emphasis had been on the physical exam, and everything that occurred before it had been a blur in both the manga and the anime. As if the story before One For All and U.A. didn’t matter.

Well, it did matter.

To her, who’s stuck cursing through integrals she’s sure for a fact they should be learning in their second year — not for an entrance exam. Well, she is applying to the best school in the country — what was it? Plus Ultra?

At least the rest of the exam prep is relatively easy. While not completely holistic, U.A. did pride itself on not just restricting it’s curriculum merely to Japan — opting for something pseudo-global.

That extended to its entrance exam — more specifically, to it’s literature exam. Shuya is dumb for books, regardless of language, time or gender — and she’s a hoe for Bungo Stray Dogs, so yes, she is aware of the more prominent Japanese authors of the past. In the beginning it was kind of weird seeing those names from her own world here, though well over two — three hundred years ago, since these authors had existed prior to quirks. It kind of makes her wonder if this is just her own world but three hundred years in the future.

And well, catching up to more contemporary literature authors wasn’t hard. Shuya has free reign of the spare phone Mic had dug out for her, and again, she’s a hoe for good books.

Science is science, though terribly underutilized in this world. She isn’t sure if these people knew just how tied their quirks were to science. Literally every quirk could be explained by scientific means, though with some generous fantastical leeway. None of it is ever brought up though in all of the curriculum Shuya goes through, so the woman is stuck blinking down at the periodic table memorizing how many electrons there are in a carbon atom. All things she knows of course, but still.

“That comes under advanced quirk theory.” Eraser raises an eyebrow when Shuya asks him. “It’s not an introductory course — it’s usually offered in third year.”

Shuya’s question is why?

The dark-haired man just shrugs and when even Mic has no real answer for her, it hits Shuya like a revelation from the crappy god who threw her in this hell.

“You’re all jocks.” She realizes, horrified. “I’m going to a jock school— I’m living in a world made for jocks. None of y’all have brains, my god.”

In another universe Shuya was halfway through a medical degree despite her young age. She's a certified nerd, the likes of which is unparalleled. She moved halfway across the world at fourteen damn it. Here though, she’s masquerading as a sixteen year old teenager with bird shit-for-brains. She isn’t even sixteen—more like eighteen going on nineteen so, like — what the hell.

God forbid she be too sharp — the jocks would riot, society would collapse, the world would end and Shuya would have no one to save her from the Bastard’s daily assaults.

It does make her think of quirk reliance though. Though Shuya stores those volatile thoughts for a nice rainy day when she has nothing to do but stew in her self-destructive thoughts.

For now, she should really focus on preparing the for the entrance exam.

Speaking of said entrance exam, Shuya doesn’t dare apply for Heroics.

She likes having all of her limbs intact thank you very much and, because Shuya is a certified geek, that naturally means she has no stamina, no strength and no redeeming physical qualities whatsoever. What? She's fine being a stereotype.

Eraserhead had been the first witness to it all, when the twenty minute trek through U.A. to get registered for the exam had left her sweating like a ex-husband paying alimony. She’s pretty sure Nedzu is still cackling away somewhere.

And also, Shuya doesn’t desire to be trained into being what was essentially a child soldier.

The image of Bakugo Katsuki’s tattered corpse in the manga is burned into her brain.

This very logical decision had left both of caretakers surprised and the mole-rat-dog dilemma that was the U.A. principal smiling knowingly. When asked why, Shuya had initially deflected with light hearted jabs, only to quickly realize that they didn’t buy her excuses when their frowns didn’t ease.

So she came clean.

“It’s weird.”

“What is?”

“The fact that this is legal.” In any other setting Shuya would’ve held back her tongue, been more diplomatic. But this had bugged her in both universes, in both worlds. “You — you guys know that you’re literally raising child soldiers, right? Just with spandex, glitter, and a ton of flair?”

This surprises Eraser and Mic. But Nedzu smiles serenely, paws crossed. He looks very soft and cuddly. Shuya wonders if he’d bite off her hand if she tried to pet him. As if reading her mind, Mic places a hand on her shoulder.

Meanwhile, Nedzu looks amused.

“One could argue that this is their dream. We would only be offering the option of being able to achieve that dream.” He counters with an easy smile. There is no hostility in his tone, despite Shuya all but criticizing hero society. In fact, he looks somewhat pleased. “It is not wrong to dream, is it?”

“It’s not,” Shuya accepts his argument, savoring Nedzu’s words and wondering what the best way would be to lessen the looks of complete incomprehension on Mic and Eraser’s faces without making it seem like she was a villain sympathizer. She was, but that was besides the point! “But — well, you know that teenagers are tricky, right?”

“Myself included.” She puts up her hands in clear admission when Eraser opens his mouth to argue. “I don’t think it’s particularly logical to teach hormonal teenagers at peak stubbornness and pent-up anger how to be able to go out knock out people six different ways.”

That makes them pause. Shuya takes it as the opportunity to continue.

“Without proper counseling, you’re literally putting the gun in the hands of ticking time-bombs.” In Katsuki Bakugo’s case, he was a literal bomb. Shuya still shudders thinking of an alternate reality where he’d decided to go down the villain route. And yet, would that be his fault, given how hero society is structured here?

Was it Tenko Shimura’s fault he was related to a hero?

Shuya hesitates for a moment. “Like — maybe wait until they’re at least adults and have more free brain cells?” She taps her fingers on the tap impatiently, feeling a bit antsy. “Or like when they’re twenty-five and their pre-frontal cortex is done developing? Of course, my criticisms about the fragility and hypocrisy of hero society not withstanding.”

There’s a beat of silence before—

“Aizawa-kun. Yamada-kun.” All three eyes jump to Nedzu, who looks completely and utterly deranged. “You’ve picked up an interesting one. May I engage further?”

Even Shuya knows what that means. So she doesn’t resist when Mic immediately throws her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and Eraser excuses them hastily before rushing out of the principal’s office.

But, well, if on the days that Mic and Eraser are both too busy to return home — she sneaks out and has a very heated discussion about educational theory over tea with a certain mole-rat, well — that’s just for him and her to know and argue about.

The written exam is stupid.

Stupidly easy.

Even an elementary schooler could’ve done it right if needed. Which begs the question that if the entrance exam to one of the best high schools in the world is so simple — what does this mean for higher education? How are people even doctors, engineers and scientists? What is the standard amount of education for a citizen of this universe? At what point does the education here begin to match that of her world?

The simple answer is: it doesn’t.

Shuya had noticed it fairly early on, but the levels of quirk dependency on all factors of life in BNHA were insane. It was mostly only those with healing quirks who became doctors, and they were often considered the end all of all medical treatment. If they couldn’t save a patient with their healing quirks, then there was nothing left to be done.

Which was bullshit, because surgery exists — because other treatments separate from quirks exist.

Only that…it wasn’t developed as much here, in this world. When Shuya had gotten to the academic papers Nedzu had given her, she’d realized that most research into traditional medical practice had been considered redundant and obsolete in the wake of the rise of healing quirks. Which well, yes — more quirks mean that more unique unforeseen levels of fucked-up quirk injuries that surgeries at the time simply couldn’t handle — but instead of completely dismissing traditional medicine, there just should’ve been more research.

Of course, it doesn’t mean that complex surgeries don’t exist here. Just that if this world is truly supposed to be two hundred years in the future — this is not the level of medical scientific advancement they should be at.

Instead, most efforts had been allocated to mechanical engineering, no doubt for hero support gear. Not even software tech. Which means that A.I. wasn’t even a thing here, beyond simple models. Chatbots simply didn’t exist. Oh how the loss of ChatGPT hurt Shuya’s black soul. But at least she can do aerial gymnastics whenever she wants while cosplaying Ironman. Not that that would be a flex at all though, because apparently quirkless people are simply too ‘fragile’ to be strapped to a two hundred pound metal suit and launched into the sky like a missile.

Tony Stark would be rolling in his grave. The audacity.

The simple explanation for this that she can come up with is that the rise of quirks halted all of sort of scientific progress as society had stop and work out how to adapt to this sudden new development. Typical science experiment shenanigans, introduce new variables and contaminate the testing pool, then you get unforeseen trends. 

The problem is that it's taken society three hundred years to move past stagnation. 

Back to the entrance exam though.

Well, it’s stupidly simple. Shuya is quick to realize she really didn’t need to put as much effort into her preparations as she thought. But the ways the students around her were sweating and blubbering, you’d think they were giving the MCAT.

She’s done a full hour earlier than the rest and Ectoplasm definitely gives her a look (not that she can decipher it) as she hands it in and does her walk of honor down the aisles and aisles of sweating students glaring jealous daggers at her.

She doesn’t pause when she moves past forest-green hair, nervously hunched over the exam sheet.

“Good luck, little one.”

Not that he needs it.

Shuya knows she’s gotten into U.A. before she even opens her letter. The hopeless resignation on Eraser’s face is telling enough.

“Don’t torture Hizashi too much.” He tells her, rolling his eyes.

That however, is news.

“Huh,” Shuya comments as she distractedly rips the letter open. “So Present Mic-san’s gonna be my homeroom teach—HOLY GUACAMOLE—”

She yeets the holographic All Might directly at the wall with surprising arm strength. Once all is said and done, Aizawa definitely admires the dent in the wall that’s dangerously close to the window before bonking her head.

He still comments dryly though,

“People’s first reaction to All Might usually isn’t defenestration.”

Later, over dinner, Shuya would defend herself and say that defenestration was never on the table and if it was, Shuya would be hella good at it, okay—

But in the moment,

“That’s…All Might…” She says breathlessly, obviously taken aback. “What’s All Might doing on my acceptance letter—”

She lies through her teeth like, you know, a liar.

Of course Shuya knows All Might is gonna teach at U.A. —  it’s basically half the plot of the story! She’s been debating how to bring up the knowledge and while she hadn’t expected him to be on the hologram — it worked out because now she had an excuse for why she knew this information.

Then a wave of dread hits her.

And she looks up at a very exasperated Eraserhead.

“Holy shit, is All Might gonna be my homeroom teach—”

“For God’s sake, no.”

“But—”

Eraserhead sighs irritably. “He’s only teaching Heroics this year.”

Bingo.

Shuya blinks. “Oh. So…hero students?”

“I’m leaving.”

“Alright, alright!”

Shuya scrambles, grabbing the back of Eraser’s shirt and pulling him back on the couch. Maybe he’s taking pity on her or maybe he’s feeling particularly generous today, surprisingly he lets her. It kind of shocks her a little, the way he relents so easily.

She gets her answer as to why soon enough though.

“Wait.” She says, staring at the letter in complete disbelief, eyes as round as coins. “…First place?”

When Eraser doesn’t say anything, she implodes.

“What the hell, Eraserhead?!”

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected to score high — she was operating with university level knowledge after all — but, but this was still an alternate universe in the future she has no knowledge about aside from rabid fan theories online. Shuya is Shuya, yes, but she is also a stranger — a newbie. So her getting — what the fuck — a perfect score on the paper was more telling of the education system than her skills.

Or maybe not.

She gets her answer again soon enough.

“Your take on hero ethics got you the score.”

Eraserhead says long sufferingly, and dully, Shuya realizes the reason he’s been sticking around all this time is to see her reaction. The realization makes her feel a little…fuzzy. Warm. It’s a strange emotion. She doesn’t like it, Shuya decides.

Then she remembers.

He’s probably read the shitshow that was her exam. Probably graded it even. Wait, why wasn’t she in juvie already? Her take on hero society hadn’t been civil, let alone heroic.

As if reading her mind, Eraser corrects her wryly.

“Nedzu had the honor of grading it.”

Well fuck.

“Also.” Shuya flinches at his disapproving tone, peeking up at him. Eraser is staring at her with a slight frown. “Why do you keep calling us by our hero titles? We are off-duty, and I recall Hizashi giving you explicit person to do so multiple times.”

He’s out of uniform, dressed in a plain black shirt and pink pajamas. Bastard is in his lap, purring against his fingers, back against the arm of the couch opposite to her. This morning, before Mic had left for patrol, he’d slid over a plate of celebratory waffles and ruffled her hair with a cryptic wink.

For a moment, Shuya thinks back to her first night here.

This isn’t home.

But…

Can I even go back?

Eraser — no, Aizawa is still staring at her. Neither of them speak, letting the seconds stretch between them. Then Shuya looks up at him with her signature shit-eating grin and—

“So, about not torturing Hizashi too much — does that mean there’s an acceptable level of torture—“

Aizawa sighs.

Once Shuya gets over the shock of getting the highest score on the written exam, shoves some food in her mouth, gets nearly suffocated to death by Hizashi and finally trudges off to bed for the night — she recalls her next dilemma.

How to tell these idiots not to go to the USJ.

To be honest, Shuya isn’t all that caught up with the manga past the point of Bakugo dying and magically reviving like a bajillion times. As for the anime, it’s been a while since Shuya had watched the thing so the details were pretty hazy. She knows the main stuff, like the big events but finer details — like for example what day the USJ was supposed to happen or like where in Kamino All for One was hiding — were nonexistent in her mind.

She’d purged all that knowledge in favors of turning over to the dark side of any fandom.

Fanfiction.

So between all the Quirkless Deku fics and the Sensei/All for One is Midoriya Hisashi fics— it was safe to say Shuya’s knowledge was probably corrupted by some snazzy ass fanfiction that had no business being as good as it was. That was fine — A-OK, actually — safe for the fact that essentially—

Shuya forgets/misremembers, something goes wrong, world is destroyed, Shuya gets dusted. Game Over.

So she must proceed with caution, and stick to what she remembers for sure. Of course, she could make notes to record what she knows so that she wouldn’t misremember, but English is the only other language she knows and she’s ninety-six percent sure Present Mic is an English teacher. And besides, any code or secret language she comes up with would be elementary at best and Aizawa could crack it like the morning newspaper’s crossword puzzle.

So — ah, the U.A. break in and the USJ. Oh, and the traitor, and Bakugo and Midoriya’s wacky ass relationship. Oh, and all the bone breaking.

One thing Shuya thought was pretty dumb about the original was how underutilized Midoriya’s analysis skills had been. Hence all the Quirkless Deku fics. The little gremlin was clearly a little genius, except that he didn’t know it and nor did the world ever give him the time of the day to find out.

It should not have taken him till season two to develop Full Cowling.

Then again, if she thinks logically, progressing so much with his quirk in such a short amount of time — especially since canonically he was still a first year when the war was in full swing — it’s amazing. It’s cool. And it’s a testament to Midoriya’s talent, not to All Might’s teaching skills or any outside guidance Midoriya had ever gotten. Except maybe Gran Torino. But that was minimal — minimal.

So who’s gonna save the day?

Shuya, of course!

Once she figures how to tip off All Might that All for One is still alive without making him completely abandon all of his non-existent rationality to blind self-sacrifice and getting himself killed. Oh, and the bone breaking thing.

Ugh.

To be honest, she already has a plan for the second.

And it begins with a simple, but innocent errand at the school conveniently the same day and time U.A. is running the physical entrance exam. It had been easy to find out that the physical exam was scheduled two weeks after the written exam.

So the day of, Shuya casually slips out some of Aizawa’s jelly packets from his yellow sleeping bag and waves the two pro-heroes off for work with none the wiser. When the inevitable call comes, requesting her to bring some to the staff room since apparently Aizawa has ‘run out’, Shuya grins like the cat who’s got the cream.

“Come in!”

She pokes her head through the door at the voice, a little hesitant, only to relax when she spots Hizashi in the corner. There’s some other teachers shuffling about, no doubt wishing to die from grading the physical exam results and, not for the first time, Shuya wonders how Midnight is even allowed near teenagers. Instead, she lifts the pink Hello Kitty backpack pointedly.

“Got a delivery for a homeless-looking guy with an obsession with jelly packets? About yay high?”

She makes a vague arm gesture supposed to demonstrate how he’s supposed to be taller than her.

And of course, Vlad King spits out his coffee in the background as Hizashi roars out a laugh that definitely has some of his quirk in it. Shuya’s hilarious. She knows. Aizawa gives her a glare. Shuya takes it as a win.

“Pfft—he’s over there, Shuya-chan.”

Aizawa glowers at Hizashi’s continued laughter, but lightens a little when he sees how Shuya has stuffed the inside of the hello kitty backpack with the very same jelly packets he is so obsessed with. She was generous too, a tiny apology for her scheme.

Shuya grins reliably. “I got you, bestie.”

Aizawa offers his deepest and eternal gratitude of course.

“You’re to head directly back home. Directly.”

See? So heartwarming.

“What’re you waiting for? Get out.”

And Shuya does, because just because Phase One went well doesn’t mean she can slack off! She walks down a few corridors, turns around a bunch of corners, and of course, gets herself completely lost! Oh dear, whatever is she to do, lost in this huge school campus? Well, ask for directions of course!

It’s only logical.

So of course, Shuya knocks and enters the first reliable looking door she sees — and just happens to enter the medical wing where the ever reliable Recovery Girl is ripping Midoriya Izuku a new one after breaking three of four of his limbs in the entrance exam.

Was it unnecessarily complicated? Yes.

Was it stupidly fun? Yes.

“Hullo ma’am, sorry to bother you but do you where the exit is—” Shuya begins casually, before pausing sheepishly when two sets of eyes land on her. “Oops, sorry. Didn’t know I was interrupting.”

“That’s quite alright dear.” Because Recovery Girl is awesome, she offers Shuya a sweet smile. “You’re Eraser’s kid, aren’t you?”

“As much as it pains me, yes.” Shuya sighs long sufferingly and Recovery Girl chuckles. “Let’s say I take after Mic.”

“I would argue otherwise but I digress. How can I help you, dear?”

Shuya scratches her cheek awkwardly. “I’m…kind of lost.”

“Oh that’s good! You can head out with this young man then!”

Bingo.

Shuya’s eyes finally tear away and land on the other person in this room, who’s been sitting quietly in a bit of a daze up till now. No doubt wondering what the actual hell he just did in his exam. “Oh, and this is…?”

Hello safety net.

Of course, Midoriya immediately snaps out of his daze and bows a full ninety degrees all while stuttering and stammering up a red-faced storm. It’s utterly adorable.

“O-Oh, I’m so sorry!” He all but yells, looking as stiff as a pole. “I’m—I’m Midoriya Izuku, it’s nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Midoriya-kun,” Shuya injects a bit of warmth into her voice. “You must be here for the Hero Entrance Exam, right? That’s so cool!”

Midoriya visibly brightens at her words and then immediately proceeds to turn greener than his hair as he remembers how he’s essentially fucked up his exam. Of course, ever the badass, Recovery Girl does not have time for either of their shit and so she ushers them outside, citing work.

“Now, now, you two can hurry along now! It’s getting late and I’m sure your guardians would want you home by sunset!”

“Yep, thanks.”

Shuya hums, while Midoriya bows again.

“T-Thank you very much for your help, Recovery Girl.”

As the door slams shut in their faces, they both stare at the door for a while. Shuya waits for a full ten seconds before turning to Midoriya with a sheepish grin clearly meant to make him relax and asks if he knows the way back. Of course, being the smartass he is—of course he knows, and of course, being the absolute sweetheart he is, he very kindly agrees to lead her there.

After a few minutes of walking, she casually asks him,

“So Midoriya-kun, what brought you to the infirmary? Except divine intervention to be my savior?”

Midoriya flushes adorably, before scratching his cheek a little. “I—erm, I got injured using my quirk during the exam.”

That’s an understatement.

But Shuya widens her eyes, gasps and makes all appropriate noises someone who isn’t trying to be hero student should. “Woah! That sounds crazy. I didn’t think the exam would be so hardcore that it’d make the students push themselves that hard. What was U.A. thinking?”

Midoriya — bless his little green heart — was so quick to rise to the bait, defending U.A. with surprising confidence. “No! It was all my fault—I don’t have control over my quirk and ended up injuring myself. U.A. has nothing to do with this!”

“I guess so.” Shuya keeps the mock-doubt in her voice, no doubt sure that Nedzu is spying on her somewhere. The bitch. “But like, so little control that you ended up injuring yourself so badly that Recovery Girl’s quirk didn’t work? Your quirk must be crazy.”

Predictably, Midoriya flounders again. It kind of makes Shuya sigh, wondering how the hell One For All was a secret for so long between Midoriya and Yagi. No wonder Bakugo was able to find out so easily — the two were terrible at keeping a straight face.

Shuya tries again when she sees how close Midoriya is to self-combustion. “So, what’s your quirk, Midoriya-kun?”

“It — It’s called Superpower.” Midoriya looks down nervously. “It’s a self-augmentation quirk.”

Shuya gives him a knowing look that succeeds in throwing off the broccoli boy. “Ah…your quirk’s too strong for your body, isn’t it? I’ve had that problem before. It’s such a bitch.”

No one said Shuya couldn’t lie.

It’s for the greater good. The greater good!

“W-wait, you too?” Midoriya’s eyes are wide, shining at the new information. Shuya smiles when she notices his earlier apprehension evaporating. “What is your quirk? Is it also an augmentation quirk? Does it affect your body? How do you activate it? What—”

Shuya cuts him off with a loud laugh, making Midoriya flush with embarrassment.

“I—I’m sorry—”

“It’s a premonition quirk based on probabilities.” She offers not unkindly, running through the shitty explanation she’d come up with for her ‘quirk’. It wasn’t exactly shitty, since it had to be good enough to convince Midoriya, but Shuya liked to exaggerate. “Works through my eyes. But if I look at too many probabilities too far in the future at a time, I can risk going blind. It’s the reason why I’m wearing glasses now.”

She taps pointedly at her specs, noting the way Midoriya pales at the implication of her words. Good. Maybe it’d help free some brain cells for self-preservation instead. “I was dumb a few times with my quirk usage and lost some of my eyesight.”

Little does the poor bastard know, this shitty eyesight is actually the rightful consequence of reading cringy fanfiction under her covers at night while hiding from her rightfully suspicious parents.

“O—Oh, I’m so sorry!” Midoriya stammers. “The recoil must be so painful. It was a rude thing to ask—”

“Not as painful as a self-augmentation quirk recoil.” Shuya shrugs off his apology casually. It’s not as if she actually has a quirk. Just her brains and sheer teenage audacity. “I’d reckon it’s more impressive you’re still trying to be a hero with such a volatile quirk—wait—” Shuya pauses, looking awkward. “Ah, I think that might be too rude. I’m sorry, Midoriya-kun.”

Shuya expects him to stammer a reassurance, or even a denial. Instead, what she gets is him stopping dead in his tracks, making her turn back to face the conflicted teenager with slight surprise.

Then Midoriya looks back up, eyes shining with determination.

“Um…” He trails off awkwardly and Shuya realizes she never gave him her name.

“Shuya.” Wide green eyes meet hers, and Shuya tries her best to be as unthreatening as possible. It’s so hard because the green bean looks like he’s two seconds away from bolting at all times. “Kageyama Shuya. That’s my name.”

If Shuya is going be thrown in an alternate universe with nothing, then the least she can do is choose her own damn name, okay? So if it’s the last name of a certain black-haired volleyball player from a certain sports anime then fuck you — Shuya does what she wants, okay?

“Um, Kageyama-san?”

Shuya zones back into reality at Midoriya’s voice. “Yes, Midoriya-kun?”

“Well—” He hesitates for a moment, before continuing with renewed determination. “Can I ask you how were able to gain a better control over your quirk?”

Bingo.

Let it be never said Shuya didn’t ever do anything for the world. Because this right here — what she’s gonna do here now — is going to make all the bone breaking shenanigans across Seasons 1 through 7 finally worth it. How?

By making it so that they never happen here.

“Well, Midoriya-kun,” Shuya gives him an easy grin. “Have you ever heard about how acetaminophen works in the human body?”

Well, no one said Shuya couldn’t be a geek while saving the world.

Shuya spends an embarrassingly long time drilling information about the centralized distribution of the effects of acetaminophen in the human body into Midoriya. To his credit, the boy looks quite interested about this weird side-quest to his initial question about quirk control. Of course, Shuya isn’t rude — she brings the allegory back to his quirk in a way that isn’t too suspicious.

She’s sure Nedzu is watching her somewhere, probably cackling at how she’s all but accosting this poor random kid about medical science and quirk theory. Bitch.

“So the problem with me was that I was only using my quirk through my eyes.” Shuya says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Never realizing that my quirk works through my entire nervous system. I had to activate my quirk through my entire body, through my brain—all of it distributed equally to minimize the the strain on my eyes alone. It’s more exhausting, and it takes a lot of skill but it’s the only sustainable way for me to use it! Instead of directed or targeted use, I make it centralized! Like how acetaminophen works in your body!”

As the words spill from her lips unrestrained, Shuya is struck by a small realization.

Ah.

It’s been a long time.

It’s been a damn long time since she’s nerded out like this. Shuya feels like she’s been reborn. She’s self-admittedly a huge science nerd, yes — so when she learned about the biological aspect of quirk emergence in BNHA, she’d been very interested in the whole affair, even more so than the actual plot of the manga. She’d gotten her fill of quirk theory while lurking on ao3, but to be in the world itself is completely different.

Shuya’s on cloud nine — who cares that this world is destined to go to hell within a year?

“So I should distribute my quirk through all the parts of my body at the same time.” Midoriya, the adorable green bean nods at her words, looking very thoughtful. “That…sounds very hard. I don’t think I have that kind of control right now.”

“Yep, I don’t know how strong quirk is but,” Shuya shrugs as they finally reach the exit. “I’d reckon the price for going about it wrong is having all your limbs blown off.”

The sheer lack of unperturbedness on Midoriya’s face is frankly concerning. Then Shuya remembers that this is the same dumbass who’d just shattered all the bones in three out of his four limbs and walked it off like a badass. Which, okay — that’s not fair to him — he didn’t know All Might’s quirk was going to be so shitty to him but—

This is the same maniac who kept breaking already broken fingers.

Shuya stares at Midoriya, at the thoughtful but oddly determined glint in his eyes, and she sighs.

“Yeah…you’re a terrifying kid, Midoriya.”

At her words, the green-haired teen glances up at her with clear confusion and slight panic painted on his features. A part of Shuya almost feels bad for her comment. Almost. “W-What? Did I do something wrong—”

It is then that Midoriya steps on something yellow.

It starts squirming. Then it speaks.

“I distinctly recall telling you to go home directly, problem child.”

And Midoriya starts screaming.

“OMIGOSH IT’S ALIVE—”

Shuya smiles serenely at the screaming boy before glancing down to meet the black eyes of the six-foot something yellow catepillar monstrosity on the floor. “Why hello there, strange alien creature. What brings you to Earth?”

Aizawa glares up at her with bleary eyes.

Shuya smiles.

He should really know better by now those glares have no affect on her. Shuya’s more interested in how the hell he got here before them without either of them noticing. Also how big are Midoriya’s lungs — he’s been going on for a good few minutes, damn — and why the hell is Aizawa on the ground of all places—

“Midoriya darling, please shut up.”

Shuya doesn’t notice how Aizawa raises his eyebrow at the endearment, but what she does notice is him turning to the quaking Midoriya who looks like he is two seconds away from just calling it a day and ascending to the heavens. “You.”

“Y-Yes sir!”

Shuya knows for a fact the slight hesitation is because Midoriya still hasn’t figured out if there’s actually a human inside the yellow catepillar monstrosity. Said alien monstrosity has no qualms putting the fear of god in the poor boy though.

“The entrance exam ended hours ago. If you’re done with your treatment with Recovery Girl, you need to leave the school grounds immediately. Don’t loiter around.”

“Y-Yes sir!”

“U.A. isn’t a tourist site for sightseeing. Get out right now.”

“YES SIR!”

As Aizawa continues to terrorize the poor kid, still on the ground in that hideous sleeping bag that makes him look more caterpillar than human, Shuya drawls wryly.

“Will this be your final form Eraser, I wonder.”

She raises her hands in mock-surrender when black eyes snap towards her. “I’m joking, I’m joking. I got lost on the way out and the kid was helping me out. We were both leaving, Eraser.”

Aizawa savors her explanation for a full minute before, pointedly glaring at Midoriya until he gets the hint and leaves first. Not before he blesses Shuya with another overly formal ninety-degree bow at the waist. “K-Kageyama-san, thank you for your advice. I—I don’t know if I’ll s-see you again b-but—”

“Oh we’ll see other again.” Shuya cuts him off smoothly with an easy, confident smile. It’s a little too sure — so much so that it makes both Aizawa and Midoriya pause. “For sure. You should go catch the train now, Midoriya-kun.”

“Y-Yes! Thank you!”

“See ya, kid.”

Shuya waves off the kid, watching him disappear behind the gates before finally turning her attention to the caterpillar cosplayer. “Are you trying to manifest your next life, Eraser?”

Nedzu’s definitely been listening in on their conversation this entire time, so she’d expected intervention from him seeing as he was the only one besides Recovery Girl (and obviously All Might) who knew about One For All on the current U.A. staff. Instead Shuya has her pseudo-adoptive cat dad glaring daggers into her head.

She hasn’t said anything too revealing, has she?

Nah.

Shuya’s got her bases covered.

Then Aizawa’s gaze suddenly cools, and he arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“Kageyama, huh?”

Shuya swears.

Hizashi teases her all night long for the last name, Shouta — the damn bastard smirks in his vomit-colored cocoon the entire time. It’s not Shuya’s fault! Apparently there’s some really popular idol in this world called Kageyama who has girls dying for him left and right, dreaming about marrying him. For some reason, these two idiots keep thinking that just because Shuya has a pair of working eyes, a vagina and access to the internet — that she’s the same.

Blasphemy! Sacrilege!

Shuya’s only loyal to her sleep and her sleep alone! And maybe a certain BNHA character she won’t be disclosing at this point in time.

“Aw little listener, don’t be shy!” Hizashi sings in her ear and Shuya briefly wonders if he can arrest her for physical assault off-duty. “It’s normal for girls to have a crush or two on pretty boys!”

“I am not little — wait,” Shuya grouses, before sitting up in pure outrage. “What does me having a vagina have to do with crushes on boys?! You two are gay!”

“We never said boys can’t have crushes on boys.” Shouta pipes in immediately, and he smirks when Shuya glowers at him. “And you are little. You’re below average height.”

“I AM NOT—”

Shuya never really forgives Shouta for that low, low blow to her pride.

What’s even more abysmal is how she can’t even comfortably plan her revenge, because all of a sudden the weeks have flown by like seconds and now Shuya is supposed to pretend to be a responsible adult capable of getting herself to U.A. every morning on time. All while dressed in the abomination that is the U.A. girls uniform and carrying a metric fuckton amount of books that certainly aren’t good for the long-term well-being of her back.

The first time Hizashi shows her the uniform skirt, Shuya hisses for black tights with such terrifying ferocity that it makes even Shouta obey her unquestioningly.

Not only is the skirt stupidly short, but it’s fucking cold in April in Japan. Who the hell would wear the skirt as it is in literal ten degree weather?

Shuya resolves to beat some sense into the mole-rat next time she sees him.

Speaking of said mole-rat, his conversations with Shuya coupled with her entrance exam had resulted in him being interested in her to an uncomfortable degree. Naturally, because the universe hates her, this means Nedzu is out on a mission to make her his ‘personal student’.

What in the isekai wish fulfillment is this?

Shuya blinks at the mole-rat calmly drinking tea in front of her, the smile still frozen on her face, and wonders if all the Quirkless-Midoriya-Izuku-is-Nedzu’s-Personal-Student fanfics are finally catching up to her. This is her punishment for being a shameless otaku. She’s gonna have her brain picked out by a sociopathic rat cosplayer who hates humans.

“So Kageyama Shuya, what do you say to my proposal?”

Behind Nedzu, Shuya can see Hizashi vigorously signaling no and Shouta looking nauseous at the mere idea of her madness being groomed even more by their resident sociopath. “Er—”

Nedzu levels her with a flat look. “I’ll give you access to my personal tea collection.”

“I’m in your care, sensei.”

Shouta slaps a hand on his forehead. Beside him Hizashi covers his face with his hands and audibly groans. Shuya elects to ignore them both.

She’s got a tea closet to raid.

Phase One: Get into U.A Highschool. Complete