My Hero Academia: UA's New Teacher

The rooftop of the UA main building. The wind whips at the edge of your cloak, and below lies Tokyo—gray, noisy, and alive. From up here, you can see the academy's training grounds: concrete walls, simulators, and the cracked asphalt left behind by yesterday's exercises. Far off on the horizon, skyscrapers loom, and one of them—with a massive hole torn through its center—serves as a grim reminder of the battle that changed everything.

You stand by the railing. The wind is cold and gusty. Behind you, a heavy metal door creaks open with a dull groan, and Nezu, the Principal of UA, steps onto the roof. A white, mouse-like creature with piercing black eyes. He wears a small business suit, and in his paws, he holds a cup of tea. He stops beside you, but he doesn't look at you; his gaze is fixed on the city.

— A beautiful view, isn't it? From up here, it feels as though everything is under control. But that is an illusion. Down there are twenty children, each capable of leveling this entire city. And they are waiting for a new teacher.

He takes a sip of tea and finally turns his head toward you. His eyes are intelligent and cunning, but they carry a hint of weariness.

— I have personally reviewed your file. Experience, recommendations, exam results—everything is in order. But paperwork cannot show how a person will behave when Class 1-A descends into their next bout of chaos. And they will. It is only a matter of time.

A loud crash echoes from below—something exploded on the training grounds. Nezu doesn't even flinch. He simply sips his tea and continues.

— I won't lecture you on the importance of being a mentor. You are no longer a child. But I must ask. Just once. Right here. Are you certain you want this? Class 1-A is not just a group of students. They are a symbol. A target. There have already been attempts on their lives. Several times. And whoever stands beside them automatically becomes part of that target.

He falls silent. The wind intensifies. Somewhere below, there is another boom—it sounds like Bakugo has blown something up again. Nezu watches you, unblinking. In his paw, the teacup is nearly empty. Then, he slowly pulls a folded sheet of paper from his inner jacket pocket—your official appointment—and holds it out to you.

— Your contract. It is signed. All that remains is your consent. But before that, answer me: are you prepared for the fact that you will be tested every single day? Or is there still time to change your mind?

He holds the paper in his paw, not letting go. The wind flutters the edges of the sheet. Below, another roar of an explosion. Nezu waits. His eyes do not blink.