The bus hums along the road, its engine a steady backdrop to the chatter of Class 1-A. The atmosphere is lively, buzzing with curiosity and the uncontainable energy that only a group of aspiring heroes can muster. I sit comfortably near the middle, casually leaning against the window as the students fire off questions at me like rapid-fire quirks. Their enthusiasm is contagious, and though I answer most of their inquiries, I keep the details about myself deliberately vague.

"So, you haven't been here long—you're just saying you fell from the sky, is that it?" Kirishima asks, his voice warm and curious, a playful grin lighting up his features. His red hair seems to glint under the sunlight streaming through the window, and there's an openness in his expression that's hard not to like.

I nod with a small smile. "Something like that," I reply, my tone teasing yet mysterious. "I woke up here some time ago, and Aizawa found me. Well, actually..." I pause, turning slightly to nod toward the back of the bus. "It was Bakugo."

The fiery blond sits a few seats behind us, his trademark scowl firmly in place. At the sound of his name, his crimson eyes snap to mine, sharp and intense. For a moment, we lock gazes. His expression doesn't change—no smirk, no snarl, just that hard, piercing look that feels like it could either burn or break you.

He doesn't say a word. Typical.

I hold his gaze for a beat longer, my lips curling into the faintest smile, before I turn back to Kirishima and the others. The redhead laughs, scratching the back of his head. "Man, that's wild. I guess if anyone's gonna find someone who just falls from the sky, it'd be Bakugo, huh?" His tone is light, but there's genuine intrigue beneath it.

"Or explode them on impact," someone quips from the front, and the bus erupts in laughter. Even Bakugo's scowl deepens at the jab, though he doesn't respond, choosing instead to stare out the window as if the joke didn't touch him.

I chuckle softly, letting the playful energy of the group wash over me. These kids are something else—full of life and ambition, with quirks that reflect their boundless individuality. It's refreshing, in a way, to be around them, to see their optimism and drive.

As the bus continues its journey, I lean back in my seat, listening as the students banter and share their dreams. It's a rare, quiet moment of camaraderie, and for the first time since I arrived in this world, I start to feel like I'm finding my place among them.

The hum of the bus fades as Aizawa stands at the front, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Hold on, we're here," he announces, his tone as steady and authoritative as ever. I glance out the window, catching my first glimpse of the USJ—an enormous dome-shaped structure that looms like a monument to controlled chaos and calculated heroism.

I rise from my seat, smoothing my clothes as I prepare to step into this new experience. Turning back to the students, I wave at the group that has quickly grown on me. "See you inside," I say, flashing a smile. They respond with enthusiastic waves and grins, their excitement palpable.

As I step off the bus, the sight of the USJ in full view takes my breath away for a moment. The sheer scale of it is staggering. The dome encloses a sprawling series of meticulously designed zones, each one a microcosm of disaster: a shipwreck surrounded by turbulent water, an expanse scorched with fire, jagged terrain mimicking landslides, and so much more. The air is thick with the promise of challenges to come, and I can't help but smile.

'This is nice,' I think to myself, admiring the sheer ingenuity behind the structure. It's a playground of extremes, designed to test and sharpen the skills of those who would dare to become heroes.

"Stay close to me," Aizawa says, his voice pulling me from my thoughts. I glance at him, noting the quiet authority in his expression. He's always composed, but there's a protective edge to his tone now, one that makes me smile softly. It's a strange but welcome feeling, this subtle display of care.

"Of course," I reply, my voice light, though I can't help the small spark of amusement that flickers within me. Aizawa's caution is endearing, especially when I know—deep down—that I'm probably ten times stronger than him. The truth is, I haven't fully tested my limits in this world yet. I haven't needed to.

But the USJ seems like the kind of place where limits are meant to be pushed. As we walk toward the entrance, the anticipation builds within me. A part of me wonders what the day holds, what kind of trials might unfold within these meticulously crafted zones. Whatever it is, I'm ready to face it.

As we step into the vast, echoing entrance of the USJ, a figure approaches us, their presence warm yet commanding. The Rescue Hero Thirteen, known for her life-saving abilities, greets us with an enthusiastic wave of her gloved hand. Her suit gleams under the artificial lighting, and though her face is hidden, her voice carries genuine kindness.

"Hello, everyone! I'm the Rescue Hero Thirteen. It's so nice to meet you all," she says, her words infused with energy and welcome.

Her gaze sweeps over the group before landing on me. She pauses, tilting her head slightly as though noticing something unusual. "Hm, you're new here, aren't you?" she asks, her curiosity evident. "What's your name?"

I step forward, dipping my head politely. "Nyx Eternis, ma'am," I reply, my voice calm but respectful.

Thirteen nods, her body language open and encouraging. "Well, welcome to the USJ, Nyx—and to all of you!" she says, her voice lifting as she gestures toward the rest of the group. Her warmth seems to put everyone at ease, a testament to her role as a hero focused on saving lives rather than taking down villains.

I smile softly, appreciating her genuine demeanor. There's something about her—whether it's her unshakeable resolve or her approachable nature—that feels reassuring. As we prepare to enter the training zones, her presence sets a tone of calm determination, a reminder that heroism isn't just about strength, but about compassion and care.

As Thirteen and Aizawa discuss the day's activities, their voices a low murmur of planning and instruction, my attention drifts. Something by the nearby fountain catches my eye—a flicker of movement, like a shadow where none should be. I narrow my icy blue eyes, focusing on the strange disturbance. At first, it seems like nothing more than a glitch in the light, but then the fountain sputters, the water spray faltering erratically. My pulse quickens as I sense something... wrong.

The shadows near the fountain begin to twist unnaturally, coalescing into a dark, ominous mass. My breath catches when a pale hand, gaunt and unnerving, emerges from the swirling void. Following it comes a figure, his head adorned with messy, baby-blue hair. His face is obscured by a sinister mask of detached calm, but there's no mistaking the malice that radiates from him. He's not alone—more figures step out of the shadows, their forms menacing as they gather at his side.

"Uh..." I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper, but it's enough to draw attention. Aizawa and Thirteen both snap their heads toward the fountain, their postures tensing immediately.

"Villains," Aizawa mutters, his voice low and edged with steel. He steps forward slightly, placing himself between the students and the emerging threat. His scarf begins to loosen around his neck, the coils poised and ready for action.

Then he raises his voice sharply, barking out orders with the authority of a pro hero who's faced chaos before. "Stay back! This is not a drill. Thirteen, get a message out to the rest of the facility. Alert everyone!"

Thirteen nods quickly, her demeanor shifting from welcoming to intensely focused. Her gloved hands move with purpose as she pulls out a communication device, her calm urgency a contrast to the rising tension in the air.

I stand frozen for a moment, my heart hammering in my chest as I take in the scene. The students around me shuffle nervously, their earlier excitement replaced by fear. I glance at the villains, noting their calculated movements as they spread out. Whatever they're planning, it's not going to be good.

My fists clench, a flicker of defiance igniting within me. This is what I've been waiting for—a chance to see where I stand in this world. A part of me itches to leap into action, but I hold back, trusting Aizawa's judgment for now. If there's one thing I know, it's that patience can be as much a weapon as any power.

The tension in the air thickens as the villains step further into view. With my heightened senses, I catch the faint sound of their sandaled steps scuffing the pavement and the sinister murmur of conversation. My sharp hearing hones in on the voice of the pale, blue-haired leader. His tone is calm but laced with malice, a chilling contrast to the chaos he seems intent on creating.

"Ah, yes, Class 1-A," he drawls, almost lazily. "Strange. I thought All Might would be here." He tilts his head, his voice sharpening with a cruel edge. "Do you think he'd show up if we killed a few of his students?"

My blood runs cold at his words, but before I can fully process the threat, his eyes—red and calculating like a predator's—meet mine across the field. There's a moment of stillness, an eerie connection as his head tilts in recognition. His voice rises slightly, carrying easily to where I stand.

"She's not supposed to be here," he mutters, his fingers twitching as he scratches at his neck with a haunting, compulsive rhythm. His eyes narrow slightly before he turns to the figure beside him, the shadowy being I recognize as Kurogiri. "Bring her to me."

Before I can react, the mist-like portal warps into existence just behind me, a quiet, almost respectful hiss of air signaling its arrival. I whirl around, but it's too late—the dark fog encircles me, disorienting and cold.

"This isn't personal, little lady," a voice whispers near my ear, low and impassive. The world shifts in an instant, and before I can even blink, I find myself standing on the villains' side of the battlefield.

The air feels heavier here, saturated with menace and the weight of impending violence. The blue-haired man, Shigaraki, steps closer to me, his movements deliberate and unhurried. His pinkie is raised as he reaches out, a mocking gesture that hints at the deadly nature of his quirk. His hand stops just short of my face, the other one curling under my chin as he tilts my head this way and that, like a curious child inspecting a new toy.

I don't move. I don't flinch. I stand perfectly still, my mind racing even as my body refuses to betray the whirlwind of emotion inside me. His touch doesn't burn or decay—not yet. For now, it's a test, a warning, a twisted form of dominance.

His crimson eyes bore into mine, searching for something. Strength? Fear? I can't tell what he's looking for, but I won't give him the satisfaction of seeing it. Instead, I stare back, icy blue meeting searing red, defiant even as my heart pounds in my chest.

The corners of his lips twitch upward into something that might be a smirk, or maybe just a grimace. "Interesting," he murmurs, his voice as unsettling as his touch. "You're not like the others."

I smirk, letting the corner of my lip curl upward just enough to reveal the sharp glint of a fang. My eyes glimmer from beneath the edge of my blindfold, catching the light like twin icy stars. "You've got no idea, handsy," I say, my voice low and edged with challenge.

Shigaraki freezes for a fraction of a second, his head tilting again as if he's reevaluating me, his fingers still holding my chin. The tension around us shifts—subtle, but enough to make even the other villains glance our way. He lets out a slow, raspy chuckle, his hand pulling back but not before brushing a strand of my hair. It's a mockery of affection, but I don't flinch, holding my ground.

"Well, aren't you bold," he mutters, his red eyes narrowing as his smirk widens into something twisted. "I like that. It makes breaking you so much more... rewarding."

The air between us feels electric, a clash of wills sparking in the quiet moment. From the corner of my vision, I see Kurogiri hovering, ready to act at Shigaraki's command. Around us, the villains shift with anticipation, their smirks and postures exuding overconfidence. They think I'm an easy target, just another pawn in their game.

Little do they know, they've just put the wrong piece on their board.

I tilt my head slightly, a playful edge to my smirk as I match his intensity with my own. "Try me," I say simply, the words a daring invitation.