He should be thankful.

Hitoshi's parents sit across from him, Dad raising his fork with measured bites, and Mom shoveling the food away. The lights are bright and stale, and Hitoshi pokes at his food, mostly tasting his own stomach acid. He takes another bite, fingers clenched around the letter in his hand.

Mom's plate will probably be clean soon; she wants to leave, and Hitoshi really can't blame her, but. Too quickly, he slaps the letter on the table, fingers stilted in their reluctance to let go. There's a moment of awkward silence-like this whole dinner wasn't awkward silence-before Dad picks it up. Mom makes no move towards it, but her fork bends slightly between her fingers.

Dad slides the letter out of its envelope, glances at it. "Congratulations," he says, the sound booming for all that he's speaking quietly. Tonelessly.

It doesn't feel like much of a congratulations. But Hitoshi should be grateful, so he just nods, takes one last bite, and stands to put the dishes away-and snatches the letter back to cram in his pocket.

Why did he do that? What did he expect?

"-And let's congratulate Shinsou for his acceptance at U.A.," the teacher drones. Hitoshi hunches his shoulders, but it doesn't make him any less noticeable. His classmates all crowd him like vultures, circling around his desk.

"Wow, U-A, huh-"

"They'd let you in with such a creepy quirk-"

"Scoping out the competition, aren't you-"

"C'mon, no way he made hero course. They'd never let someone like him in."

He rubs the back of his neck, laughing a little. It strains his throat coming out. "I mean, I'm just in Gen Ed. No big deal." His classmates stop circling at that, their curiosity sated as soon as he fits back into the box they've made him. No big deal-it feels like a big deal. But he should be thankful to get into U.A. at all. They could have rejected him as soon as they saw his Quirk registration.

The school's. Big. Really big.

He straightens up forcefully, despite how much he wants to hide. He can't let these hero kids walk all over him-he needs to walk on them. Ugh.

...His tie's kind of stifling. Adjusting it doesn't so much good though—only makes him more likely to bump into someone while he's walking the hallways. They're absolutely flooded with people, since class is starting in just a few minutes. Now if he could just find—

"Ow", he says, a little pointlessly. There's a blond kid standing over him, smiling oddly.

"Excusez-moi! Sorry, sorry!" He holds out a hand with a sparkle (sparkle?). Apparently Hitoshi's on the ground now. Did he bump into the guy or did the guy bump into him? He's so tired.

It's only as the guy's slowly retracting his hand that Hitoshi realizes he's been staring at him in silence for the past twenty seconds. "Uh." And he's gone, awkwardly inching along towards a door with a sign overhead saying '1-A'. A hero kid, then. Huh.

He stays down there for another couple of seconds before leveraging himself to his feet. '1-C' should be somewhere down this hall, right…?

It is, and he's even a couple minutes early. He walks towards the windows, aiming for a seat halfway down the row. He doesn't bother looking around at his classmates—if all goes well, he won't be here for long anyway. So he takes his seat, unpacks his bag, and settles his head in his arms. If he's lucky he can catch a minute of sleep…

"Um, h-hi! Can I sit here?"

Hitoshi raises his head and side-eyes the boy next to him. So much for that plan. Sighing, he nods his head, and the boy scrambles into the seat like Hitoshi will pull it out from under him if he's a second too slow. Looking around, this was one of like...two available seats. Pretty much everyone is in the room already, other than their mysterious teacher. He doesn't know why the boy bothered asking.

Oh, wait he's talking again.

"—who do you think our homeroom teacher will be? Everyone's a hero so for all I know, Best Jeanist will walk right through that door." He snaps his head towards the door like that will summon the number four hero, before resuming his chatter. With how little input Hitoshi has given (none), it's probably mostly for the other boy's benefit. He descends into muttering, and Hitoshi can't for the life of him make out what topic he's on now. School uniforms? Denim?

Whatever it is, it comes to a halt once the classroom door is kicked open by a leather boot. "Helloooooo Little Listeners!" the man yells. It's the proctor from the exam (Hitoshi winces a little, unhappy with the reminder), and he's just as loud now as he was then.

"I'm Present Mic," he leans forward conspiratorially, not lowering his volume a bit, "or Mr. Yamada, and I'll be your homeroom teacher for your time here at U.A! Now put your hands up when I call your name! Ai Takeshi!"

Some of the kids get really into it—Present Mic's enthusiasm is contagious, and even Hitoshi with his four hours' sleep is feeling wide-awake. With every name called, Present Mic pinwheels his arms wildly until he can finger gun at the kid who responds. It's funny, but he also kind of hopes this is a first-day thing and not really indicative of the rest of the year.

"Here!" Hitoshi startles a little at his neighbor's voice, belatedly remembering what name had just been called. 'Midoriya Izuku.' Well, it's certainly fitting, with the green hair. But overall, he's a plain-looking guy. Kind of what you'd think a general education student would look like.

Hitoshi raises his hand when called, and listens distractedly as Present Mic outlines the day's events (a welcome assembly, a short tour of the facilities, and then back in homeroom for some ice breakers, fun). He won't be here for long. He can't be, or. He's not sure. But he can't.