The final period had come, and the air in the classroom still hummed with leftover adrenaline from training. Scuffed desks, loose bandages, and a few exhausted groans painted the picture of a class that had earned their break.

  Aizawa loomed from his desk, halfway out of his sleeping bag like some judgmental caterpillar. “Now that you’ve all had time to reflect,” he muttered, “we’re finalizing your class president.”

  A few glances shot Midoriya’s way. He had technically won the vote earlier, a fact that still made his stomach knot up. He didn’t feel like a leader... not really. Not yet.

  His hand went up. “I’d like to recommend Tenya Iida.”

  That got the class’s attention. Even Iida blinked in surprise.

  Midoriya stood up, trying not to fumble over his words. “He’s organized, responsible... and during the whole press incident at lunch, he kept everyone calm. That’s what we need in a leader.”

  Iida slowly stood, bowing sharply. “Th-thank you! I will take this honor seriously and serve with unwavering diligence!”

  Aizawa, without fanfare, gestured lazily. “Good. Done. Iida, you’re class president. Yaoyorozu, vice. Moving on.”

  A brief applause followed, some clapping more genuinely than others. Robinn did too, just once, politely, before going back to staring out the window. Her expression was unreadable.

  Midoriya noticed, if only for a moment.

  Aizawa zipped himself halfway back into his sleeping bag. “Tomorrow we’re having off-campus practical training. Pack gear. And don’t get it twisted... it’s not a field trip.”

  Half the class got it twisted.

  “Dismissed.” Aizawa said rolling his eyes.

  Later that evening, the U.A. gym echoed with the soft thuds of late workouts. Midoriya was alone, as usual at this hour, almost.

  Robinn was already there, off in the same corner. No words, no music, just drills. Pushups. Endurance workouts. Obsessive precision.

  Midoriya paused, towel slung over his shoulder, watching her with mild awe, and maybe some confusion.

  He thought again about her quirk. Her presence. The way she held herself. People didn’t really know her yet. But there was something undeniably strong about her.

  Still, Iida was the right call. He believed that. But... “...She’d make a hell of a vice president,” he muttered under his breath, before picking up the pace again.

  “It’s closing time, kids. It’s turning into a safety hazard just letting you stay this late.” Cementoss adds leaning at the door with crossed arms. Robinn nods, drenched in sweat. Midoriya grabs his bag. They exchange a short glance, but no words.

  The walk to the gate is quiet. Streetlights hum. Robinn runs home again, just like yesterday. Midoriya watches. Doesn’t say anything.

  The door shut with a soft click.

  Toshinori slipped off his shoes and stepped inside. The apartment air was faintly warm, traces of old tea and lemon cleaner. He glanced at the clock. 6:32 p.m. She wouldn’t be back for a while. He already knew.

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  The space was quiet. Low table cleared, her gear still gone from the shelf. Lived-in, but barely. He set his keys down and stood still for a moment. Listening.

  Then he moved into the kitchen.

  He cooked often, habit, comfort, and duty. But tonight he reached for something else. Not just protein and grains. A bit more seasoning. A dash of effort. She wouldn’t notice, probably. But it was something.

  Rice cooker on. Pan warmed. A few vegetables chopped with steady precision. He didn’t hum, didn’t speak aloud. The silence was too familiar to fill.

  He let himself glance at the table, where she usually sat curled over homework, or drills. There’d be no complaint if dinner wasn’t ready. No thanks when it was. But still, he cooked. Still, he tried.

  She’d done well today. Aizawa’s report was concise but complimentary. Steady reflexes. Clear-headed in close combat. Held her ground when Kaminari’s blast threw things sideways. She even spoke up during the debrief.

  He felt pride. Also hesitation.

  She hadn’t said a word about it this morning. Just packed her lunch and tied her shoes like it was any other day.

  The door clicked softly.

  Robinn stepped in, dropping her bag by the door. She glanced up to see Toshinori standing in the kitchen, hands wiped on a towel, a faint scent of curry hanging in the air.

  “You’re home early,” she said flatly, but didn’t move from the entrance.

  He gave a small nod. “I made dinner.”

  She shrugged and kicked off her shoes, moving toward the table with the weight of exhaustion pulling at her steps.

  “Homework first,” she said, already pulling out her notebook. Pencil poised, eyes narrowing at the math problem that had tripped her up more than once.

  Toshinori sat nearby, watching quietly. “Tough day?”

  “Same as yesterday,” she muttered. “They want me to justify everything. Like I’m writing a thesis or something.”

  He smiled faintly. “Logic can be tricky that way.”

  Minutes passed. Her pencil tapped the desk, erased, tapped again. Occasionally, she’d grunt softly in frustration.

  “Need help?” he asked. “No,” she answered immediately, but her voice softened. “Just dumb wording.”

  He waited, letting the quiet stretch.

  After a while, she set the pencil down, eyes tired but satisfied. “Done.”

  Toshinori stood and brought the plates from the stove, setting the bowls down carefully. “Good work.”

  They ate in silence for a moment, chopsticks clicking gently against bowls.

  Then Robinn broke the quiet. “How... how’s the muscle form lately?” He stiffened slightly but didn’t look up. “Same. It’s... limited.” She chewed slowly, choosing words. “You haven’t pushed yourself too hard, have you?”

  He shook his head. “No. It’s like a timer now. I have to be careful, three hours max.”

  Her gaze dropped to the rice. “Guess you used up a lot already.”

  He let out a breath. “More than I wanted.” Robinn’s eyes flicked up, sharper now. “You never tell me that stuff.”

  “I don’t want to worry you,” he said softly.

  She poked at her food. “Maybe I should worry more.”

  He smiled, small and tired. “You worry enough already.” They ate on, quiet but connected, both carrying their own weight, neither asking for more.

  After they finished, Toshinori stood and moved to the sink. He washed the dishes methodically, water running over the plates, steam rising in the quiet apartment.

  When he was done, he wiped his hands on a towel and headed toward his room. Passing by Robinn’s door, he noticed it was slightly ajar. He paused.

  Her room was still sparse, the years barely leaving marks. A bunch of trophies and medals lined up on a shelf... silent reminders of hard work and small victories. A set of workout bands hung neatly by the closet. A framed photo of her mother sat on the desk, eyes kind and steady in the picture.

  On the walls, faded hero posters curled slightly at the edges, remnants of a younger Robinn’s dreams, too stubborn or tired to take down.

  He gave a small, tired smile and slipped quietly past, letting the soft light from the hallway spill in.

  He lingered just outside her door, thoughts heavy. Robinn had never been a normal girl, not really. That stubborn fire, that quiet obsession with one impossible dream... It was all too familiar. Watching her chase it now, blindly stepping into his shadow, made something ache deep inside him.

  She didn’t know the cost yet. But he did.

  And that was the hardest part of all.

  And that marks the end of the Introduction Arc.

  I know I said the story would be slower-paced.. and it will be, trust me, but the U.S.J. arc has to happen right away for several reasons.Now that you’ve seen more of Robinn, her quirk, her link to All Might, how she acts.. I hope things are starting to click a bit. Or at least feel like there’s more going on under the surface. She’s not easy to write, still isn’t. But now it feels more real.

  Thanks for reading! I hope you’re enjoying it so far. Things are about to get loud.