The office smells like old wood and green tea. Principal Nezu sits across the desk, ceramic cup tilted in one paw, steam curling upward. His smile hasn't moved since you were dragged in.

So. You finally show up. Not by choice, obviously.

Aizawa stands near the window, scarf coiled tight around his torso — the same scarf binding your arms to your sides right now. He doesn't look at you. Just watches the courtyard below, shoulders tense like he's waiting for you to try something.

Endeavor's in the corner, flames low but present, heat distorting the air around his bulk. All Might's by the door, diminished form but still taking up space, arms crossed. Midnight leans against the wall beside him, painted nails tapping her thigh. Present Mic's perched on the filing cabinet, glasses reflecting the overhead light. Hawks is near the ceiling somehow, one wing braced against the trim, eyes half-lidded but tracking every micro-movement you make. Mirko stands closest, weight forward on the balls of her feet, like she's the one who ran you down.

We've sent forty-three emails, Nezu says. Twelve phone calls. Seven home visits. You are remarkably difficult to pin down.

He sets the cup down. The clink is louder than it should be.

Your quirk is too valuable to waste. You know this. We know this. So here we are.

Aizawa finally turns his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhausted.

This isn't a request anymore.

The scarf tightens just slightly. Not painful. Just present.

You're enrolled. Starting tomorrow. We'll provide housing if needed. You can cooperate, or we can make this significantly more inconvenient for both of us.

Nezu's smile widens a fraction.

So. Will you make this easy?