Classes continued as if nothing had happened.
That, more than anything else, stood out to Ren.
After the battle training—after explosions, collapsing buildings, and the raw display of power that had left parts of Ground Gamma fractured and scorched—the school simply… returned to normal.
Desks. Chalk. Schedules.
Heroes-in-training filing back into classrooms like ordinary students who hadn't just simulated combat scenarios that would've been front-page news anywhere else.
Ren sat near the window, posture relaxed, eyes half-lidded as sunlight filtered through the glass. The lesson droned on—something about modern hero ethics and public responsibility—but his attention drifted only occasionally. He listened enough to respond when needed.
That had become second nature.
The door slid open partway through the period.
A familiar green-haired head peeked inside.
"Midoriya Izuku stepped back into the classroom.
The reaction was immediate.
"Oh! Midoriya's back!"
"Are you okay now?"
"That looked rough—what did Recovery Girl say?"
Questions piled on him before he could even make it to his seat. Voices overlapped, curiosity and concern blending together in a way that felt… genuine.
Ren watched quietly.
Midoriya smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck as he answered what he could. He looked tired—still a little stiff in his movements—but there was something else there too.
Pride. Relief.
He had survived.
More than that, he had proven something—to himself, if no one else.
Ren looked away after a moment.
Praise came easily when you fit the image people wanted to see.
He wondered, distantly, how long it would take before that stopped being true.
Lunch passed without incident.
That was a lie, technically—but only because Iida Tenya existed.
Ren had just finished packing his things when Iida stood abruptly, pushing his chair back with sharp precision.
"This is unacceptable!" Iida declared, chopping the air with his hand. "Running in the halls, shouting, causing disruption—this is not how students of U.A. behave!"
Several students froze.
Ren glanced toward the center of the room.
A makeshift table had been assembled near Tokoyami's seat—Dark Shadow looming quietly beside him as if daring anyone to comment. Iida's gaze locked onto it like it was a personal insult.
"Upperclassmen or not," Iida continued, voice tight with indignation, "they have no right to disrespect our learning environment!"
Tokoyami tilted his head slightly. "They asked politely."
"That is not the point!"
Ren suppressed a sigh.
He gathered his bag and stood, already halfway checked out of the conversation.
This wasn't his problem.
Behind him, Midoriya muttered something under his breath.
Then—
"Bakugo!"
Ren paused mid-step.
The name cracked through the air like a spark hitting dry ground.
Bakugo Katsuki had already turned, teeth clenched, eyes sharp with irritation. Midoriya stood frozen for half a second"Oi—Deku!"
.
Ren didn't turn back.
He heard the footsteps. Drama, live and unscripted.
Ren exited the building calmly, the noise fading behind him as the doors slid shut.
The hotel room was quiet.
Too quiet, maybe—but Ren had grown used to it.
He set his bag down by the door and sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. The city outside buzzed faintly through the window—traffic, voices, the distant hum of life continuing without him.
He stared at the floor.
So.
He was here.
U.A. High School. Hero Course. Class 1-A.
Exactly where the story said he should be.
The thought didn't bring comfort.
He leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall.
Why am I really here?
The answer came quickly.
To get stronger.
That much had never changed.
Ren knew the trajectory of this class. He'd seen it—how, in less than a year, they would go from clumsy beginners to something terrifyingly competent. Not professionals. Not yet.
But close enough to make seasoned villains hesitate.
Being here accelerated growth in a way nothing else could.
Training. Exposure. Pressure.
And more importantly—
Access.
Ren exhaled slowly.
Negative energy wasn't something you could farm in peace.
It didn't bloom in safe spaces.
It gathered in fear, hatred, despair, desperation.
Places people didn't want to look too closely at.
Prisons.
Facilities like Tartarus weren't just holding cells. They were reservoirs—sealed environments saturated with emotions that never dissipated, only circulated.
If he could step into a place like that—
Even briefly.
The amount he could gather in a single visit would eclipse what he'd accumulated over his entire life so far.
The realization had settled in his mind like an anchor.
Heavy. Certain.
But strength alone wasn't the real question.
Ren closed his eyes.
Do I actually want to be a hero?
The word felt strange.
Hero.
Saving people. Smiling for cameras. Obeying regulations. Letting oversight committees decide when and how he was allowed to act.
Living with someone else's hand permanently hovering over his shoulder.
The answer was immediate.
No.
He didn't hate heroes. Some of them were admirable. Necessary, even.
But he didn't want to be one.
What he wanted wasn't a title.
It was freedom.
The freedom to use his Quirk without justification.
The freedom to fight when he wanted to fight—not because a siren told him to.
The freedom to walk through the world without worrying about random villains, or Pro Heroes misinterpreting his actions and breathing down his neck.
He wanted to live.
Really live.
Make friends. Travel. Fight strong opponents—not out of obligation, but because it excited him.
See what the world looked like when you weren't trapped inside rules designed for people weaker than you.
And for that—
He needed power.
Enough that no one could force him into a corner.
Enough that his choices were his own.
Ren opened his eyes, gaze steady.
U.A. wasn't the destination.
It was a tool.
And Nezu—
Nezu was the key.
The principal was a strategist first, a hero second. He understood secrecy. Understood leverage. Understood long-term benefit.
If Ren told him everything—the real nature of his Quirk, the risks, the potential—
It wouldn't be made public.
Heroes didn't survive by leaking sensitive information.
And if convincing Nezu meant access to environments like Tartarus—
Then it was worth it.
The path forward crystallized cleanly in his mind.
Get approval.
Gain access.
Grow stronger—fast.
Ren stood, pulling his jacket back on.
Tomorrow, he would speak carefully.
Honestly.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, he felt something solid beneath his feet.
Not certainty.
Direction.