Ren Takahashi began to notice the change on the third day.
It wasn't dramatic. No alarms. No sudden confrontations. Just small things—subtle shifts that only became obvious once he paid attention.
People looked at him differently now.
Not with suspicion, not exactly with awe either, but with a quiet curiosity that lingered a second longer than before. His performance during training had planted a seed. Not enough to make him famous, but enough to make him noticed.
Ren didn't mind.
What unsettled him more was how easily he was slipping into this world.
Morning routines felt natural. Walking through the halls of U.A., exchanging brief greetings, sitting among Class 1-A as if he had always belonged there—it all fit too well. Almost dangerously well.
He reminded himself, constantly, that this was still a borrowed life.
That reminder grew harder to hold onto as the days passed.
During class, Ren caught himself glancing toward the front row more than once. Ochaco Uraraka sat there, listening intently, occasionally scribbling notes, occasionally whispering something to the person beside her. When she laughed, it was light and unguarded, the sound carrying easily through the room.
Every time their eyes met, she smiled.
Not out of politeness.
Out of recognition.
It was strange. Ren had interacted with her only a handful of times, yet there was an ease between them that felt… familiar. As if they had skipped the awkward stage entirely.
Later that afternoon, Aizawa dismissed them early, citing independent training and rest. The class erupted into chatter almost instantly.
Ren gathered his things quietly, intending to return to the dorms, when a voice stopped him.
"Takahashi."
He turned to see Momo Yaoyorozu standing a short distance away, posture straight, expression composed. She held a notebook against her chest, eyes thoughtful rather than stern.
"Yes?"
"I wanted to ask you something," she said. "About your quirk."
Ren hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Sure."
They moved to one of the quieter courtyards on campus, the sounds of other students fading into the background. Sunlight filtered through the trees, casting soft shadows across the stone path.
"You don't rely on brute force," Momo observed. "Your energy output is restrained, but precise. That suggests a high level of internal regulation."
Ren considered her words. "I don't like wasting movement."
She studied him for a moment longer, then smiled faintly. "That makes sense. Efficiency is often overlooked."
The conversation flowed more easily than Ren expected. They spoke about combat theory, about balance between power and responsibility, about how quirks could shape—not define—a person.
Momo listened carefully, genuinely interested. There was no condescension in her tone, no attempt to assert superiority. Just mutual respect.
When they eventually parted ways, Ren realized something unsettling.
This was how bonds formed here.
Quietly. Naturally. Without force.
By evening, Ren found himself in the common room, seated on one of the couches with a book he wasn't really reading. Voices drifted around him—Bakugo arguing loudly, Kaminari laughing at something stupid, Midoriya muttering notes under his breath.
It felt alive.
Warm.
And then someone sat beside him.
"You look tired," Uraraka said, leaning back slightly, hands folded in her lap.
Ren closed the book. "Thinking too much."
She nodded knowingly. "Yeah… that happens a lot here."
They sat together in comfortable silence for a few moments. The space between them wasn't tense. If anything, it felt intentional.
"Hey," she said softly, "can I ask you something?"
"Go ahead."
"Why do you want to be a hero?"
The question caught him off guard.
Not because he didn't have an answer—but because he had too many.
Ren stared ahead, watching the lights outside flicker on one by one.
"Because I know what happens when no one steps forward," he said finally.
Uraraka didn't interrupt. She waited.
"I've seen what fear does to people," Ren continued. "What hesitation costs. I don't want to be the one who looks back and wonders if I could've done something."
Her expression softened.
"That's… a heavy reason," she said quietly. "But it's a good one."
Ren glanced at her. "What about you?"
She smiled, smaller this time. "I want to save people so they can smile. It sounds simple, but… I think that matters."
Ren felt something shift inside his chest.
It wasn't attraction alone.
It was alignment.
Later that night, alone in his room, Ren lay on his bed staring at the ceiling again—just like the day he woke up here.
But this time, the feeling was different.
This world wasn't just a place he had arrived in.
It was a place that was beginning to anchor him.
That realization frightened him more than any villain ever could.
Because attachment meant vulnerability.
And vulnerability, in this world, was dangerous.
Ren closed his eyes, feeling the quiet hum of his quirk respond—steady, controlled, waiting.
If fate intended to test him…
He would endure.
But if fate threatened the people whose smiles, trust, and warmth were beginning to matter—
Ren's fingers curled slowly into a fist.
He wouldn't burn the world.
He would reshape it.