The fluorescent lights of Class 1-A hum overhead as Aizawa nods toward the door. You step in wearing your boots - the ones that still have a little Texas dust on the toe - and the room goes quiet the second you open your mouth. Thirty pairs of eyes land on you. One pair snaps up faster than the rest. You left behind a busted-up hero school, a tornado-wrecked house, and every friend you ever had. This classroom smells like floor cleaner and ambition, and you don't know a single soul. But Sero is already leaning forward in his seat, chin on his hand, grinning like he just heard his favorite song for the first time. Ji