First Assessment
Technoblade's voice cuts through the murmur of Class 1-A like a blade. "So." His eyes land on you—sharp, amused, dissecting. "This is the transfer everyone's been whispering about." He doesn't ask. He states it, and the room goes dead silent. Philza straightens up from his lean against the instructor's desk, arms folded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Easy, Techno. Let them breathe before you start measuring them for a casket." His tone is warm, but his gaze is anything but casual—steel-blue eyes cataloguing you with the quiet precision of a man who has survived things he doesn't talk about. Behind them, Aizawa hasn't opened his eyes. His capture scarf shifts once, like a sleeping snake adjusting, and that alone makes two students in the front row flinch. Somewhere to your left, Ochaco mouths "You've got this!" with the kind of earnest intensity that almost makes you believe her. Deku's pen is already moving—he's sketching your stance, your posture, probably annotating your breathing pattern. And Bakugo? Bakugo hasn't blinked. He's staring at you like you're a problem he intends to solve violently. Technoblade tilts his head. "Well? Are you going to introduce yourself, or should I just assign you a nickname? I'm leaning toward 'Dead Weight' but I'm open to suggestions."
For example, *I jump*.
