MHA; Its me, Monoma!

Chapter 2: Seeds of Rivalry

The school bell rang, its sharp tone echoing through the halls of U.A. High, signaling the end of another day. Students spilled out of their classrooms, voices mingling in a cacophony of laughter and chatter. Among them was Neito Monoma, his blond hair catching the afternoon light as he strode purposefully through the bustling corridor. His sharp blue eyes glinted with determination, his expression unreadable. Adjusting his backpack on his shoulders, he muttered under his breath, his mind racing.

Class 1-A… I'll see for myself why they've been stealing all the attention lately.

At first, Monoma walked with a measured calm, blending seamlessly into the flow of students heading toward the exits. The faint hum of voices surrounded him, but his thoughts drowned them out. However, as he turned into the corridor leading to Class 1-A, his steps faltered. His sharp gaze locked onto a peculiar scene—a crowd had gathered near the doorway to the infamous class.

A crease formed on his brow as he stopped in his tracks, curiosity sparking within him. The throng wasn't made up of random students. Among the group, he recognized familiar faces from his own Class 1-B, including Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, whose wild silver hair and muscular build made him stand out. Others were students from different first-year classes, all gathered with an air of anticipation.

Monoma stood at the back, observing in silence. The low buzz of hushed conversations and scattered laughter filled the air. His sharp mind worked to piece together the reason behind the crowd, but nothing made sense. His lips pressed into a thin line. Placing a hand firmly on Tetsutetsu's shoulder, he leaned in.

"What's all this about?"

Tetsutetsu turned, his face lighting up when he recognized Monoma. His uniform was slightly wrinkled, his energetic demeanor practically radiating. "Oh, Monoma! Looks like you came to check out 1-A too, huh? Everyone's here trying to scope them out before the sports festival."

Monoma's blue eyes narrowed slightly, his expression darkening. "The sports festival…" he muttered, his voice barely audible. The words stirred faint memories—the teacher had mentioned it briefly earlier. He had dismissed it then, deeming it unimportant.

His gaze shifted to the crowd. So this is why they're here? Everyone is spying on 1-A, trying to gather information for the sports festival? His stomach twisted at the thought. How utterly ridiculous.

The murmurs around him grew louder as students leaned toward the slightly ajar door of Class 1-A, straining to catch glimpses of its occupants. Monoma's jaw tightened as irritation welled within him. His mind, a labyrinth of logic and emotion, processed the scene with razor-sharp precision.

"We're Class 1-B," he whispered under his breath, the words laced with quiet disdain. "We're supposed to stand on equal ground with them, not lower ourselves to this."

For a moment, he considered stepping forward, telling his classmates to stop. But before he could act, a sharp voice sliced through the noise like a blade.

"Doesn't matter, as long as I'm at the top."

The crowd turned as Katsuki Bakugo emerged from the classroom, his fiery blond hair catching the light. His red eyes burned with unrelenting intensity, his presence as commanding as ever. The air seemed to shift around him, tension crackling like static.

The students instinctively parted, giving him a wide berth. Bakugo strode forward with the confidence of someone who didn't care who or what stood in his way.

Monoma's sharp blue eyes locked onto Bakugo's crimson gaze as the explosive student passed by. For a fleeting moment, their eyes met, but Bakugo's expression didn't change. His gaze held no acknowledgment, no interest—only cold dismissal, as if Monoma were a mere insect.

The dismissal stung more than Monoma cared to admit. As Bakugo walked away, the murmurs of the crowd reignited, louder and more pointed this time.

"I had such high expectations for them…"

"Yeah, I thought they'd be humble, like real heroes."

"Seriously, 1-A's so full of themselves."

"Why don't we crush them at the sports festival?"

"Now that would be satisfying. Let's show them they're not all that."

Monoma scanned the faces of his classmates and the other students. None of them seemed to notice him, their focus entirely on 1-A. His irritation deepened. They don't even realize how pathetic this is, he thought bitterly.

Then, another figure emerged from the classroom. Shoto Todoroki, his striking dual-colored hair a stark contrast to Bakugo's fiery energy, walked past with an almost ethereal calm. Unlike Bakugo, Todoroki didn't even glance in Monoma's direction. It wasn't disdain—it was nothingness. As if Monoma didn't exist.

A sharp pang shot through Monoma's chest. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, his nails digging into his palms. So they're famous because they fought the League of Villains? he thought bitterly, his teeth grinding together. Ridiculous. They're nothing but overhyped brats drunk on their own arrogance.

Yet, as the bitterness churned within him, a smile began to creep across his face. It wasn't warm or genuine—it was sharp, calculated, and laced with quiet defiance.

He turned away from the crowd and began walking down the corridor. Let them have their moment, he thought. It won't last.

---

Later that evening, Monoma sat at his desk, dressed in casual clothes. The moonlight streamed through the window, casting a pale glow over the organized chaos of his room. His desk was covered with papers, each meticulously filled with diagrams, notes, and strategies.

He tapped a pencil rhythmically against the edge of the desk, his sharp blue eyes scanning his work. Each sheet bore the names of his classmates, their quirks, and potential strategies for the upcoming sports festival. His mind worked tirelessly, piecing together a plan.

Leaning back in his chair, Monoma's smirk deepened. "I'll make the world see," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Class 1-B has talents far greater than anything 1-A could ever dream of."

His gaze drifted to the window, where the stars sparkled in the night sky, their light distant yet unwavering. They seemed to mirror the fire now burning within him.

.

.