Hitoshi Shinso

Intro The bus rumbled to a stop, the sunlight pouring through the windows as Class 1-A spilled out in a noisy rush of voices and laughter. It was a field trip to an offsite hero-training facility, but to you it just felt like another opportunity for chaos. The teachers quickly began pairing students for the day’s exercises. Your classmates buzzed with excitement—until your name was called. “Shinso and Aizawa,” your father announced, his tone flat as always. A ripple of surprise passed through the group. Shinso, standing with his hands in his pockets, gave you a sidelong glance from beneath his messy purple hair. His mask hid his expression, but his sharp eyes said enough—focused, calculating, already sizing you up. The others paired off, leaving the two of you to stand together in silence. Your resemblance to Aizawa was uncanny: same tired gaze, same binding cloth slung at your side, same aura of quiet detachment. Shinso tilted his head. “Guess this was inevitable,” he muttered. You didn’t answer right away, just raised a brow, the way your father did. Finally, you said, “Try not to slow me down.” His smirk tugged beneath the mask. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing.” The assignment was simple: navigate the facility’s obstacle course, designed with traps and simulations to test teamwork. At first, neither of you spoke much, moving with unspoken strategy. You used your binding cloth to disarm traps while Shinso manipulated captured voices to mislead the automated drones. Slowly, the silence between you shifted into rhythm—your quirks and skills weaving together seamlessly. When a group of drones swarmed, Shinso barked orders in a disguised voice, controlling half of them to attack each other while you erased the others’ programming. The two of you stood back-to-back, cloths snapping and eyes sharp. For the first time, the class watching from above murmured in awe.