Acid Love- Mina Ashido WLW Story

Chapter 1: New Girl

I stand, staring at the door. Above my head, protruding from the wall, a sign reads "1-A". I won't lie, I've heard the stories. I know that these kids are the real deal, the ones at the top. And joining their class, halfway through the third year? It sounds just as insane as it feels. I take one last deep breath (I was telling myself "one last one, and then I go in" for about five minutes now; I was starting to look like a creep staring at this door for so long), and turn the knob.

As expected, most of the students' heads turn as I open the door. I stand in the doorway for a moment, taking note of the students. A few noticeable ones are a boy with sharp teeth and flaming hair, another with what looked like were balls stuck to his head, and a completely pink girl. My eyes catch on to the latter for a moment, and I shoot her a slight smile, before dragging myself to the front of the room. The person allegedly responsible for teaching the class is a dark-haired man with horrendous eyebags wrapped up in a yellow sleeping bag on the ground. At first glance, it seems as though he is asleep, but he manages to wake himself up enough to announce to the class, "This is a new student. Introduce yourself, please." And just like that, he seems to be in a coma again. I swear I can hear his snoring.

Sighing quietly, I turn to the silent classroom. A few are smiling, but they do not seem to be mocking me. In fact, I can tell they are already sizing me up, trying to gauge how well I'll do in battle, in smarts. I manage a tight-lipped smile as I introduce myself on a basic level: I tell them my name, my quirk, my hero name, where I'm from, my pronouns.

I nod once, and, without waiting for the teacher's instruction, make my way over to the only vacant desk: one situated between the window and the pink girl. I make quick eye contact before flitting my eyes away to my things, arranging them on my desk quietly.

Slowly but surely, after more than a few glances are cast my way, the chatter that I apparently interrupted resumes.

After a few moments, the pink girl leans closer to me. It's now that I realize small details that I didn't before. The inhuman coloring of her eyes, the exact pall of her skin, the tight coils of pink hair that sit like a halo around her head. That moment feels like forever, but it is broken when she speaks to me. "You know, I'm so glad you sat next to me," she says, as if there was a choice involved on my part, "because honestly, I was starting to get tired of these kids. I mean three years and barely any change! Honestly, I would be glad no matter who you were," she stops, and examines me for a moment. I suddenly feel self-conscious, but she shows no hint of disdain or anything of the sort. Instead, she smirks, in sort of a sly, we-have-a-dirty-secret way. "Although, I'm glad it's someone as pretty as you, I would have been quite disappointed if it were a boy, let alone an ugly one." Well I suppose that answers my unasked question, the question I find it necessary to ask women nowadays, just to make sure we're on the same page. To make sure they're being nice, not straight-girl nice.

I can feel my cheeks flush a little, as I blow a stray hair out of my face. "I'm glad I got seated next to you as well, I feel better already," I reply, and it is true. There is something about her that is... remarkably bright and warm. It makes me comfortable, even eager to trust her. I already know, after spending mere seconds with her, that I would be okay telling her all of my secrets, and I wouldn't even care if she pried into my personal business afterwards.

While we were talking, the man in the yellow sleeping bag got up and stood at his desk, waiting for us to notice. Finally we do and all of us decide to shut up simultaneously.

"Alright everybody," he says, and surprisingly, despite the softness, his voice carries throughout the classroom, "today we are going to do some combat practice. You are going to be sparring against one another." My blood goes cold. I can tell, at first glance, that I'm the only one who's worried. All of the rest of them look like coiled springs, just waiting to be broken loose; raw energy with the power to put me in a coffin. I struggle to breathe for a second, and wait for a short period for my anxiety attack to subside.