Aizawa began the class by introducing the topic of hero ethics and the responsibilities tied to having a quirk. It started off smoothly enough, the usual discussions about the power balance between heroes and civilians. But things took a sharp turn when Mineta, unable to keep his mouth shut, piped up.

"Honestly, without quirks, people are kind of helpless, right? They need heroes to protect them because, well, they can't do anything for themselves."

The room fell silent for a moment. My hand paused mid-note, eyes narrowing as I stared at Mineta. I could feel the familiar prickle of irritation creeping up my spine, igniting a spark that quickly flared into anger. It wasn't just what he said—it was how he said it, as if being quirkless was some kind of inherent weakness.

I stood up abruptly, the legs of my chair scraping against the floor with a sharp sound that made a few classmates jump. Aizawa's eyes shifted to me, instantly alert.

"Midoriya, is there something you'd like to add?" he said, his voice measured.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. "Yeah, there is, actually. What Mineta said isn't just wrong—it's insulting. To suggest that quirkless people are helpless is to overlook the fact that strength isn't just about power or flashy abilities. It's about resourcefulness, intelligence, and determination."

The room buzzed with whispers, and I could feel the weight of every gaze, some surprised, others intrigued. Bakugo scoffed, crossing his arms with a smirk, probably expecting some kind of dramatic outburst. But this wasn't about theatrics—it was personal.

Momo cleared her throat, her tone cautious. "Midoriya, I think what Mineta meant was that without quirks, people are at a disadvantage in terms of physical defense against villains."

"And I'm saying that mindset is dangerous," I shot back, my voice firmer now. "It perpetuates the idea that if you don't have a quirk, you're somehow lesser or weaker. Do you know how many quirkless people live in fear every day? Not because they don't have power, but because people with quirks treat them as if they're irrelevant."

Kaminari glanced nervously between me and Mineta. "But isn't that why heroes exist? To protect those who can't protect themselves?"

I met his eyes, my expression softening slightly. "Yes, but heroes shouldn't be defined by their quirks. The greatest heroes are those who fight for everyone, not just those who fit into society's box of 'powerful' or 'worthy.'"

There was a moment of silence, the air charged with tension. Aizawa watched me with that unreadable look, as if he was weighing every word I said.

"Interesting perspective, Midoriya," Aizawa finally said. "Care to elaborate?"

I leaned forward, my voice lowering but carrying an intensity that filled the room. "Being quirkless doesn't mean you're powerless. It means you have to work ten times harder to prove yourself. I know this firsthand. There's strength in that kind of struggle, a resilience that no quirk can replicate."

Silence stretched as the class took in my words. Uraraka's eyes widened with realization, while Todoroki's usual stoic mask seemed to crack just a little, curiosity gleaming in his mismatched eyes.

Mineta's face flushed with embarrassment, but before he could say anything, Bakugo burst out, voice harsh and sharp. "Oh, give it a rest, Deku! What's the point in going on about this? The world's not gonna change just 'cause some quirkless kid wants it to."

My jaw clenched, but I forced myself to stay calm. "You're right, Kacchan. The world won't change just because one person wants it to. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try to change it anyway. That's what being a hero is about—doing the right thing, even when it's hard or when people don't understand it."

A few gasps whispered through the room, and I felt a surge of something close to pride. Maybe not everyone in this room agreed with me, but I knew at least a few were thinking. Reevaluating.

Aizawa's voice cut through the tension. "Class dismissed. Midoriya, stay behind for a moment."

The moment Aizawa said, "Class dismissed," a burst of laughter erupted from the back of the room. It was loud, mocking, and full of a self-assured arrogance that grated on my nerves. I didn't even have to look to know who it was—Mineta again, still riding on the high of his earlier comment and clearly thinking himself untouchable.

Before I knew it, I was moving, each step deliberate and fueled by that tight coil of frustration inside me. My feet carried me across the room faster than anyone had time to react, not even Aizawa. The laughter cut off with a startled yelp as my fist connected squarely with Mineta's face, the satisfying crunch of bone echoing in the silent classroom. He stumbled back, eyes wide with shock as blood spurted from his now-broken nose.

The room went dead silent, jaws dropping all around. Aizawa's eyes narrowed, but he didn't move; he was watching, waiting. I knew I was toeing a very thin line, but at that moment, I didn't care.

"Guess your quirk didn't see that coming, huh?" I said, voice low but sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "You're so quick to judge the quirkless, but look at you now. Maybe it's not just quirks that determine worth—maybe it's your brain, your reflexes, your ability to read a situation. But you, Mineta, failed at all three."

He whimpered, holding his nose, blood dripping onto the floor. His eyes were wide and glassy, the sting of reality—and pain—finally sinking in.

"And if a quirkless person like me can take you by surprise," I continued, stepping back and letting my voice carry, "then maybe you're not as untouchable as you think. Maybe you're just another fool who hides behind a quirk like it's the only thing that makes them human. Newsflash: a quirk doesn't make you superior—it just makes you another animal if you can't use it properly."

There were stunned expressions all around, some students shifting uncomfortably, others looking at me like they'd never seen me before. For once, even Bakugo was silent, his crimson eyes flicking between Mineta and me, gauging the situation.

Aizawa finally pushed himself off the desk, eyes narrowed but unreadable. "Midoriya. My office. Now."

I didn't respond, just nodded and turned on my heel, walking out of the room without another glance at the stunned faces behind me. The silence felt heavy, but the slight rush of satisfaction coursed through me.

Mineta's laughter had been silenced, at least for now, and maybe—just maybe—the class would think twice before underestimating those without quirks.