With the villains prepped and ready—at least as much as they could be—it was time for me to return to my own class.

That's right. Despite everything else, I was still technically a UA student, part of Class 1-A. Participating in this festival wasn't optional for me, and honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. After all, how else would I demonstrate that I was playing a different game than everyone else here?

As I walked back to our designated waiting area, I could hear the chatter from down the hallway. My classmates, oblivious as always, were buzzing with excitement about the event. Their naivety radiated through the walls like an echo chamber.

I stepped into the room, and the energy shifted instantly. All eyes turned toward me, the green-haired anomaly that had recently become an enigma to most of them.

"Midoriya!" Uraraka greeted with her usual cheerful tone, though there was a noticeable edge to it—something cautious, almost hesitant. "Where've you been? We thought you'd be here earlier."

"Busy," I replied nonchalantly, heading straight for my seat as though I hadn't noticed the tension.

"Busy doing what?" Bakugo barked from across the room, his usual snarl firmly in place. "Trying to suck up to Nezu again?"

I shot him a glare. "If Nezu needs anything from me, I'm sure he knows how to find me."

Bakugo scowled but didn't push further. For now, that was a win in my book.

"Hey, did you hear the rumors?" Kaminari leaned in my direction, his expression a mix of curiosity and unease. "They're actually letting villains compete! Can you believe that?"

"Yes," I said flatly, not even sparing him a glance.

"But why?" Yaoyorozu interjected, her brow furrowed with concern. "I mean, I trust Nezu, of course, but... allowing villains? Isn't that a bit risky? What if they try something?"

Her words settled over the room like a dense fog, and that was the moment I realized how shallow their understanding of trust truly was.

I pushed my chair back with a loud scrape, standing up abruptly. "Are you all seriously doubting Nezu right now?"

The room went silent as everyone stared at me.

"Nezu is the smartest being in this entire building," I continued, my tone sharp and unyielding. "He's the one who created this program. The one who gave you all the chance to sit here and call yourselves future heroes. And you're questioning his decisions? Do you even realize how ridiculous that sounds?"

"But Midoriya," Iida started, his tone calm but edged with concern. "Surely you understand our reservations. Allowing villains to participate could—"

"Stop calling them 'villains,'" I interrupted, my voice rising. "They're people. People who've been given an opportunity to change. Or do you all believe that once someone makes a mistake, they're beyond redemption?"

No one responded. I scanned the room, watching as guilt flickered across some faces while others avoided my gaze entirely.

"That's what I thought," I said, letting the silence hang for a moment before sitting back down. "Maybe you should spend less time judging others and more time proving you deserve to be here."

I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair, the faint creak of the wood punctuating the uncomfortable tension that now dominated the room.

"Midoriya," Yaoyorozu tried again, her tone softer now, almost apologetic. "I don't think anyone here is questioning Nezu's intentions. We're just... concerned. Isn't it natural to be cautious in situations like this?"

I turned my gaze toward her, meeting her eyes directly. "Caution is one thing. Fear and prejudice are another. If you trust Nezu, then trust the system he's created. If you don't, then maybe you're in the wrong school."

The words hung heavy in the air, and I could tell by the way Yaoyorozu lowered her gaze that she had no rebuttal.

"Why are you so defensive about this, anyway?" Kaminari asked, his tone more curious than accusatory. "You're acting like this is personal."

I didn't bother answering. They wouldn't understand even if I tried to explain. My connection to the villain rehabilitation program, my plans for reshaping society, my disdain for their narrow-minded worldview—all of it would go over their heads.

Bakugo, however, was the only one who didn't look away. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, studying me like he was trying to piece together a puzzle.

"Whatever," he muttered finally, breaking the silence. "If you want to play babysitter for a bunch of failures, that's your problem."

I clenched my jaw but didn't rise to the bait. Bakugo's ignorance wasn't worth my energy—not today.

As the minutes ticked by, the classroom slowly returned to its usual buzz of conversation, though the tension lingered like a ghost. I let them have their small talk and idle chatter. None of it mattered to me. Today wasn't about proving the worth of villains or even about the sports festival itself. It was about exposing the cracks in this so-called hero society.

And if my classmates couldn't see the bigger picture, well... they'd learn soon enough.

The first event would start soon, and I'd play my part as a participant. But my real focus wasn't on winning some trivial competition. It was on ensuring that every single person in that audience, from the pro heroes to the media to the lowest-ranking staff member, walked away questioning everything they thought they knew about heroes, villains, and the society they lived in.

My classmates, though, were still hung up on their narrow perceptions, their preconceived notions of right and wrong. I didn't need their approval or understanding, but I did need them to stay out of my way.

I turned my attention inward, tuning out the room entirely. My mind raced with strategies, contingencies, and possibilities. This festival was a stage, and I intended to control the narrative.