The soft purr of the engine was almost soothing as the car glided effortlessly through the early morning traffic. But it wasn't just any car—this was a custom-built, one-of-a-kind luxury vehicle, designed to be both understated and opulent, the kind that only the wealthiest could afford. Sleek lines, deep obsidian paint, and an interior that rivaled the most lavish private jets. It wasn't flashy in the traditional sense, but it radiated power, exclusivity, and, most importantly, money.

I sank into the plush leather seat, the scent of rich leather mingling with the faint aroma of fresh espresso from the cup holder. The windows were tinted to perfection, offering privacy and a perfect view of the city as we sped toward U.A.

Why does Nezu want to see me? 

The question looped in my mind, over and over, until I could practically feel my nerves tingling.

Stay calm.

You're not just anyone. 

You're a strategist, a thinker. 

A planner.

I glanced at the control panel, noting the time. We were on schedule, as expected. The driver, a trusted professional, was silent, focused entirely on the road, ensuring a smooth, uninterrupted ride.

Nezu is no fool. 

He's always five steps ahead, always calculating. 

So, what's his angle?

I leaned back, my thoughts spinning like gears in a well-oiled machine. The possibilities were endless, but none of them sat well. 

It's probably about All Might.

I mused, my mind racing through every detail of yesterday's exercise.

Does he suspect something? 

A small smirk tugged at my lips. 

Does he know who I really am? 

Does he know who Dad is? 

Or is he just curious about the kid who outsmarted the "Symbol of Peace"?

I ran a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I thought I'd outgrown. But the uncertainty gnawed at me, refusing to let go.

Nezu's a strategist. He might see me as an asset, someone to be used for the school's advantage. Or maybe he sees me as a threat—someone who could upset the delicate balance he's worked so hard to maintain. Either way, he wants to talk. That means he's curious. And curiosity, in this case, could be dangerous.

The city blurred past, a mosaic of grays and muted colors. I tried to focus, to analyze every potential scenario, but the unease in my gut only grew stronger.

What if he knows about the tech? 

The money? 

Dad's influence? 

I bit my lip, mentally calculating every variable. 

He could be probing for weaknesses, trying to figure out what makes me tick. 

Or maybe he's just trying to gauge how much of a threat I am to the status quo.

My fingers tapped against the armrest, each beat a different hypothesis, a new angle. I could almost see Nezu's smug little face, his beady eyes hiding a thousand thoughts behind them. 

He's playing a game. 

But so am I.

I exhaled slowly, trying to push the nerves back down. 

It doesn't matter why he called me in. What matters is how I respond. I'll play along, let him think he's in control. But he's not going to get anything out of me unless I want him to.

The car slowed as we approached U.A.'s gates, the sprawling campus coming into view. The nerves were still there, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts, but I forced myself to focus, to prepare.

Remember, I thought as the car rolled to a stop, you've got the brains, the money, and the backing of the most powerful villain in the world. Nezu may be clever, but you're cleverer. You're not going in there as a student—you're going in as a player in a much bigger game.

The driver opened the door, and I stepped out onto the pavement, the cool morning air hitting my face. I straightened my uniform, making sure everything was perfect, then took a deep breath.

Showtime.

As I walked toward the main building, the weight of the situation settled onto my shoulders, but I kept my head high. Whatever Nezu wanted, whatever game he was trying to play, I was ready.

Because in the end, no matter how clever he thought he was, money and intelligence always tipped the scales.

Let's see what the little rat has up his sleeve.