U.A.'s medical facility existed in stark contrast to the standard hospital environment—more advanced equipment, specialized quirk-monitoring systems, and a pervasive sense of history embedded in the walls. Heroes had been healed here for generations, their triumphs and failures recorded in medical charts and recovery statistics.

Recovery Girl directed you to sit on an examination table while she conducted her assessment. The diminutive nurse moved with practiced efficiency, her quirk-enhanced medical knowledge evident in the precision of her movements. Various instruments hummed and beeped as they recorded your vital signs, quirk output levels, and neurological patterns.

"Hmm," she murmured, reviewing data on a specialized tablet while her cane tapped a rhythmic pattern against the polished floor. "I'm not entirely sure what's wrong with you, dearie. You say you've had this massive headache consistently?"

You nodded, immediately regretting the motion as another bolt of pain lanced behind your eyes. "Yeah," you confirmed through gritted teeth. "It's been there since I first came near U.A., honestly. Just got exponentially worse after the USJ incident."

The elderly hero hummed thoughtfully, her expression shifting to one of professional curiosity as she adjusted her small nurse's cap. "Strange... headaches like this don't typically manifest without clear physiological cause. Could be extreme stress response, or perhaps..." Her voice trailed off as she considered an alternative hypothesis. "Maybe you're reacting to the barrier quirk around campus."

Your attention sharpened despite the pain clouding your thoughts. "Barrier quirk?"

"Mm-hmm," she confirmed with a sage nod. "U.A. is protected by multiple layers of security measures—not just the physical gates and walls you can see, but quirk-based protections as well. Specialized barrier quirks designed to identify and repel villains, neutralize unauthorized quirk usage, and detect anomalous energy signatures." Her experienced eyes studied your reaction carefully. "If you possess unusual power signatures or aren't properly registered in the school's security protocols, the barriers might create a sort of... interference pattern with your quirk functions."

The explanation triggered a cascade of connections in your mind. Of course—this world operated on internal logic that your interdimensional presence would naturally disrupt. You were, by definition, an anomaly in this reality's established parameters.

"That would explain a lot," you muttered, massaging your temples in a futile attempt to alleviate the throbbing pressure. The timeline consistency issues, the quirk fluctuations, even Recovery Girl's inability to heal you properly—all potential consequences of fundamental incompatibility between your origin and this world's natural laws.

Recovery Girl observed you with the perceptive gaze of someone who had treated thousands of patients with unusual quirk complications. "The quirk suppressant chamber Aizawa brought you to should have neutralized any external effects," she noted. "But your symptoms persist, which suggests the issue might be more... intrinsic."

She reached into a cabinet and retrieved a small amber bottle of medication, carefully measuring out tablets into a paper cup. "I'll give you something for the pain—a specialized formula for quirk-related neural disruptions. But if it continues or worsens..." She hesitated, weighing her words. "We might need Principal Nezu to examine you personally. He has particular insights into unusual cases."

The implication wasn't lost on you. Nezu possessed an intelligence quirk that made him the smartest living being in this world—and perhaps the most dangerous person to discover your true nature.

"Thanks," you said softly, accepting the medication with genuine gratitude despite your reservations. The fact that she hadn't immediately reported your physiological anomalies to authorities represented a level of discretion you hadn't expected.

Recovery Girl paused in her preparations, turning to face you fully. Her expression softened from professional assessment to something more personal. "Whatever you are, dearie..." she stated with quiet certainty, "You've got a good heart. I can feel it."

The simple declaration caught you entirely off-guard. In this world of heroes and villains where quirks defined so much of identity, to be judged by something as fundamental as the quality of your character felt unexpectedly profound.

You blinked in surprise, searching for an adequate response, but before you could formulate one, Recovery Girl had already turned away to prepare your discharge paperwork. The conversation's conclusion carried the gentle finality of a door closing—not locked, but clearly marked as complete for now.

As the medication began to take effect, the screaming agony behind your eyes dulled to a more manageable throb. The relief, while welcome, came with the instinctive knowledge that this reprieve was temporary. Whatever fundamental dissonance existed between your transferred consciousness and this reality wouldn't be resolved by conventional medicine.

The headache would return. Probably stronger next time.

Just as Aizawa appeared in the doorway to escort you back to his apartment—temporary guardian to an interdimensional anomaly—your attention was drawn to a notification appearing on Recovery Girl's computer screen. The security system's automated alert displayed a simple message:

Sports Festival preparations: Final security protocols activated.

The next milestone in this world's canonical timeline approached inexorably. Soon, U.A.'s students would showcase their abilities for the watching nation—and for the villains monitoring from the shadows.

Another opportunity to change fate. Another chance to fracture from the predetermined narrative.

The question remained: at what cost to your increasingly fragile connection to this reality?

The following morning found Class 1-A in a state of controlled chaos. The homeroom buzzed with overlapping conversations, animated gestures, and the occasional demonstration of quirks as students recounted their individual experiences during the USJ attack. Their voices created a tapestry of shared trauma and triumph—each perspective slightly different, yet woven together by collective survival.

"—and then I was teleported to the landslide zone with Todoroki," Kirishima exclaimed, hardening his arm for emphasis. "You should have seen him freeze all those villains at once! Super manly!"

Todoroki, characteristically silent, offered no commentary on his own heroics.

"The flood zone was terrifying," Asui added, her large eyes blinking slowly as she described how she'd helped Midoriya and Mineta. "Kero. But we managed."

"I still can't believe we all made it out without serious injuries," Yaoyorozu marveled, her typically composed demeanor slightly fractured by lingering adrenaline. "Statistically speaking, the odds against twenty students surviving a coordinated villain attack..."

They were incredibly lucky.

But luck had nothing to do with it.

Your strategic intervention alongside Aizawa had altered the encounter's fundamental dynamics—keeping him functional longer, preventing students from being isolated against superior opponents, and neutralizing the Nomu before it could inflict catastrophic damage. The ripples of these changes had cascaded through the entire incident, resulting in an outcome dramatically different from the original timeline.

Yet none of them understood the significance of these alterations. How could they? In their reality, this was the only version of events that had transpired.

You sat motionless at your desk, crimson eyes fixed on a point beyond the classroom's front wall. The persistent headache from yesterday had dulled to a background hum, but focusing your vision remained challenging—like trying to see clearly through water. Your pupils, slightly more reptilian than human in their vertical elongation, remained unnaturally still as you minimized unnecessary movement to conserve energy.

Even Aizawa, now entering the classroom with his signature slouched posture, showed remarkably few signs of the battle. A small bandage covered a minor laceration on his forehead, and he favored his right side subtly—but otherwise, the devastating injuries from the original timeline were conspicuously absent. No broken arms. No facial reconstruction. No extended hospitalization.

"Okay, class, settle down," he called, his perpetually exhausted voice somehow cutting through the animated chatter despite its low volume. The effect was immediate—twenty students instantly pivoting to attention, their boisterous energy channeling into focused silence.

Aizawa surveyed the room, his bloodshot eyes lingering momentarily on empty chairs that, in another reality, might have been permanently vacant. "Before we proceed with today's agenda, there's something that needs acknowledgment."

His gaze shifted deliberately toward your desk. "We have someone to thank for ensuring yesterday's incident didn't end in tragedy. Blue's actions during the villain attack prevented serious injuries and potentially saved lives—including my own."

The unexpected public recognition sent a ripple of surprise through the class before erupting into spontaneous applause. Students turned in their seats to face you, their reactions spanning a spectrum of appreciation: Kirishima flashed a sharp-toothed grin with an enthusiastic thumbs-up; Mina bounced excitedly in her chair while clapping; even Iida's typically rigid applause carried unusual warmth. Perhaps most surprisingly, Bakugo merely huffed without offering any contradictory commentary—the closest thing to approval his combative personality allowed.

You remained motionless amidst the acknowledgment, maintaining your thousand-yard stare. The praise felt hollow—not because you didn't value their appreciation, but because they couldn't comprehend the true weight of what had occurred. The physical toll of pushing dual quirks beyond sustainable limits. The psychological burden of knowledge you couldn't fully share. The existential dissonance of altering a timeline you weren't supposed to exist within.

Your lack of visible reaction prompted concern from several classmates—particularly Midoriya, whose analytical gaze studied your unresponsive posture with growing worry.

Aizawa cleared his throat, reclaiming the class's attention. "Alright, enough of that. Don't get too comfortable with yesterday's outcome."

The shift in his tone immediately transformed the atmosphere, student postures straightening instinctively as they recognized the transition from acknowledgment to warning.

"That villain attack wasn't a random incident," he continued, voice dropping to a gravity that commanded absolute focus. "It was coordinated, targeted, and strategic—designed specifically to eliminate a symbol of security when students would be present."

His eyes swept across their suddenly somber faces. "But that wasn't the only challenge you'll be facing in the immediate future. The U.A. Sports Festival begins in two weeks."

Murmurs instantly rippled through the classroom—excitement tinged with uncertainty after recent events.

"The administration considered cancellation given yesterday's security breach," Aizawa explained. "But that would send exactly the wrong message. Instead, we're proceeding with enhanced security protocols and a clear statement: U.A. will not be intimidated."

His tired eyes narrowed slightly. "And if you think villains were the only ones watching you yesterday... you're wrong. The Sports Festival will put every one of you under intense scrutiny—not just from the public, but from pro heroes, agencies, and yes, potentially enemies as well."

The implications hung heavy in the air as students processed this sobering reminder. Their first public showcase would now carry additional weight—a demonstration not just of individual potential but of institutional resilience.

A chill slipped down the back of your neck, primal instinct responding to something beyond conscious perception. The Sports Festival represented another critical juncture in the timeline—a point where public dynamics would shift, future conflicts would be seeded, and certain students would attract dangerous attention.

Something worse was indeed coming. The League's failed USJ attack would only accelerate their plans, driving them toward more desperate and destructive strategies. Hero Killer Stain would soon begin his bloody crusade in Hosu City. All For One's shadow would grow longer as his pieces moved across the board.

And you—anomalous presence, timeline disruptor, interdimensional interloper—would need to decide how much more to change.

As Aizawa transitioned to explaining the Sports Festival's format, your gaze finally shifted from its fixed point to meet Midoriya's concerned observation. The brief eye contact seemed to startle him, but he quickly recovered with a small, encouraging smile—a silent acknowledgment between two individuals who understood standing apart while desperately trying to belong.

For better or worse, the march toward future confrontations had begun. The only question remaining was whether your presence would ultimately save this world or fracture it beyond recognition.