Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ground is slick with rainwater in the night, moonlight wavering weakly in pockets that dot the alleyway. Stumbling through the cool darkness, the Villain curses quietly through the puddles, each step crushing each reflection of the moon into millions of shards of light.

He follows the Villain easily, molding his body to the shadows as has become second nature to him through a lifetime (lifetimes) of practice. Despite the water on the ground, his movements are completely silent, and as he catches up with the Villain he tucks himself deeper into the blackness, standing utterly still, muscles tensed and ready to move at just the right moment.

He’s capable of remaining like this for hours (has done it a million times on stakeouts, ambushes, assassinations, as part of a military that never was, that exists only in his memories of an age long gone) but the Villain reaches into a dark corner and triumphantly slings a bag of stolen government equipment over his shoulder—and that’s all the evidence he needs to strike.

Aizawa Shouta makes no sound as he collides with the Villain, eyes blazing as he activates his Quirk (not chakra or jutsu, he reminds himself, a Quirk). The Villain doesn’t stand a chance, honestly. Shouta’s fist catches him square in the solar plexus, knocking the breath from the man as his capture tool winds around his legs, before he jabs two fingers into the Villain’s neck, who slumps before he can even cry out in alarm.

As Shouta bends down to retrieve the bag the Villain dropped, he catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the rainwater—his eyes glow red from his Quirk, and for a moment he thinks he sees three tomoe swirling lazily in his left eye, a scar across his eyelid and cheek, before he blinks and his eyes are dark again.

Picking up the bag, with the Villain wrapped securely in his capture tool, he tucks his face deeper into the cloth winding around his neck, and he sets off in the direction of the nearest police station.

He doesn’t look back.

———

When Hatake Kakashi closed his eyes for what he thought was the last time, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect. See his father and his sensei, maybe, or maybe his long-lost teammates and everyone else he’d ever lost. He wasn’t expecting to open them again to a blurry world of overwhelming sound and colors, held by enormous beings while he uncontrollably wailed his lungs out.

Rebirth, he deduced, ever the genius, as he was placed against a warm chest and was lulled to sleep by the unintelligible babble around him.

———

His new name was Aizawa Shouta. He was a startlingly quiet child, constantly observing the world around him. His new parents were initially worried by his odd behavior, but after trips to a child psychologist and plenty of assurances that Shouta was actually developing faster than average (as usual), they learn to quell their worries.

(He... appreciates them. Even though they both worked, trying to support their modest little family, they were both there for him ((he sometimes caught himself marveling at the kind of world he lived in now, that even with his luck he could finally grow up with a family)).)

———

Shouta’s three and sitting at the dinner table, his mother humming and cooking, when he first activates his Quirk.

“Are you excited for dinner, Shou-chan?” His mother asks, stirring something that smells delicious.

“Mmm.”

“I made your favorite!” She continues, unbothered by his monotone response. “Eggplant and miso soup!”

“Mmm.”

His mother turns to smile at him, just as his father rounds the corner to the kitchen. The aroma of sizzling eggplant fills the air, and Shouta is filled with a sudden feeling of...something, a foreign lightness in his heart he wants to cherish (alongside memories of loud-mouthed blonds and perpetually-happy team senseis and ridiculous competitions against a blur of green and—)

On instinct, he reaches somewhere inside himself, summoning energy to his left eye to record this moment forever even though it had been three years since he’d last felt that energy in his body, except—

There’s a familiar tingling in his eyes. His parents both gasp.

“Shou-chan! Your eyes!” His mother scrambles to his side, gently cupping his cheeks and examining him intently. Shouta blinks in confusion, and the tingling is gone.

His eyes.

He can’t decide whether or not Fate has a sense of humor.

———

It takes much longer to discover what Shouta’s Quirk actually does, through a series of accidents involving his mother’s minor levitation Quirk, porcelain plates, and Shouta watching her cook while trying to activate his Quirk again. They eat using only paper plates for a period of time.

(He’s still adjusting to the fact that this time, this power is entirely his own—not gifted to him through tragedy.)

———

Shouta learns to read (it’s much easier when you’ve learned it once before), and then he discovers the Heroes.

They’re everywhere—the news, billboards, toys in fast food kids’ meals, and so on. The other children at Shouta’s preschool always play Heroes and Villains, and even though he never joins in, Shouta can see how deeply ingrained Pro-Heroes are in this world’s culture. All the children want to be Heroes when they grow up.

It’s almost like Konoha all over again—where shinobi were the most prominent members of the village and the children fought over who got to be the Shinobi and who had to be the Theives—except there’s much less of a military presence in this world. Pro-Heroes aren’t soldiers. They’re defenders of the common people. They get to decide their own battles. They get to become heroes of their own choosing.

———

Hatake Kakashi has always wanted to do what was right, so Aizawa Shouta resolves to be a Hero.

Chapter Text

Shouta stands before the front gates to U.A., gazing at the towering bulk of the school. He’s on time (for once), and takes a second to drink in the moment, ignoring the other new students milling around the courtyard and chattering excitedly. 

He’d made it. First on the written exam (no surprises there; he’s still a genius, after all), and a passing score on the physical portion… Not bad, especially since his Quirk hadn’t been useful at all in that second half.

(It’s a good thing he was literally a ninja in his previous life.)

At any rate, he’s here now, finally about to start training as a Hero, finally about to move forward through this second life he’s found himself living. He moves to take a step forward when—

“Whoa! Sorry, dude!”

—something very loud slams into him from behind. 

Shouta barely even stumbles, regaining his balance with practiced ease. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tilts his head, dark hair falling over his left eye as he turns to take a look at the student who bumped into him. 

(So sue him, he likes his old aesthetic, okay?)

“You okay, dude?! That was totally my bad!” The boy exclaims. “Gotta watch where I’m going more!” He runs a hand through his spiked blond hair while adjusting his glasses, and he peers at Shouta with bright green eyes. The boy’s cheeks are flushed as he grins in embarrassment. “I really hope I didn’t hurt you or anything.”

“It’s fine,” Shouta murmurs, “no harm done.”

(He freezes. For a moment, he sees another excited, overly-loud blond with blue eyes standing in front of him, who laughs just as freely as this one, whom he’d first feared and despised in equal measure as a reminder of all he’d lost, whom he’d eventually come to love as a student, as family, as someone he would give his life for in an instant without regret—)

“Hey, hey! What’s your name?” The boy doesn’t seem to notice Shouta’s momentary pause. “Mine’s Yamada Hizashi!” 

(There’s a strange feeling in his chest.)

“...Aizawa Shouta.”

“Nice ta meetcha, dude! Hey, are you a first-year student, too? I’m starting in the Hero Course today!” 

Shouta tucks his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’m starting in the Hero Course, too. Class 1-A.” 

“Whoa! Me, too! What are the chances we’d bump into each other?!” Yamada whoops. Did he even stop to breathe between sentences?

“Technically,” Shouta says wryly, “you bumped into me.”

Yamada deflates like a balloon. “Oh, yeah…”

“...maa, I’m joking. Don’t worry about it.”

The other boy perks back up immediately. “Hey, hey, let’s walk to class together! So we don’t get lost! Or we can get lost together!” Yamada excitedly bounces forward past the gates, glancing back at him to follow.

Shouta raises an eyebrow bemusedly. It must be the hair, he decides. The yellow coloring probably absorbs the sun’s rays like a solar panel or something, that’s where all the shouting and jumping comes from.

“Alright,” he agrees, slouching after Yamada.

The other boy continues to chatter excitedly as they walk. “I still can’t believe we’re here at U.A.! I thought for sure I wouldn’t end up in the Hero Course ‘cause of the written exam. Man, that was hard!” He laughs and crosses his arms behind his head. “I probably barely passed, heh… but I guess it was still good enough to get me here!”

(A memory flashes through his mind—it’s of the same pose from the boy with the same blond hair, face caked in dirt from their latest D-rank, rambling about how he would become the Hokage no matter what, believe it —and there’s that feeling in his chest again.)

Thankfully, Yamada misses Shouta’s lapse in attention. They’ve stopped at the front door, and Yamada stares intently into the building, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“Nervous?” Shouta mutters, side-eyeing his classmate.

“Who, me?” Yamada asks, immediately flushing. “H-hell, no! Let’s go!” 

Shouta offers him the smallest of eye-smiles in response, and they take their first step into the halls of U.A. together.

———   

Yamada enters the classroom first when they reach the door marked ‘1-A,’ Shouta ducking in behind him before it swings shut. The classroom looks about half-full already, with clumps of students here and there who are talking, and others sit quietly to themselves. 

“HELLO, EVERYBODY!” Yamada bellows excitedly. Everyone stares, and Shouta sighs to himself.

(One could almost call it a… Dynamic Entry. He winces inwardly, not sure whether to laugh or cry.)

Yamada continues shouting his introduction, while Shouta slinks to the chalk board at the front of the room, peering intently at the posted seating chart. 

“... and my Quirk is called ‘Voice,’ and it can make me, like, really, really loud!” 

Somehow, Shouta’s not surprised.

He walks quickly to his desk, plopping into his seat and dropping his head onto his arms. Maybe he can fit in a quick nap before— 

“Whoa, dude!” Yamada’s standing in front of him. “I sit right behind you! How cool is that?!”

“...who would’ve thought?” Shouta peers up from his arms, watching out of the corner of his eye as the blond scrabbles between the desks to put his bag onto the one behind him. 

He’s back in an instant, grinning down at him. “Hey, dude, what’s your Quirk? I can’t believe I forgot to ask you earlier. I bet it’s cool!”

Shouta doesn’t bother lifting his head. “I can erase Quirks,” he mutters. Of course, Yamada crows excitedly, immediately beginning to ask questions about his Quirk with a torrent of words. He answers the blond with one-word grunts, and the classroom steadily begins to fill with students. 

Several minutes later, he glances around the nearly-full room. Yamada is introducing himself to a boy sitting to Shouta’s left as the students mumble among themselves.

“My name is Shirakumo Oboro, and my Quirk is ‘Cloud’! Pleased to meet you,” the student says with a smile. 

(His gravity-defying white hair seems a bit too familiar. Shouta stamps down on an irrational surge of jealousy as he runs a hand through his long black hair.)

“Aizawa Shouta,” he murmurs, “and my Quirk is ‘Erase.’”

Shirakumo’s grin matches Yamada’s in size and enthusiasm, eyes squinting with delight. “So are you guys nervous for the Hero course?”

“More like excited!” Yamada exclaims. “I can’t wait to learn how to kick ass like all the Heroes on TV!”

“My dream is to be one of the Top 10 Heroes,” Shirakumo says, “so I guess I’m pretty excited to learn to kick ass, too!”

Shouta slumps into his arms. “How troublesome…” 

For some reason, the other two only laugh at Shouta’s response. He isn’t sure whether he’s surprised or not that this new boy’s personality is almost exactly like Yamada’s.

(Seeing the two boys animatedly chatting together, with Shirakumo’s smile and Yamada’s excited voice, makes his chest feel strange again. 

Just his luck to end up sitting next to not one, but two Narutos for the year.)

———

The final bell rings, and the new students of Class 1-A explode into a frenzy of screeching chairs and unintelligible babble. Shouta slings his bag onto his shoulder, following the mass exodus out the doors of the school. Yamada and Shirakumo follow closely behind, thoroughly engrossed in conversation again.

“Do you wanna exchange phone numbers?” Shirakumo is asking Yamada.

“Hell yeah, dude!” The blond beams, accepting the pro-offered cellphone and flipping it open. “Let’s hang out soon and do something cool!” He types his information into it quickly, before whipping his head up to stare hopefully at Shouta along with Shirakumo.

It must be the combined force of their big, sad puppy eyes, but he caves a little too easily.

“...maa, sure,” Shouta says, typing his number into the small keyboard as well, buttons clicking. “We can work out and spar together after school sometime, if you like.” 

Yamada whoops, and Shirakumo beams while giving him a thumbs-up as they walk out of the school grounds together.

(He’ll be a better classmate this time, he promises himself. He’s made enough mistakes in his previous life, and maybe now he’ll finally learn something from them. They deserve better.)

——— 

After bidding his new classmates farewell, Shouta stops by a pet store on his way home. He’s taken to leaving out food and water around his apartment complex for a small brown stray that hangs around the corner, even though his building doesn’t allow pets. 

When he gets home, he sets out the two dishes around the corner after refilling each. As he leaves, he hears a snuffle, the rattle of kibble against metal, and then the crunch of the pellets under sharp teeth. Shouta allows himself a small smile.

He could never seem to shake his fondness for dogs, not that he tried very hard to overcome it in the first place.   

——— 

(That night, he dreams of a familiar village, tucked away in the bowels of a towering forest. Yet, it’s not a nightmare, as it usually is. 

He’s handing his hat to Naruto. His student is beaming, face so immersed in his delight that his eyes close, while Sakura teases him with a similarly-sized grin. Sasuke lurks in the background, ‘hn’-ing as usual, but even he seems lighter, somehow. Kakashi breathes in, the scent of dog fur and oak wood and home full in his heart. 

He’s done his duty. Konoha passes safely into the hands of its new Hokage.)

Shouta wakes briefly in the night, shifting in his blankets and burrowing deeper into their warmth.

When he falls asleep again, he dreams only of sun-kissed hair, green eyes, and ringing laughter.

Chapter Text

Shouta dodges Oboro’s palm strike, feinting left before delivering a sweeping kick and knocking the other’s feet out from under him. As he flails, Hizashi lunges explosively for the opening on Shouta’s right, which he knocks aside with his forearm. The blond counters with a low kick aimed at his shin; Shouta simply lifts his leg and swiftly side-kicks Hizashi in the stomach. Oboro, having recovered, drives a fist toward Shouta’s stomach. He grabs Oboro’s arm easily, flipping him over his shoulder and into Hizashi, and both tumble to the ground with twin yelps.

“Not bad,” Shouta eye-smiles, “you two made it a whole minute this time.” 

“Only a minute?!” Hizashi exclaims, scrambling to his feet. 

“To be fair,” Oboro groans, “we’ve made it fifty-nine more seconds than when we first started last year.” He accepts Hizashi’s helping hand, pulling himself off the ground and dusting off his hands. “If I can make it to two minutes on my own against him by the time we graduate, I’ll count it as a miracle.”

Hizashi pouts. “But we’ve been sparring for over a year, and even with the two of us Shouta’s still so good!”

“Maa, don’t forget, I’ve been practicing for a lot longer than you two have,” Shouta says. “Don’t try to rush it. You’re both leagues ahead of the rest of our class already.” He slouches, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Hizashi, you reacted quickly this time, but keep an eye out for my counters. Oboro, you need to evade more, or else you won’t get a chance to land a hit on your opponents.”

He’s… enjoyed sparring with the two of them, more than he thought he would. It’s nice to be able to teach again, even if the people he’s teaching are both taller than him—he hopes he’ll hit his growth spurt soon. And the warm glow in his stomach from seeing how far they’ve come since last year… he tucks the feeling away into the corner of his mind where he keeps the memory of the first time he activated his Quirk, alongside the faces of students long gone and echoing laughter. 

(He manages to stop himself from calling them his “cute little students.” Somehow, he doubts the two would take it well.)

“So, again?” Shouta asks.

He’s met with two groans, and he only chuckles quietly.

——— 

Shouta’s been working on his Hero fighting style these two years. In an encounter with a Villain, he has to rely primarily on his close-combat skills—his Quirk could only erase other Quirks, and didn’t have any sort of physical effect on opponents. Taijutsu can only get him so far; he needs some sort of support weapon, and he (legally) isn’t allowed to carry knives and other bladed weapons until he graduates. 

Inspiration had struck halfway into his first year at U.A., when he’d taken up wearing scarves that he could tuck his face into (old habits die hard). After talking to the Support Department, he’d begun experimenting with a long coil of wire, wrapped in a long cloth woven from carbon nanofibers. He could manipulate it like his old ninja wire, while the cloth broadened his reach and reinforced the wire. 

Oboro had been suitably impressed when he’d first managed to snatch his staff from his hands. “You’re like a full-on ninja now!” 

“Thanks,” Shouta had said wryly.

(Fate really did seem to have a sense of humor.)

——— 

On his way to school the next day, Shouta finds a shivering puppy in an alleyway. Its brown fur is wet and matted from the rain, and its eyes, still tightly shut, are crusted at the edges. As gently as possible, he picks it up and cradles it in his arms. He knows exactly where he’ll bring it... 

...except he’s running late for school. Shouta curses to himself, tucking the tiny thing into his scarf. It’s against the school’s rules, but he’ll just smuggle the puppy into the school and keep it with him. It’s not like he can leave it out in the rain, can he?

Luckily, Shouta makes it to U.A. without further incident, and he slumps into his desk as he coils his scarf into a tiny bed for the puppy in his bag. He’ll just have to be careful not to jostle it too suddenly.

“Sho-uta!” Hizashi bounds up to his desk, dragging out the syllables of his name. “You’re here!”

“Still on time,” he notes drily. Oboro’s seat is empty.

“Man, what’s with all the rain lately? Makes me feel all gloomy all the time!” Hizashi exclaims. 

Shouta hums, but doesn’t say anything as the bell rings, and he zones out lazily as roll-call begins. He wonders where Ob— 

—there’s a sudden crashing noise from the window. Oboro sails in on a cloud through the now-open window, grinning so hard his eyes squint, dust clouding the goggles on his forehead. Shouta droops further into his arms, wistfully recalling the days when he could enter rooms in a similar fashion.

“Shirakumo!” Their teacher admonishes. “You’re late!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Oboro says sheepishly. “I found a lost kitten at the side of the road and I had to help it home!” He scratches the back of his neck with one hand while fiddling with his goggles with the other. 

(A chronically late boy with orange goggles, who smiled too much for his own good, always caught up in helping others… he blinks away the image that suddenly imposes itself over Oboro.

Hell, even their names were too similar.)  

As the commotion surrounding Oboro’s entrance dies down and he takes his seat, their homeroom teacher begins roll-call again. Hizashi leans over to the white-haired boy. 

“Yo! Did you see the latest episode—”

Shouta glances at him, and idly activates his Quirk.

“—last night of...”  The blond’s voice fades abruptly in his throat. He glares at Shouta, who only shrugs innocently. Oboro’s shoulders shake, cheeks puffed out from trying not to laugh out loud. Hizashi makes sharp, threatening gestures at him, but like the good little student he is, Shouta’s attention is focused raptly on their teacher.

Who clears his throat. “Ahem, Yamada,” he says, glaring at Hizashi, who abruptly stills his hands and turns red. “Like I was saying, some students have yet to find an agency willing to accept you for your upcoming Hero Work-Studies. As you know, this will provide you with valuable real-world experience, even more so than your internships last year.” This time, he glares at Oboro and Shouta as well. “Think very carefully about who and where you conduct these studies. They may also prove vital to helping you find a job at an agency through recommendations once you graduate Now, everyone take out your homework…”

Shouta sighs to himself, slumping further down in his chair as his eyelids droop. How troublesome. Why does he need more experience, when he already has so much shinobi training already? Couldn’t he just go and start his own agency, anyway? Hizashi and Oboro have discussed it enthusiastically before, about how the three of them could function perfectly well as a team. Who needed pre-established agencies?

His attention zones in and out for the rest of class that morning as he continues to ponder the logistics of starting his own agency. He’d take care of accounting, logistics, and the dreaded paperwork (cursed by his own genius); Oboro and Hizashi could take on the media with their flamboyant attitudes and blinding smiles. Their fighting styles were much better-suited to life in the limelight, too, and they could represent their agency with flashy battles with Villains to gain better PR. Shouta would work in the shadows, taking on the dark and dirty parts of Hero work, targeting quieter Villains and keeping the streets safe… 

He loses himself to his daydreaming, their teacher scribbling equations and sentences with chalk that he’s seen countless times before. Before he knows it, the bell rings for lunch.

“Can you guys come to the roof with me real quick?” Oboro asks, amid the scrape of chairs around them. He’s gripping his backpack rather oddly. 

“Whoa,” Hizashi says, eyeing Oboro’s shifty stance, “is that something illegal?”

Shouta clutches his own backpack just as delicately. “Maa, sure. I’m not that hungry anyway.” He moves as smoothly as his combined Hero and shinobi training will allow, desperately trying not to jostle the puppy in his bag. Strangely, Oboro seems to be copying him. 

The three traipse up the stairs to the roof, huddling under the overhang of the wall in order to avoid the rain drizzling around them. 

“So?” Hizashi demands. “Whatcha got in your bag, Oboro?”

The white-haired boy grins shamelessly. “Well, you know that kitten I said caused me to come late today?” He gently unzips his backpack. Hizashi gasps as Oboro scoops a gray tabby kitten out, cuddling it to his chest. “I couldn’t just leave it alone out in the rain!” 

“Now, Oboro, don’t you know that’s against U.A.’s rules?” Shouta says lightly. As he says this, his own backpack begins to emit suspicious, high-pitched whining sounds. Both of the other boys turn wide eyes onto him. 

Ah, no point in trying to hide it, then. He unzips his backpack as well. “...I found a puppy, too.”

“No way!” Hizashi whisper-shouts, immediately reaching out to pet the puppy. “They’re so cute!”

Oboro nods. “Totally worth getting into trouble for. Too bad my apartment won’t allow animals, though…” The kitten purrs softly, nuzzling into Oboro’s palm as he strokes it.

“Mine too,” Shouta mutters. The puppy is sleeping soundly in his arms as Hizashi continues to stroke it, a look of awe on his face as he huddles closer. 

A voice sounds suddenly from behind them. “So, what are you two going to do with them, then?” 

Hizashi and Oboro both jump in surprise, and Shouta blinks lazily at the newcomer, who’s snuck up from the staircase behind them. He recognizes her spiky purple hair from the Sport Festival last year, in the year above him. Her name started with a ‘K’...

“Kayama Nemuri,” she introduces herself, holding a hand out to a sputtering Hizashi. 

Shouta remembers, now. She was the one with the very… revealing outfit (like a certain kunoichi with an affinity for fishnet, and only fishnet). A Sleep Quirk, he thinks, which made her deadly at close range in the finals. Oboro and Hizashi stutter out introductions, while Shouta yawns.

Oboro clutches the kitten to his chest, glaring. “Are you going to report us?” 

“Nah,” Kayama smirks, “too much work.” She steps closer to examine the kitten, shoving her face toward his chest. Oboro stiffens, and Shouta eye-smiles at his friend’s blush. 

“Maa, I won’t be keeping this one,” he says, scratching the puppy’s head idly. “But I already have a good home in mind.” 

Kayama pouts, adjusting her angular glasses. “What about the kitty, then?” She asks. 

“...I don’t know,” Oboro admits. “Like I said, my apartment doesn’t allow pets, and I don’t know about any local shelters.”

“Ah!” Kayama brightens. “In that case, I’d be happy to adopt it!” She reaches out to pet the gray tabby. “I live with my parents, and they’ve been thinking about getting a cat lately, so this actually works out perfectly. I think they don’t want to feel lonely once I graduate and leave home.” Oboro looks hesitant. “C’mon, you’d really be doing me a favor,” she cajoles again.

“Maa, Oboro,” Shouta finally says, “think about it. What else would you be able to do with it? Besides,” he shoots a cutting look at the upperclassman, “I’m sure Kayama-senpai would give it a good home.” Kayama meets his eyes steadily.

“I-I mean,” Oboro stutters, “I guess there’s nothing wrong with it…” He carefully, if reluctantly, passes the little ball of fur to Kayama, and his blush deepens when his fingers brush against hers.

Kayama smirks. “Great! I guess I’ll be in your debt. Gotta look out for my cute kouhais, after all!” With that, she turns and exits the roof, deftly cradling the kitten. Hizashi and Oboro gape after her. Shouta only sighs, slouching into himself and rubbing the puppy’s ears.

(Anko would definitely approve.)    

——— 

After school, Shouta carries the puppy to the alleyway behind his apartment complex. It’d taken several months, but the brown stray living on the street had eventually come to trust him. She pads out from the shadow now to greet him, leaning against his hand for scratches. 

“Hello, Rin,” he says. “I’ve got something for you today.” She wags her tail, teats hanging low and full on her belly. He kneels, allowing her to sniff the puppy. After a moment, she gently picks it up by its scruff, turning and walking toward a dark corner of the street. Shouta follows.

Tucked into a small niche, he sees the sturdy cardboard box Shouta had left it to her on a whim weeks ago, and he sees now that it’s been put to good use. It’s now full of a squirming litter of white-and-brown puppies; as he watches, Rin places the stray puppy into the pile, before curling up contentedly next to her brood.

He chuckles. “Good job, Rin,” he says, petting her on the head.

(And if he starts naming each puppy after one of his nin-dogs, then that’s his own business, isn’t it?)

Shouta leaves Rin to her small family, mentally calculating a new budget for pet supplies.

——— 

Shouta huffs in annoyance, chasing after the Villain through the thick cloud of smoke generated by the robber’s Quirk. His track record this first week at Purple Revolution Agency has been spotless . He’s taken down too many back-alley criminals to count, put his lifetimes of combat skills into practice flawlessly. And now it’s all about to be ruined by a damn smoke Quirk . 

Behind him, he hears Oboro and Kayama directing panicked civilians away from the scene, allowing him the freedom to take down the Villain. It’s a system that’s always worked, as Shouta has the best combat skills of the three students. Except, right now, his Quirk is useless with how hard his eyes are watering.

Shouta focuses his other senses, honed to perfection through a decade of ANBU missions, but without chakra to augment his abilities, it’s difficult to pinpoint the sound of the robber’s steps over the screams and shouts around him. By the time he finally finds him, the Villain has escaped far enough that Shouta can’t justify chasing after him without back-up, seeing as his partners are still herding civilians at the scene of the crime.

“How troublesome,” he mutters, tapping on his radio to report in to His Purple Majesty, rewinding his capture tool around his neck.

It’s an embarrassing oversight that he’d forgotten to account for the biggest limitation of his Quirk. Shouta hasn’t been reliant on one single sense in so long, too, so perhaps it’s arrogance in thinking he didn’t need any equipment outside his capture tool.

“That sucks!” Hizashi exclaims later, after their shifts have ended and he joins Oboro and Shouta from his own agency. “Did anyone end up catching the Villain?”

“Nope,” Oboro says, as Shouta slumps further down, hands in his pockets. “His Purple Majesty did chew out Mister Gloomy over here, though, for being so upset about it.”

Shouta grumbles. 

Hizashi snickers. “Shouta lost a single Villain out of the hundreds he’s caught, the end is nigh!” He playfully punches Shouta on the arm as his glasses slipping down his nose, green eyes twinkling. “Meanwhile, I’ve caught, like, two Villains with the help of my Pro-Hero, and I’ve never felt more accomplished before in my life!” 

“Talk about it,” Oboro laughs, “Kayama-senpai and I barely have to fight the Villains while Shouta kicks all the ass. And when I do manage to get in on the action I take twice as long to take the Villains down.”

“Maa,” Shouta says, feeling his lips twitch up reluctantly at his friends’ antics. “You do fine, Oboro. At least the civilians like you.” 

“They’d like you too if you smiled more!”

Shouta grumbles again, slouching into his signature pose.

“Hey, hey, Shouta.” Hizashi stretches, linking his hands behind his head. “Maybe you should get something for you eyes. Y’know, like to keep the dust out and stuff in the future.”

“That’s a good idea,” Oboro says thoughtfully. “Actually, why don’t you try my goggles? I got them from the Support Department ‘cause I thought they’d help with the wind in my eyes on my clouds, but I never use ‘em anyway.”

Shouta accepts Oboro’s goggles with a blink. They’re sturdy, with thick rubber framing an orange-tinted acrylic lens. And most importantly— 

His heart skips a beat.

—they look almost exactly like Obito’s goggles. 

He takes a breath, slipping the band over his head and settling the goggles on his face, which seal snugly around his skin. Shouta blinks, looking at his friends through the lenses.

“Damn, Shouta!” Hizashi cheers. “Those look badass!”

“They do look pretty good,” Oboro agrees, flashing him a thumbs-up.

“...maa, won’t you need these later, Oboro?” 

“I’ll just ask the Support Department!” The white-haired boy grins. “Just think of it as a favor from a friend.”

Shouta pulls the goggles off, letting them hang around his neck by the straps. “Thanks, then,” he murmurs. “I’ll take good care of them.”

(A precious gift from one of his few precious people in this world. He grips the goggles in his hands, and wonders if Obito would be proud.)

Hizashi and Oboro laugh and chatter around him. With every step, he can feel their shoulders brushing against his, and he loses himself to the feeling of warm afternoon sunlight.

Chapter Text

“Hello, everybody! My name is All Might, and I am pleased to be back here today at U.A. to talk to such wonderful students as yourselves!” The tall, muscular blond man bows.

The class applauds politely. Shouta eyes the man balefully, and wonders why all the blonds in his life seem to have so much energy before ten in the morning.

“As you all know,” their homeroom teacher adds, “All Might is a graduate of the Hero Course at U.A., and he has been through everything that you all are currently going through. It’s not every day that a rising Hero like him makes time to speak to high-school students, so make sure to pay attention to everything he says!”

“Ah, that is a very flattering introduction, thank you…” he demurs good-naturedly. “Well, I am sure you have a lot of questions about the Hero Industry and such, so please ask me anything!”

(The Hero’s smile is all gleaming teeth, stretched as big as his face will allow. With a pang, he thinks of the same smile on a blur of green, challenging him to rock-paper-scissors tournaments, eating contests, and handstand races, all while shouting ridiculous declarations across the village. 

He misses Gai.)

Oboro’s hand immediately flies up. “How many Villains do you fight in a day?”

“Well, it depends on my exact location at the time, but I average around two to three. Of course, I always hope I do not encounter any!”

“How many interviews have you given?!” Hizashi shouts. Other students chime in after him, and All Might soon has his hands full answering Class 2-A’s questions.

“Is it cool being a Hero?”

“Are you going to start your own Agency?”

“Who are your Sidekicks?” Their questions blur together as the Hero answers them as quickly as he can.

Shouta waits for a lull in the questions before he raises his hand, eyes hooded and voice dull. “What’s your dream as a Hero?” 

All Might pauses, looking at him. “...a good question,” he begins slowly. “I suppose, as any Hero might, I dream of peace. More than that, I dream of being able to inspire others to dream of peace—I want to be a symbol to people, a Hero whose mere presence assures everyone, ‘it will be okay.’” He takes a breath. “I believe everyone deserves to live without fear, and so I dream that I can make a world like that possible.” 

There’s a beat as the class absorbs All Might’s uncharacteristically grave answer, before exploding into whispers and shouts of “so cool!” as the questions renew their intensity.

Shouta slumps into his arms, tuning out his classmates to mull over the Hero’s answer. The man’s speech and mannerisms initially made him think of his friend and rival, lost to another lifetime, but— 

His goal for peace, his dedication to becoming the best for the sake of others rather than himself, hell, even his spiked blond hair— 

(It seems Minato-sensei’s dream lives on, no matter what world or life he finds himself in.)

Shouta has always known he’s suited to be an underground Hero. He doesn’t seek glory or fame, doesn’t want his face plastered across billboards and his voice emanating from every TV across the country. It’s Heroes like All Might that put on a face for the public, garnering their loyalty and adoration, making a name for the Hero industry as a whole. It’s a powerful tool. And maybe, with Heroes like All Might, it might even fall into the right hands.

———

“We should totally start our own Hero agency after graduating,” Hizashi says after their daily sparring match one day. He slings a towel around his sweaty neck, stretching his arms and panting slightly.

Oboro takes a long drink of water. “It would be a lot of hard work,” he says thoughtfully. “We’d have to build everything from the ground up, from our branding to our physical location, not to mention all the paperwork I know you couldn’t make heads or tails of, Hizashi.”

“But I bet Shouta could! He could handle all the logistics of it, since his brain is so big.”

“Maa,” Shouta chuckles, “you just don’t want anyone to find out how terrible you are at math, Hizashi.” The blond yelps indignantly. “But, I suppose taking on the heavy burden of paperwork would be worth it to ensure our Agency doesn’t run itself into the ground. But don’t think I’d stay for long if you turned me into a paperwork Hero,” he says in a teasing tone.

“We’d make a great combat team together too!” Oboro adds. “I’m definitely the heavy-hitter of our group, and Hizashi’s one-hundred percent best at diverting attention. If we keep Villains distracted, Shouta could be our back-up and surprise attacker, since you’re the best at stealth and close combat.”

“Teamwork makes the dream work!” Hizashi cheers.

“Hizashi could handle our PR pretty well, too,” Oboro says. “I mean, he could just shout on TV until people took notice of us.”

“But you’d for sure be the face of our agency!” Hizashi exclaims. “Everybody loves you, Oboro! And Shouta could take all our stealth missions, and our Agency could have a cool-ass logo with lightning stripes and flames…” 

As Hizashi rambles on, lost in his daydreams, Shouta packs away his exercise gear. An Agency of their own—he’d have a team of his own again. Friends he could rely on and trust. Doing good in the world as Heroes.

(It’s a dream he hasn’t quite dared to allow enter his heart until now.)

The three clean up around the gym, heading out into the crisp winter air outside. Oboro and Hizashi are still spouting plans for their hypothetical Agency, growing more and more excited with each idea.

Shouta breaks into their conversation. “Don’t forget, we have to graduate in order to start our Agency. And to do that, we need to pass our upcoming calculus test…” He eyes Hizashi.

“Heh, about that…” the blond smiled sheepishly. “Can you help me study again, Shouta? I just can’t pay attention in class, and you explain it way better anyways! Plea-a-a-se?” He blinks, green eyes wide and begging.

“Actually, I could use some help on integrals, too,” Oboro admits, scratching his head.

“Maa, maa,” Shouta says mildly, tucking his scarf against his face, “you two better buy me lunch again for all this free labor I’m providing.”

Oboro laughs as Hizashi whoops. Shouta eye-smiles, following behind the two, and they walk together in the afternoon sun.

———

It’s been a quiet shift in Tasomiya Ward. His Purple Majesty assigned Shouta and Oboro to patrol and search for Villains, but everything is so peaceful that Shouta’s tempted to take out the pocket romance novel he’d discovered the other day at the book store.

(The book is trashy as all hell, and he already loves it.)

His goggles and capture tool rest comfortably around his neck, and he absent-mindedly reaches up to adjust them as he glances around, before something further ahead catches his eye.

“Maa, Oboro,” he murmurs. “Do those children over there look a bit lost to you?”

His partner follows his line of vision toward the small group of children. They look to be about three or four years old, decked out in identical uniforms. A couple are sitting on the concrete, while the rest seem to be staring around aimlessly.

“Whoa! Are they okay?” Oboro hurries over time the group, Shouta following sedately behind. “Hey, kids! Where’s your parents? Or your teacher? Do you need help?”

One of the boys puffs out his chest. “We don’t got a teacher!”

Oboro frowns. “But you’re wearing uniforms…”

“We’re not s’posed to talk to strangers, ‘member?” A girl in the back whispers. Instantly, the group hushes and the toddlers eye them suspiciously.

“Ah, you’re right, you shouldn’t talk to strangers,” Oboro flounders, “except, I mean, you can talk to us…”

“But you’re a stranger!”

Shouta decides to take pity on his partner and intervene, ducking in front of Oboro. As much as he enjoys watching the white-haired boy grow flustered, it’s getting them nowhere anytime soon. 

“Maa, we’re Heroes, don’t worry,” he says, crouching down to the children’s eye-level. “You can call me Shouta, and my friend is named Oboro. We’re here to help.”

A red-haired girl pipes up. “We don’t need help, we’re ‘venturers! We can go wherever we wanna!” The rest of the children clamor similarly.

“Maa, a group of adventurers? Where are you adventuring to?”

“Um,” the girl scrunches up her eyes in concentration, “over the rainbow!” The logo on her uniform looks like that of a local daycare, Shouta notes. “The book Naomi-sensei read said there’s treasure there!”

“Yeah, yeah! We’re treasure huntin’!”

“Treasure, hmm?” He says. “Have you found any yet?”

“Nope,” the first boy who’d spoken says. “We’ve been searching all morning, but Ren an’ Keiji an’ Mei got tired, so we’re takin’ a break.”

“You know, Oboro and I are actually treasure-Heroes. We can help you find the rainbow, since it’s up in the sky.” He nudges Oboro

“Oh, yeah!” Oboro says, catching on. “I can bring you guys to the clouds and we can keep searching for your treasure there!” He activates his Quirk, forming a solid cloud large enough for the children to ride on. The group gasps as it hovers lowly in the air.

“Whoa, cool!” “I wanna get on first!” “No, me first!” “Treasure!”

They manage to coax all the children into the cloud, each one seated securely. Shouta takes the lead in front, leading the cloud back toward the daycare with the logo he’d noticed on their uniforms. Oboro hops on the cloud, managing the cloud and ensuring no children fall off as they giggle and climb over the white-haired teen. Dodging traffic, they make their way back quickly. The children are full of nonsensical questions, and he responds with equally-outlandish answers, tone full of humor.

As they near the street of the daycare, Oboro walks over to join Shouta. “I never thought, out of all of us, you’d be the best with kids,” he says. “Wait ‘till I tell Hizashi, heh.”

“Maa, I get plenty of practice from dealing with you two.” 

A thoughtful look crossed his friend’s face. “You know, you’re actually a good teacher, Shouta. You’re always tutoring us and helping us. Maybe you should think about getting a job as one in the future. Like a Hero teacher at U.A.”

“...maybe,” he murmurs. 

(He’s considered it before. The thought of taking on that kind of responsibility again… it terrifies him. Especially considering all the mistakes he made last time.

So why does it feel so right?)

They move to cross the final street to the daycare.

Something prickles at Shouta’s senses, and he grabs Oboro’s arm to stop him. “Something’s wrong—”

A cloud of dust rises suddenly in front of them as a building crumbles with a BOOM. There’s a lumbering silhouette emerging from the wreckage, and Shouta slips on his goggles as Oboro stumbles. His heart races. He knows he can take a Villain of that size, albeit not as easily without chakra to enhance his jumps and hits. But Oboro is still here, the children are still here, and he finally catches the clear glimpse of the Villain as the smoke starts to clear— 

He looks like Gamabunta, Shouta thinks detachedly, if the enormous summons were grayer, rounder, and infinitely uglier. The Villain leets out a roar as Shouta snaps into action, grabbing a fistful of Oboro’s shirt while he loops his capture tool around the cloud of children, dragging them away from the collapsed building as quickly as he can. 

Their radios crackle to life in their ears. “Evacuate the neighborhood immediately!” He can hear Kayama’s voice, tinny and panicked. “There’s a Villain attack; his name is Garvey, and his Quirk allows him to store up attacks to use later!”

“A little too late for that,” he grits out in response. “The Villain’s right in front of us. What are his weaknesses? How do we stop him?” The few civilians around them flee, screaming in terror. He hears Oboro herding the cloud backward behind him, and he spares a glance to ensure all seven of them are still safely together.

“His skin is tough like a frog,” His Purple Highness says. “Only his eyes aren’t protected. But watch out, he uses his mouth to release the power he stores . Be careful with your Quirks; I’m trying to keep him contained, but using my Quirk on him only makes him stronger. ”

“Shouta!” Oboro shouts. “I can fly up on a cloud to reach his head! If I can keep him distracted and help His Purple Highness, you can take the kids and get them to safety!”

“No!” He says. “I can’t leave you behind on your own!” Yet as the words leave his mouth, Shouta’s heart drops. Oboro’s right. His Quirk is better-suited for this battle, and they can’t leave the children defenseless. 

(But the dust in the air, the deafening roar of falling rubble, the pressure of the goggles against his face—an image of a face flashes through his mind, his friend half-buried and smiling at him, even as the world crumbles into nothing around them.

For perhaps the first time in this life, fear settles like a stone in his stomach.)

Shouta hesitates for a split second. The cries of the children ring in his ears as he glances over his shoulder at them. The red-haired girl, whose name is Kanna, sobs, tear tracks streaking through the grit on her face. Dust clings to her hair, bleaching it pink in the stark afternoon sunlight.

In the end, was there ever even a choice?

He turns away from Oboro, gathering the children up in his capture tool. “Be careful!” He yells to his friend. “I’m coming back for you! Just keep him distracted!”

“Go! Hurry!” 

Shouta runs.

His capture tool wraps around all the children, tugging them along as he searches for a safe place to take shelter. Their wails echo in the air. 

“Don’t be scared,” he says to them, huffing out in between breaths as he sprints. “I’ll protect you all. I don’t let my friends die.” He tries to project the sincerity of his promise into his voice. “You’re going to be okay.” He thinks their cries quiet a bit, but it could also just be his imagination. He continues to try to soothe them anyway.

Shouta dodges a piece of debris, swerving and jumping down into a clear portion of the pavement. At the end of the street, he sees a team of Emergency-Response personnel evacuating the remaining civilians. If he can just get to the end of the street— 

A slab of concrete slams into the ground in front of him, cutting off his route. He spins around, pressing the now-screaming children behind him. Garvey lumbers over them, low and rumbling grunts rolling over them. 

He doesn’t see Oboro. 

“Oboro!” He shouts into his radio piece, hands gripping his capture tool as he widens his stance. “Oboro, where are you?” Static echoes in his ears.

Shouta sees only crumpled debris behind Garvey, and his heart drops. He faces the Villain alone.

“Don’t worry about me!” He hears suddenly, dimly. “You can do it, Shouta! We’re all rooting for you!” It’s buried under layers of static, but he hears the voice.

His hands tighten on his capture tool, and he takes a deep breath. 

“You’re a Hero!” 

(He is the Rokudaime Hokage. He is the Copy-cat Nin, the student of the Yondaime, last of the Hatake clan. 

Teacher to Team Seven, who grew up to be the most-feared shinobi that Konoha had ever seen.

The half-buried face of a name long-gone flashes before his eyes again.

He is Hatake Kakashi. He is Aizawa Shouta.

And he is a Hero.)

He lets out a yell, and charges at the Villain before him.

——— 

The hospital examination room is sterile, empty, motionless. White light bathes everything in a ghostly hue, cold and impassive. There’s media out there somewhere, covering the extent of the Villain attack. Some of the reporters want to talk to the teenaged Hero-in-training who took down the monstrous frog Villain that afternoon, he knows. He hopes they’ll give up and leave soon. 

Shouta sits, waiting for a doctor to come clear him with a clean bill of health. He’s not a priority at the hospital right now. He knows he’s fine. He’s completely and utterly fine.

The door creaks open and closed, but he doesn’t look up.

“Shouta?” Hizashi’s voice is hushed. “I just heard about— I came as fast as I could— Are you—” he stammers. It’s the quietest he’s ever heard him speak. 

He clenches his hands on his lap, hair falling in his face. He can’t bring himself to speak. 

“I—” Hizashi begins again, before stopping. Wordlessly, he climbs onto the examination table next to him. After a pause, the blond gently rests his hand on top of Shouta’s, leaning into his shoulder.

And if Shouta leans a bit harder into Hizashi, he doesn’t comment. 

The two simply sit and breathe.  

———  

(When His Purple Majesty had found him, Shouta had been pulling an arm out of the rubble. With the arm came the body of a white-haired boy, face lax and peaceful as if he’s asleep. 

He should have done better. He knew what would happen, how it would turn out; he’s lived it once before. If he had done better, he wouldn’t have had to live it all again.

Never again, he vows to himself. He won’t let his friends die again. Even if he has to stand against the path of Fate itself, he will do better this time.)

Chapter Text

“This just in, listeners! Hit funk-pop band, BRADIO, dropped their highly-anticipated new single this morning…”

Hizashi’s voice pours from his radio, the patter of rain tapping against the window panes. Shouta shrugs on his Hero costume jacket to the soft crackle of the blond’s evening show. One could hardly call Hizashi’s voice soothing, but he’s (reluctantly) fond of the enthusiastic yelling. 

He tips the last of a glass of water into the pot of the cactus on his windowsill (Mr. Ukki the Second), setting the cup into the sink to deal with later. 

“...so let’s give ‘Flyer’ a listen!” Rock music begins pouring out of the radio speakers. 

Shouta wraps his capture tool securely around his neck and above his orange goggles before double-checking the straps of his various knives, hidden under his sleeves, collar, and boots. He glances at himself in the mirror on his door, nearly blending into the shadows around his apartment. 

The face staring back at him is mostly hidden beneath the white cloth of his capture tool. His dark hair is swept over his left eye, while his right droops sleepily. He’s slightly taller now than he was in his previous life, Shouta notes idly. Of course, that doesn’t stop Hizashi from lording his two extra centimeters of height over him at every opportunity.

Shouta clicks off his radio mid-song. The digital clock reads 11:30. He steps out of his apartment, locking the door behind him before tucking his key securely into zip-up pouch. 

As he exits his building, he stops by the small lean-to hidden around the corner. There’s a flurry of whines as the large mass of fur separates into individual dogs, who nudge their cold noses into his leg.

“Maa,” he greets, “no need to get your paws wet on account of me.” He fishes dog biscuits from his pocket, passing one out to each dog. “There you go, Bisuke, Akino. Bull…” 

After he runs out of treats, he pats the smallest one on the head. “I’ll be heading out, Pakkun. Be good while I’m gone.”

The dogs yip in response. 

(Sometimes, if he listens hard enough, he can almost pretend they’re speaking to him.)

He straightens up, dusting off his pants before walking away into the rain. It’s time for him to go to work.

——— 

Shouta whips his capture tool, wrapping it around the Villain behind his back and immobilizing him, while simultaneously landing an underhanded punch in another Villain’s solar plexus, sending the man reeling. Two more charge at him from either side, yelling. He blocks one by reeling in her mummified teammate to intercept her blow, and arcs his leg to connect his steel-toed boots into the other man’s temple. He drops instantly.

Two down. Two to go.

The Villain he’d punched has recovered, and appears to telepathically hurl a large piece of rubble at him with his Quirk. Shouta activates his own Quirk, a familiar burn in his eyes. The rock drops in mid-air. He swings his capture tool around like a pendulum, and the bound Villain slams the telepathic one into the concrete wall; at the same time, the motion wraps the remainder of the white cloth around the female Villain.

He huffs. Even with four of them, the fight against the Villains had barely lasted a minute.

Shouta secures the two wriggling cocoons and the unconscious man he’d kicked in the temple, ensuring they won’t be able to escape. After, he strolls over to the last man, who’s lying, dazed, on the wet asphalt. 

He pins the man down by the collar. “Maa, maa, don’t look so scared,” Shouta eye-smiles. “I just have a few questions to ask of you.”

The man sputters.

“You see,” Shouta continues, “I find it hard to believe that a petty group of criminals like yourselves had the equipment and planning power necessary to take on a high-profile job like the ransacking of the National Bank you orchestrated last week. What I want to know is how you all managed to jump from small-time street thefts to such a sophisticated robbery in little over a month’s time.” 

The Villain is silent.

“Maa, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Shouta shifts his grip on the man minutely; the man groans at the sudden pain. “I just want a name, or names, is all. Do you want me to continue?” He increases the pressure.

“No! P-please!” The man gasps. “I’ll talk, I’ll talk!” Shouta stops. He swallows, before continuing shakily. “I-I… we met a man, in July, who gave us the supplies and the plan. He didn’t let us see his face, but he dressed real nice and talked fancy. He said he has people of power backing him up… I have no idea who he is, I swear!”

Shouta hums. “Did he say anything else? Want anything in return for his expensive equipment?”

“Uh…” the man pauses. “He wanted us to join his group. A club for Villains, or something. Didn’t sound like it actually existed or anything, but we promised we’d join if our robbery went good.” 

“Ah,” Shouta says. Troubling. “Thank you for your cooperation, Robber-san.” With that, he promptly pinches the man’s neck, rendering him unconscious and slinging his limp body over his shoulder. 

As he starts in the direction of the nearest police station, towing the rest of the robbers behind him with his capture tool, he ruminates on the Villain’s confession. A group of organized Villains… Mobs and gangs weren’t unusual in the inner city, per se, but he hadn’t heard of any unrest in any existing crime syndicates recently. Was it an entirely new group? He’d have to keep a close eye on it. 

But in the meantime, it was nearing 3:00 a.m., and he had a new class of cute, wide-eyed children to meet in the morning. 

At least as a teacher, he could doze off whenever he wanted now.

——— 

“Shouta-a-a-a!” Hizashi shouts across the teacher lounge, just as he does every single day. He bounds over to Shouta’s slumped form, slinging an arm around his shoulders and shoving his face into Shouta’s space. “Man! I can’t believe you expelled another class! That’s stone-cold, dude!”

“It’s not like U.A. isn’t re-enrolling them,” Shouta grumbles. 

“Yeah, but it’s still kinda mean…” 

He yawns. “My class, my rules. And they needed the lesson, anyhow. Their actions have real-world consequences when they’re real Heroes.” 

(Not to mention, the expressions on their faces had been absolutely priceless. Completely worth the massive amount of paperwork, and almost as good as Team Seven’s reactions, when his cute students were fresh from the Academy. Ahh, good times.)

Seeing as he won’t be getting his nap anytime soon, Shouta flips open his worn pocket romance. Maybe it’s time to get a new book. There’s that recent one from the U.S. that came out recently, about something gray or something, that has absolutely terrible reviews online and is apparently filled with completely trashy smut. Worth considering…

Shouta stands. “Maa, time for me to head out, anyway. Catch you later, Hizashi.” 

“Bye, Shouta! See you tomorrow!”

Waving goodbye, he exits the lounge and heads out of the school. He needs to swing by the pet store again, he’s running low on dog treats. 

As he walks, he turns over the conversation with the Villains he’d captured last night again in his head. There’s something about the man’s story that nags at him, especially the mysterious figure offering Villains support. A benefactor for Villains is not an idea that bodes well… he’ll send the word out through his underground network tonight.

Distracted by his thoughts, Shouta’s feet carry him on a different route than he usually takes to the pet store. He passes by a middle school he’s never seen before, although the name looks vaguely familiar. School’s let out for the day, but several children hang around in the courtyard, chatting and playing on the concrete. He doesn’t pay them any mind at first, but as he walks by, he can’t help but overhear— 

“Fuck off, shitty Deku!” A red-eyed blond snarls, shoving a green-haired kid, who cowers. Shouta’s between them in a flash. 

“Maa,” he says, slouching over the blond. “I’m sure there’s no need for that kind of language. Or violence.”

“Who the hell are you?!” The boy replies. 

“...u-um…” the green-haired boy stutters behind him, “I-I’m sure Kaa-chan didn’t mean it that way…”

“Shut up, nerd!” The angry one says. Two others flank behind him, both looking like stereotypical school-yard bullies.

Shouta’s lazy posture doesn’t change, but he allows a glint of steel show in his right eye, which the green-haired boy can’t see from behind him. “Maa, maa, I think I know what I saw. Why don’t you boys run along home now? It’s getting late and it sure would be a shame for you to run into trouble.” He eye-smiles.

Thankfully, the angry one has enough intelligence to recognize the thinly-veiled command, as well as the utter lack of sense in trying to challenge Shouta.

“...hmph. This isn’t over, Deku!” He yells, before stomping off with his lackeys and out of the courtyard. 

“Are you alright?” Shouta crouches in front of the remaining boy.

“U-um, yeah.” The boy wipes at his eyes. “T-thank you, mister, but you didn’t have to do that…” 

“Don’t worry about it—what’s your name?” Shouta says.

“M-Midoriya Izuku…” 

“Don’t worry about it, Izuku. I’m a Hero, after all, and my job is to protect people, even in situations like this.”

The moment he says ‘Hero,’ the boy does a complete one-eighty, green eyes rounding in excitement. “Y-you’re a Hero? What’s your Hero name? What’s your Quirk?”

“Maa,” Shouta says, scratching his head. “My Hero name is Eraserhead, and my Quirk is called ‘Erase.’ It, well, it erases Quirks.”

“That’s so cool!” Midoriya exclaims, frantically whipping out a notebook. “Do you fight Villains? Or rescue people from disasters? Are you with an Agency? How long have you been a Hero? Where are—”

“...slow down there, Midoriya-kun…” Shouta scratches his head. “Don’t forget to breathe.”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” He jumps. “It’s a bad habit of mine, I’m so sorry for bothering you, I’ll be on my way now.”

“Maa, maa, I don’t mind answering some questions, but maybe you should be heading home soon. It’s going to get dark soon,” Shouta says, “and you shouldn’t be out here alone. Which way do you live? I can walk you home.” He stands up.

“A-ah! Please don’t worry about it, Eraserhead-san!” Midoriya flutters his hands. “I don’t want to inconvenience you further! I’ll just be headed off that way.” He points.

“It’s no problem, I’m headed in that direction anyway.” The pet store’s in the opposite direction, actually, but he can’t exactly abandon a child to walk home on his own after breaking up a confrontation with his bullies. “Besides, don’t you want your questions answered? We can keep talking on the way.”

“Y-yes! Thank you very much!” The boy bows, clutching his worn notebook to his chest. 

In the ten minutes it takes to walk Midoriya to his building, Shouta answers a staggering range of questions fired at a hundred miles-per-second, slowing his pace so the green-haired boy can keep up with his longer stride. 

He drops Midoriya off just outside his building, who stammers thank-you’s endlessly before scrambling up the staircase. Shouta lingers in the shadows for a moment, watching him enter his apartment room before walking away.

That’s his good deed for the day, he supposes. At least Midoriya’s a good kid. Now he has to navigate back to the pet store…

(And if he carefully notes the location of Midoriya’s school, well, one can never go to the pet store too often, can they?)

——— 

When Shouta finally arrives back at his apartment after dinner, there’s a package waiting on his doorstep. He doesn’t recall ordering anything for himself recently, so he picks the box up carefully and closely examines the tag. 

It’s labelled as a gift purchase. His birthday is coming up next week. Did someone get him a pre-emptive present?

Unlocking his door, he shucks off his boots, muttering, “Tadaima,” to the empty room. Dropping his school bag onto his couch, he grabs a pair of scissors from the kitchen and carefully cuts the box open.

It’s a book. Not just any book, it’s the exact book he’d been looking up earlier. Fifty Shades of Grey , in all its raunchy and dubious glory. 

There’s a note from the sender in the box: 

HAPPY EARLY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i still can’t believe you like this stuff, i had to get it shipped to you cuz i couldn’t be seen in public giving this to you. anyway, hope you like it, weirdo!!!!!!!

Shouta resolves never again to research books where Hizashi can see his search history. 

(The book is just as bad as he thought it’d be. He absolutely loves it.)

Chapter Text

“...aaaand welcome to the U.A. Entrance Exams!”

Shouta isn’t sure what sort of response Hizashi was expecting; the prospective students are all terrified out of their pants for the upcoming exam, and nobody has the presence of mind to cheer for Present Mic’s introduction. He makes a mental note to tease him about it after the exams.

For the moment, however, he settles on observing the hundreds of children hunched over the written exam, pencils scribbling like a horde of angry paperwork chuunin. He scans the crowd idly, before spotting a shock of green hair, one he hasn’t seen since the middle schools let out for the summer.

(He knows he has to be impartial toward potential students, just like when he was on ANBU’s rota to watch Sensei’s kid. Even so, he can’t help the warm glow in his stomach upon spotting the kid here.)

Next to Midoriya is a kid who looks exactly like Ingenium. Iida did mention a kid brother… what a coincidence, that he’s the same age as Midoriya. 

Honestly, there’s nothing interesting about the written exam, and Shouta can’t fathom why the teachers all gather around to watch so eagerly. He might as well sleep until the practical exam starts, and he’ll have seen just as much action as everyone else.

He lets out a jaw-cracking yawn, and Nemuri sends him a glare over the top of her glasses. Shouta only eye-smiles at her in response, before drawing his obnoxiously-yellow sleeping bag tighter around himself and settling in for that nap. 

———   

“ —and did you know Hawks is the youngest Pro-Hero ever ?!” Midoriya babbles, eyes round with excitement. “Not only that, but he’s the fastest Hero to ever make it onto the Hero Billboard’s Top Ten chart! He’s so cool, even if he didn’t go to U.A.! And people think his Quirk only lets him fly, but it also makes his vision really good and allows him to move really fast!”

Shouta nods along as he reads, as per their custom. Midoriya does the talking, he does the listening, and nobody calls the kid any uninspired, juvenile nicknames while they walk to Midoriya’s apartment. 

“Can you move as fast as Hawks, Eraserhead-san?” The kid’s asking. 

He eye-smiles. “If I did, don’t you think Hawks would be jealous?” 

Midoriya looks dumbfounded for a second.

“...just kidding. Like you said, his speed is Quirk-related, right? I can only move at normal speeds.” He flips a page in his book.

“I guess… but you’re still the fastest person I’ve seen without a speed-related Quirk, Eraserhead-san!” Midoriya perks back up. “Did you train to get that fast?”

“Of course,” Shouta says. “It takes years of practice. That’s why I’m a Pro-Hero, after all. I worked hard to get to this level.” 

Midoriya’s eyes are shining again (did they ever ache from opening so large?). “Can you tell me more about becoming a Pro-Hero?”

“Maa,” he says, scratching the back of his head, “it takes a lot of time and hard work, like I said. But you could start by going to a school with a Hero program or course, or go to a Hero school.” They turn the corner. “You’re about to graduate from middle school this year, right, Midoriya-kun? Are you considering high school applications yet?”

“U-um,” Midoriya says, “actually, I was thinking about applying to U.A.” He hesitates, before hunching in on himself. “I-I mean, it’s my dream to be a Hero, but…” The green-haired boy slows to a stop, turning to face Shouta fully, taking a deep breath. 

“...Eraserhead-san, do you think someone like me could become a Hero? Someone like me… someone doesn’t have a Quirk?”

“You know,” Shouta says, reaching out and ruffling the boy’s hair. “I once knew someone who, like you, didn’t have any, ah, Quirk he could use. But he trained hard, regardless, and he became one of the most heroic people I have ever known. A genius of hard work, he called himself.”

“Is he a Hero?” Midoriya asks, eyes huge. 

“Aa, he isn’t—around, anymore,” Shouta says lightly. 

“O-oh, I’m sorry,” the boy wilts. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Maa, it’s quite alright,” Shouta eye-smiles. “Anyway, what I meant to say was that you remind me of him, Midoriya-kun. And just like him, I think you could become a fine Hero one day.”

“R-really?!” Shouta hadn’t thought it possible, but Midoriya’s eyes get even rounder and larger. “You think so?”

“Of course,” he chuckles. 

Midoriya launches himself at Shouta. “Thank you, Eraserhead-san!” He beams up at him. “I’ll make your friend proud!”

“I’m sure he already is.” 

———   

The practical portion of the Entrance Exam starts off with a bang. Literally. The angry explosion child, who Shouta recalls from his first encounter with Midoriya, screams obscenities at the students around him and blasts his way through a robot almost immediately.

He’s exactly the same as before, then.

At any rate, the rest of the students flood into their respective arenas. His coworkers ooh and aah at the flashier Quirks several of them employ, and he eyes the rapidly-accumulating points next to several of their names. Iida’s brother seems to be doing alright, while Explosion Child—Bakugo Katsuki, his profile reads—quickly takes the lead in his area. 

Shouta slouches lazily, one visible eye scanning the screens as Hizashi provides running commentary. He tells himself he’s not looking for anyone in particular, just gauging the scope of the examinees this year— 

He spies Midoriya in Arena 3, stumbling through the streets of the city with a shell-shocked expression. His point counter sits at a pitiful zero, and Shouta winces internally. Maybe it was too much to subtly push the kid into taking the U.A. Entrance Exam, considering its heavy emphasis on flashy offensive Quirks. He’s certainly intelligent enough to make the General Course; if Midoriya isn’t too discouraged after this test, he can set his not-inconsiderate determination into transferring into the Hero Course…

He’s shaken out of his thoughts right as the zero-pointer erupts out of the center of the city. Shocked cries echo across the screens as students flee, Nezu cackling maniacally in the background as they watch. 

Shouta’s gaze sharpens when he spots Midoriya amidst the wreckage closest to the monstrous robot. The kid has the right idea—running the hell away—but he doubts he can move fast enough without some sort of Quirk or years of endurance training. Yet even as he watches, Midoriya stops next to a girl trapped in rubble—Uraraka Ochako, 63 points, very nifty gravity-manipulating Quirk. The zero-pointer looms over them, Uraraka screams for Midoriya to run, Shouta’s heart thuds in his chest— 

And Midoriya launches himself at the zero-pointer, energy crackling around his limbs as he punches through Nezu’s abomination. Pride flares through Shouta’s chest as his co-workers murmur in shock. It’s the first time an examinee has taken on the zero-pointer like that; if that doesn’t score Midoriya enough rescue points to gain him admittance, he’ll eat the Hokage’s hat.    

Wait. Didn’t Midoriya say he didn’t have a Quirk?

Shouta’s eye twitches. How did he manage to get saddled with the problem children every (life)time?

It’s easy enough to hunt down Midoriya at Recovery Girl’s little clinic after the practical exam concludes. There’s someone already inside the room with the kid, however, and Shouta lurks quietly outside the door, listening in on the conversation behind the closed door, easily picking up hushed voices thanks to a lifetime of espionage missions. 

“Are you alright, my boy?” He blinks at the familiar baritone. 

“Y-yes!” Midoriya. “Recovery Girl healed me right up!” A beat. “A-ah… will I have to break a bone every single time I want to use your Quirk?”

“Well… it will take your body some time to adjust to the power level of One for All. You will need to continue training your strength—”

Shouta opens the door and slouches into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. All Might—Yagi Toshinori in this form—and Midoriya both jump guiltily. 

“E-eraserhead-san!” Midoriya exclaims. “You’re here too!” 

“Yo,” he salutes. And without preamble, “that’s All Might’s Quirk you used back there, isn’t it?”

A beat. Toshinori and Midoriya’s faces are frozen in shock, expressions almost comical. He feels the need to reach out and pat Toshinori on the cheek. 

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he says. 

“How—how did you figure it out?” Midoriya splutters. 

Shouta shrugs. “I’m a genius.” 

“I—” Toshinori's looking around the room nervously. “Aizawa-san, you absolutely cannot tell anybody—”

“Maa, what part about ‘your secret’s safe with me’ don’t you understand?”

“The circumstances surrounding my Quirk are sensitive and I have many enemies—”

“And as a teacher of U.A.,” Shouta interrupts smoothly, “I would do everything in my power to ensure the safety of a potential student, on top of my duty to civilians as a Pro-Hero.” He pats his co-worker on the shoulder. “Seriously, you can relax. It’s not like I didn’t figure out how your Quirk works years ago, anyway.”

He leaves Toshinori gape-mouthed, turning to Midoriya. “Are you alright, Midoriya-kun? You really did a number on yourself out there.”

The boy startles. “Y-yes, Recovery Girl healed me right up,” he says. 

“That’s good. Oh, and just a word of advice…” He looms over Midoriya. “You should learn to control your new Quirk better before the school year starts. Because, if you ever even think about doing what you just did to your body again,” he eye-smiles, “I will personally blacklist you from ever earning your Pro-Hero license and bar you from every Hero agency that exists. Got it?”

Midoriya gulps. “G-got it.”

Shouta straightens, clapping his hands cheerfully next to his face. “Wonderful!” He turns to Toshinori. “Now, I find myself quite curious as to what your thought process was in providing a child with a Quirk that would endanger his well-being like that.” He says mildly. “Oh, and you both need to get better at holding secret conversations. Considering, you know, the fact that this Quirk business is a secret. I could hear the two of you clearly even behind the closed door.”

Toshinori sputters and Midoriya blushes bright red. Sage, they have a lot of work to do.

——— 

“Man, I can’t believe that Midoriya kid got put into your class!” Hizashi laughs. “I can’t decide if I feel jealous or sorry for you.” 

Shouta only grunts into his miso soup. He also has the incredible luck of having Explosion Child— Bakugo, right, he has to start calling them by their real names—as well as two of the recommended students (clan favoritism survives in many forms, it seems) for Class 1-A. He tugs irritably at the messy half-bun he’s thrown his hair into for his civilian outfit, scowling down at his noodles. This class is already shaping up to be a pain.

“You ready for the school year to start?” Hizashi spears a dumpling with his chopsticks. “You’re not gonna keep using that weird-ass first day test, are you? I can’t believe Nezu still lets you do that.” 

“And I can’t believe your dumb ass is still certified to teach English to a bunch of teenagers who somehow have even more energy than you do on your talk show at 3 A.M.,” Shouta says.

Hizashi guffaws, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Well, when a certain homeroom teacher keeps dropping hints about grammar rules and vocab practice, I don’t really have to do any work on my own, do I?”

“Maa, it’s just painful to watch them struggle at their own pace,” he says. “I don’t want an entire year of students to have to flunk out of school for failing your pitiful class. Not when I could expel them first.” A slow smile spreads across his face at the thought. Hizashi blanches at the expression, and Shouta uses his moment of distraction to snag the last dumpling off the blond’s plate while he isn’t looking.

“You are an evil, evil man,” Hizashi says, shaking his head mournfully at his empty plate.

“Why, thank you.” Shouta snags the last dumpling off the blond’s plate faster than his eyes can follow. “I work very hard.”

Chapter Text

Hizashi has never been sure what to think of Aizawa Shouta. 

He’s a walking contradiction, has always been, for as long as Hizashi has known him. Their very first encounter outside the doors of U.A., the black-haired boy seemed casual enough, good-natured but quiet. Friendly, but average on the whole.

Hizashi was stripped of this notion during their very first class assignment. During the search-and-rescue simulation, Shouta had pulled off stunning feats of physical prowess, tracking and running and directing his classmates effortlessly without activating his Quirk once (not that it would have helped him, anyway. Actually, perhaps that’s why the boy had been so good at the whole exercise—in a situation like that, his Quirk was entirely useless. He’d simply learned to compensate). He’d seemed entirely oblivious, or uncaring, of the jealous stares from the other students afterward. 

Their regular sparring sessions proved that Shouta’s performance in class hadn’t been a fluke. It was less of a practice session between classmates, and more of a weekly lesson where Hizashi and Oboro desperately tried to stay on their feet while their friend whipped them into shape like a particularly short drill sergeant.

All in all, Shouta was ruthlessly competent. And yet, he wasn’t arrogant, had no delusions of grandeur. He seemed to genuinely care for the two boys he’d taken under his wing. Hizashi knows he’s always fed the stray dogs around his apartment, too. When he took in the tiny puppy Oboro had found, Hizashi thought that underneath his off-putting humor and casual genius, Shouta was actually just a big softie. 

When he heard about Oboro’s death, he’d rushed to the hospital Kayama-senpai had called from, choking down grief and rage—but also, paralyzing fear for Shouta, the boy who’d always taken the well-being of his friends to be his responsibility. Hizashi had found him in a dark room, head bowed, deathly still in the silence. There was no doubt in his mind that Shouta had done the best he could do, that if he couldn’t save their white-haired friend then nobody could have. But Shouta would only see it as a personal failing. 

Shouta looked so tired, in that moment. Tired in a way no other teenager had ever looked before to Hizashi. He was only human, Hizashi realized. Only a teenager trying his best to navigate the wide, cruel world around them and hold on to the few friends he had. 

Hizashi knows how Oboro haunts his friend, how countless untold demons snap at Shouta’s nightmares from time to time. That day in the hospital, Hizashi had vowed to himself to help keep those old ghosts at bay, and he has continued to do so ever since.

After that, as Shouta and Hizashi had grown, graduating from U.A. and entering the wondrous world of Pro-Heroes, the contradictions surrounding the black-haired man have only multiplied. 

Case in point: he’s never expressed so much as an iota of interest in romantic relationships, was never flustered by Nemuri’s Hero costumes through the years, or even Nemuri herself. It’s not that he’s not into women either; Hizashi has seen him turn down every single advance, regardless of gender. Except Shouta reads porn like a starving man devours a meal. Hizashi had been half-joking when he bought him that pocket edition of Fifty Shades of Grey for his birthday, except he’s carried the copy with him ever since, wearing the spine down to shreds. 

When Hizashi had confronted him about it, Shouta had only smiled that bizarre eye-smile and said, “I just like good literature.”

(Hizashi maybe potentially kind of took a peek at the book. That thing is probably the furthest thing from good literature possible.)

He is infuriating. He is confusing. He does things like sleep in a sleeping bag on the floor of the teachers lounge to get a rise out of his students, and then turn around and set record-highs for Villain catch rates. He is an enigma wrapped in dark clothing and dog fur and Hizashi will never figure him out.

Shouta is Hizashi’s best friend. The best he could ever ask for. 

Chapter Text

“My first impression of you all,” Shouta proclaims, half-zipped into his sleeping bag, “is that you’re boring.” 

There’s truly no better way to settle down a class, he thinks to himself in the subsequent, stunned silence. He very carefully does not look at Midoriya’s betrayed expression. Honestly, how much cuter can the kid get?

“Anyway, my name is Aizawa Shouta and my Hero name is Eraserhead. I’ll be your home-room teacher. Now, before we get any further, we’re going outside just to run a quick test. Everyone go change into your gym clothes.” 

A hand shoots up from the front row. Iida Tenya, the spitting image of his old classmate, Tensei, back when he walked these very halls. Shouta holds back a laugh. “...Yes?”

“Aizawa-sensei!” The kid barks, “I believe classes at U.A. typically start with a standard orientation procedure?”

“Ah, yes,” Shouta says, “most teachers do choose something along those lines. But this is my class, so you’ll have to follow my rules. I’ll see you all at Training Ground Seven.”

Training Ground Seven is, at least in this lifetime, a generic city-scape that U.A. seems to love to mass-produce, only a block wide and composed of three low-rise office buildings. Shouta runs a last-minute check of the various surveillance cameras set up to record the grounds, which will provide tapes of the test for him to study later. 

As Class 1-A trickles through the doors, he smirks to himself. These poor kids have no idea what’s about to hit them. Not even Midoriya. 

“Alright, can everybody see this map?” He calls, flipping on a large screen with a basic map of the city. “Find the number that corresponds with your seat number. That’ll be your starting position for the test. Got it?” Murmurs of assent ripple through the students. 

“Aizawa-sensei!” Iida again. “Will you be explaining the exact parameters of this test?”

“Sure,” Shouta says, before digging into his pocket and holding up his secret weapon. “Basically, I have a limited number of these bells hidden on my person. Your goal is to obtain one of these as quickly as possible in any manner you see fit. You are allowed to, and encouraged, to use your Quirks to the fullest extent of your ability. This is a measure of your potential as Heroes—whether it’s even worth it to teach you or not. I’m not someone who likes my time wasted.

“If you don’t have a bell by the end of the next hour, you fail the test. If you fail the test, you’re expelled.” He eye-smiles. “Is that clear?”

Outrage. Shouta’s heart sings with joy. Many of the students begin exclaiming all at once, particularly Explosion Ki—Bakugo, who immediately lets out a string of profanity so intense that Shouta can practically hear the U.A. Student Handbook shattering into tiny pieces.  

“You can’t fuckin’ do that!” He screams, murder in his eyes. 

“He’s right!” Another—Kirishima Eijirou, Quirk: Hardening—chimes in. “That’s totally uncool, sensei!” 

“Yeah, we already passed the Entrance Exam!” “This is so not fair!” 

Midoriya cuts in coolly, green eyes narrowed in concentration. “You’re bluffing, Eras—Aizawa-sensei,” he says quietly, and Shouta can practically hear the gears grinding in his head. “That’s just part of the test, right? Do you even have the authority to expel us over something like that?”

“Well…” Shouta says, smirk still firm on his face, “that’s for me to know and you to find out.” He cuts off the rest of the students, taking note of the various reactions his words have inspired. “You have one minute to find your beginning position. When the alarm sounds, the test begins.” 

His students run. 

Shouta barely holds back a cackle of maniacal laughter.

He ambles casually through the city terrain, weaving silently through shadows as is second nature to him. Every now and then, he glimpses a student frantically scrambling into place. Soon enough, the minute is up, and he perches at the edge of one of the building roofs, surveying the square block of nineteen students evenly scattered on ground-level. 

An air horn blasts through the air, and his U.A.-ified Bell Test begins. 

While none of the students know quite where he’s located, Shouta respects the healthy amount of chaos that immediately explodes on the training grounds below him. Bakugo’s a mushroom cloud over in the second quadrant, and ice creeps its way over a building to his left. Todoroki, then. Those are the flashier of the Quirks that Shouta sees, although none come close to giving away his location. 

The first student to make real progress in tracking his position comes as a bit of a surprise. If Shouta’s previous life hadn’t held the sheer variety of animal summons that it had, he likely would have dismissed the innocent flock of birds that flutter into the air behind him, or the pack of rats scratching in the corner. Kouda Kouji, Quirk: Anivoice. He appears rather suited for stealth missions, he muses in approval, even as he abandons his perch and begins leaping from rooftop to rooftop.

(He feels a pang of longing for a certain pack of summons that he hasn’t seen for nearly three decades, now.)

Shouta hears yells from the ground as several students in the third quadrant spot him in the air. He chuckles to himself as they give chase, Quirks lashing out at him from every direction. 

A shadow with glowing eyes on the left—Tokoyami Fumikage, Quirk: Dark Shadow. A beam of condensed light cutting through the air in front of him—Aoyama Yuuga, Quirk: Navel Laser. A crackle of electricity eating its way up steel scaffolding—Kaminari Denki, Quirk: Electrification. 

(The taste of ozone in the air sends another pang of nostalgia through him.)

Shouta is almost impressed by the intensity and speed of the attacks. It’s almost as his cute students are timing their Quirks to hit one right after the other, taking advantage of each other’s powers to amplify the effectiveness of their own—either that, or someone has convinced them to cooperate. His eyes narrow in suspicion as he spots a mop of green hair dodging through the alleyways in an effort to keep up with Shouta’s pace. 

Snippets of hushed commands float up to his position, too low for the average person to hear at such a large distance. “Iida-san, now move to the next position—” Midoriya is murmuring. “Ashido-san is almost—” “—up, Aoyama-san—”  

Of course, the Problem Child has not only completely blasted through the teamwork requirements, but is also masterminding an elaborate trap to catch him. They’re barely even fifteen minutes into the exercise. 

Shouta knows he shouldn’t play favorites, but pride swells in his chest anyway. Midoriya has always had a terrifying intellect, even before Shouta had met him. He’d only had to nudge him a bit, point him in the right direction with a few words, and the kid was quickly becoming a five-star strategist. 

(It’s like Rock Lee’s work ethic combined with Nara Shikamaru’s intellect. Shouta can only be thankful that they were two separate people in his old world.)

Of course, the kid could stand to learn some self-preservation. And how to keep a secret. And how to control All Might’s Quirk. Baby steps, Shouta reminds himself.

He jumps onto a lower roof. The moment his feet touch the concrete, it caves in on itself, dissolving into acidified mush. Ah, so that’s why Midoriya had recruited Ashido. Clever, but still not enough to catch him—he throws out his capture tool, the weighted end wrapping around a utility pole and anchoring the weapon as he pulls himself out of the sinkhole. 

Shouta is almost impressed. 

No point in lingering any longer in this area, he decides. These students have all passed already, anyway, thanks to Midoriya’s quick thinking. Time to see what the other children have up their sleeve.

— — — — — 

Disappointingly, he doesn’t expel anybody, in the end. It’s a close call with several of them—Bakugo and Todoroki stand out in particular, but they have a last-minute save by Kirishima’s devotion to the platonic ideal of Manliness to thank, the red-haired teen essentially forcing them into teamwork by throwing himself in the middle of their attacks. 

(He’s starting to get tired of all these parallels between his friends from his last life and the people he’s responsible for in this life. Actually, who is he kidding? He loves it.)

Shouta surveys the anxious faces lined up before him. He wants to savor the moment, but he supposes he’s messed with them enough for their first day of classes. 

“None of you managed to get a bell today,” he says ominously, “so, you all…” He pauses for dramatic effect. “...pass!”

 “ WHAT?!” CLass 1-A screams in unison. Honestly, one would think they would be happier about it all.

“But—but, Sensei, we didn’t accomplish your objective!” Iida says. 

“None of us came close to getting the bells, you said so yourself,” Uraraka agrees. Several other voices pipe up with similar sentiments. 

Shouta eye-smiles. “Maa, that is true… would you like me to fail you, instead?” He asks, tilting his head innocently. The students pale dramatically. “Heh, just kidding!” 

Exaggerated reactions abound. He waits for the commotion to die down, allowing his face to become serious.

“Actually,” Shouta says, “you all did meet my objective today, just not the one I told you about. The test was for you to see underneath the underneath. I gave you an impossible task—I wanted to test if you would work together to reach your goal. Hence, your real objective today was teamwork .” 

His students stare back at him uncertainly. 

Shouta lets out a sigh. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, your Hero journeys begin today. You’ll face countless obstacles, hardships, and challenges. You all have the potential to grow strong.” He pauses meaningfully. “But, as Heroes, your true strength lies in your ability to work with others, to empathize and form connections with others—those who abandon their comrades are worse than trash.” 

Silence. His abridged teamwork speech seems to have gone well, then.

“So!” Shouta claps, smiling again. “Like I said, you all passed!”

“But, Sensei!” Iida raises his hand again. “What was the point of pitting us against each other for a fake test?”

“It was a logical ruse,” Shouta says. He can practically feel his students’ glares. Oh, the joys of teaching!

He moves on with the rest of their first-day orientation, and the students seem content enough to put the morning’s events behind them, relieved that they weren’t actually going to be expelled. 

(In the back of his mind, however, concern for certain students linger—specifically, Todoroki’s behavior has been setting off all sorts of alarm bells in Shouta’s head. His lack of emotion, his inability to interact normally with his peers, his display of power during the test… 

His father, Endeavour, is already deeply unfriendly at the best of times, and he makes no attempt to keep his vendetta against All Might a secret. Shouta can only imagine the kind of pressure Todoroki is under at home. Add to that the vivid scar bisecting the teen’s face— 

Shouta makes a mental note to pay particular attention to Todoroki. He is his student now, after all, and Shouta has a responsibility for him. One he doesn’t intend to fail. 

For a moment, he sees dark hair and red eyes, the face of a tortured student he’s already failed. He won’t make the same mistake again this time, he vows to himself.)

As his new class files out of the room for the day, chattering excitedly like a flock of birds on an electric line, Shouta slumps tiredly against the wall. When he looks up, Midoriya is standing awkwardly before him, the rest of the children already gone.

“Maa, can I help you, Midoriya?”

“Yes—no—I mean—” the green-haired boy stammers. “Er, I just…”

Shouta huffs in amusement.

“Iwanttothankyouforeverythingyou’vetaughtme,” Midoriya finally says in a rush, “and—and I’m looking forward to being your student this year!”

“Ah,” Shouta says, leaning forward to ruffle the kid’s hair. “You did well today, Midoriya.” He allows a rare, genuine smile to curve across his face. “I’m proud of you.”

Midoriya smiles tentatively in response. 

(He thinks that, perhaps, everything he’s found in this second life is worth the pain he’s been through to get it.)

Chapter Text

He approaches Shouta on the third day of school. Shouta’s trying to get a head-start on the enormous stack of homework assignments his class turned in that morning, but five students in and some of the answers he’s read already make him want to cry. 

Why did he assign homework on the first day of school, again? 

“Excuse me, are you Eraserhead-sensei?” A voice asks from the doorway. 

Shouta looks up, studying the newcomer. “...yes, but you can call me Aizawa-sensei,” he answers. 

The boy is tall for his age, purple hair flaring out around his head (Shouta is not jealous, dammit, it’s not like he misses his old hair or anything), dressed in a standard student uniform. Strikingly, he’s got dark circles sunken deep under his eyes, which give him a dead-eyed stare and makes Shouta want to bundle him into a bed and force him to take a nap. 

“My name is Shinsou Hitoshi,” the boy introduces himself, bowing shallowly in front of Shouta’s desk. “I’m in Class 1-C, in the General Studies Department.” His voice is low, and his face is serious. 

Shouta shuffles away the assignment he’d just been working on (Hizashi is going to have a fit when he sees how bad Kaminari’s English is) and levels his full stare onto the boy; to his credit, Shinsou returns it without a flinch. “How can I help you, Shinsou-kun?”

The boy jams his hands into his pockets. “...I would like to transfer into the Hero Course,” he finally says. Shouta raises an eyebrow. “My Quirk, Brainwashing,” Shinsou continues, “it’s not suited for combat—or the U.A. Hero Department Entrance Exams. I couldn’t keep up with the other candidates with flashier, physical Quirks. I placed extremely high on the written portion of the Entrance Exams, but it just wasn’t enough.” His tone is bitter.

Shouta hums. “So why come to me?”

“I looked you up,” Shinsou says, “and your Quirk, Erasure, stood out to me. It’s a non-combat Quirk, like mine. But what stood out even more was your record from your time at U.A.” He leans forward, planting his hands on Shouta’s desk, eyes dark and intense. “Eras—Aizawa-sensei, how did you get around the Entrance Exams and qualify for the Hero Course with your Quirk? How did you survive in U.A.’s prejudiced Hero Course?”

Leaning back in his chair, Shouta crosses his arms. “Maa, you want to know how I tricked the Entrance Exams?” He says mildly. 

Shinsou eyes him for a moment, before nodding in one sharp movement. “Yes, Sensei, I would just like to know your strategy in case it can help me—”

“I didn’t,” Shouta interrupts quietly. “I didn’t trick the system.” Shinsou shuts his mouth so quickly that his teeth click audibly, staring at Shouta. 

“...did you get in through a recommendation, then?” He asks. 

“No,” Shouta says. “I didn’t get in through a recommendation. I didn’t appeal to the teachers or the administrators. I played the game honestly.” 

He stands from behind his desk, gesturing at Shinsou to take one of the empty student desks at the front of the classroom. The boy hesitates a moment, before sliding into a seat. Shouta leans against his desk, gazing down at him. 

“You’re correct that U.A.’s Entrance Exams are a bit… flawed,” Shouta continues. “But you knew that going into the tests, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Shinsou says.

“You know, there are many other Hero schools you could get into that are less intense than U.A., that have fairer exams and would suit your Quirk better.” He eyes the boy. “Besides, nobody inherently deserves a spot in the Hero Course. Nobody makes it here without putting in hard work. Why should you be any different? Why waste your time with U.A. when you knew you wouldn’t be able to cut it?” 

Shinsou’s hands clench, and anger blazes through his eyes at Shouta’s words. He takes a deep breath through his teeth. “Because,” he grits out, “I’m tired of always being called a Villain for my Quirk. Because no matter how flawed its systems, U.A. is the best of the best. I want to be the best Hero I can be and learn from the best Heroes there are.”

“Good,” Shouta says, eye-smiling suddenly. “That’s how I felt, too.” Shinsou falters, caught off-guard by Shouta’s abrupt change. “I knew, going into the Exams, that the odds were stacked against my favor. Extremely so. I wouldn’t be able to rely on my Quirk at all for the physical portion. Essentially, I was Quirkless.” He tilts his head. “I’m sure you were the same, Shinsou-kun?”

“Yes,” Shinsou says, “it’s not a fair test—”

“Life isn’t fair,” Shouta interrupts sharply. “Nothing in this world is fair. It’s just the simple truth. Especially for people like you and me, life will never be fair, and you need to accept that now rather than later.” 

“But—” 

“You want to know how I got into the Hero Course?” Shouta asks. “I trained for years in preparation. I pushed myself to my limits, and then beyond that, every day. I studied the support equipment U.A. allowed in the Exams, and ones that they didn’t allow, and I mastered them. I took the Exams without using my Quirk even once. I worked harder than anyone else in my year in order to earn my place in the Hero Course.”

Shinsou is staring at him, slack-jawed. 

Shouta softens his tone. “You’ll have to work harder than anyone else if you want to transfer into the Hero Department, Shinsou-kun. Put in longer hours, push yourself more, make the sacrifices that other people don’t have to—devote yourself to becoming the strongest you can possibly be. That’s how we have to live our lives.”  

The purple-haired boy looks back at him uncertainly. “Is… is it worth it?” He asks. “To become a Hero like that?”

“That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself, Shinsou.” Shouta sighs a bit. “You have to make your own way in this world.” He slouches again, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Go home and think about it. Make your own choice about what you want to do, about what you want out of this life. Come find me again when you’re confident about your answer. I’ll be waiting.”

“I—” Shinsou says, “—yes, I’ll do that.” He stands from his desk, before suddenly bowing to Shouta again, much deeper than he had before. “...thank you, Sensei,” he says, softly but sincerely. 

Shouta eye-smiles. “Don’t forget, you aren’t alone,” he adds, almost an afterthought. “If you do choose to continue down this path, there are many people who are more than willing to aid you however possible, myself included. And some of your peers may be able to relate to your situation more than you think. Keep an open mind.”

The purple-haired boy nods once more, before exiting the classroom. 

Shouta has a feeling he knows what answer Shinsou will return with. He smiles to himself in the empty classroom, before scooping up the ungraded assignments on his desk and turning out the lights. 

— — — — — 

All Might’s summary of his first Foundational Hero Studies class is almost thirty pages long, with detailed analyses of each student in Class 1-A. Naturally, Shouta’s already read through and annotated them by the end of the school day, leaving him enough time to ambush the other Hero outside the teacher’s lounge. 

He’s particularly concerned about two of the trials from Toshinori's report. Bakugou and Midoriya’s explosive confrontation is at the forefront; it appears their childhood history has some unresolved tension. Bakugou’s arrogance and temper will cost him much more than just a school trial victory if left unchecked. Shouta hasn’t seen a superiority complex this far-developed since Hyuuga Hiashi, and at least the man had earned his right to feel that way on the battlefield. 

Midoriya’s unhealthy attachment to traumatic relationships and lack of attachment to his functioning limbs is another problem. Shouta scratches his chin as he walks. Having All Might, the textbook definition of self-sacrifice, as a personal mentor likely doesn’t help matters, he muses. He’s not sure why the boy is so attached to Bakugou when the other clearly doesn’t return the sentiment, which speaks to Midoriya’s lack of understanding of what a healthy friendship looks like. Either that, or there’s a depth to their relationship that Shouta hasn’t had enough time to dissect yet.

Finally, Todoroki’s trial raises so many red flags that Shouta wonders if the rest of his fellow U.A. staff are actually color-blind. His demonstration of power was more than simple overkill, more than a teenager showing off for his classmates—he’s purposely isolating himself, doesn’t care to form any kind of relationship with his peers. There's constant anger, even hatred. 

Shouta can’t say he’s surprised, but he does wonder what sort of point the kid is trying to prove. His antagonism toward his fire-half of his Quirk leads Shouta to certain conclusions he doesn’t enjoy entertaining. But he doesn’t have any evidence to support his suspicions, and he’s definitely not in any kind of position to outright ask Todoroki about anything, yet. He can only wait and try to help the boy as best he currently can. And maybe sneak a candy bar or three into Todoroki’s pocket every day. Kid sure looks like he could use some nice things in his life.

He rounds the corner of the hallway and opens the door to the teacher’s lounge. 

Toshinori and Midoriya both jump in their seats, staring guiltily at Shouta as he breezes into the room. 

“...Maa, I thought we talked about this, you two,” he says. “Stop looking so suspicious. At least I couldn’t hear your conversation from the hallway, though, so that’s an improvement.” 

“Er—good afternoon, Aizawa,” Toshinori stammers. Midoriya echoes his greeting. “Did you need anything from us?”

“As a matter of fact, yes!” Shouta eye-smiles, leaning against the door to close it. “Midoriya, if you keep purposely breaking your entire arm in order to use your Quirk, I will expel you,” he says mildly.

The two gape at him.

“C-come now, Aizawa, there’s no need for such extremes, surely,” Toshinori says. 

“Yes, there is,” Shouta says bluntly. “Midoriya, you’re training to become a Hero now,” he addresses the green-haired boy, who subconsciously sits up straighter. “Heroes are meant to help people. Whether that means search-and-rescue or keeping the peace, you’ll be responsible for the safety of others. What good will you be as a Hero if you continually throw your safety to the wind and incapicitate yourself?”

“But I’ll get better!” Midoriya protests. “I just need to learn to control One For All, and I won’t hurt myself this way anymore!”

“Yes,” Shouta says, “but the more you think it’s alright to sacrifice your limbs right now, the more it will become a habit. Trust me, this will help nobody in the long run. Think of this as me looking out for your future best-interests. Since I can’t help you train your Quirk, then I’ll help hold you accountable to a Hero’s standards.” 

Midoriya seems to deflate. “...I understand, Aizawa-sensei.”  

A beat of silence passes, before Shouta speaks again. “I know I don’t know the technicalities of your Quirk, but I’m thinking that you should try reconsidering what you know about how to use it.” He glances at Toshinori. “Surely, breaking your bones isn’t the only way to use your Quirk.”

“No,” Toshinori says, “but young Midoriya has not yet built up enough tolerance and control to use it properly. His body cannot handle the output of One For All right now.”

“—So I’ve been isolating it in more localized parts of my body to limit the damage,” Midoriya adds. “It’s just too much energy for me to handle.”

Shouta frowns. One For All sounds suspiciously familiar… 

“Actually, Midoriya, I may be able to help you,” he says. “When were you going to hold your next practice session for your Quirk?” He asks Toshinori just as much as Midoriya.

“Well,” Midoriya says, “All Might has had me working on a fitness routine to increase my body’s tolerance levels, but I don’t really have a chance to use the Quirk itself, since it breaks my bones and all—”

“Wait,” Shouta says slowly, “so you mean… you haven’t been trying to use your Quirk outside of class at all ?” He looks incredulously at Toshinori, who suddenly can’t quite meet his eyes. 

“I did not wish to risk Midoriya’s health,” the blond stammers, “especially since he would not have access to Recovery Girl’s healing outside school hours—”

“Wednesday afternoon at 4 p.m., Training Ground 12,” Shouta says briskly to both of them. “Don’t be late,” he adds, allowing the or else to hang menacingly in the air. With that, he turns and walks out of the room. 

When he’s safely alone in the hallway, he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Hizashi was right. Why did he always get the problem children? Shouta stretches languidly, before heading out to grab his things. Now, where did he leave his notebook on chakra theory again?

— — — — — 

“If I understand correctly,” Shouta calls down to Toshinori from his perch in a tree, “One For All is a sort of energy inside the holder’s body, which, when activated, amplifies the holder’s strength.”

“That is correct,” Toshinori says. He paces back and forth in the dirt clearing of Training Ground 12. The two teachers have both arrived a few minutes early, so all that’s left now is to wait for Midoriya. 

Normally, Shouta would have taken his time (read: two hours) to actually arrive, but he’s genuinely afraid of what nonsense Toshinori would manage to teach Midoriya in that amount of time. 

“Another question,” Shouta says. “Is your Quirk present throughout the entirety of your body, and you activate it in certain parts when you require it? Or is it more of a central location, and you send the energy toward the body part you wish to strengthen?”

“The latter,” Toshinori says. “That is why my body switches forms whenever I activate or deactivate One For All.”

Shouta grunts. “Thought so, just wanted to be sure.”

Midoriya rushes into the training ground, kicking up a plume of dust behind him. “I’m here, Sensei!” He calls, panting from his run. The boy’s dressed in his gym clothes. 

Shouta hops down from his tree, ignoring Midoriya’s surprised flinch. “Let’s get started, then,” he says. He waves the other two closer to him, before plopping down onto the dirt ground in lotus position. Hesitantly, Midoriya and Toshinori follow suit. “Alright, Midoriya,” he begins, “tell me, can you sense One For All even when you’re not using it?”

The boy frowns in thought. “I… I think so,” he says. “It’s very faint, but something in my body definitely feels different from before All Might passed it on to me.”

“Can you tell me where exactly you sense it in your body?” Shouta presses. 

Midoriya is quiet for a moment. “My chest, I think,” he says, pressing a hand to the general area. 

“Hmm, makes sense,” Shouta says. “It’s the most central point on your body, so it can reach whichever area you need it to be in the fastest. When you activate it, can you feel the energy traveling from that area?”

“Actually…” Midoriya says, “now that you mention it, Sensei, I think I do remember feeling that every time I’ve used it in the past. I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

“Alright,” Shouta says, “now that we’ve established that, here’s what I want you to do. With any sort of power like One For All, one that is a sort of energy that you direct around your body, the basis of your control stems from your ability to direct it to where you want it, and how much you want at one time.”

Midoriya blinks. “So, I’m using too much of it right now?”

Shouta nods. “Think about it. When you use your muscles normally, your cells are powered by oxygen and nutrients that your blood circulates through your body. You don’t have concentrated blood in your heart, that you send to whichever body part you want to move; you have blood constantly pumping through your veins.”

Understanding dawns on the green-haired boy. “So I should circulate One For All the same way,” he says. “That way, I’ll gain a sense for how much of it I’m using and which parts of my body need what amounts of energy. When I’m sending it to just my arm or leg it’s building up too much energy at once. Like trying to fill a water balloon with a hose.”

“Right,” Shouta says, ruffling Midoriya’s hair in approval. 

The boy ducks his head, but Shouta can see the embarrassed smile twitching across his lips. He hands Midoriya a small sheet of paper, on which he’s scribbled a map of all the tenketsu points across the human body. Toshinori cranes his neck to see the diagram as Midoriya studies it intently. 

“For today’s exercise, I want you to practice moving One For All throughout your body, to as many of these points as possible,” Shouta says. While the Quirk is definitely not the same as chakra, he figures it’s as good a method as any to help Midoriya understand how thorough his control needs to be. “However, I don’t want you to activate the Quirk. Just feel it. This will be your new practice method until you can accurately control One For All at all of these points.”

“But what if he loses control of the Quirk?” Toshinori rumbles, concerned. “He might break every part of his body, rather than only his arm, if this exercise goes awry.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Shouta says, standing and stretching. “If Midoriya loses control, I’ll erase his Quirk before it can do any damage. Alright, Midoriya, let’s get to it.” 

He sets Midoriya up in a meditative position, cross-legged in the dirt clearing. As the boy settles and closes his eyes in concentration, Shouta retreats to his tree to keep watch, eyes half-lidded under his long hair. 

“You are quite the teacher, Aizawa,” Toshinori says, leaning against the trunk of Shouta’s tree. “How did you come up with these ideas?”

“Aah, it’s just something I remembered from a long time ago,” Shouta murmurs. 

“I feel as if I am not mentoring him as he needs,” Toshinori admits. “I have been trying to train him for months now with little success. You were able to see how best to help him in an instant, and explain it to him in a way he understands.”

Shouta frowns, glancing down at the blond. “Sometimes, it just takes an outside opinion, a shift in perspective, to figure things out.” He crosses his arms behind his head and allows himself to relax. “I think you’re doing the best you can with a difficult situation. And sometimes, that’s all we can do.”

Toshinori is quiet beside him. 

Chapter Text

“This Shinsou kid sounds like a real piece of work,” Hizashi says, before gleefully tearing into his burger and slurping noisily on his fountain drink. “Why d’you alwath get t’problem kidths?” He mumbles around a mouthful of ground beef. 

“Maybe I’m a likeable person,” Shouta sniffs, primly pushing his chopsticks into the soft white flesh of his broiled saury. “Maybe people can sense that I have good advice.” 

“Or maybe they can sense that you’re the Ultimate Problem Child!” Hizashi throws his head back in a loud laugh. Luckily, tonight’s restaurant is casual and noisy, so the blond’s loud voice blends into the background chatter. 

“I am the very picture of sophistication and grace,” Shouta says. He gathers a flake of fish with an equal-sized portion of rice for a perfectly-balanced bite of his meal, stuffing it quickly in his mouth when Hizashi glances away. The aromas roll around his tongue as he savours the food. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hizashi says, “and I’m the Prime Minister of Japan.” 

“You are?” Shouta says seriously. “Then perhaps you can direct my inquiry on the sub-clause of Article V of the latest citizen-aid legislation to pass through your—” 

Hizashi dissolves into giggles. “You’re such a nerd."

“Thank you,” Shouta says, eye-smiling easily. 

They eat in companionable silence for a while, the background noise of the food court washing over them. With the start of the new school year, chances like these are rare, and Shouta silently relishes the chance to escape the chaos of U.A. and have a nice dinner with his best friend. Plus, Hizashi never notices when Shouta steals his food until it’s too late, and Shouta considers the activity to be the peak of all Hizashi-related entertainment.  

Hizashi bumps Shouta’s elbow with his. “What are you up to after this?” He asks, licking sauce from his fingers messily. 

“I need to swing by the pet store,” Shouta says. “I’m out of dog food again. The latest litter has been growing nicely and Mama Sakura needs her dinner.”

“Oh, man,” Hizashi’s eyes go round, “I haven’t met the new puppies yet. Can I come, Shouta? Pretty please?” He drags the last word out in a long whine, not unlike a puppy himself. 

Shouta grumbles at Hizashi, but they both know he’d never say no. Their conversation turns to more inane topics as they finish the rest of their dinner. As they’re gathering their trash, a familiar voice cuts in from behind Shouta.

“Shouta! Hizashi! Fancy seeing you two here,” Shouta turns, mentally groaning at the sound of his colleague’s voice. It’s Nemuri, dressed in civilian attire like Hizashi, waving at them as she carries her own tray, laden with an empty bowl, with her other hand. 

“Hey, Nemuri!” Hizashi shouts back excitedly, while Shouta manages a tired grunt. “We just finished dinner, and now we’re gonna go to the pet store so Shouta can stock up!”

“What, for a midnight snack?” Nemuri asks. 

“Of course,” Shouta says, eye-smiling. “What else would I buy dog food for?”

“I didn’t peg you as that type,” Nemuri says, before leering. “Although, if you’re interested, I’d be more than happy to peg you in the other sense of the word, and in any kind of costume you like, too—”

Hizashi throws his head back in a laugh. “No, no, Nemuri,” he giggles, “the food’s for the pack of strays next to his apartment complex! But I’d pay good money to see Shouta in a dog costume.”

“Maa, sure, but then I’d have to kill you afterward,” Shouta says mildly. 

“Hey, Nemuri, you up to anything right now?” Hizashi says. “You should come meet the dogs with us!”

Shouta cuts a look at the blond. “Hey, don’t invite people to someone else’s party.”

“Sure,” Nemuri shrugs, ignoring Shouta’s words. “Not like I have anything better to do.”

And that was how Shouta ended up with two grown-ass adults cuddling a pack of (admittedly-adorable) puppies outside his apartment. 

Predictably, the dogs love Hizashi and Nemuri. Shouta would be irritated, except he’s been stealthily snapping photos with his phone the entire time, stocking up on some truly excellent blackmail material. 

A cold nose nudges at his hand, and he drops down to pet the excitable yellow lab at his side. “You’ve already had more than enough treats for today,” he chides. Naruto the Second only looks at him with large, round eyes. 

“You know,” Nemuri says, a chocolate-colored puppy nipping at her fingers, “I should have known you’d pull something like this. You haven’t changed one bit since our school days, Shouta.” 

Shouta pouts. “What can I say? I’m just a magnet for trouble.” He digs his fingers into the dog’s fur as Naruto rolls onto his back, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he pants in delight. 

When he glances back up, Hizashi is looking at him. “Shouta just has a talent for attracting strays,” the blond says, mouth quirking into a smile. Shouta knows he’s talking about more than just the dogs, recalling their conversation over dinner earlier. “They can always tell that he’ll take care of them.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Shouta hums. 

Naruto the Second wags his tail. 

Chapter Text

It’s a fucking disaster from the start. Of course it is. Shouta should’ve known. 

His day starts with a sick puppy. Too young to even have a name, it’s shivering and refusing to latch properly. Shouta gently pries it away from its mother’s side, promising Sakura II that he’ll return it safe and sound, before rushing to the vet clinic right as it opens for the day. Fills out the requisite paperwork as fast as humanly possible.

Then he misses his bus to school.

By the time he’s walking into Class 1-A, drenched in sweat, Shouta’s almost ready to throw in the towel entirely. Go home and start over tomorrow. If it weren’t for their planned field trip, he probably would’ve followed through. That’ll show him for trying to be punctual. 

Bakugo’s grandstanding again, palms sparking with heat. Kaminari and Ashido are cheering him on, the little sociopaths that they are. Midoriya’s gesticulating wildly in the back of the room to Uraraka and Asui. Newly-anointed class president Iida shouts from the front podium, desperately attempting to quell the chaos while filling in the minutes that Shouta’s missed on account of being late. In the corner, Aoyama sparkles on. 

Shouta sighs, and claps his pocket-sized novel closed. In a heartbeat, the kids quiet, turning to face him. If there’s one thing going for him today, it’s that his students remain as terrified of him as always.

“Go get your gym clothes,” he says. “We’re going on a training trip.”

-----

He finds it hard to compare the USJ to a green genin’s D-Rank. Even if it’s designed to be harmless teamwork practice, there’s not even a client to speak of. Maybe it’s more like… the Academy’s annual camping trip to the woods surrounding Konoha, where some poor nine-year-olds are forced to snap the necks of fluffy rabbits and cook them into stew for the night. If that was part of the Academy’s curriculum back in his day, Shouta’s pretty sure he would’ve died of boredom.

He casts an eye over the chattering horde of kids packed into the school bus. In this world, fifteen is considered young—barely enough to begin training them into the world’s next generation of protectors. Shouta can hardly begrudge them for it, although he can’t help but wonder about if such a society could have been cultivated in his previous life. Oh, he worked for it, devoted every ounce of his being to it. From foot soldier to elite jounin to his years wearing that damn red-and-white hat, he carried Obito’s dream of peace. Knowing that it would never be achieved in his lifetime, but sowing the seeds regardless. Knowing that the bravest thing was to hope.

The bus screeches to a halt, shaking Shouta out of his melancholy mood. Class 1-A files off of the bus, anticipation sparking like lightning. He slouches through the doors of the USJ, nodding to Thirteen. Shouta appreciates his coworker’s quiet earnestness. They have a good head inside that helmet, and more Heroes could benefit from their approach to Hero work.

“Welcome to the Unforeseen Simulation Joint,” Thirteen says. “This is a private training facility for all things related to natural disaster training and rescue work.”

“Eh? I don’t want to become a rescue Hero!” Kaminari complains. “I’m gonna be cool and beat up bad guys!”

“Yeah, yeah!” Sero chimes in. “There’s no point in having all of us here when we won’t even specialize in this direction.”

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the students. Bakugou crosses his arms and nods while Todoroki ‘hn’s. 

Iida yelps. “How disrespectful!” He says. “Don’t interrupt a teacher!” He glares his classmates down until order is restored. Thank Kami for a goody-two-shoes in his class, or else Shouta might’ve had to do his job.

“Hero work isn’t always what you see on TV,” Thirteen says calmly. “For some of you, you will wind up specializing in rescue work, whether or not you plan on it now. It’s a vital sector of the Hero organization that’s often overlooked. This is only your first introduction to all the different kinds of paths you can take in the future—it’s important to keep an open mind.”

Shouta’s gratified to see that several students are now nodding. Some of his quieter kids seem particularly interested, including Kouda and Ojirou. He loves having competent coworkers.

“Besides,” Thirteen continues, “in many natural disasters, it’s all hands on deck for Heroes. There’s no time to argue about specialties. Everyone who can help is called on to help. The skills you’ll learn at the USJ and in your time at UA will serve you well in your Hero work.”

The students shuffle again, this time in anticipation. 

“We’ll begin with a quick orientation to get to know the training grounds—”

Shouta tenses. Something’s off. He leaps to the front of the group, quicker than most of his students can react. 

A split second later, a large black portal tears through the fabric of reality in front of them.

“Get back!” He yells, gesturing at his kids. They move slowly, like they’re trapped in molasses. Shouta grits his teeth. “Thirteen, guard the students and contact UA. I’ll handle this.”

Thirteen nods, much quicker on the uptake. Shouta can trust them to look after the kids; he turns his attention back to the portal.

Figures are pouring out of the space, quickly outnumbering his twenty-person class and the two Pro-Heroes. None of them look particularly friendly. Shouta’s first instinct is to immediately engage, catch them off-guard while they’re still getting their bearings for the new environment. But it’s not just him here—he’s got to protect his students. If he provokes his opponents too soon, one of the kids might get caught in the crossfire. 

A man covered in hands leads the pack. His skin is so dry he could give Kakuzu and his ashy stitched skin a run for his money. And that guy had a lot of money.

“Ah, it’s good to finally meet some of UA’s students,” the guy rasps. “There’s been a big fuss about you all in the news lately. Although, where’s All Might?”

“You hear about one famous person and immediately expect to be able to meet him,” Shouta says disapprovingly. “All this for a fan photo-op?” He glances over at Thirteen, who shakes their head subtly. No contact with UA, then. It appears the Villains—it’s beyond doubt now that’s what they are—have thought this encounter through. Which is pretty unfortunate for him.

“Ah, yes,” the hand-covered Villain says, “I am a big fan of All Might.”

One of the man’s lackeys grumbles. “I thought he was supposed to be here,” he says. “Wasn’t his name listed on that itinerary you stole, Shigaraki?”

Ah. This Shigaraki has planned things out even more than Shouta thought. Maybe it’s good that Thirteen can’t get in touch with All Might. If they’re targeting the man specifically, it’s probably not ideal for him to come charging into the USJ then.

Thirteen will figure out how to contact Nedzu. Shouta’s job is standing right in front of him. Shigaraki looks around the dome of the USJ, clearly looking for All Might.

“You’re right,” he says, “All Might is supposed to be here. I suppose we’ll just have to start attacking some of these extras, then.” He nods at the group of students huddling behind Shouta. “Maybe that will draw him out.” Gestures sharply with one of his many hands. His vanguard of Villains charges with a yell, brandishing weapons as they hurtle toward Class 1-A.

Shouta’s capture tool whips out in a line, neatly tripping every single one of them. He flips to stand in front of the Villains, keeping himself between them and his class. 

“Maa, how rude,” he says, “Picking on a bunch of newbie kids?” Behind his back, he signals Thirteen, who herds the students back even further. “Unfortunately, I’m not in the habit of standing by and watching innocents get killed.”

One of the Villains sneers at him. “What’re you gonna do, emo?!”

Shouta sniffs. ‘Emo’ is a new one. 

“He’s just one guy! Get him!”

It’s almost laughable how easy these guys are. Shouta ducks under the first fist swinging his way—a classic side hook, which looks great in the movies but in reality always leaves your body open. He plants a kick into the guy’s abdomen, sending him crashing into the path of another charging Villain. They both go down for the moment. 

Without looking, he reaches behind him to grasp the wrist of a tall man wrapped in bandages, twisting the arm out of the guy’s shoulder socket with a pop. As he howls in pain, Shouta hops nimbly, over a sweeping leg, and axe kicking the next minion in the face. Based on the satisfying give under his foot, the guy’s nose is definitely broken.

Long, noodly arms reach for him. Shouta flashes his Quirk at the man for a second, but the arms seem unaffected. Must be a Mutant-type Quirk. No matter; Shouta simply tosses a throwing star at the guy, and he screams as it finds its mark in his shoulder. The arms flop away. 

They’re engaged in combat for what can only be a few seconds. But when Shouta glances around after throwing his knife, nobody seems to be approaching him. Instead, the ones still standing make an uneasy semicircle around him. 

“What’re you standing around for?” Shigaraki says. “Hurry up and take him down.”

“I dunno, boss,” one says. “I think I recognize this guy…”

Another nods. “The capture tool, the martial arts—it’s Eraserhead!”

“He’s crazy!” A third voice chimes in. “I’ve been put away by him before. Never seen anyone put a scratch on him!”

“It’s nice when your reputation precedes you.” Shouta tilts his head in an eye-smile. “Somehow, I can’t imagine you’re out early on good behavior. Should I contact your parole officer?”

Shigaraki stamps his foot like a child. “We don’t have time for this! Kurogiri, go get the students.” The Villain next to him, whose body billows with purple mist, nods. His body folds in on itself as he twists away into whatever dimension he goes to when he teleports. Shouta’s already sprinting toward Thirteen and the group. Thirteen is speaking to Iida.

“New plan!” He yells at his fellow Pro-Hero and the kids. “Everyone evacuates, now. ”

Iida’s already zipping off through the doors of the USJ. Shouta hopes the kid can run fast enough. He sees Kurogiri solidifying between the rest of the students and Thirteen.

“It’s no use,” the Villain intones. “You cannot run from us. If you surrender now, we may show you mercy, as you are not our true targets.”

“Fuck off!” Bakugou yells. Shouta could strangle the blond boy. “Who the fuck are you?”

“We are the League of Villains,” Kurogiri says, “and our mission is to kill All Might—”

Several knives cut through his body. Shouta’s taken a risk—due to his own position and Kurogiri’s proximity to the students, there’s a chance one could’ve flown past him and caught one of the kids. As he predicted, however, Kurogiri’s gaseous (what state of matters are portals considered to be?) body absorbs the knives, and Shouta bids a fond farewell to that set of weapons. He readies another handful. The Villain must have some weak point, he just has to find it.

“Ah, it is useless to oppose us,” Kirigiri says. “We outnumber you here. Again, if you just come quietly—”

“Everyone run!” Shouta yells. “Find a place to hide. He can’t teleport to you if he doesn’t know where you are!”

His students scatter. Midoriya, Asui, Ojirou, and Kouta immediately run into the woods. Bakugou and his group break for the ruins zone, while Todoroki jogs briskly toward the flooded sector. Yaoyorouzu leads the rest into the crumbling rocks of the landslide, stepping into her duties as vice president. He hopes those are Hagakure’s disembodied boots following her classmates.

Shouta covers his students’ retreat with another volley of knives. Again, most sink into Kurogiri’s body unimpeded, shredding his vest and slacks. One lucky shot glances off his metal neck brace. The purple Villain freezes, yellow slit eyes narrowing as they swivel to glare at Shouta. 

“Oh? Is that a weak point of yours?”

Before Kurogiri can react, Thirteen’s found their position behind the Villain, opening their finger and beginning to vacuum. Kurogiri’s body wavers as layers peel away into Thirteen’s void. Shouta readies a blade, eyes glued to that metal neck brace.

“Your strength is admirable,” Kurogiri says. “As such, I must even this playing field.”

A portal yawns open beneath Shouta’s feet, and he’s free-falling into the abyss with a yell.

Lands hard on his ass. Shouta scrambles to stand, taking in his new surroundings. He’s back in the center section of the USJ, where Shigaraki and the rest of his minions are still standing. They move to surround him.

“Think you can take me on?” Shouta says, aiming for menacing. He misses his Killing Intent in this moment. “You saw what I did to your comrades earlier. I doubt any of you would fare much better against me.”

“No,” Shigaraki says, “but luckily, we won’t be fighting you.”

Something thuds behind Shouta, and he spins to take in the new threat. 

“Meet Noumu, our ultimate weapon.”

Chapter Text

“You see, you stand no chance against—” Shigaraki starts his monologue about the monster, Noumu. 

Fuck it, Shouta thinks, and launches forward. He spares a throwing star each to the mob Villains closest to him, striking them in their thighs and knees. It’s a level of injury that’s more than enough to stop a criminal in this world.

One throws himself into the path between him and Shigaraki. Shouta’s hand comes up of its own accord, gripping the long combat knife he keeps tucked into his sleeves. Feeling as though he’s outside his own body, he watches in slow motion as it sinks easily into the man’s throat, smooth as butter. Can’t quite bring himself to feel bad about it while jumping over his body. 

(Nothing comes between him and his kids.)

Two more steps bring him face-to-face with the so-called League of Villains’ apparent leader. Shigaraki twitches back, startled by Shouta’s speed. 

“Hey now,” the Villain rasps. He snaps a finger at the few remaining henchmen around him. “What are you waiting for?”

“Uh…” One of the henchmen points a trembling finger at the dead Villain. “I don’t think Goichi is doing so well, boss…”

“Oh my god…” 

“Is he… dead…? Holy shit!”

Murmurs swell around the group. Instead of rushing forward to defend their boss, they stumble backward, faces ashen.

“Argh!” Shigaraki sputters. “Fine, you’re all useless. I’ll do it myself.”

Shouta smirks at him. “Aw, no more backup? What are you, scared of a little knife?”

He flips his combat knife into a reverse grip, giving him a few centimeters of extra reach. Shouta lunges, and Shigaraki twitches, missing the blade through what appears to be sheer dumb luck. Up close, the young man appears almost gaunt, body struggling to fill out his dark clothes. Shouta spins, sweeping in a roundhouse kick to Shigaraki’s side. The Villain falls with a grunt, hand flailing into the air and brushing against Shouta’s elbow—

Pain explodes through his arm. He grits his teeth, immediately activating his eyes. It feels like a swath of his elbow and bicep have been flayed open with the flat of Hoshigaki Kisame’s sword, Samehada. 

“Ha! Have a taste of my Quirk: Decay!” Shigaraki’s mood seems to lighten, having landed a hit on Shouta.

Close quarters are no good against this Villain, then. He flips backward, putting several meters between himself and his opponent.

Throws his weight to the side as soon as his feet touch the ground. Where he was standing a moment ago, there’s a crater and a pile of rubble. Noumu lets out an animalistic roar as it lifts its fist, and then Shouta’s running as fast as he can. He glances back at Noumu, Quirk active, just to see the monster smash through another boulder like it’s wet paper. He supposes that it would just be too easy if Noumu’s Quirk could be canceled. Tosses a throwing star at it, which bounces off its skin harmlessly. 

Crap. He can’t keep an eye on both Shigaraki and Noumu. He prays to any gods that will listen that his students have enough common sense to keep out of Shigaraki’s way, because it looks like he’s locked into this battle with Noumu. If one could even call it that. It’s  mostly Shouta running and jumping and ducking and weaving, keeping one step ahead of the purple monster while occupying its attention.

Shigaraki lets out a creaking laugh. “Keep running, Eraserhead! Get a taste of how OP our ultimate weapon is!”

Shouta doesn’t dignify him with a response. He unrolls a spool of wire as he runs, searching for a good place to anchor one end of it. Unfortunately, the center area of the USJ is relatively barren, intended to serve as a safe zone amid the various disasters surrounding it. 

He ducks, a strand of hair dancing in the sudden wind created by Noumu’s swipe of a claw. The weight behind each of its blows… they’re almost worse than a punch from Tsunade. Almost.

Best not to get hit by it, at any rate. Taking advantage of Noumu’s downward momentum from its lunge, he flings more throwing stars. Two streak toward its beady eyes while the rest fly higher toward its exposed brain. Like he did with Kurogiri earlier, he’s trying to flush out any weak points on the monster.

With more speed than should be physically possible for its size, Noumu cuts off its motion and twists out of the way. It avoids the worst of the damage, but one blade grazes the side of its pink lump of brain. Noumu doesn’t falter in its movement, but one of its arms twitches, going limp. Now they’re a bit more evenly matched.

No time to celebrate. Another blink, and Shouta’s throwing himself out of the monster’s path again. What a pain. They continue on like that for several more back-and-forths, but eventually Shouta’s forced to accept that it’s unlikely he’ll get another lucky shot in.

What he does note, however, is the Noumu’s intellect. Oh, it’s smart. Noumu reacts to Shouta’s offensive moves with uncanny precision. Knows where to press its advantage and where to cut its losses. But its movements lack grace. It does exactly enough to land a blow, or dodge out of the way, and that’s it. Like a robot programmed with a singular objective—to kill.

He sprints off to the side in an attempt to gain some distance, but Noumu cuts him off. Shouta slides across the dirt, sticking out his arm to help divert his direction. Unfortunately, it’s his injured arm, and he wavers as his elbow gives a mighty protest. The monster scents blood. Pounces, swiping into Shouta’s side and sending him sprawling. 

The wind is knocked from his chest, but he forces his body into motion anyway. Shouta flips up from the ground, and with that momentum flings a knife at Noumu. It jerks its head to the side, powerful but lacking grace, and the knife whizzes through the air.

“Getting tired?” Shigaraki jeers. “And here I thought the round had just started. This won’t be any fun if you’re missing shots already.”

The knife thuds solidly into the trunk of a tree that forms the beginning of the wooded section. Shouta grabs the wire in his hand and pulls it taught, its end tied securely to the handle of the knife now anchored in the tree. He sprints, finishing the loop that he’d begun entangling in Noumu’s legs, dodging another swipe as he goes.

“I think I hit exactly what I wanted to,” Shouta says. 

The wire digs into the monster’s legs as it stumbles, falling forward into the dirt. It lets out a roar of distress, straining against the unexpected binding—the wire groans and creaks, but holds. It’s a special formula from UA’s Support department, built to withstand thousands of Newtons of force, put to the test by Noumu’s strength. In both of his lives, his body is built for speed rather than raw strength, so it’s a battle to keep the monster pinned. His injured arm throbs in protest as he digs his heels into the dirt.

“Oh, clever,” Shigaraki says. “As expected from a Pro-Hero good enough to teach at UA, I suppose.”

He’s not sure how long he can keep this up, but he has to buy enough time for backup to arrive from UA.

…He hopes somebody is getting backup from UA.

Shigaraki takes a step toward Shouta. “Seems like I better lend an assist—”

His foot sticks to the ground, ice creeping up his leg. Ice from Todoroki, who’s now standing at the edge of the clearing, hands outstretched as he ices the Villains around him in place.

With a yell, the rest of his stupid, wonderful, idiotic students launch themselves into the fight.

— — — — — 

For the most part, the students stick to the cannon-fodder Villains. Said Villains are also largely reluctant to fight still, after Shouta’s demonstration of his willingness to kill. But since he’s occupied with Noumu, they seem to gather the little courage they have left to take on some teenagers.

His students are admirably coordinated. Probably conspiring when they should’ve been hiding and staying safe…

Shouta’s able to keep Noumu pinned for a while longer, although he knows he’s going to feel sore in every muscle of his body tomorrow. Shigaraki seems content to observe—Shouta chooses not to look a gift horse in the mouth. If the Villain’s planning anything, he’ll simply have to do his best to keep eyes on him, which is a tall order considering he’s got his hands full with Noumu. Given Shigaraki’s delight in ordering his minions around, however, perhaps the man just doesn’t like to get his crusty hands dirty.

Meanwhile, Bakugou shoots another round of explosions, sending dirt flying. On the other side of the clearing, Jirou’s got her earphone jacks plugged into a black speaker, likely the handiwork of Yaoyorozu. It sends wave after wave of bass booms out, rattling Shouta’s teeth and scattering Villains like flies. His students are going all out: Ashido spitting acid into Villains’ eyes, Fumikage’s Dark Shadow weaving and tripping through their legs, Kaminari’s lightning arcing through the air.

The ones with physical Quirks, like Ojirou and Satou, are engaged in good old-fashioned fistfights. Every now and then, a henchman lets out a yelp as they’re shoved into the ground by a mysterious force, Hagakure’s shoes dancing away. As he watches, Kirishima bowls through a line of Villains like a wrecking ball. 

It’s not great for Shouta’s blood pressure.

On the other side of the clearing, Asui’s tongue is wrapped around a bulky Villain, dragging him every which way into the paths of his comrades. As he falls to the ground, groaning from taking various hits and Quirks not meant for him, she jumps, unwrapping her tongue as she retreats to a safe distance—

A purple void yawns open next to her. It’s Kurogiri. 

Shouta’s blood runs cold. What’s happened to Thirteen?

From the portal, Shigaraki steps out, walking leisurely. Before Asui can react, he’s already reaching out to her, hands curled menacingly, and he suddenly remembers that his students don’t know what the Villain’s Quirk does.

Noumu chooses this moment to throw its weight to the side, causing Shouta to stumble as the wire creaks. The angle’s all wrong now—his back is turned to his students, but he can’t keep Noumu in check if he moves. It’s a split second decision, but an easy one.

Shouta twists his body away from Noumu to swing his gaze around to look at Shigaraki. The wire goes slack in his grip. He activates his Quirk—right as the man’s hand curls around Asui’s bicep. 

Nothing happens.

A second later, a ton of bricks slams into his back, and Shouta takes a sharp tumble into the ground. He grunts, straining to keep his neck craned in the right direction. His goggles crack as his head meets the ground, and there’s an ominous snap in his ribs and an unbearable pressure behind his left eye, which is on the ground. As Noumu pins him to the dirt, Shouta struggles against its immovable weight and a wave of pain. 

(He thinks of rocks thundering down around him and his teammates—no, his friends—frantically trying to save him. Of Obito’s body, crushed beyond recognition, Rin sobbing as she transferred his eye—Oboro disappearing in the rubble—

No. That’s not the right comparison.

He thinks of Pein’s invasion of Konoha. Of being pinned down by earth up to his neck, hardly able to breath. Sacrificing himself to save Chouji. 

He didn’t regret it then. He won’t regret it now. 

He will never regret it.)

“How cool!” Shigaraki says, “sacrificing yourself to save your student.” Asui has twisted out of the Villain’s grasp, leaping back to a safe distance away from the action. “I’d expect nothing less from a Pro-Hero.”

Unfortunately, as long as his students insist on inserting themselves in the situation, Shouta can’t let up on watching Shigaraki. His Quirk is too dangerous to let any of them risk coming into contact with it. He’ll have to trust them to keep out of danger. 

“Unfortunately, now that Noumu has you, it’s game over,” Shigaraki continues. “Even if we didn’t manage to get All Might on this run, it’ll still be a victory to take out an annoying miniboss like you.” 

“Ha, me, a boss?” Shouta wheezes. “I’m flattered. I thought you only cared about the big names.” He inhales a mouthful of dirt for his trouble.

“It’s about making a statement ,” Shigaraki says. “No matter, anyway. Since he’s not here today, we’ll settle for you. Might be good in the long run, considering how annoying you’ve turned out to be.”

He gestures, and Noumu again crushes Shouta’s head into the ground with one meaty paw. Something shifts behind his eye, and he hears a faint crunching noise echoing through his skull. Shouta tastes blood in his mouth. Despite the static beginning to cloud half of his vision on his left side, he keeps them open and trained on Shigaraki. Fights to keep his breathing even—Noumu’s weight is like a boa constrictor, lessening the room he has to breathe with every exhale. 

Concentrate on the mission. A shinobi must always put the mission above all else. Even his body is immaterial. He will not succumb.

Then, a tremendous boom as something flies through the air at terrific speed, a motion that Shouta just manages to catch out of the corner of his eye. 

It’s Midoriya, arcs of energy from One For All racing along his body. His fist buries itself solidly in Noumu’s chest, and a soundwave of dust billows outward from the zone of impact. For a second, he’s suspended in the air. 

Noumu lets out a roar. Midoriya flips away, not as quickly as Shouta would like. The monster appears to be intact after a direct hit from Midoriya’s borrowed Quirk, which is a terrifying thought that Shouta doesn’t allow himself to pursue at the moment. Despite the lack of damage to Noumu, Midoriya shifted it off-balance with the force of his blow—just enough to lessen the pressure on Shouta’s head.

That’s all he needs. Noumu rocks backward, its animal hindbrain keeping its claws fisted in Shouta’s hair. His head jerks with the motion, but he fights to keep his body limp to follow Noumu’s motion, eyes tracking to stay on Shigaraki the whole time. He ragdolls into the air, and when he’s certain the timing is right, swipes his combat knife in a smooth arc beneath the base of his skull. Black locks rain down around them as he’s abruptly freed.

(Thanks for the trick, Sakura.)

As soon as his feet hit the ground, Shouta’s sprinting for Shigaraki. It’s a gamble to leave Noumu unattended, but if he can pose enough of a threat to the man, it’s likely that he’ll call the monster back to himself. Shigaraki’s lips part, but before he can say a word, Shouta’s body-slamming him away from Asui.

Noumu lets out a roar, but doesn’t pursue. Shouta risks a split-second glance away from Shigaraki to see a layer of ice thickening around its leg. It tries to swat at Todoroki’s ice, but Midoriya’s aiming a Quirk-powered kick into its ribcage, keeping it distracted. Uraraka creeps around its back, and a tap of her hand sweeps it off-balance. With its gravity disrupted, Shouta’s able to land a long blade straight in the meat of its brain. Noumu goes limp.

Shigaraki grunts as he stumbles away from Shouta. “Kurogiri!” He calls, voice creaking. “Take out Eraserhead, will you?” 

The dreaded purple portal begins to form again, and Shouta braces himself. And then an explosion, and he sees Bakugou leveling another explosion at Kurogiri’s neck plates. 

“There it is,” his blond student snarls. “That’s where Sensei was aiming earlier. I’ve got you now, motherfucker!” 

Kurogiri’s purple mist retreats as he’s forced on the defensive. 

“Stop messing around, Kurogiri!” Shigaraki reaches toward Shouta’s face as he speaks, his hand aiming for Shouta’s bleeding left side.

On pure instinct, Shouta stabs a knife through it.

For a beat, Shigaraki doesn’t react. He holds his hand in front of his face, staring dumbly as crimson blood begins welling out of the wound. Shouta’s still holding the handle of the knife, and he uses it to reel the Villain closer. 

“Yo,” he says, baring his teeth in an imitation of a smile, copper tang of blood bitter on the back of his throat. “You should worry about yourself. How are you going to kill All Might if you can’t even beat one no-name Hero and some teenagers?”

“You—” Shigaraki says, before he screams in pain. “This isn’t game over!”

The doors of the USJ fly open, and Iida’s standing there with a pack of Pro-Heroes. All Might is at the front, Quirk activated in his Hero form. Shouta feels a nonsensical urge bubble in his chest to tell him off for overusing his power, right in front of all the Villains and students.

The nameless henchmen around them start to panic. 

“We can’t beat all those Pro-Heroes!”

“Is that All Might?”

“How is Eraserhead still standing?!”

“I don’t wanna die!”

Shigaraki wrenches his hand off of Shouta’s knife, in a surprising show of pain tolerance. “Kurogiri,” he calls again, urgently. “We have to go! Forget everyone else. Get me out of here.”

A purple portal warps open underneath him, and then it’s just a dead monster and the rest of the small-time Villains left. The Pro-Heroes finally begin to move, swarming through the unfortunate minions of Shigaraki and checking on his students. He thinks he sees Thirteen’s space suit lost in the mix.

Shouta turns immediately, eyes jumping over his students in a hurried headcount. They’re all whole and standing, for the most part. He breathes a sigh of relief.

“What were you all thinking?” He exclaims. “Fighting the Villains when I told you to stay away—”

Darkness clouds the edge of his vision, and he promptly topples over, unconscious.

Chapter Text

He swims back into consciousness with the burn of antiseptic in his nose. Can’t quite recall which mission he’d been on that put him in the hospital. Again. His head is fuzzy, and the lingering dredges of unconsciousness are familiar hallmarks of chakra exhaustion. He dimly hopes that whichever team he was on made it home safely before he passed out, although his continued lack of memory dulls his panic for the moment.

His Sharingan is quiet. Reaches up to find that the left side of his face is wrapped in bandages. Did he overuse it in his fight? At least when it’s covered, it can’t drain his chakra at its standard rate. 

Glancing down his body as he sits up, he finds that his left arm is also in a sling. Other than that, he finds no major injuries. His whole body aches with soreness, though.

His hair flops into his face. Ugh. How long was he out? 

The familiar flow of chakra in his body is absent, but it’s nothing too unexpected with chakra exhaustion. It could be that the hospital has blocked his tenketsu points with seals, too, in a bid to keep him from further exhausting himself… or from escaping the hospital.

His head pounds with the familiar headache of laying down for far too long. Luckily, there’s a pitcher of water by his bedside, which he clumsily reaches out to take. Winces at the taste in his mouth as he washes away the dust and lingering copper tang of blood. He notices that his left arm is wrapped in a cast, immobilized. Kami, this fight must’ve done a number on him. 

The water sloshes in his empty stomach. He wobbles out of his hospital bed and into the attached bathroom, fumbling through the motions. As he’s washing his hands in the sink, his gaze slides over the small mirror. Freezes.

He’s…

He remembers. He’s not Hatake Kakashi anymore. He’s not in Konoha, or the Elemental Nations. He’s Aizawa Shouta, Pro-Hero Eraserhead, homeroom teacher of Class 1-A at UA High School where he and his students were attacked on a routine training trip—

Hospital gown flapping in the wind, Shouta stumbles out of the bathroom. He needs to check on his students. Where is everybody? 

There’s a window next to his hospital bed. He grips the base of the pane and pulls it open, assessing the drop. In his previous life, being five stories above ground was no problem for a hospital escape, but this time around he doesn’t have chakra and its associated skills like wall-walking or shunshin. 

The mortar between the bricks in the building’s outer wall is old and crumbling, leaving large gaps that make decent handholds. He’ll have to climb down with one working arm, but if he can keep his feet stable it could work. At what he estimates to be the third level down, there’s a white ledge running along the perimeter of the building that creates a stylistic striped pattern when observing the hospital from afar. If he can reach that, he’ll be able to break the climb up into two halves. 

Shouta has one leg slung over the windowsill when the door flies open with a bang .

“Shouta!” Nemuri yells, sprinting in. “What the fuck are you doing?!” Behind her, Hizashi echoes her sentiment with a loud yell of shock.

“Uh…” Shouta thinks quickly. “...I saw an old lady fall down outside and I was going to help her?”

-----

With copious reassurances that his students are safe and that he’s a suicidal idiot, Shouta allows his friends to coax him back into the hospital room.

Doctors and nurses sweep through his room once they’re notified that he’s awake. They do their requisite check-ups and inform him of his injuries—nothing permanent, but he’ll have to treat his head carefully while it heals. Both to ensure the internal bleeding drains properly and that his left eye retains no long-lasting damage. Not for the first time, he laments that he’s cursed to carry eye-based powers through each lifetime.

Now that his mind isn’t so confused with where he is, he sees that the bedside table in the room is laden with colorful flowers, balloons, and cards. The biggest one is addressed from Class 1-A, with all of his students’ signatures dotted around the ‘Get Well Soon!’ printed in the middle. 

“How long was I out?” Shouta asks, poking at a vase of daffodils.

“Only one night,” Nemuri says. “Your students are very coordinated. Especially Tensei’s little brother.” That does sound like Iida. She pats his hair consolingly, tutting at the jagged cut Shouta made in the back to escape from Noumu. “You better let me clean this up, Shouta, or else you’re gonna have one hell of a fuckass bob.”

Hizashi reaches out, also touching his hair. “I can’t believe you’ll have short hair again,” he says. “You haven’t cut it since high school! Nemuri and I are gonna have to excommunicate you from our long hair squad.”

Shouta swats both of their hands away, feeling distinctly like a housepet being cooed over.

“Whatever,” he says, “I don’t really care what I look like.” For the most part, it’s true—he only had long hair till this point because he genuinely forgot to cut it. Noumu’s the first Villain he’s encountered in this world who’s thought to grab his hair, anyway. Probably says something about the average intelligence of a Villain.

“Don’t worry, you’ll look cute!” Nemuri says. She pulls out a small swiss-army pocket knife, sliding open the arm with a pair of tiny scissors. 

Hizashi pulls out a plastic comb with glee. “Makeover time!” Evidently, they both came prepared.

They only make it through one side of his head before the staff kick Nemuri and Hizashi out for having a weapon in a hospital. 

-----

“I’m glad you’re doing alright, Aizawa-kun,” Nezu says. 

Beside him, Toshinori wrings his hands. “It’s all my fault,” he says. “I was the real target. If I was there at the start, none of you would have gotten hurt.”

“And maybe Shigaraki would have summoned a horde of zombies made from dead Heroes,” Shouta says. When Toshinori stares at him in confusion, he shrugs. “What? I thought we were listing random what-if scenarios. Seriously, there’s no use in regretting what’s already happened.”

“You’re right,” Nezu cuts in cheerfully. “No time for regrets! Which is why you can tell me all about the man you killed, Aizawa-kun.”

Toshinori’s gaunt face paled as much as it could afford to, given his existing complexion. “You killed somebody?”

Shouta raises a brow. “What can I say? The Villains were threatening my students.”

“Not only did you actively kill one of them, another one bled out before paramedics could arrive. Two more were forced to have emergency surgery, and will likely never regain full use of their respective limbs.”

Shouta nods along. He’s never been lectured for killing somebody before. Previously, his clients might have had objection to his methods, or discreteness, but the act itself is what he excelled at as an ANBU assassin. It’s a novel sensation. 

“I’m not sure what else you want to hear,” Shouta says. “It was necessary in the moment. Do you want me to… apologize?”

Nezu laughs. “Well, I’m glad to see that you really don’t have any regrets, Aizawa-kun. In that case, I’m not too concerned. This will be easy enough to pass off as an act of self-defense, and nobody on the Hero Council would object to taking necessary steps to protect the next generation of Pro-Heroes. Just didn’t want you getting cold feet after the fact.”

…Then why even bring it up? Shouta scratches his head.

His boss pats his arm, before changing the subject to details about his return to teaching and class plans. He delivers his umpteenth report about Noumu and its abilities, which Toshinori looks appropriately terrified by, although Nezu never loses his maniacal smile. But it’s nothing that Shouta hasn’t already told Tsukauchi and the rest of the police investigating the incident. After that, Nezu’s the first to leave, apparently satisfied with all of Shouta’s answers.

Toshinori lingers, casting a worried look at him. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Aizawa?” He says. “Killing someone… is no small thing. And I don’t believe it’s something we, as Heroes, should be comfortable with.”

Shouta musters up an eye-smile for his friend. “Maa, don’t worry about me. I understand what you mean. But I’m an adult, and I know what I’ve signed up for.” He leans back in the hospital bed, gazing off outside his window. “It’s my job to protect the kids. They deserve to grow up safely.”

“You’re right,” Toshinori says, sighing heavily. “These new Villains… they concern me. Especially that monster you spoke of, Noumu. We certainly never faced anything like this when we were students.”

“There’s always a bigger, meaner Villain out there. We’ll do what we always do—we’ll do our best.”

(It’s what he’s always done, for better or for worse.)

-----

The news report drops quickly. Understandably, he supposes, considering a Villain attack on some schoolkids at this scale is relatively unheard of. The USJ Incident, as the media have taken to calling it, sparks waves of controversy. Calls for enhanced security for the school, questions about existing protocol that should have prevented the attack in the first place. Anti-Villain factions pushing for stricter legislation against Villains and those with criminal records. 

Amidst the commotion, Shouta’s two confirmed fatalities are quietly swept under the rug. As Nezu promised, nobody bats an eye at the fact that a teacher took lethal action in defense of his students. The media hardly even finds it newsworthy. 

To be honest, Shouta can’t comprehend why it would be public information in the first place. Who ever thought of telling people everything? Whatever. At least it’s not his problem anymore. He flips his hospital TV to more important matters. Namely, his favorite soap opera that he’s now missed two episodes of. Devastatingly, he's missed Naomi's dramatic confrontation with Aoki for cheating on her and their subsequent breakup.

-----

The hospital finally discharges Shouta the day after. The doctors insist he keeps his elbow and eye wrapped for the time being, which he begrudgingly agrees to in exchange for his freedom. Hizashi drives him home, windows rolled down to enjoy the morning breeze. Shouta’s lopsided haircut flutters in the wind, and he makes a mental note to shear off the unfixed side before he goes back to school. He’s got plenty of knives up his sleeve, it can’t be that hard to chop some hair, right?

A few blocks away from his apartment, Shouta requests a pit stop.

They pull up to the neighborhood vet clinic. The technician managing the front desk smiles in recognition when he walks in.

“Ah, Aizawa-san! Just in time. You’ll be glad to hear that the little one is doing well. It was touch and go for awhile, but she’s a real fighter. Let me get her ready to go.”

A few minutes later, she hands him the puppy. Her fur is russet, almost red, and she’s young enough that, when she’s ready to leave her mother’s side, she’ll be a good fit for the foster program he works with. He tucks her into his chest with one hand, the other finishing off the paperwork that the technician presents to him.

“Any names for this one?” She says, rubbing the puppy’s ears. 

“I think I’ll call her Kushina.”

Chapter Text

When Shouta sets foot back into his classroom, his students riot.

“Aizawa-sensei!” Kaminari cries, real actual tears streaming down his face. “You’re back!”

“Sensei-i-i-i-i!” Ashido launches herself toward the door. She’s closely followed by Shouta’s most extroverted children, including Kirishima and Sero. This seems to open the floodgates, and his students rush in. Even Todoroki lingers at the back of the crowd, eyeing Shouta thoughtfully. 

He grunts, lifting his injured arm slightly so it isn’t jostled. Thankfully, Iida steps in promptly, without Shouta having to lift a finger.

“Give Sensei space!” Iida barks. “This is no way to treat a teacher!”

The seas part enough for Shouta to actually step into the room, and he slouches toward his desk. Of course, now that his students can get a good look at him, it opens a whole new can of worms.

“ Mon dieu ,” Aoyama says, “did you lose your eye, Sensei?”

His left eye is still mostly wrapped to give the skin time to heal. He’s already verified that his vision is in working order, against doctors’ orders to leave it and his Quirk alone for the time being. A lifetime of disobeying medical advice will do that to a person.

Before he can get a word in, however, his students fall into hysterics all over again.

“You took on all these injuries to save us, ribbit…” Asui says. 

Midoriya’s eyes are round, suspiciously glassy. “Aizawa-sensei… to do all of that for us…”

“This is what being a Hero is about!” Kaminari is now openly weeping. Next to him, Kirishima thumps his back sympathetically. “Aizawa-sensei, you’re so brave!” Bakugou scoffs at his classmates, but even he doesn’t have anything incendiary to say about Shouta’s injuries.

“Settle down,” Shouta grouses. “My eye is completely fine. So is my arm. I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

It’s no use. By midday, all of UA is rife with rumours about the heroic efforts of Pro-Hero Eraserhead at the USJ. Some have the story mostly right, while others whisper about how Shouta cut off his own arm and leg to bait a three-headed monster who spat fire and had poisonous claws. There’s a fundraiser to pool money for eyepatches, devouring the precious pocket change of impressionable high-schoolers. Someone starts a fanclub in the lunchroom. 

What a pain.

-----

There’s a shadow haunting his doorstep when Shouta finally starts his office period.

“Please train me for the Sports Festival,” Shinsou Hitoshi says.

Shouta’s barely managed to start drinking his first cup of tea. He sighs deeply into his mug, which has a cartoon pug wearing sunglasses. Large print text reads ‘I’m all about that RUFF life!’ It’s an old gag gift from Hizashi and Nemuri, and Shouta can’t throw out a perfectly good cup. Besides, people always seem to stare at it when he uses it, which means they’re not looking at Shouta’s face when he drinks. 

“Why not ask your own homeroom teacher?” Shouta says. “What if I’m busy with my own students?”

He’s not. Shouta had the brilliant idea to open up office hour slots for his students to sign up for. On its cover, it’s to give more one-on-one training for the Sports Festival, seeing that Class 1-A is sorely lacking in actual training time due to the USJ incident. Is this actually so nobody can accuse him of favoritism for helping Midoriya and All Might in their weekly training sessions? Maybe. Never let it be said that Shouta can’t learn from his past mistakes, even those from a lifetime ago. 

At any rate, like all good students faced with optional extra credit, nobody signs up. Except Iida, of course. Even when the kid would be better off pestering his older brother for tips instead. Midoriya doesn’t count, seeing as Shouta has already been attending training with All Might.

He would be offended by the rest of his cute students, especially considering his display of his abilities at the USJ—but if he’s being honest he loves having extra reading time.

All that to say, Shouta’s schedule is pretty clear. Shinsou can take every slot his other students didn’t want. But Shouta’s got a reputation of being a hardass to uphold, so he supposes he can’t make it too easy for Shinsou.

Shinsou scowls. “I’ve been thinking about what you said to me before,” he says. “...I still want to be in the Hero course. Even if my Quirk is a bad fit. Even if it’s difficult. I won’t let someone else write my fate for me.” 

He shuffles his feet, growing uncertain as he speaks. “I actually did speak with Cementoss-sensei already. He encouraged me to seek out other teachers whose styles would be better aligned with mine, and offered some suggestions. But I guess I already knew, deep down, that I wanted to come to you.”

“Hmm. I thought you wanted to write your own destiny, or whatever it is you said. I don’t see how you’ll achieve that by copying me.”

“I’m not copying you!” Shinsou protests. “I’ll be my own person. But we all have to start somewhere. What’s the point of being a teacher if you won’t take time to help a student in your own school? If that’s the case, this was a waste of my time.”

Shouta barks out a laugh. “You’ve got guts, at least. That’s important, especially for your Quirk.” He sets his mug down firmly. “Alright, Shinsou. I’ll give you a chance. However, I’ll warn you exactly once: be prepared to work harder than you’ve ever worked in your entire life.”

The purple-haired kid nods sharply. “Understood. I won’t let you down!”

“Alright. We’ll meet every Tuesday at Training Ground 12. Bring your gym clothes.”

-----

Nezu’s sitting at the head of the oval table when everyone files into the staff room. He’s got that glint in his eye, the one that spells trouble. Shouta plops himself into the seat between Hizashi and Nemuri, shaking his newly-shortened hair out of his eyes. Glares at Nemuri—she’d managed to sneak in a slight side-bang on his left side before he’d caught on and forced her to stop. Now his front fringe falls slightly unevenly across his face.

She smirks back at him.

There’s an extra seat pulled up next to Nezu. It’s Tsukauchi Naomasa, the detective in charge of the League of Villains case. Shouta has nothing against the man, but he’s getting a bit tired of seeing him all the time. Alas, Shouta has the misfortune of being the Pro-Hero with the most experience confronting Shigaraki and his gang, so he’s been well-acquainted with Tsukauchi lately.

“Thank you all for attending this meeting,” Nezu says. “I’ve gathered you all here today to discuss the upcoming Sports Festival. Specifically, we will be taking a closer look at security this year, considering the trouble we had at the USJ.”

Murmurs of agreement. Shouta feels the weight of the room’s stares on him, and he resolutely pretends like he doesn’t care. 

Thankfully, Tsukauchi takes over from there. “Based on our interrogation of the Villains we were able to capture, it appears that the so-called League of Villains’ main target is All Might.”

Toshinori twitches, hunched over in his seat.

“At least the Sports Festival isn’t about the Pro-Heroes,” Snipe offers. 

“True,” Tsukauchi nods, “but it’s well-known that many Pro-Heroes are in attendance to scout future talent. Further, we’ve determined that the previous security breach at UA a few weeks ago was also the work of the League.”

Murmurs of shock and anger. Shouta’s not too surprised, considering his own testimony had helped uncover this information.

“All that to say,” Nezu continues, “we’re taking no chances with the Festival this year. The safety of all the students is at stake.”

“What measures do you have in mind?” Hizashi says, asking the question on everyone’s minds. 

“Currently, we’re working overtime to run background checks on ticket holders,” Tsukauchi says. “Of the Villains we were able to take into custody, 75% had existing infractions. Roughly 35% served time. So an existing record will likely be our best bet.”

“That still leaves at least a fourth of general admittance to random chance,” Nemuri points out. “I don’t like the idea of gambling on which ones will be dangerous.”

“We’re working on coordinating with the Hero Commission to station extra security around the stadium. Additionally, we’ll add more rigorous security that attendees will have to pass through at the entrance.”

Shouta can tell the confidence in the room is low. Too bad UA isn’t actually a military village with an entire army at its disposal. Having coordinated several in his day as Hokage, village security during the Chuunin Exams was a simple matter of ensuring guard rotations were visibly posted at every sensitive point in the village. Easy enough to pass to the genin and chuunin corps. 

Inspiration strikes.

“Why not post Heroes around the stadium?” He says. “We already have a roster of some of the best in the industry in attendance. Instead of having our usual VIP section, we can scatter them around strategic points throughout the crowd. They’re going to be in attendance anyway, might as well put them to work.”

Nezu scratches his chin thoughtfully. “An interesting proposal. I could see it panning out…”

“You think everyone would agree to that?” Nemuri says, raising an eyebrow. “Some of these guys really love their VIP perks.” Nobody says a name out loud, but they’re all thinking of the same person. 

“Frame it as an important Hero mission,” Shouta shrugs. “I mean, it is important. Tell the Commision to provide the briefing to give it legitimacy. Besides, the public expects some sort of showing of force on our part. It would be worse for our image to look like we’re trying to keep things normal.”

“And it would intimidate any would-be troublemakers, too,” Tsukauchi reasons. “Acknowledge that we’re on the hunt for them.”

“Efficient,” Nezu says. “So we’ll review our roster of Pro-Heroes and arrange seating to appeal to each of their strengths.”

Shouta nods. “That way, we can also reallocate some of our security force to be plainclothes attendees scattered through the crowd. Fill in the remaining gaps that the Heroes don’t cover.”

“Very good, Aizawa-kun. Naturally, this means you’ll be in the announcer’s booth with Yamada-kun, then.”

Pause.

“...eh?”

“Since we’re arranging our Pro-Heroes according to their strengths, the announcer’s booth is perfect for you,” Nezu says. “It offers the widest and clearest view of both the students and the audience. If anybody tries anything, you’ll be able to use your Quirk most effectively up there.”

“Hang on,” Shouta protests, “this would ruin my secret identity as an underground Hero.”

Hizashi clasps his shoulder, rough in his excitement. “No problem! We’ll just say you’re a staff consultant—don’t even have to give your name. C’mon, Shouta, emceeing the Sports Festival is always a blast!”

Nemuri cackles at him. “This was your idea! You thought you’d get away with slacking off as an undercover agent, didn’t you?”

He puts his head in his hands. How did he get roped into doing extra work for this stupid tournament?

-----

Shouta’s flipping through papers Nemuri left him when he hears the huffing and puffing. It’s a welcome respite from wincing over the Hero names his students are pitching for themselves. He’s glad Nemuri’s in charge of that portion of class, because he definitely won’t be the one to talk Bakugou out of Great Lord Explosion Murder. 

The noise is coming from Shinsou, who’s bent double with his hands over his knees.

“How—many—damn—laps—” he gasps. Unfortunately, it appears he’s unable to finish the sentence, as his poor honorary student is now dry heaving.

“I already said at the beginning of the session,” Shouta says mildly. He’s lounging on a tree, his preferred spot for training, and he crosses his arms behind his head. “Iida was here before you, and he ran fifty laps for his warmup. You have to at least match that.”

“But he has his Quirk—!” Shinsou says, between gasps. 

Shouta shrugs. “You’re the one who admitted your abilities are limited beyond your Quirk. I told you it would be hard work. Did you think I was lying?”

“Why do I even need to be able to run so much?” Shinsou glares. “Is running really gonna help me at the Sports Festival?”

“Well, you know for sure you’ll be up against Iida. Shouldn’t you be able to match him? Besides, your Quirk is based on your voice. It's not good to be out of breath and unable to speak to your opponent.”

“I thought we’d be learning how to use more tools, or even martial arts. What’s running gonna do—”

Before Shinsou finishes his sentence, Shouta hops out of the tree and flips onto the ground. Lands right in front of the kid. Shinsou cuts himself off as he registers Shouta’s presence. To the untrained eye, such as a student’s, Shouta moves within the space of a breath.

“When you don’t have a physical Quirk, speed is your best friend.” Shouta reaches out a hand, and Shinsou twitches, but he only sets it down on the purple-haired boy’s head. “Endurance is for when you need to push your body beyond your mental limits.” He gestures at his still-wrapped elbow. “With Quirks like ours, we’re always working at a disadvantage. So you have to get better at the basics than everybody else.”

Looking contrite, Shinsou nods.

“Besides, who said we weren’t training other things? Once you finish your laps, we’ll start working through martial forms.”

A groan of despair. Oh, music to Shouta’s ears.

Shouta does follow through on his promise. He sets Shinsou off on some basic stretches while he ponders how best to move forward.

The kid’s a little bit above average in height for his age. Not particularly stocky or lithe, but he’ll definitely be broader around the shoulders than Shouta when he’s fully grown. Considering his Quirk requires him to be within hearing distance, he’ll have to be comfortable with close- to mid-range fights; hand-to-hand training will be a must. Another area of difference between the two of them, as Shouta relies on distance to keep his opponents in view. 

But Shouta’s getting ahead of himself. It’s not like the kid will need to kill anybody at the Sports Festival. 

Theoretically.

…Hmm, maybe he should lend Shinsou some knives.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. Students could only carry approved items into the festival, right. 

“With our time constraints before the Festival, it would be best to focus on adding some weapons and forms into your repertoire,” Shouta says. “Quirk strengthening takes time, so it’ll be something to focus on in the long term.” 

He takes a spot next to Shinsou, beginning to demonstrate a set of kata. Rather than using Academy standard, he opts to use an Uzumaki Whirlpool style instead. Kushina had been the one to show it to him first, although it wasn’t her preferred style. It left him with bits and pieces to fill in through experimentation and conjecture, something he’d worked on after retirement, with input from Naruto, to document for future Uzumaki. The style prioritizes fluidity in movement alongside forceful stunning strikes—something for Shinsou to grow into. Fits well with grappling tools and light weaponry. Again, a future consideration for after the Festival.

Shouta shifts his weight to his front leg. “We’ll start in a front stance before shifting back into a half-Tiger. Hands start at your hips, and bring them up over two moves…”

“Yes, Sensei!”

-----

The night before the Sports Festival, Shouta unwraps his last round of bandages from his face. The hospital gave him a clean bill of health, and his open wounds have all closed up neatly, although his arm remains in a sling.

Peeling the adhesive away from his cheek, he looks into his mirror. Runs his finger along his cheek. There’s a perfectly straight, horizontal scar running across his cheek, just under his left eye from where the crux of Noumu’s strength had pressed his face into the ground. It’s almost exactly perpendicular to where his previous scar had sat a lifetime ago. 

All good shinobi had scars. Beyond being proof of your ability to survive, it was also just a fact of life. Heroes, on the other hand, tend to have less visible injuries—admittedly, the crazy costume getups are a great way to hide identifying markers. Considering the altogether more peaceful nature of this world, it makes sense. Although Shigaraki and his League might be a concerning shift in the paradigm…

Shouta traces his new scar again. If it’s his burden to bear a visible marker of his sacrifices through each of his lives, so be it. He’ll wear it proudly. 

How could he not?

Chapter Text

“You’re getting distracted,” Aizawa-sensei’s voice says. “Focus.”

It’s a week before the Sports Festival, and Izuku’s been training day and night with One For All. All Might cleared his schedule as much as he could, to supervise. But in the moments that he can’t be there (and even in some when he is there), Aizawa-sensei has been a steady presence. He lounges in his customary perch in a tree, grading papers or flipping through a book.

“Take a deep breath,” Aizawa-sensei says. “Start from the beginning.”

A protest bubbles to the tip of his tongue. “How will this help me in a fight? I can’t ask the Villains to pause while I sit down and meditate real quick.”

“The more you practice now, the easier it will be to access this state of mind even when you’re stressed. A true expert doesn’t practice until they get it right—they practice until they can’t get it wrong.”

Izuku glances up at him. His teacher still has his arm in a sling, bandages cutting across his face as he reaches up to push his chin-length hair behind his ear. His teacher would berate him for it if he said it out loud, but Izuku feels a pang of guilt any time he thinks too hard about Aizawa-sensei’s injuries from the USJ Incident (as the press is calling it). Aizawa-sensei risked his life to protect him, and his classmates. And here the man is, acting like nothing ever happened.

He’s always known his teacher as a calm, collected presence. In all the time that he’s been instructing Izuku, walking him home from school, overseeing his practice with One For All—Aizawa-sensei seems to take everything in stride. Behind that peculiar eye-smile and infuriating habits, he moves with an unshakeable grace.

His mind refuses to reconcile that image of Aizawa-sensei to the one he saw at the USJ. Beaten, bleeding, carrying on with nothing but an animal instinct that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside the man. Somewhere that Izuku had never seen before, or even imagined existed in his teacher. 

Aizawa-sensei’s desperation was understandable, and even his killing of some of the Villains, although unsavory, were generally well-accepted by the public and Class 1-A alike. Lauded by many as a teacher going above and beyond for his students, and smoothly swept aside by the rest as a necessary evil. Anybody backed in a corner like that should be expected to react, right?

No, what shakes Izuku anytime he wakes from a stomach-churning nightmare about that day isn’t his teacher’s actions. It’s that it almost feels like Aizawa-sensei was used to fighting for his life. He didn’t bat an eye when surrounded by the Villains at first, barely seemed concerned when Shigaraki injured his arm. Was upset when Izuku and his classmates were targeted, but unsurprised. Pulled off contingency plan after contingency plan after contingency plan, even after being pummeled into the ground by Noumu. And here he is, reinstated by the school like he’s had a minor car accident, not a near-death experience.

Heroes are sworn to do good. That’s what Izuku had believed, still believes, here at UA and as All Might’s successor. To cause the least harm, to help as many people as possible, to make the world a better place. Aizawa-sensei’s never done anything to disabuse him of that idea. Modeled it to him, in fact. Aside from some minor trolling…

Is that what it takes to be a Hero, then? To swear yourself to an ideal, but be ready to throw it away at a moment’s notice when the need arises. Or is that what it takes to be a teacher? Izuku can’t quite decide which one is worse. 

“Maa, you’re thinking too hard, Midoriya.”

Aizawa-sensei’s voice shakes him out of his distraction. Right, he’s supposed to be practicing circulating One For All through his body by meditating. Izuku looks down at his hands, a fresh scar running across his knuckles from punching Noumu. It’s minor, and will fade to almost nothing with time, but it still makes him frown.

“Sensei, what if this power isn’t what I thought it was?” He asks. “What if I do something bad with it, one day?”

Aizawa-sensei frowns at him, but seems to humor the thought. “Power is power, Midoriya. It depends on the person wielding it, and I’m not exactly afraid of you becoming some kind of mega-Villain in your future.”

“That’s easy to say now, though,” Izuku says. “I don’t think anybody decides they want to grow up and become a Villain. What if I think I’m doing something good, but it turns out I’m actually hurting someone with my power and not realizing it?”

His teacher sighs, putting his book down. “Midoriya, trust me when I say this. There’s no point in speculating about what-ifs all day. Think—at the USJ, when given the chance to use your Quirk, what was the first stupid thing you decided to do with it?”

“I attacked Noumu—it was to help you, Aizawa-sensei!”

“And there you have it,” Aizawa-sensei said. “Your first instinct, however misguided, was to try to do something good. Don’t overthink it. Nobody’s perfect, but as long as you earnestly try to do what’s best, you’ll be fine.” He scratches his head. “As for the moments where you lose your way… that’s why you surround yourself with people you trust to bring you back to yourself.”

“Is it really that easy?” Izuku says, skeptical.

“It’s easier for some than others,” Aizawa-sensei concedes. “Villain and Hero… the lines aren’t as clear as we like to think they are. It’s up to you to decide how you choose to walk your path. But that’s life, isn’t it? I believe in you, Midoriya.”

Izuku takes a deep breath. “I won’t let you down, Aizawa-sensei!”

“Are you sure?” He raises an eyebrow, and Izuku’s breath catches in his throat. “Because I distinctly remember telling you to keep meditating, and here you are asking all these unrelated questions.”

Izuku lets out a gush of air as he’s caught between an exasperated sigh and laughter. 

“Right, right. So, I feel One For All in my chest first, and I slowly swirl it counter-clockwise toward my right arm first…”

Chapter Text

“Let the Annual UA Sports Festival begin!” 

Hizashi’s declaration is met with a resounding roar from the crowd. Below them, this year’s freshman class bursts forward with a matching yell as they pour into the obstacle course. It’s chaos. Shouta feels a burst of unexpected nostalgia, remembering the trick he pulled in his own debut Sports Festival to push half the contestants in a conveniently-placed vat of green slime—

“Even in these early stages, some strong contenders are already pulling forward!” Hizashi interrupts his thoughts. “Up in the lead is Todoroki Shouto of Class 1-A!” He nudges Shouta with his elbow. “What do you think of his technique, Sensei?”

To preserve his anonymity as an underground Hero, Shouta is introduced to the crowd simply as “a teacher at UA.” The crowd doesn’t seem to find anything unusual, immediately relegating him to a faceless commentator ubiquitous at any sporting event. Hizashi plays along, simply calling him ‘Sensei’ in his own narration. 

With his capture tool wrapped around his neck and obscuring the lower half of his face, Shouta finds the familiar comfort of anonymity settle around his shoulders. He keeps his eyes scanning across the crowd, senses on alert for anything amiss. Pockets of Heroes scattered about, as per his suggestion, look to be similarly attentive. Easy enough to chalk up to scouting for interns, at least. 

Hizashi nudges him again, reminding Shouta he’s got another job to pay attention to. 

He lets out a hum of consideration. “Todoroki’s Quirk, Half-Hot Half-Cold, is ideal for an environmental challenge such as this. His ice in particular will be an effective way to interact with the obstacles in his way.” Already, several students are stuck in place by his ice. 

“But looks like his lead won’t last for long! Here comes several of his classmates!”

As the cameras focus in on individual faces, Shouta rattles off names and Quirks dutifully. “Iida Tenya of Class 1A, Quirk: Engine. A heavy favorite to win speed-based challenges. Kendou Itsuka of Class 1B, Quirk: Big Fist. Looks like she won’t have any issues against the robots. Uraraka Ochako, Quirk: Zero Gravity. She can skip a good majority of the obstacles with her flying ability.”

Wherever Shouta’s wry commentary runs thin, Hizashi fills in with his trademark excitement. The race passes by quickly. Most of Class 1A maintains a strong pace and will have qualifying finishes. Shinsou, he notes with quiet satisfaction, soldiers through with a stamina he lacked only two weeks prior. He’ll finish with a good placement as well. The only Problem Child he doesn’t see is—

Midoriya crashes through the air, holding onto a sheet of scrap metal for dear life. Well, that solves that problem. Shouta smothers a chuckle as he skids into first place, throwing dust into Todoroki and Bakugou’s faces as they stumble into second and third.

The Cavalry Battle, limited to its 15-minute time slot, also passes quickly. As the students scramble to make groups of four, Todoroki poaches Kaminari and Iida from Bakugou and Midoriya, respectively. 

“A team shakeup!” Hizashi says. “We’re seeing new alliances form before our eyes!”

“Friendships and politics are an integral part of the Pro-Hero world,” Shouta supplements. “It’s not enough to be strong or smart; you have to have a personality that other Heroes will want to work with as well.”

Midoriya finishes the rest of his formation with Tokoyami, while Bakugou retains the rest of his typical squad, sans Kaminari. Shinsou joins up with some of Shouta’s own students, including Ojirou. 

After that, it’s pretty much a brawl. Team Midoriya struggles under the onslaught of having the highest-scoring headband, while Team Shinsou lurks at the edges, picking off less competitive headbands. Team Bakugou and Team Todoroki duke it out in the lead. 

Hizashi is particularly excited by the action, although with Shouta’s expertise in close-combat much of the commentary ends up falling on his shoulders. 

“The combination of Asui and Tokoyami’s long-range Quirks means Team Midoriya isn’t out of the running yet,” Shouta murmurs into his microphone. “Meanwhile, Bakugou’s Quirk is holding most of the attention. The students would do well to keep track of the other teams, rather than only the loudest ones.”

In the end, he’s right. While Todoroki and Bakugou score the most points, Shinsou’s steady collection of smaller headbands nets him third place, and Midoriya’s team also snags some lower-scoring headbands to scrape by into fourth place. Nemuri rattles off the names of those advancing to the final tournament, and Shouta hears All Might’s cheer as Midoriya makes the cut. 

When Hizashi announces the midday break, Shouta slumps in relief. Who knew commentating would be so exhausting?

-----

“...and this is the part of the plot that gets good,” Shouta says, pointing at the pages in his hand. “You see, after they crash-land on this mysterious planet, the female lead is taken to see the local alien tribe’s leader, Vektal, and they’re instantly attracted to one another—”

Hizashi places a hand on Shouta’s uninjured arm, stopping his conversation in an uncharacteristic gesture. “Ne, Shouta,” he says, smiling nervously, “how about we turn around and walk the other way…”

But it’s too late. Shouta catches sight of the person rounding the corner of the dim service tunnels under the stadium. It’s Endeavour. Now there’s no way Shouta’s leaving. He pats Hizashi’s hand, bestowing him with his best shit-eating grin. Shouta always loves talking to Endeavour.

To have a parent saddle their children with the burden of their unachieved hopes and dreams is nothing new to Shouta. In his previous life, there were too many cases to count—from the old clans like the Uchiha seeking to control Konoha, to the no-name chuunin pushing their progeny to make jounin, it’s a tale as old as time. Is it ambition or avarice? Whatever it is, it seems to haunt parents everywhere.

Even if it’s reasonably common in this world, few parents push their children to the same level that shinobi seemed to find acceptable. So it’s a curious case indeed when Endeavour exhibits the same ruthlessness he once observed in only the strictest of clans, like the Hyuuga.

Just as he was bound by law as Hokage, unable to intervene in clan affairs, so too is Shouta bound by pesky things like parent-teacher boundaries now. And technically being on the same side as the No. 2 Hero.

So, whenever he has the dubious honor of being in the general vicinity of the man, he takes an alternate approach to expressing his subtle disapproval. He does what he’s always done best: troll the ever-loving fuck out of him.

“Hello!” He says brightly, clapping his erotica closed loudly to draw attention to the cover. It’s a sensual drawing of a young woman being embraced by a tall, buff, blue-skinned alien man wearing no clothing. “Come here often, Endeavour?” Predictably, the other Hero’s eyes follow the motion and linger on the cover art. Color rises in his cheeks.

Beside him, Hizashi gulps and pulls at his collar. As predisposed to chaos as the blond is, he’s oddly nervous whenever Shouta opens his mouth around Endeavour. He has no idea why his oldest friend might feel that way.

“Eraserhead.” Todoroki Enji scowls. “Always a pain in my ass.” Shouta can feel the warmth of his flaming beard, literally heating the air in their confrontation. “Heard you got your face rearranged by some small-time Villains.”

Shouta smiles serenely. “And yet, I’m still so much better-looking than you! Don’t worry, honestly, it’s all in the genetics. I sure hope poor Todoroki-kun escapes your half of his phenotyping.”

“He has my fire Quirk,” Todoroki the Elder grunts. “That’s all the boy needs for greatness. He’ll be the strongest Hero soon, mark my words.”

Shouta nods gravely. “I, too, believe that your fourteen-year-old son is a much stronger and braver Hero than yourself. As his teacher, I’m fully dedicated to nurturing that potential.”

“Hmph. Some teacher you’ve been.”

“Hey, a majority of the contestants in the final tournament are from my class. I think I deserve some credit.”

“Credit for endangering your charges and having them fight Villains on your behalf?”

Hizashi yelps. “C’mon, Endeavour, that’s not fair and you know it—”

“No, no,” Shouta holds up a placating hand, “he’s right. It was my responsibility to ensure their safety, and I was distracted with fighting the monster lab-grown specially to take down All Might. You know, the Number One Hero.” 

“All I’m hearing is excuses, Eraserhead.”

“Yeah, who cares about All Might! The Villains have proven they’re not above fighting some kids. Maybe next time, they’ll even stoop so low as to engineer a monster designed to defeat the Number Two Hero!” Shouta tilts his head. “Wouldn’t that be something, Endeavour?”

The man audibly grinds his teeth. “It’s pointless to speculate about an unknown future, Eraserhead. You better focus on making sure my son grows stronger before there is a next time. Or else I might have to take matters into my own hands.”

“You’re more than welcome to schedule a parent-teacher conference. My calendar is open! Of course, if we meet in an official capacity, I may need to mention some additional topics… like Todoroki-kun’s home life.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Well, the moment you enrolled him into my class, Japan’s Family Code 261.101 gave me a responsibility to report any concerns I have about my students’ wellbeing to the Federal Board of Education,” Shouta claps his hands cheerfully. “So, unfortunately, it sort of is my business.”

Endeavour scoffs. “Don’t think you can threaten me with things you know nothing about.”

“Ah,” Shouta says, “but you do feel threatened. By a no-name underground Hero, at that!”

“Careful, Eraserhead,” Endeavour says, “or you’ll cross a line you’ll regret.” 

“Eh? Haven’t you heard? I’ve already crossed those lines protecting my students.” 

Shouta figures Endeavour must know what Shouta’s talking about, given the buzz that the USJ Incident has stirred. Even if his actions weren’t fully released to the public, the Hero Commission issued an internal report to all professional agencies that included Shouta’s detailed testimony. And all the gory details about how he killed both Villain and monster.

Shouta eye-smiles at the No. 2 Hero. “I’d do anything to protect my kids. Can you say the same?”

The man glares, but he’s saved from having to respond when a new voice echoes down the hallway. 

“Endeavour!” All Might calls. “I didn’t see you all the way over there!” He steps into the hallway space, beckoning to his fellow Hero. “It’s been a long time. Please, come have some tea with me.”

Endeavour cuts a glare back at Shouta. “This isn’t over, Eraserhead.”

“Aww, that’s what you always say,” Shouta says, giggling. “This was fun, Endeavour! Till next time.”

With that, Endeavour stomps away. Once he’s safely out of view, Hizashi lets out a loud whoosh of breath. It sounds like he’s been holding it for their entire conversation.

“Why do you always have to provoke him?” His friend groans, running a hand through his gelled hair. “I really thought he was gonna kill you for a second!”

“Please,” Shouta says, “better men have tried.”

“What does that mean?!”

Shouta walks away, whistling jauntily to himself.

“Hey! Get back here!” Hizashi yells. “What did that mean ?!”

-----

What Shouta conveniently forgets to mention to Endeavour, is that Todoroki had approached him on the last day of school before the Sports Festival began. 

He’s leaving the building late that afternoon, having finished some last-minute grade submissions for report cards. Kaminari is not going to be happy with his English grade… As he steps outside the front doors of the building, someone falls into step beside him. Without turning his head, he cuts his eyes to the side, seeing a mop of red-and-white hair. Now, what does his most antisocial little student want with him now?

“I need help with my Quirk,” Todoroki says without preamble. Shouta appreciates someone who’s direct, although he thinks the kid could stand to lighten up a bit.

“I’m not sure what I can do at this point,” Shouta says. “The Sports Festival starts in fourteen hours, kid.”

Todoroki walks with his hands in his pockets, expressionless. He’s like a colorful alternate-universe Sasuke, and Shouta can only be grateful that fangirls (and boys) seem to care much more about Pro-Heroes than their classmates in this world.

“I don’t care about the Sports Festival,” Todoroki says, voice as emotionless as his face. “First place, second… it’s meaningless in the real world.” 

“Well,” Shouta raises a brow, “I think my point still stands. Why approach me now, instead of earlier? There’s no time left to train.”

“I…” Todoroki trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He lowers his voice. “...I waited until now to be sure that I wanted to follow through on my path. The Sports Festival… It was the deadline I gave myself. To make my decision.”

“A decision about…?”

“Whether or not I should quit trying to become a Hero.” Todoroki’s voice is completely even. 

Shouta can’t say he saw this coming. He stares at his student. “Now, what brought this on?”

“I’ve spent my life avoiding using my left side,” Todoroki says, looking down at his palm. “It’s the part of me that comes from my father. And I can’t let him win. That’s my principle to become a Hero. At least, it was my principle.” 

“Todoroki, if there’s something that you want to talk about regarding your family, you know you can always come to me. That’s what I’m here for, as your teacher.”

But he shakes head. “No, that’s not what this is about. It’s that, ever since the incident at the USJ, I’ve started to doubt my conviction.”

Shouta tilts his head. “The USJ was a traumatic experience. Nobody would blame you for having difficulties afterward, Todoroki-kun.”

“It was a lesson,” Todoroki says. “You showed us what we could be called upon to do as Heroes. I watched you make sacrifices with no hesitation to protect us. And yet, even when it was to protect my classmates against the Villains, I couldn’t bring myself to use my fire.”

“Fighting the Villains wasn’t your responsibility at that moment, Todoroki.” Shouta wants to reach a hand toward Todoroki’s head, but instinct tells him the kid might not be the most receptive to physical touch. “You’re still a student, and a minor. I was the responsible adult in that situation—it was my job to do that for you.”

“But if I continue on this path, then I will be a Hero.” Todoroki’s gaze is distant. “Either I will have to give up on my principles and use my fire one day, or I will allow innocent lives to be lost because I couldn’t overcome my own emotions. I’m not sure I can live with this choice.”

“So quit,” Shouta says. When Todoroki looks at him, he shrugs. “You said you were thinking about it. What stopped you?”

Todoroki looks down at his hands, balling them into fists. “There must be some other path. One that I’m not seeing. It’s what you always say, Sensei—”

“ —Look underneath the underneath,” Shouta finishes for him. He stops walking, forcing Todoroki to follow suit. “Aah, I guess it’s true. In cases involving looking inside yourself, however, it’s best to be prepared to find an answer you might not like.”

“So you’re saying I should get over myself and use my father’s power,” Todoroki says, voice flat. “I could have figured that out on my own. Thanks, Sensei.”

“Now, where did I say that?” Shouta scratches his head. “I just think you’re looking at this all wrong.”

Todoroki crosses his arms. “I’ve been thinking about this my entire life.”

“And when you’re that close to something, it’s easy to lose perspective,” Shouta counters. “Todoroki-kun, it sounds like there are many issues you will need to resolve with yourself and your family, on your path to becoming a Hero. But make no mistake—your power is your own. It’s in your body, not your father’s.”

“Easy for you to say.” 

“I suppose it is. But we’re all born with unique burdens to carry.”

(Like shouldering his own father’s legacy. Hateful eyes boring into his back everywhere he went. White chakra running through his veins, no heir to carry the family name.

Like becoming the dutiful soldier, assassin, captain, and then leader. Scrubbing his hands raw even when he knew the blood was gone. Knowing that, in order to clear his own name from his father’s sins, he condemned countless others to death. 

Like knowing that he was wrong the entire time.)

“So what should I do, Sensei?” For the short period they’ve known each other, Todoroki sounds the most earnest Shouta’s ever heard him. 

Shouta tips his head back, looking up into the dusky sky. “Unfortunately, that’s up to you. All I can say is: your power—your life—is your own. Don’t live it for somebody else.”

Todoroki is quiet, mulling over his words. The setting sun paints brilliant pinks and oranges onto the clouds above them.

“You don’t have to make a decision overnight,” Shouta says. “And even once you decide something, you can always change your mind. Never too late to start over. That’s the beauty of being human, isn’t it?”

“I’m just afraid,” Todoroki confesses, voice small.

“Then do it afraid,” Shouta shrugs. “And, Todoroki-kun, you know you can come to me for anything, right? Even if it isn’t about class or your Quirk. As your teacher, every aspect of your wellbeing is my responsibility.”

“I understand, Sensei.”

-----

After the midday break, the tournament portion of the Festival is set to begin. Shouta settles in for a long afternoon, while Hizashi fires up the crowd. He glances at the tournament bracket flashing across the commentator’s teleprompter. The first match-up is—

“Midoriya Izuku versus Shinsou Hitoshi!” Hizashi announces to a roaring crowd. “Listeners, let’s get exci-i-i-i-ted !”

Ah. Hm. Shouta wonders if Nezu engineered this match to mess with him. How else would these two students, the only ones in the entire school that Shouta personally trains, end up facing each other? 

Down below, Nemuri raises her hand. 

“Begin!"