Chapter Text
Izuku bowed so quickly and so deeply, his spine folding forward before his thoughts could catch up with him. The teacher blinked once, then tilted his head slightly, dark eyes beneath the messy curtain of his hair. Izuku realized, a second too late, that he was still bowing and snapped back upright in a flustered motion, nearly knocking his own forehead with the movement. “I’m—hello—! I mean,” he corrected himself, cheeks already burning, “I’m lost,” he tumbled out awkwardly, stripped of any dignity he might have been trying to hold onto.
“So it seems,” Aizawa replied dryly, his gaze dropping to take in Izuku’s uniform. He studied it for half a second longer than necessary before looking back up. “General Course?” he asked.
Izuku nodded quickly, curls bouncing with the motion. “Y-yes, sir.”
“I don’t know how you managed to make it all the way here,” Aizawa continued, glancing over his shoulder toward the door behind him, “but this is the teachers’ lounge.” His eyes flicked back to Izuku. “Your classrooms are on the second floor, right below us. Use the stairs behind you.”
“Thank you so much!” Izuku said immediately. He started to turn away, then hesitated, eyes drifting back to Aizawa’s face. The man’s heavy-lidded eyes, the tired posture, the presence of a pro hero he had watched countless times on late-night replays. Izuku swallowed hard.
“Yes?” Aizawa prompted, one eyebrow lifting just slightly.
“Uh—!” Izuku fumbled, fingers twisting together nervously. “S-sorry, it’s just—um, I’m a really big fan,” he rushed out. “And I was wondering if you could—obviously this is a big if!—but if you could maybe give me your signature?” The words tumbled over each other in a mess of excitement and anxiety, and Izuku braced himself for refusal.
Aizawa glanced up at the clock mounted on the wall, eyes narrowing slightly as he checked the time. He sighed, long and tired. “I have time,” he said simply.
Izuku’s face lit up instantly. “R-really?! That’s—!” He stopped short when Aizawa’s attention shifted, gaze landed on Izuku’s bookbag, which had begun to tremble faintly at his side. Izuku felt his heart drop into his stomach. “Ah—!” he squeaked, giving it a small shake, forcing the movement to still. He laughed a little too brightly. “S-sorry! It’s just… uh… packed.” He perked up immediately, seizing the moment before his nerves could sabotage him further. “Thank you so much!”
Without breaking eye contact for too long, Izuku dug into his bag, tongue poking out in concentration as he searched. His fingers brushed past notebooks and loose papers before finally finding what he was looking for. He pulled out a thick, well-worn notebook and opened it, revealing a pencil already tucked inside like a bookmark. He quickly handed it over, hands trembling just a little.
‘This is insane, he thought. I’m actually getting Eraser Head’s signature. Eraser Head! His hero work was mostly done at night, making signatures notoriously hard to come by. This is incredible.’ The thought slipped in, aching. If he had applied to the Hero Course… would Aizawa have been his teacher? The idea alone felt like a dream he wasn’t allowed to finish imagining.
“This is…” Aizawa paused, eyes scanning the page. “Izuku Midoriya.”
“That’s me!” Izuku said quickly.
Aizawa hummed, scribbling his signature onto the blank page before sliding the pencil back into the notebook and closing it. His gaze lingered, however, as the cover caught his attention.
HERO ANALYSIS FOR THE FUTURE: Vol. 17.
The words for the future had been crossed out with force.
Aizawa’s fingers stilled. “What’s this?” he asked, opening the notebook again. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Oh—!” Izuku rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s just notes.”
“Seventeen volumes of notes?” Aizawa said, flipping through a few pages. “Just hero notes?”
Izuku nodded, the words spilling out the moment he was given the chance. “I have way more than just seventeen volumes, but I lost some. They’re about heroes, villains, quirk analysis, and combat styles—if I’d been in the Hero Course, I would’ve written about my classmates too. I like thinking about how people could improve their quirks, their strategies, their teamwork. My quirk, too.” He trailed off, watching Aizawa’s expression shift as he skimmed earlier sections filled with dense handwriting, diagrams, and carefully drawn figures.
“You did all of this?” Aizawa asked, finally looking up. “Then why aren’t you in the Hero Course? Or at least Support?” His tone was flat. “It’s clear you love heroes.”
Izuku exhaled slowly. “My mom just… didn’t want me to get hurt,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”
Aizawa closed the notebook one-handed and passed it back. Izuku took it, holding it to his chest for a brief moment before tucking it into his bag. Maybe this was enough. Maybe being allowed to talk to heroes—to study them from a distance—would have to be enough. Maybe this was how he was meant to live with a dream he never got to chase. And of course, vigilantism…
“Well,” Aizawa said after a moment, “if your mother ever changes her mind, I’m sure there’s a way to change where you study.”
What???
To be able to even be a hero. That would be a dream come true. For a split second, he let himself imagine it anyway, standing there in the quiet hallway with a pro hero. Then he shook his head; he knew what that feeling was. Hope. And hope was dangerous. Hope was how you set yourself up to be disappointed when reality inevitably came crashing down with his mother’s worried eyes and shaking hands.
“I wish,” Izuku said softly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I wish that more than anything.” He hesitated, then laughed weakly. “But um—she’d say no. A hundred percent. I know it.”
The bell rang.
“Oh no!” Izuku yelped, jumping. His head snapped toward the sound, then back to Aizawa. “Uh—!”
“That’s your sign,” Aizawa said dryly, already turning slightly as if to shoo him along, “that you should probably hurry. Don’t worry. Most teachers are lenient during the first few days.”
“Yes! Thank you!” Izuku said quickly. “Talking to you—and getting your signature—was one of the best things ever. It really made my day. Thank you so much, Aizawa-sensei!” He bowed again, like he could somehow pour all his gratitude into the gesture alone.
Aizawa hummed, then paused. “Look,” he added, “I know… General Course students don’t really interact with the other departments the same way Support does with the Hero Course. But I think they’d like to see your notes over there. Support and Hero students are always looking for ways to improve their tech and quirks.”
Izuku straightened, eyes lighting up. “You think so?”
“Yes,” Aizawa said simply. “Step in when you get the chance. Now go. Your class.”
Izuku nodded so fast it was a wonder he didn’t give himself whiplash. He spun on his heel and hurried toward the staircase behind him, nearly tripping in his rush but catching himself at the last second. Aizawa watched, just to be sure he actually went the right way this time. As he turned to leave, something caught his eye. Something… off.
He squinted slightly, his gaze followed Izuku. For just a moment—only a moment—he could have sworn he saw it. Two fingers peeking out from the yellow bookbag. Not real fingers. Too segmented. Too jointed. Carved lines marking every articulation. A puppet, his mind supplied automatically. And then—eyes. Small, unmistakable eyes peering through the gap between those fingers.
Aizawa frowned.
“Yo.”
An arm slung itself around his shoulders before he could think too hard about what he’d seen. Aizawa let out a tired huff as familiar blond hair and tinted glasses slid into his peripheral vision. “Hizashi,” he said flatly.
“Sorry, sorry,” Hizashi chirped, unapologetic. “Couldn’t help but eavesdrop. You know me. Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back louder.”
Aizawa crossed his arms and glanced back at the hallway. The bookbag was fully closed. Normal. He frowned deeper. Had he imagined it? “I thought you were past the age of not knowing when something is none of your business,” Aizawa muttered. “Or am I married to a child?”
Hizashi grinned widely. “Rude. At least I don’t nap in hallways like an unattended scarf.” He leaned in closer, eyes bright. “Anyway! You had a student fan ask for your autograph? At school? That’s a first.” He laughed. “I mean, not for me. I already got my third one today.”
Aizawa ignored him, gaze drifting back to where the boy had gone. The yellow bookbag was long gone now. He sighed quietly. No. Yeah. He definitely imagined it. “We have different kinds of work,” Aizawa said at last. “Being a teacher who does hero work at night isn’t the same as running a popular radio show.”
“Still,” Hizashi said, softer now, “that kid seems like the type who views heroes like celebrities.”
“You should’ve seen his notebook. I flipped through a few pages. Sticky notes everywhere. Analysis on top of analysis. Theories, possibilities, drawbacks, diagrams… even drawings. That’s a lot, even for a kid.” Aizawa said as Izuku’s footsteps echoed faintly down the stairs below.
“And he’s in…?” Hizashi prompted.
“General Course,” Aizawa replied.
Hizashi blinked. “Huh.”
“Yeah,” Aizawa said quietly. “Can you believe it?”
“Aw, shucks,” Hizashi said with a dramatic sigh, shaking his head, “Wasted potential. Those kids in the Support Course would’ve loved a guy like him.”
“That’s what I said,” Aizawa replied, a quiet, almost reluctant chuckle slipping out of him. “He knows his own potential too. That’s the worst part. Seems like one of those overprotective parent situations. His mother said no.” His voice flattened again, tired. “We get enough of those as it is.”
Hizashi sucked in a breath, clearly gearing up, and Aizawa rolled his eyes preemptively, already staring out the window as Hizashi’s arm stayed draped over his shoulder. He knew that posture. Knew that pause. He was bracing himself.
“Some parents really need to understand,” Hizashi burst out, hands already moving even though one was still hooked around Aizawa, “that no matter how dangerous a job is, if their kid has a dream, there’s nothing that’s going to deter them from it! Nothing!” His voice climbed with every word. “It sucks working at a school full of potential just to constantly hear in meetings, ‘I don’t want my child to get hurt.’ Like—yeah! No kidding! Nobody does!” He scoffed. “You think I’m joking, right? Or are you thinking, ‘Wow, it’s too early for all this talking, Zash’?”
“Of course not, my love. I would never think of you that way,” Aizawa said dryly.
Hizashi beamed instantly, the rant dissolving as fast as it had formed. He finally untangled himself, stepping away with a grin that stretched ear to ear. “You know exactly how to make me quiet.”
“I married you fully aware you’re loud,” Aizawa replied with a tired huff. “Now come on. I don’t want us to be the late ones.”
They walked a few steps in silence before Hizashi glanced sideways at him, head tilting. “You’re still quiet. More than usual. What’s going on in that exhausted brain of yours?”
Aizawa didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed forward, unfocused, like he was replaying something only he could see. “I’m thinking about that kid,” he said eventually. “Midoriya. That was his last name.” His brow furrowed. “He looked like his whole world was that autograph. Seventeen notebooks. Seventeen. All notes. And he just… accepted it when he said his mother wanted him in the General Course. Like that was the end of the discussion.”
Hizashi’s expression softened, his tone losing its playful edge. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “For kids like that, you can tell it’s not just a phase.”
Aizawa hummed in agreement. “One way or another, he’s going to try to achieve his dream. No amount of parental prohibition is going to stop that.” His voice grew more thoughtful. “Some dreams don’t die. They retract. They twist. They adapt. Kids like that will find a way to reach them, even if it’s a different version. Safer. Or more dangerous. Who knows?” He exhaled slowly. “I’ve been around enough brats to recognize it. When one of them sets their mind on something like that, they don’t stop. I talked to him for maybe three minutes, and it was already obvious. Wanting to be a hero is the same as wanting to breathe for him.”
Hizashi glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then nudged his shoulder with his own. “Who knows,” he said lightly. “Maybe one day she’ll change her mind.” He grinned. “Anyways, stop thinking about that and cheer up. You’re getting back to your vigilante work after that nasty injury.”
Aizawa shot him a flat look. “Who would cheer about that? I love dealing with villains at four in the morning and then teaching at six.”
“Exactly,” Hizashi laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “You love it.”
Aizawa didn’t respond. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, thoughts drifting back to a freckled kid with shaking hands, a yellow bookbag, and eyes that burned too brightly for someone who’d already been told no. Izuku Midoriya, he thought. If you can’t be a hero… I wonder what you’re going to use to fill that space it leaves behind.
And another question followed
And what exactly are you carrying in that bookbag?
TBC