Chapter Text
Hitoshi had royally screwed up.
Aizawa-sensei was pissed. He had once again caught Hitoshi working out in the gym during lunch, against explicit orders by the teacher to take the day off. That was on him; his mentor had repeatedly emphasised upon the importance of rest days – for recovery and for Hitoshi to have down time.
You’re still a teenager, kid, His teacher said firmly, when Hitoshi had protested. You need time to rest and to do other things that the other brats do.
Too bad Hitoshi wasn’t – never had been – other brats. It was deeply ingrained within him that any free time should be used productivity, and that leisure was only meant for kids in stable homes; they didn’t have to fight for a living.
“What Sensei doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt him,” He had muttered to himself before beginning his reps.
He had jumped when the door to the gym slammed open, his teacher strutting in and glaring holes into Hitoshi. His mentor had wasted no time beckoning him over and laying into the shame-faced boy.
“How many times have I told you to watch your limits, Shinsou?”, the man had scolded. “I understand that you want to get into my class, and believe me when I say that I would like to have you here as much as you do. But overdoing it would only cause long-term harm to your health, kid.”
He was dismissed with curt instructions to get something to eat, and to meet up with Sensei after classes ended. Hitoshi had mumbled an apology before running off, fighting a shiver. He robotically cleaned himself up, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm his racing heartbeat. It was easier said than done, given that the dire situation was at the forefront of his mind.
Hitoshi couldn’t help breaching their agreement, even though he loathed disobeying Sensei.
It was just… Hitoshi had been adrift for majority of his life, a misunderstood boy with a ridiculous dream. Even getting into U.A. had been a tough ride – having teachers that didn’t dare communicate with him had forced him to become proficient in the art of self-study, not to mention the added stress from juggling part-time jobs and chores. Admission would’ve been impossible if not for his grades and scholarships.
Hitoshi had little control; his decisions were shaped by what was more urgent at the time. How could he justify attending martial art classes when he had foster siblings to look after? Even if that wasn’t an issue, he was still financially incapable of paying for lessons, or getting enough food and nutrients to supplement any intensive exercises.
That had changed after the Sports Festival, when he was approached by a still-mummified Aizawa-sensei. And Hitoshi was starstruck – It was Eraserhead, the man who single-handedly propelled him onto the path of Heroics through a rare TV appearance. It was ironic, given the man’s status as an underground Hero.
When he was offered the opportunity to actually work on his goal, he didn’t hesitate before saying yes. Sensei had only raised an amused brow, dismissing him with instructions to report the day after. Hitoshi had marvelled that for the first time, hero work was actually a possibility.
Hitoshi went in with a do-or-die mindset, putting in his best efforts and more. He couldn’t afford to waste a single moment as he was already so far behind. People like Hitoshi were doomed from birth to the dregs of society, and he wasn’t foolish enough to waste this lifeline. Not after Sensei had deemed this discarded trash worthy of becoming something good.
And Aizawa-sensei was so kind. They said that you should never meet your heroes, but Sensei was an exception. The rumours were true – his mentor was a sarcastic hard-ass that demanded Hitoshi’s complete attention, capable of silencing any objections with just a stern look. And did Sensei have an effective glare.
But he was also careful to never hurt Hitoshi more than necessary during their spars, giving light taps as opposed to actual blows. And the man asked after him often, ensuring that he was coping with both school and training. Sensei even brought Hitoshi dinner after their evening sessions, claiming that it was an investment in his future. It was an obvious farce; he knew the man was concerned about how little he actually ate, and Hitoshi was grateful.
The greatest surprise was that Hitoshi genuinely enjoyed training. The endorphins that came with a good workout were an addiction; Hitoshi felt stronger, faster, and his bulking body was physical proof that he was finally getting somewhere. It was also a good form of release for the frustrations he needed to deal with in day-to-day living. And he couldn’t – didn’t – want to stop.
That stubbornness was what led to his current predicament, he lamented as he picked at his udon. It was getting soggy, but the memory of Sensei’s anger staved off any lingering hunger. And there was also the rising uncertainty, because Hitoshi had no idea what Sensei was going to do to him.
“Hey Shinsou, why the glum face? Is the repulsive class 1-A bothering you again?”
Hitoshi looked up to see Monoma Neito smirking at him, although he could see the tell-tale signs of concern behind that grey gaze. The two had met in passing during the entrance exam, when the blond had complimented him on his ‘outstanding quirk’. It was a novelty having Brainwash be regarded positively, and Hitoshi had quickly warmed up to the other boy.
Hitoshi didn’t completely understand the other boy’s vitriol towards Aizawa-sensei’s homeroom, but found him to be good company. Monoma appeared to be rash and stuck-up, but he was intelligent and as Hitoshi was learning, very astute.
Friend or not, he would have normally shrugged the other boy off; life had taught him to never show weaknesses of any kind. But right now, Hitoshi needed an outlet for his worries, to keep his bubbling anxieties at bay.
“No Monoma, it wasn’t,” He sighed, indicating for the other boy to take a seat. “I’m in trouble with Aizawa-sensei, said he wanted to meet me after school later. To d-discipline me.” The blond’s sympathetic wince only served to make his stomach drop and shoulders rise; Monoma’s reaction confirmed that this was definitely worth agonising about.
“That’s… unfortunate, my friend. What actually happened?”
It took a few minutes for Hitoshi to explain the gist of the issue to Monoma, who listened attentively. “I’m… concerned,” and nervous and afraid, he didn’t say. “I have no prior experiences with getting into trouble here, and I don’t know what to expect.”
“It’s awful, Shinsou,” Monoma moaned, his face contorting in an unfamiliar grimace. It would have been amusing if the situation wasn’t so dire. “The teachers are so brutal, and the punishments are horrible; I sincerely apologise for your current plight, dear Shinsou. I remember there was this one time with Vlad-sensei…”
The graphic descriptors only served to accelerate the beating of Hitoshi’s heart, as if speeding up his impending execution. He had to dig his nails deep to keep his hands from shaking. If even someone as prideful as Monoma admitted that he found the consequences harsh, Hitoshi was as good as finished.
“D-Do you have any tips? To make the situation better?” He asked desperately, cutting off Monoma’s animated storytelling.
Something in his voice must have gave, because his friend immediately stopped and simply looked at Hitoshi. He watched as his friend’s eyes softened, before the blond spoke in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s Aizawa, so you won’t be able to talk your way out. But I do have a suggestion.”
“Which is…?” As far as Hitoshi was concerned, anything was worth considering at this point.
“To go under the radar until the matter blows over. Hide somewhere after lunch, and leave the school right after the last bell. Without getting caught.” Monoma clarified, after seeing his confusion.
“So you’re asking me to run away.” Hitoshi rephrased dully, hiding his face in his clammy hands. It was an incredibly stupid idea; Aizawa-sensei would maul him if he ever did something this cowardly.
So why was Hitoshi even giving it serious consideration?
You know exactly why. Hitoshi didn’t handle punishments well. He could take them, sure, but being punished had always left him a broken, hollow shell. Every harsh blow and hissed insult were reminders that he was scum in society’s eyes, and that Hitoshi wasn’t deserving of acceptance. Hitoshi never wanted to associate those feelings with Aizawa-sensei, who was the only adult he deemed as safe.
And the uncertainty was the final nail on the coffin. Hitoshi wasn’t completely sure, but he had seen the occasional swollen-eyed student who had sudden difficulties walking. It always happened near the teachers’ offices, which was where Hitoshi was supposed to report.
Educators in U.A. were given free reign over their disciplinary measures, and Hitoshi had heard rumours about Sensei’s ‘hard hand’; he wasn’t exactly sure what that entailed aside from the fact that it was physical, but he was cowed enough to not cross the man.
Aizawa-sensei was strong; Hitoshi didn’t doubt his ability in doling out significant damage.
His internal battle won, Hitoshi found himself leaning closer to Monoma, whose eyes had lit up at the give in Hitoshi’s shoulders.
“Can you… tell me more?”
This was an absolutely horrible idea, Hitoshi thought. Too bad the time for regret had long since passed.
After parting ways with Monoma, he had quickly retrieved his items from the 1-C classroom. He was fortunately able to avoid being seen by his classmates, who were all still at lunch. Unfortunately, he was stopped by one Mic-sensei, who had cheerily greeted Hitoshi before quirking a brow at his backpack.
He hoped that his excuse was convincing enough, but if there was one thing Hitoshi was good at it was lying under pressure. There wasn’t time to overthink; he had to commence the plan. The blond’s first suggestion was for him to visit Recovery Girl and feign sickness, which would have been workable if not for the Kamino incident. U.A. had since upped its security for all of its students, and Hitoshi would need a guardian to pick up and sign him out of school.
Which had a snowball’s chance in hell of happening, given how much the Yamamotos hated him. And leaving the school was out of the question – he didn’t want to be expelled, for goodness’ sake.
It didn’t deter him for long, as he was able to come up with an alternative. Hitoshi was aware that Sensei had Hero Ethics after lunch on Wednesdays, which meant that he wouldn’t be able to search for him. All Hitoshi had to do was to bide his time, before making his getaway when the dismissal bells chime.
He kept walking, and couldn’t help smiling when it came into sight.
It was a tiny space beside the abandoned storage shed tucked away behind U.A.’s building. It was obstructed by thick shrubbery, Hitoshi having discovered it after following a stray kitten. The area was sheltered and only fifteen minutes from the school’s entrance.
Most importantly, there weren’t any security cameras in that specific spot. Hitoshi had triple-checked at the beginning, when the thought of having privacy under Nezu’s reign was too good to be true.
He placed his stuff down before leaning against the wall, sighing shakily.
Hitoshi knew that he was just digging a deeper hole for himself by running away. Disobedience, and now truancy? It would be a miracle if Aizawa-sensei still wanted anything to do with him after today. Hitoshi wouldn’t blame Sensei; he was essentially spitting in his face by acting so disrespectfully, after everything the man has done for him. But he simply could not put himself in that sort of situation – to be smacked around by someone he truly trusted.
Hitoshi would much rather drop out of U.A. than to allow his view of Sensei be tainted.
The bell rang. 1-C would be having their English lesson now, and Hitoshi methodically pulled out his textbooks. No use wasting time and moping around, he might as well get himself caught up.
“I-I’ll apologise to Sensei tomorrow… and we’ll see how things go.” Hitoshi mumbled, curling up tightly before starting his schoolwork. He soon found himself immersed in his work, alternating his attention between the book and the translator app on his phone. While normally a boon, his hyper-focus was what prevented him from noticing the sound of approaching footsteps before it was too late.
“First you did what you were not supposed to do, and now you’re not doing what you need to? Kid, I’m beginning to think that you aren’t nearly as bright as I thought.”
Hitoshi’s head snapped upwards, eyes widening at the dark, tall figure.
“Shinsou.” Aizawa-sensei was staring down at him, lips downturned in a frown. Hitoshi felt his heart seize. “You have so much to answer for, kid. Just what were you thinking?”