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Yamada Hizashi knew that his husband could be dramatique at times. Not all the time, of course, Aizawa Shouta was a man that lived and died by his impenetrable poker face, leaving people to think that Hizashi was the overly dramatic one of their relationship. Eight times out of ten, they would also be correct. Listen, Hizashi knows the type of person he is and, at heart, he is a dramatic bitch.
Shouta, however, loves his moments of drama as well, though he would go to his grave denying otherwise. When he returns to their apartments of the teacher’s dorms with the declaration of, “We’re all doomed” and face-planting into the couch like a Victorian maiden in need of smelling salts, Hizashi finishes making his cup of tea first glad that Eri is off with her cheerleading club at school.
“Any particular reason why we’re doomed?”
Previous declarations of doom have come from Ashido and Kaminari deciding that yes watching 200-year-old Gordon Ramsey videos on the ancient site of YouTube means that they can cook, that time Midoriya, Bakugou, and Uraraka teamed up in an in class exercise against 1-B and destroyed half of Gym Epsilon, or when Shouta realized that, fuck, he’s going to have to teach sex ed to these kid.
“Nedzu is taking on Midoriya as his personal student for his third year.”
“WHAT?!” Hizashi shouts, quirk making his voice carried. Fuck, they are doomed. And it shows how much they truly are fucked over given that Shouta didn’t even erase his quirk.
Nedzu, beloved principal and intelligence gathering hero, loved being a teacher. He taught Foundational Heroics amongst other hero-based courses during Hizashi and Shouta’s years at school. He crafted some truly amazing heroes. When he became principal, however, it meant that Nedzu had to caught down on teaching majorly.
In fact, he takes on a personal student in the third year graduating class. No one knows the criteria exactly but it switches between the departments. One year it’s Management, the next Gen Ed, etc. It’s been a couple of years since Nedzu had taken on a personal third-year student from the Heroics department.
“I’m surprised it’s not Yaoyorozu,” Hizashi says faintly. The girl has never lost her number one spot in terms of academics for the class. But, again, no one knows the criteria. Still Midoriya? The kid had grown into a tactician and while the League of Villains have been quiet for their second year, there’s always that whisper of a promise of an attack on the horizon.
“Fuck,” he breathes out. “This…”
“Problem Child is going to give me more goddamn gray hairs,” Shouta grumbles into the cushion, having not lifted his face from the full on face-plant into the couch that he had done.
Nedzu likes the outcasts.
No one seems to realize that his criteria in picking a personal student. Humans can be so unimaginative like that sometimes. But, yes, Nedzu picks the outcasts because understands all too well about being an outcast.
Midoriya Izuku, the successor All Might and the ninth holder of One for All, is an outcast. Quirkless children are horribly mistreated by the humans around them. Nedzu himself donates regularly to an orphanage that takes care of such kids. For all humanity would like to believe that quirklessness was declining, it was not. They just learned to hide away the evidence that people can be born without power and thrive because of it.
And he could see it in the boy’s eye at times, when he thought no one was looking. He reads a room remarkably well, mumbles analysis about quirks that show a deep understanding of them, and had a plan.
Nedzu wants to give him the tools for that plan.
“Nedzu-san?” Midoriya asks shyly as he walks into the office. His eyes flick around, noting the exits, trying to get a read on his face. (The world has hurt you child and you still want to save it, the mark of a true hero.) He’s in the middle of a growth spurt, long limbs a bit more unccordinated than the student is used to as he tries to overcome the new center of gravity that he’s working with. “Aizawa-sensei said you wanted to see me?”
“Yes, I did, Midoriya-kun!” he chirps. “I’d like to make you an offer.”
Izuku says yes, of course.
Being taught by Nedzu is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
And, over the course of two full years at UA, he has an idea of the sort of hero he wants to be, and he thinks that Nedzu can help him.
“I want to make the world a better place,” Izuku informs Nedzu at their first lesson. They’re drinking tea, a plate of cookies out as well. It’s a lesson unlike the ones that Izuku has ever had. Trusting adults are…it’s something that Izuku is good at yet. He doesn’t think that he will ever be, though he’s better at pushing aside such caution with those who haven’t hurt him yet.
“A noble goal,” the principal says. “How though?”
“I want to make it so that no kid has to go through what I went through,” he replies. “Or what Hitoshi went through. Or what…well…people go through. Quirks are judged rather than them. And it’s a tool, not everything a person is. I mean there are always going to be bullies, but people have gotten so casual in their cruelty for differences. Everyone is different and it just doesn’t make sense.”
Izuku pauses for a moment, unsure if he’s explaining it right. The thing is, he can see it in his head, how he wants the world to be. He’s not naïve enough to think that he can eradicate hate. But he does think that with a strong Number One leading the way, with heroes that are not paragons but people…
He thinks maybe he teach younger generations to be a little kinder and help twist them away from the malice and hate of the past. History is a series of mistakes that should be learned from to him.
“I’m going to be Number One someday,” Izuku says firmly and it feels like a prophecy in his mouth. “And I want to use that. I want to change things and make them better. I…I don’t want another Quirkless kid to come into school and see a vase of spider lilies on their desk. I don’t want another kid to be labelled as a villain or a freak because of their quirk. The world isn’t fair or kind, Nedzu-sensei, but, as a hero, I want to be one that inspires to people to say ‘why not’ and then change it.”
He pauses and makes himself meet his teacher’s eyes, who smiles.
It’s full of teeth and maybe not the nicest, but it feels like the most genuine thing he’s seen from the principal in some time.
“I’d like to help you with that, Midoriya-kun. Now, our first lesson, it’s about the art of planning and how to give just enough structure while also being flexible.”
“You’re going to get more terrifying,” Ochako informs Deku after he returns from one lesson with a new self-made code. She’s pretty sure saw Midnight-sensei cross herself after, apparently, hearing both Nedzu and Deku laugh while in one of their lessons. She’s also, like, ninety-five percent certain that Midnight-sensei wasn’t Catholic so it was definitely weird.
“Basically,” he agrees. And it’s in a tone that makes Ochako real glad that she’s Deku’s friend. Maybe in his new world order or whatever, he’ll install her at a position that she’ll do well in.
“What is he even teaching you?”
She only wants to know a little bit, to be honest. But curiosity killed the cat, but it gets the hero the needed takedown.
“How to take over the world,” Deku says idly. “But not in a bad way, just in enough of a way so that I can use my influence as Number One in order to make society less of a dumpster fire.”
“Cool,” she says because, at heart, Uraraka Ochako was a bit of a chaos gremlin without the calming influence of her boyfriend and girlfriend to keep on the straight and narrow. Society being less of a dumpster fire also sounds super great. “I got some statistics about how people in poverty get real screwed over. Want them?”
“You get me,” Deku says with a grin. “Best friend ever.”
“If Shinsou and Todoroki never get a clue, then you can totally join in with me, Tenya, and Tsu.”
Honestly those two were such disasters. Deku was a disaster but at least he had his head on a little bit straight, hilarious because he’s not. Straight that is.
“Cool,” he agrees. “Always good to keep options open. But I love those two morons.”
“It’s lucky that they’re pretty,” Ochako agrees making Deku laugh.
“You’re giving Problem Child the tools to upend society,” Shouta sighs, literally feeling a couple of hairs go white at that statement from his boss. That’s fucking it. He’s dying the inevitable white streak green. It’s going to be the exact same shade as Problem Child’s costume so the world will know who made Shouta get Marie Antoinette syndrome.
(It’s not Marie Antoinette syndrome, but dammit, Shouta is going to wallow in this drama.)
“Not the whole of society,” Nedzu chirps as he sips his tea. “Just some of it. He has a very fascinating plan including potential legislature and taking out the Hero Commission.”
Fuck the Hero Commission, Shouta thinks that doesn’t say out loud. Problem Child probably would. The way he glares at the head of the Commission whenever she comes on the screen makes him wonder just what the fuck he knows or suspects.
“He’ll take care of me in his shadow government at least.”
“I also want you to make sure that you’ll pull him back If you find he’s getting to be too much,” the principal declares. “Midoriya has a very heroic heart, perhaps one of the purest I have ever seen, but everyone has their breaking point. And he has the charisma and drive enough to become highly effective should he break. I’m aware of my bias and Yagi wouldn’t be able to pull the leash so to speak.”
Shouta sighs at that.
“What makes you think that I wouldn’t join him should that happen?”
It’s a question to be asked. Shouta, like many people with “weak” or “villainous” quirks, has a very good reason to give into that darkness within him.
“I don’t,” Nedzu agrees. “But statistically speaking, you have the best chance of taking him down.”
Izuku wouldn’t call Nedzu a parental figure not like how Toshinori or Aizawa-sensei are, but he’s definitely something. Maybe a very odd and slight crazed friend with an anarchist streak, you know the one.
Either way, once a month as his schedule allows, he comes to visit the Principal for tea. When he hits the Number One spot, Izuku keeps this up. He enjoys his discussions with Nedzu. More, in fact, when he has to dip his hand into some of that political game. Because, wow, he really hates politicians and the games that they play.
Nedzu teaches him how to do some light blackmail in turn.
Once a student of Nedzu, Izuku supposes, always a student of Nedzu.
“So you were Nedzu-sensei’s personal student?” Oboro asks a couple weeks after moving in. He’s upside down on the couch with Shocchan on his stomach as he plays as Creati on Hero Arena against Ki, who is playing as Uravity from the 1-A dorms at UA.
“Yep,” Izuku says from where he’s writing a letter to the Heroic Department about the initiative to get less biased to physical quirk entrance exams up and running at the various heroic schools around Japan. According to Aizawa-sensei, it’s going much better than when the issue was brought before the Heroic Commission.
Amazing what happens when a group of corrupt quirkist assholes aren’t in charge, huh?
“What did he teach you?”
“He helped give me a fifty-year plan to make society less of a dumpster fire,” Izuku replies idly.
Oboro, bless his weird little heart, nods, “That’s chill. He taught me how to hotwire a bus.”
And, really, that's all that there needs to be said on the matter.