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It was silent.
As a chronically overworked, sleep-deprived teacher, Shouta Aizawa should have rejoiced in the blessed relief from a lack of teenager’s shrieking laughter.
However, as a part-time underground hero and a full-time teacher/nanny (now that they had the dorm system), Shouta had come to both love and fear silence.
Love it because his perpetually simmering migraine desperately craved the quiet darkness of his sleeping bag. And feared it because if his twenty overpowered hormonal teenage students were quiet, then something was happening that, if ignored, would create a bigger headache later.
So when he had over two hours of blissful silence one Sunday morning where he managed to grade a test, write two assignments, and send off a butt load of emails, he finally resurfaced from the sea of work to realize that he hadn’t heard from his students.
At all.
This… was not good.
Flipping his laptop shut, Shouta grabbed his capture scarf off the side table and wound it around his neck in preparation for whatever chaos his students had unleashed.
Several students had received permission to head off campus (IN GROUPS) to receive their final interviews and reports from their internships. Considering that all his students had their provisional licenses and were arguably better heroes than some working heroes Shouta knew, this shouldn’t have been a problem.
What a fool he was to think that.
Stepping into the common room, he noticed his students bunched together, talking quietly. Several phones were out, and there were squeals of “Let me take a picture!” followed by “What do we do?!”
When they saw Shouta standing there silently, their excited chatter died, and they stared apprehensively at him.
Not a good sign.
Instinctively, he asked the first question that came to mind, “Is anyone hurt?”
“No?”
That wasn’t a good start.
Shouta scanned the room, mentally counting each student. A pit of dread opened up in his stomach as he noticed one student in particular missing.
Midoriya wasn’t a problematic student per se; he was eager to please, ready to learn, and terrifyingly determined. However, trouble was attracted to that boy like cats to catnip. Shouta was sure Midoriya didn’t mean for any of it to happen, but Shouta was also one catastrophe away from dragging the boy to Recovery Girl and getting a second opinion on his quirk.
There had to be some side effect of his quirk that made any dangerous situation within a 100-mile radius perk their head and go, “oh, he’s perfect.”
“Where’s Midoriya?”
His students glanced nervously at each other and then parted like a sea, revealing a small white object sitting on the coffee table.
A very small, very fluffy fox looked up at him with, unfortunately, familiar green eyes.
“No,” Shouta said, willing the universe to accept his will and restore his student to normal form.
Midoriya made an embarrassed squeaking noise, and nine tails spread out, shielding his fluffy form from view.
Shouta searched the universe for the words to speak, and found only one suitable.
“Why?”
Why?
Well, it wasn’t because Izuku was desperate to torture his teacher or that he had a death wish a mile long. Contrary to what Aizawa and some of Izuku’s classmates thought, he hadn’t wanted to be turned into a small member of the Canidae family.
It’s just, whenever he saw someone in trouble, he couldn’t help himself.
Usually his mind moved too fast for his body. He had lost so many good quirk observation ideas simply because his hands couldn’t write at the speed he required. Or on a darker note, his mind would spiral into self-doubt and loathing because he hadn’t been able to perform as well as he wanted; his body hadn’t been fast enough or strong enough.
Izuku had come to terms with this and found ways of working around it. Carrying a recorder to catch what his writing couldn’t or talking to UA’s resident therapist, Hound Dog.
However, it was when his body moved too fast for his mind that the problem came.
He’d see someone hurt or crying, or in danger, and before he could stop and think (like Aizawa so desperately wanted him to), his body was already moving.
The man claimed he was only trying to teach the vendor some manners after they refused to accept his expired coupon. But when the man kicked the stand, toppling cooked takoyaki, and then raised his arm to punch the flustered vendor… Izuku couldn’t help himself.
His body moved on its own.
Still, it shouldn’t have been a problem. He merely grabbed the man’s wrist to inform him that assaulting takoyaki stand owners wasn’t the polite thing to do, but all that came out was a loud yip as the man suddenly loomed several feet above him along with the rest of the world.
Huh, Izuku thought. Shrinking quirk?
However, that theory was quickly dispelled when he tried to step forward and tripped over two extra legs that he swore had not been there before. Face-planting, he bashed his sensitive nose against the concrete, and when he looked up, he saw a fuzzy white thing looking back.
Izuku blinked, and his vision cleared, but when he tilted his head, the fuzzy thing on the reflective surface also did.
Oh no, Izuku thought as he took in the perky ears, black nose, and tail spreading out behind him. He looked like a white feather duster that grew legs. Floof for days.
Aizawa was going to kill him.
“I didn’t touch the brat!” cried Shingo Yamato (AKA the man who turned Izuku into a small, four-legged creature). “He’s lying!” However, the police ignored him, fitting him with a pair of handcuffs and escorting him to the back of a police car.
The takoyaki shop owner spoke to another officer, gesturing wildly towards his stand with an expression on his face that clearly asked who was going to pay for the stand’s damage AND the dropped takoyaki.
His classmates, Tusyu and Iida, who had come with him since their internships had been in the same city, looked at him. Iida had quickly restrained Shingo, but it had been too late for Izuku.
“Why?” Iida asked despairingly.
Izuku found the question rather rude, and tried to explain himself, but all that came out was a high pitched yip.
Izuku blinked, then tried again.
Another yip.
“Ribbit, I don’t think you’re able to talk Midoriya. Foxes don’t have the same vocal cords as humans.”
Of course, they didn’t.
“Why did you have to engage him?” Iida asked.
Izuku raised an eyebrow, a difficult feat as a fox but one he must have managed since Iida sighed. They were hero students; what else was he supposed to do?
Also, how was he supposed to know that the villain had a quirk that turned his victims into animals?! Thankfully transformation quirks of this nature typically were short lasting, maybe an hour or five tops. Aizawa wouldn’t have to know.
“It’ll likely take three days for the quirk to wear off,” the police officer informed them.
Tenya Iida wanted to scream. Three days!?
However, he was class president, and as such, it was his duty to maintain a level of decorum and respect even in the most stressful of situations.
Biting his tongue and adjusting his glasses, Tenya checked the police officer’s name, Eiko Zenji.
“Officer Eiko,” Tenya said, “Surely that can’t be the case. Transformation quirks aren’t usually that long-lasting.”
By Tenya’s knee, Izuku shook his head rapidly in agreement, his pointing ears flopping slightly at the aggressive movement. Emotion choked Tenya at the cuteness, and he accidentally missed what Officer Eiko said.
“.... we’ve dealt with Shinjo before, and it’s been the same for most of his victims. Although I will say you’re lucky, usually its rats or snakes. Once a hamster. Another time a dog.”
A low growl echoed. Tenya, Tsuyu, and Officer Eiko looked for the source.
Below them, Midoriya bristled, his lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth.
The group stared at him, and Izuku blinked, then melted into a puddle of embarrassment.
“It’s alright,” Officer Eiko said, taking mercy on the poor, transformed hero student, “Plenty of people don’t like dogs.”
“What do we do until then?” asked Tenya imploringly. He needed a plan. Something simple but concrete that would mitigate the inevitable fallout. Surely, Officer Eiko, with all of his knowledge about Shingo related animal transformation would have an idea.
The police officer shrugged. “Not a clue. Avoid animal control, maybe?”
Tenya, Tsuyu, and Izuku looked at each other. “We cannot let Aizawa know.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Aizawa, glowering at each of his guilty students. “You were trying to hide this from me?”
“No! Of course not.”
“We wouldn’t do that.”
“Not on purpose, at least.”
“We only just found out!”
Aizawa activated his quirk, his hair lifting off his shoulders and his eyes glowing a murderous red. It hadn’t completely lost its effectiveness because the class stopped speaking immediately.
The common room was silent until Iida hung his head. “We were attempting to keep it under wraps until the quirk wore off. Simply to avoid giving you more stress.”
“Iida!” several students cried.
“Dude, how could you?!”
Aizawa deactivated his quirk but resisted grabbing his eye drops. He was going for murderous, angry teacher, not exhausted sleep-depreived teacher.
“What were you planning on doing?!” Aizawa asked. “How was I not going to notice that one of my students was a fox?”
“Actually,” interjected Tsuyu, “I don’t think he’s a fox.”
Izuku wanted to scream but was unsure his vocal cords could make the sound.
Despite looking exactly like one, Izuku wasn’t a fox.
He wasn’t sure if it was bad luck or the universe trying to mess with him, although he was leaning towards the latter.
Because why not?! Already, the plan had gone awry. Izuku was supposed to sneak back up to his bedroom without his classmates noticing, but Jirou had heard Izuku’s faster heartbeat and immediately thought he was dying since his heartbeat was above 120 beats per minute.
The concern was appreciated if only it hadn’t gotten the attention of his class who swarmed him like toddlers to chocolate. Their towering heights and reaching hands gave Izuku a sudden insight into what it would be like to be a sentient stuffed animal.
“Look at him,” Tsuyu said. She grabbed one of Izuku’s tails, an odd, uncomfortable sensation, like someone was tugging on the base of his spine. Izuku lurched up, his claws scrabbling on the table for purchase.
“Sorry, ribbit, Midoriya! I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Izuku shook his head slowly. No, not necessarily, but it was that same discomfort as if someone poked their finger in your belly button. Not painful, yet not pleasant either.
Tsuyu nodded. “Tell me if it hurts too much.”
She carefully separated Izuku’s tails from the tight bundle they were in, pulling the tails from each other. “Look,” she said, “nine tails. I'm pretty sure the average fox doesn’t have nine tails.”
Izuku craned his head, trying to count. Sure enough, nine fluffy tails stood straight up in the air. He blinked, then counted again. Nope, they were nine. A surge of anxiety hit him, and Izuku looked under his stomach, counting to make sure he had the normal amount of legs. Still four. Small mercies.
“So what is he?” asked Kaminari, scratching his head.
“I think,” Yaoyorozu said slowly, “that makes him a kitsune.”
“Kitzuku,” whispered Uraraka. She blushed and avoided looking at Izuku. “You know, ’cause he’s a kistune but also Izuku!”
“Kitzuku!” squealed Mina. “So cute!”
Hagakure clapped her hands. “Still that’s so cool! He’s not even a normal fox. A magical fox.”
Aizawa grumbled into his scarf, low enough that Izuku wouldn’t have heard without his new, foxy hearing. “Because that was what I needed. A magical fox.”
“What’s the plan then?” Izuku asked, but barking instead. Thankfully, Aizawa was on the same mental wavelength.
“I am going to call the station and get more information,” said Aizawa, glaring at the class. “You are going to behave and not cause any more problems. Get back to whatever you all were doing. Even better, it’s 8:00 o’clock; get ready for bed.” When the group didn’t move, Aizawa’s voice lowered to a death rattle, “Now.”
The class scrambled like a mouse before a cat, and Izuku aimed to join them, but Aizawa fixed him with a stare. “Not you.”
Instinctively, Izuku widened his eyes and crouched, making himself smaller, his tails floofing out around him.
Aizawa stopped mid-sentence, his eyes locking on Izuku. One of his hands twitched, and without looking away, he stuffed it into his pocket. Then, he crouched down to Izuku’s height.
He softened his voice, “Kid, are you okay besides the whole transformation? No injuries? No pain?”
Izuku nodded his head. Just the internal pain of mortification, but nothing he couldn’t survive.
Sighing, Aizawa rocked back on his feet. “Good. But you better not be lying to me because if I find even a splinter in one of your paws,” Aizawa’s face split into a terrifying smile that made the fur rise on Izuku’s back, “turning into a fox will be the least of your punnishment.”
Izuku nodded rapidly. Got it. He got it. He couldn’t imagine what horrors Aizawa could devise, but his mind was haunted by endless obstacle courses and burning All Might merchandise.
“Three days,” said Aizawa in the voice of a man praying to the gods of teaching for an act of mercy. “You can stay out of trouble for three days.”
“Of course,” Izuku tried to say, ready to fill his teacher with confidence in his ability not to attract chaos but yipped instead.
Aizawa groaned.