Chapter Text
The morning the request arrived, the UA faculty room was unusually quiet.
Aizawa noticed it the moment he stepped inside — a kind of stillness that didn’t belong in a building full of teenagers with explosive quirks and even more explosive personalities. The staff room was normally a place of low‑grade chaos: Present Mic humming loudly while grading papers, Midnight sipping coffee that smelled like it could melt steel, All Might trying (and failing) to whisper, and Nezu cheerfully stirring tea like he was plotting world domination.
But today, the air felt… suspended.
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “What happened.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an assessment.
All Might was standing near the center table, posture stiff, hands clasped in front of him. He looked like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Present Mic wasn’t humming. Midnight wasn’t smirking. Even Cementoss looked uneasy.
And Nezu — Nezu was holding a folder.
That was never a good sign.
“Ah, Aizawa!” Nezu chirped, but the brightness didn’t reach his eyes. “Perfect timing. We were just about to discuss a… rather unexpected matter.”
Aizawa dropped into a chair, scarf rustling. “Who’s in trouble now.”
Nezu opened the folder.
“Bakugou Katsuki.”
Aizawa blinked. “What did he blow up.”
“It’s not that,” All Might said quietly.
That alone was enough to make Aizawa sit up straighter. All Might rarely used that tone — the one that sounded like he was choosing every word with surgical precision.
Nezu slid a paper across the table. “We received a formal request from Bakugou’s parents this morning.”
Aizawa skimmed the document, expecting something about property damage, or maybe a complaint about Bakugou’s temper. Instead, his eyes caught on the first line.
Request for Restriction of Access to Sharp Objects.
He froze.
The next lines were worse.
No sharp objects permitted in Bakugou Katsuki’s dorm room.
No access to sharp objects during training unless directly supervised.
No unsupervised access to kitchen equipment, including knives.
Aizawa stared at the page, expression unreadable.
“…What.”
Present Mic leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Yeah, that was my reaction too.”
Midnight crossed her arms, frowning. “This is… extreme. Even for overprotective parents.”
All Might exhaled slowly. “They insisted it was necessary.”
Aizawa set the paper down. “Bakugou is one of our most capable students. He handles explosives with more precision than most adults. Why would they think he can’t be trusted with a kitchen knife.”
“That,” Nezu said, “is the question.”
He tapped the folder lightly, as if the weight of it was heavier than paper should allow.
“We contacted them for clarification. They declined to give details.”
Aizawa’s jaw tightened. “Declined.”
“Politely,” Nezu added, “but firmly.”
Midnight frowned. “Parents don’t usually refuse to explain something like this. Not when it concerns safety protocols.”
Cementoss nodded. “And not when it concerns a student like Bakugou. He’s reckless, yes, but he’s not careless. He’s never shown signs of being a danger to himself.”
Aizawa didn’t respond. His mind was already running through every interaction he’d had with Bakugou in the past month. The boy had been loud, abrasive, competitive — the usual. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that would justify this.
Nothing that would explain why his parents were suddenly terrified of him being alone with a sharp object.
All Might cleared his throat. “They did say one thing.”
Everyone turned to him.
“They said… ‘It’s preventative.’”
Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “Preventative of what.”
All Might shook his head. “They wouldn’t elaborate.”
The room fell silent again.
It wasn’t the comfortable silence of colleagues working together. It was the heavy, suffocating kind — the kind that settled in your chest and refused to move.
Nezu folded his paws neatly. “Regardless of the reason, they are his legal guardians. Their request is valid, and we are obligated to honor it.”
Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “We can’t enforce restrictions like this without knowing why. It affects his training. His dorm life. His autonomy.”
“I agree,” Nezu said softly. “But they were adamant. And they invoked parental authority.”
Present Mic let out a low whistle. “That’s serious. They must really believe it’s necessary.”
Midnight’s voice dropped. “Or they’re scared.”
Aizawa didn’t like the way that word felt.
Scared.
Bakugou’s parents were loud, confident, and fiercely protective — but scared? Scared enough to send a formal request to UA? Scared enough to restrict their son from basic household items?
Something wasn’t adding up.
Nezu continued, “We will need to adjust dorm protocols. Remove sharp objects from his room. Ensure kitchen supervision. Modify training exercises.”
Aizawa’s eyes flicked up sharply. “He’s going to notice.”
“Oh, undoubtedly,” Nezu said with a small sigh. “And he will not be pleased.”
“That’s an understatement,” Present Mic muttered.
All Might looked troubled. “We should approach this delicately. Young Bakugou is… proud. He won’t react well to feeling singled out.”
Aizawa leaned back, arms crossed. “He’s going to think we don’t trust him.”
“And we do,” Midnight said. “That’s the problem.”
Nezu closed the folder. “Our priority is his safety. Even if we don’t understand the reason.”
Aizawa stared at the table, mind racing. Bakugou was many things — volatile, stubborn, intense — but he was also driven, focused, and fiercely determined. He didn’t back down from anything. He didn’t show weakness. He didn’t ask for help.
And his parents were asking UA to treat him like he was fragile.
It didn’t make sense.
Unless something had happened.
Something they didn’t know about.
Aizawa’s stomach twisted.
He didn’t like mysteries involving his students. Especially not ones that came wrapped in fear and silence.
Nezu stood. “We will implement the restrictions immediately. Aizawa, I’d like you to oversee the dorm adjustments. All Might, please coordinate with the training staff. Midnight, Cementoss — assist with kitchen protocol.”
Everyone nodded, though unease lingered in their expressions.
As the staff began to disperse, Aizawa remained seated, staring at the paper in front of him.
No sharp objects.
Supervised training.
Restricted kitchen access.
For Bakugou Katsuki.
It was absurd. It was alarming. It was wrong.
And yet… it was happening.
All Might lingered beside him. “Aizawa… do you think something happened?”
Aizawa didn’t answer immediately. He thought of Bakugou’s scowl, his explosive confidence, the way he barked at anyone who dared imply he wasn’t strong enough.
Then he thought of the request.
“…I think,” Aizawa said slowly, “that parents don’t make decisions like this without a reason.”
All Might nodded, expression somber. “And I think Bakugou won’t tell us what that reason is.”
Aizawa stood, scarf trailing behind him. “Then we’ll have to figure it out ourselves.”
He didn’t say the rest out loud.
Before something gets worse.