Work Text:
Midoriya had a conundrum. You see, he had a lot of merchandise, but Midoriya wanted more. The crux of the issue was that merchandise required money, and as an unemployed eleven year old, there weren't many places he could get a hold of such a thing.
After brief consideration, however, he'd come up with a flawless solution. Simply lie about his age and prior employment experience to get a remote job. After glancing at several listings on a sketchy looking site, he landed on one that would be reasonably easy to attempt. He wasn't really sure what the point of a lesson planner was exactly, but he wasn't going to complain.
It took a shockingly short amount of time to bullshit up a resume and patchwork together a portfolio, and with one final click he sent the application.
With that, he logged off for the day, going to sleep with a lightened heart.
Midoriya chucked his bag into the corner of his room, throwing himself onto his bed face first. After an extended moment, he regained his composure. Sighing deeply, he sat up, fixing his hair as he made his way over to the computer.
The instant he logged in, a single, bright notification greeted him, hovering ominously over the email icon. Brows furrowed, he clicked it.
Now, Midoriya had suffered through a long day at school, and truly was in a state only fit for scrolling on his phone in bed, so it was inevitable that mistakes would be made. This was foresight Midoriya was lacking at the moment — along with several other things — but the aforementioned foresight was, undoubtedly, the only thing that could have saved him.
The child merely scanned the email, eyes gravitating towards the large ‘Accepted! Welcome to the team!’ written in an especially appealing font, skipping over any of the information he might, hypothetically, regret not reading in the future.
Midoriya grinned.
The attachment, one of the few things in the email he actually paid attention to, contained the first set of instructions for his first day (un)offically employed, with slightly more focus, he read the list over once, twice, a third time for luck, which he would be needing more than a fair share of to uphold this deception, before finally opening up a blank document and getting to work.
Now, Midoriya Inko was no idiot. She'd noticed the suspicious activity in her bank account a while ago; the monthly payments that would hastily be withdrawn, as if hoping to escape her notice, but in all honesty she didn't give a shit. The most logical explanation was that some small-time criminal was using her account for money laundering or something of the sort, but as long as they left her money alone and allowed her some plausible deniability, she had bigger concerns in her life.
This wasn't the only thing out of the ordinary she'd noticed, but she was mildly concerned about what response she might receive if she dared to ask her son about his worryingly large collection of hero merchandise that was steadily growing despite her lack of involvement. That wasn't the only reason she was ignoring it, of course, the spark in his eyes has finally, finally come back for the first time in far too long, brighter than ever and if her involvement extinguished it, even slightly, Inko feared she'd never recover.
Inko wanted to know what had changed, desperately, but if staying in ignorance was all she could contribute she would do just that.
Midoriya, it turned out, was fucking great at his job. During his four years of work, not only had he not been fired, not only had he gotten a raise, but additionally he was able to notice the flaws in his own teachers and construct a more effective way to teach himself. He credited this achievement to his acceptance into UA.
The entrance exam wasn't easy, by any means, but during his creation of lesson plans he managed to pick up the school he worked for specialised in heroics. (Of course, he could have just looked at any of the emails he was sent more closely, but that would ruin the fun of guessing) In continuously writing lesson plans for heroics focused lessons, it was inevitable to pick up on interesting information. Interesting information such as the major weakness of the robots used in the aforementioned entrance exam.
Being good at his job didn't erase the fact he still had to go to school, though, so the teenager made sure to send his final email and log out of his computer with plenty of time to make it for the first day.
Hesitantly pushing open the astounding-light-for-its-size door, Midoriya poked his head into the room. Allowing himself a deep sigh of relief at the rows of empty seats, he stepped in.
Having the first choice of placement meant that the seat perfectly in view of the sun, yet not in a way that it would shine into your eyes, was free for the taking. A devious grin spread across his face as he claimed his prize.
Using the free time before any of his classmates showed up, Midoriya pulled out his stationery, laying it out in an organised manner. Essential preparations complete, he laid his head down on his arms and closed his eyes.
The tranquility lasted for all of three glorious seconds, before the door was flung open hard enough to slam into the wall.
Midoriya recognised that aggressive door opening. He recognised it well. A wave of dread washed over him and he buried his face deeper into the protection that was his arms. There was a chance, quite a large one, actually, that the teenager wouldn’t recognise him, but the fear still lingered despite its irrationality.
The effective distraction that was the rest of the students flooding in thankfully managed to reduce his anxiety. Well, that was until the teacher emerged from his place behind the desk. Midoriya cringed at how he had failed to notice the man until that moment.
(It turned out that spacial awareness was surprisingly difficult to improve on when you spend all your time at a computer in your room.)
Punching himself mentally, he managed to perfect a nonchalant expression as the man began to speak.
In all honesty Midoriya wasn’t paying enough attention, only returning to the moment when a sporty outfit was flung at his head, obscuring his vision. He pulled it off, rushing after the students who were filing out the door with a demeanour one might expect from a funeral goer.
It turned out the destination was the changing rooms, and Midoriya was too late to secure a cubicle. Gloomily, he changed into the baggy outfit and trudged out onto the field.
The rest of the students, thankfully, seemed similarly downtrodden. Eyes scanning the surroundings, he was able to locate several… measuring devices? Spotted around areas that seemed to indicate different activities. He shuddered.
Subtly, whilst the teacher was informing the class on what was to come, he crept closer to one that was obscured from the aforementioned teacher’s vision, pulling out his emergency screwdriver, he tapped it once, twice, a third time for luck, before actually removing the screws. Now, Midoriya didn’t really know anything about technology or mechanics (he only carried the tool around for loose screws on chairs), but the switch pointing to ‘x1’ with a ‘x100’ opposing it seemed to, possibly, change what output might be given to the device.
Replacing the screws shoddily, he zoned back into the lecture just in time for the only important information.
“And the student with the lowest scoring numbers will be expelled.”
Sure, the information before was probably also important, but ‘scoring numbers’ instead of ‘distance’ or ‘measurement’ seemed somewhat deliberate.
His suspicion was all but confirmed when the teacher blatantly noticed him tampering with the devices and remained silent, which was all the encouragement he needed.
By the end, Midoriya was comfortably in the high middle of the scoreboard. Not all of the activities used the devices, and for some he felt mildly guilty for exploiting his cheat code in every category. In last place was someone who’s name he didn’t know, which wasn’t saying much because he only knew one person in the class, but they revealed themself by bursting into tears on the spot.
Midoriya was focused on memorising the method used to test student capabilities, already forming plans on how to use it in his next requested lesson plan. He was aware his name was brought up in the discussion between the student and teacher, but paying attention to the conversation wouldn’t make him any merch money, lesson plans would.
Eventually they were allowed to change back into their uniforms and return to what was supposedly an introduction lesson.
A worksheet was passed around to test the base capabilities of the students to gain a larger understanding of where they all were, and Midoriya graciously accepted his own, jotting down his name at the top only to freeze in his tracks.
The questions seemed familiar, but it was only once he was three-quarters done that it finally clicked.
Right, Midoriya mused, I think I mentioned this in one of my lesson plans a few weeks ago.
He shrugged off the coincidence, simply assuming it was more popular than he initially thought.
After the worksheet, however, Midoriya began to notice small things, building up to create a bigger image he was pretending with all his might not to notice nor recognise, but as the teacher, now dubbed ‘Aizawa’, recited the very same bullet points he’d written weeks before and indicated to the undeniably familiar powerpoint complete with his favourite shade of red colour theme and font, he knew he couldn’t fool himself any longer.
In the midst of his mild breakdown he furrowed his brow violently at a typo he’d somehow skipped over, now projected on the board for the entire class to see. Somehow none of his classmates noticed, although Midoriya didn’t know how, when it was practically highlighted and helpfully annotated with a simple ‘failure’.
(Of course, this was only metaphorical, and the students were far too tired to notice, let alone give a shit.)
Midoriya left the classroom a changed teenager, aged ten years by his realisation.
There was still hope, he convinced himself, that perhaps it was merely a case of plagiarism, and he actually wasn’t a student at the school he’d been deceiving for the last four years.
The teenager stared at his computer screen, unblinking. He hadn’t closed his eyes in three minutes, and his vision was so blurred he could no longer read the damning words on the screen, yet it didn’t change the facts.
Now, Midoriya was, expectedly, rather upset at this realisation. With ready access to a healthy amount of money (Now safely stored in his own account) and internet access, it was no wonder he made several inadvisable financial decisions.
(It wasn’t his fault, the items in his wish-list had been tormenting him for the past three days, and after all his suffering he needed something to cheer him up after such misfortune.)
(A plethora of packages arrived the next day, Inko turning a blind eye as she signed for them, dragging them in one at a time.)
Aizawa was suspicious. Well, suspicious wasn’t exactly the right word, but he had yet to discover a better one so he supposed this would suffice.
He had a student, shocking considering his history, one who seemed… different.
He was aware that teenagers tended to be a diverse bunch, but this one was odd. Despite barely paying any attention during lessons, other than to scrutinise any errors, he was scoring higher than the rest of the class. He’d considered the option that he could simply be cheating, but what kind of weird loser cheats on basic schoolwork instead of just an exam; it would be far too much effort for far too little reward.
He’d made sure to mention this to Nezu in one of his weekly bitching sessions, but even the principal couldn’t come up with a concrete explanation. The only possible path forwards was to simply wait and see.
After placing the student under additional observation, he’d learnt a few things. Nothing of importance to answering his question, of course, but things nonetheless.
When Midoriya thought nobody was watching, he had a tendency to pull out a notebook, one of two colours, and write as if his life depended on it.
If it was his blue notebook, he seemed more relaxed, as if he could take all the time in the world but lacked the patience to do so, if it was his black notebook, it was much more professional, as if working on a lifelong dissertation, but the determination in his eyes was more than enough to convey his emotions. It was quite interesting how he held his heart on his sleeves only in the comfort of solidarity.
Aizawa found him not dissimilar to perhaps a squirrel, albeit less likely to be chased by dogs. (Less, but not by much. He’d walked past the window at a very convenient time last Tuesday, not a second too late to miss the teenager bolt up a tree mere moments before a particularly aggressive canine caught up, lead trailing behind uselessly.)
Additionally, it seemed almost as if he were hiding something from the teacher, not lingering in the classroom for a second longer than required, head down as he merged into the crowd wordlessly. He’d requested to have a meeting with the teenager after lesson once, but was forced to drop it after seeing how close Midoriya looked to fainting on the spot.
It wasn’t as if Aizawa was new to being avoided, the opposite in fact, but fuck, the curiosity was overwhelming and he feared he would snap and shake the boy by the shoulders until he spat out the answer.
This, of course, would be bad for both parties, so he managed his frustration with frequent rants directed towards the (increasingly more difficult to find) principal.
Midoriya was fucked. He was cooked, he was screwed; the hole he’d dug himself into was far too deep to escape from now.
Join Us For A Face-To-Face Meeting! Fri…
To commemorate your four year anniversary with our company, we would like for you to attend our in-person meeting on Friday the-
Midoriya burst into tears.
“In person meeting? For something as stupid as this?”
Vision still blurry, he typed out a simple response.
Tired
I apologise for having to do this in such an informal manner, but I believe it’s time I handed in my resignation. Due to extreme exhaustion I believe I will have to quit for my mental health, attached is the file below and I fear all I can say now is-
“Thank you for being such a friendly workplace?” Aizawa frowned over Nezu’s shoulder.
“What kind of shitty place did this unfortunate sod work at before?”
Nezu shot him a dirty look, “Don’t take this lightly, do you want to lose your lesson planner?”
Aizawa raised his hands in surrender, “Alright, alright. How are you gonna sort this out?”
Nezu clasped his paws together in thought, unintentionally hooking two claws on each other. He shot his employee a helpless look, extending the limbs towards him. Rolling his eyes, Aizawa freed him.
“I’ll offer a raise.”
“If that doesn’t work?”
Nezu let out a sound not dissimilar to a muffled sob.
Re: Tired
Dearest employee, if you find your working conditions are inadequate, do not hesitate to mention it. We are more than willing to offer you a raise — we can figure out exact numbers in person — I fear you have become a fundamental part of our team and losing you would damage us irreparably. I hope we are able to reach a-
“Suitable work around‽” Midoriya clutched his hair in frustration, pointing to his computer screen, “If I say it’s because of the meeting you’ll be suspicious! This is my only way out!”
Re:Re: Tired
I fear my time at this establishment has reached its natural end, and I may not be able to live up to your expectations of me in the future, so before this occurs I would like to make a graceful exit
Aizawa frowned, “Suspicious.”
Nezu glanced up at him, “That’s your co-worker, have some respect.”
Re:Re:Re: Tired
Dearest employee, if our appreciation of you has not been properly displayed, if you would be as kind to attend our in person meeting this Friday, we can discuss your resignation in more depth. If you fear any repercussions for your actions, I can promise it is unfounded.
Midoriya eyed the email in suspicion. He glanced behind him at the walls coated in posters like a second skin, the window sill packed with figures blue-tacked down in place, the boxes stacked under his bed brimming with hoodies, the bed-sheets, the curtains, the lampshade, the stickers, the trading cards, the everything.
Re:Re:Re:Re: Tired
Alright.
Aizawa leant back, “What if he’s a criminal?”
“What if he’s been playing the long game since the very beginning?”
Nezu shrugged, “Then so be it.”
“It’s on your head.” Aizawa warned.
Nezu ignored him.
“Ten thousand yen if you’re wrong.” Were his final words before leaving the room.
Midoriya had unlocked the secret sixth stage of grief: Overspending.
The meeting was mere hours away. Truly, he hadn’t anticipated his scheme would last this long, but ending in such circumstances was unfortunate in all meanings of the word.
His limited edition shoes were shaking with him as the teenager departed his home, a lone tear sliding down his cheek.
The walk was long (It wasn’t), and the weather was dreary (The sun was shining in a cloudless sky), a flash of lightning illuminated the school before him (It was a pigeon).
With a deep breath (Or two, or three), Midoriya entered the premises.
The sound of his shoes against the floor reverberated down the corridor, marking his impending doom. Barely resisting the urge to burst into tears, he pushed open the door that seemed to weigh an immeasurable amount.
All eyes turned to him, with reasonable cause, and the smattering of chatter halted.
A blanket of silence settled over the room, discarded several minutes later.
“Well,” Aizawa began dryly, “Never seen that method of cheating before.”
Nezu hopped down from his chair, waddling closer to the boy. “I suppose you’re our illusive lesson planner?”
Midoriya, fragile for a multitude of reasons, had the final straw placed on his poor, poor, back, and promptly burst into tears.
(Midoriya was requested to continue with his job, albeit in another department and, reluctantly, agreed.
Of course, Aizawa questioned Nezu on the legality of the situation.
“We hired All Might despite his lack of teaching qualifications, if nobody found an issue earlier, they won’t find one now.”)
(Midoriya made sure to avoid unnecessary encounters with Aizawa and Nezu, as the pair would take every offered opportunity to refer to him as their ‘co-worker’ and ‘employee’ respectively.)
(Nezu gleefully collected his ten thousand yen winnings from Aizawa. He spent it on hero themed stationery for his youngest employee)