Chapter Text
The low hum of chatter and laughter filled Classroom 3-A as the students settled into their desks, the air alive with the familiar chaos that had always made it feel like home. Aizawa sat at the front, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded as he scanned the room, exuding his usual calm authority, though even he didn’t bother hiding the faint flicker of relief that passed over his face as he watched his students chatter. Today, his class would finally complete again.
“Kaminari, stop bouncing your leg like that,” Aizawa murmured without looking up. “And Jirou, keep your feet on the floor unless you’re actually doing something useful.”
“Yes, Sensei,” they chorused, a little too quickly, their voices carrying a mix of amusement and grudging obedience.
The chatter didn’t die, it only shifted to whispers and laughter, glances toward the doorway where everyone instinctively knew Izuku would appear. Even though they had all been living in the dorms together, seeing him at meals, in the common room, there was a different weight to him being back in the classroom—their pack felt complete only when he was in his place at the front, among them, participating fully in class.
Uraraka leaned forward, her elbows resting on her desk, whispering to Kirishima. “He’ll be here any second. I just know it. I’ve been watching the door every time someone walks by.”
Kirishima grinned, leaning slightly toward her. “I can’t wait. It’s been weird not having him in class, even though we’ve seen him in the dorms. But it will feel like he’s really back now.”
Bakugou, lounging in his chair with arms crossed, didn’t speak, but his sharp eyes followed every passing shadow in the hallway. His jaw flexed slightly, betraying a rare streak of anticipation beneath the usual scowl.
“Alright, settle down,” Aizawa’s voice cut through the chatter again, more firmly this time. “Class will start when everyone is present. That includes Midoriya.”
The class froze in an almost imperceptible rhythm, a silent agreement passing between them. A moment later, the door swung open.
There he was.
Izuku Midoriya, stepping lightly into the classroom, his bag slung over one shoulder, scanning the room briefly before his eyes settled on the group. A broad, slightly shy smile spread across his face, and in an instant, the energy in the room shifted.
“Deku!” Uraraka called, jumping slightly in her seat and waving frantically, a grin bright enough to light up the entire row. “You’re finally here! We’ve been waiting forever!”
“About time!” Kaminari shouted from across the room, his hands flailing as he waved. “We were starting to think you wouldn't show up today!”
“Yeah, don’t tell me the dorms made you lazy or something,” Kirishima added, standing slightly to give a dramatic bow, though his grin betrayed genuine happiness. “It’s good to have the pack back together!”
Even Bakugou, leaning against the wall, let out a low, begrudging growl. “Finally. About time someone dragged you here.” His tone was sharp, but the faint lift at the corner of his mouth and the way his eyes softened just a fraction betrayed how much he’d missed seeing Izuku in class.
Midoriya’s shoulders lifted slightly at the chorus of voices, a warmth spreading through him he hadn’t realized he’d been craving. The dorms had been fine, they had all been there, but this, this moment, standing in the doorway with every one of his classmates looking at him, cheering for him, acknowledging him fully in the space where he belonged… it was something else entirely.
Aizawa’s dark eyes flicked up from his front-row notes, his expression neutral as always, but his voice carried the faintest edge of approval. “Sit down, Midoriya. We’re starting now…. It's nice to have you back in class.”
“Yes, Sensei,” Izuku said, moving forward and placing his bag neatly at his desk. The class hummed with quiet, collective satisfaction as he slid into his seat, finally part of the rhythm again. Laughter and whispers continued, teasing and warm, while Izuku allowed himself a small sigh, feeling the weight of missing nothing and gaining everything at the same time.
It felt… right.
For the first time since the chaos of the past week, he was back where he belonged.
The moment Izuku settled into his seat, the chatter didn’t die down, but it shifted, turning into that familiar, comfortable hum that always accompanied Class 3-A when they were gathered together, alive with teasing and questions and laughter, a pack in full swing. Kirishima leaned forward immediately, eyes sparkling with curiosity and concern, his hand waving as he began before even thinking:
“So, Midoriya, now that you’re back and all cleared, are you ready to get back into action. I understand if you're not ready to get back into action, especially with you know… you being kidnapped? I mean, you were gone for hours, and we were all running around like idiots trying to find you!”
Uraraka chimed in, her voice light but insistent, carrying that subtle undercurrent of omega instinct she always displayed around him, especially now that he was back:
“Yeah, and we were all so worried! You had us terrified, Deku. I was worried we wouldn't find you in time. I thought we lost you.” She leaned forward slightly, and Izuku caught the faint, comforting scent that clung to her hair and skin, a mixture of baked sweets from breakfast and her natural warmth, and it made him smile quietly.
“Honestly…” Izuku began, his hands resting on the desk, fingers steepled in a gesture of thoughtfulness he’d picked up from observing Aizawa, “I’m really okay. I'm seeing hound dog, the therapist we arranged after the kidnapping, and I've worked with the police to hopefully track down the kidnappers. I’m fine now. It felt strange at first, being captured, but I wasn’t alone, and I knew you all would find me.”
He looked up at the class, and in that moment, the scent that clung to him, a faint trace of his own omega pheromones, mixed with the subtle notes of nervousness and determination, seemed to mingle with theirs in a way that reminded him just how close they really were.
Bakugou snorted from the back of the room, leaning slightly against the wall, arms crossed, the usual sharp edge of his tone softened by relief he would never admit aloud.
“Of course we found you. We’re not stupid, Deku. The moment we realized you were gone, every single one of us, every last idiot in this room, knew exactly what had to happen, and we got it done. And we weren’t going to let some random criminals turn you into a paycheck or a trophy. You’re our omega.”
The class laughed softly at that, the sound warm and teasing, yet layered with that unspoken bond of the pack, a mixture of alpha and beta instincts that had emerged naturally over the years and crystallized even further during the rescue. Kirishima’s grin stretched impossibly wide, and he leaned closer to Bakugou, nudging him lightly. “See? We all did our part. And you know, Midoriya… the pack sticks together. Always.”
“I know,” Izuku said quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips. He could feel the subtle shifts of movement around him: hands brushing against desks in ways that gave him the tiniest hints of protective instincts kicking in, classmates leaning slightly forward as if to ensure he was comfortable, the way they had always unconsciously positioned themselves around him like a web of safety. He allowed himself to enjoy it, this unspoken reassurance of belonging, without letting it define him.
“And I couldn’t have asked for a better pack or better friends. You all were incredible. Seeing all of you, the way you coordinated and worked together, the way you didn’t panic, it made everything… bearable.”
Uraraka’s eyes glimmered faintly as she leaned closer, inhaling slightly, catching that faint trace of tension and relief lingering in his scent and responding instinctively, a small smile softening her features. “Well, we’re glad you made it back in one piece,” she said softly, voice almost conspiratorial as if sharing a secret just between them. “But you’re back now, and you’re with us. That’s what counts.”
Bakugou’s scowl deepened slightly, though it lacked its usual bite, and he muttered just loud enough for Izuku to hear, “Don’t think this means we’re letting you slack off. You’re cleared all right, but you better be ready, because we’re not holding back just because someone thinks you need… coddling.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Izuku replied, his tone calm, even, a quiet authority threading through his voice despite the teasing energy around him. He leaned back slightly in his seat, letting his gaze drift across the classroom, noting every glance, every subtle gesture, the small motions that revealed concern, care, and the natural hierarchy of the pack.
The warmth of the room, the scents of his classmates mixing together in a comforting haze, the way their energy wrapped around him without words, it was a reminder of everything they had endured together and everything they had protected, not just him, but each other.
Aizawa’s flat voice cut through the warmth, neutral but somehow grounding. “Enough chatter. Class starts now. I expect everyone to participate fully, Midoriya included.”
“Understood, Sensei,” Izuku replied, sliding his notebook open, letting the warm, comforting chaos of Class 3-A continue around him as he settled into the rhythm, feeling for the first time in days that he was not only safe, but truly home.
────୨ৎ────
By the time the last bell rang, signaling the end of morning classes, the classroom was already buzzing with the anticipatory energy of a group of students ready for lunch. Books were packed away in hurried, slightly clumsy movements, chairs scraped back in unison, and the air was alive with chatter about what everyone was going to eat. Midoriya followed the pack, moving through the rows with the natural rhythm he had memorized over years of class life, feeling the warmth of his classmates brushing past him as they walked.
Uraraka fell into step on his left, her scent lightly brushing against his senses, sweet and comforting in the way it always was when she was near, grounding him even as his mind began to wander to the normalcy of the day ahead. Kirishima walked on his right, shoulders almost touching him as he leaned slightly forward to block anyone approaching too closely, his scent sharp and warm, a mix of sweat and anticipation, carrying a primal, protective undertone that made Midoriya pause slightly in surprise. Kaminari and Mina fell just behind, subtle movements that positioned them so that any intrusion from the sides or rear would not go unnoticed, a silent patrol instinct flowing naturally through the group without a single word spoken.
The pack was moving as one, and yet, for Midoriya, it felt both familiar and strange, a sensation of being entirely safe and yet slightly… off, because he was strong enough to handle anything himself, and he had always handled things himself.
As they turned the corner toward the cafeteria, voices carrying laughter and casual conversation, a figure stepped into their path with that distinctive air of condescension that never failed to irritate Midoriya.
Monoma Neito, one of the students from Class 3-B, leaned against the wall with arms crossed, his smirk practically radiating challenge as he looked them over, eyes lingering just a moment too long on Midoriya himself.
“Well, well, well,” he said, voice dripping with mock surprise, “if it isn’t Midoriya, back in class after his little… adventure. I have to say, I didn’t expect you to show up so soon after being kidnapped. Quite the resilient omega, aren’t you?”
The comment was like a spark in dry grass. Midoriya’s gaze sharpened immediately, not with fear—there was none—but with that steady focus he always carried, the same quiet confidence that had led him through countless battles.
“I’m stronger than I look, Monoma,” he said evenly, the corners of his mouth twitching into a faint smile. “And the fact that I was kidnapped doesn’t mean I can’t handle being back in class. We all have our limits, but mine aren’t as fragile as you seem to think.”
The words were precise, calculated, and entirely calm, but before he could continue, the subtle harmony of the pack shifted. Kirishima’s hand shot forward in a slight, almost imperceptible gesture that blocked Monoma’s path, his voice dropping low, a guttural edge to it that betrayed something primal.
“Hey. Back off.” The words were casual, but the undertone was unmistakable, a growl carrying through the air almost like a warning.
Denki’s step forward followed immediately, shoulder brushing against Midoriya’s, creating a subtle physical barrier that spoke more strongly than words ever could. “Yeah, seriously, Monoma. Keep talking, and you’re going to regret it,” he added, voice even, but threaded with an almost protective bite, his usual cheerfulness dimmed in favor of something sharper, something the intruder couldn’t quite ignore.
Mina appeared almost simultaneously, skipping lightly but with purpose to block the other side, her movements fluid but unmistakably deliberate.
“Leave him alone, or you’ll have all of us to deal with,” she said, eyes flashing with a primal sort of intensity, and even in her playful tone, there was that underlying pack instinct, that unconscious alpha-beta defense mechanism that seemed to radiate from them whenever one of their own was threatened.
Midoriya blinked, slightly startled, taking a small step back as the sudden protective energy enveloped him. His own aura of calm, of confidence, remained intact, but he couldn’t help the flicker of confusion that ran through him.
He had handled Monoma himself countless times before; he had the skill, the strategy, the power to easily shut down this display of arrogance without relying on anyone else. Yet now, the way his classmates had instinctively positioned themselves, physically and mentally, around him, blocking, growling, responding to threats before they even existed, was something he wasn’t sure how to feel about.
Monoma’s smirk faltered the instant he realized the room wasn’t just Midoriya standing before him.
“Hah—so you really have your classmates at your beck and call, huh?” he said, voice dripping with condescension, taking a step closer as if to intimidate him.
Midoriya straightened, stepping forward, eyes sharp. “I’m fully capable of handling myself, Monoma. You don’t get to underestimate me just because of last week. I am not fragile, I am not weak, and I don’t need—”
Before he could finish, a sudden shove came from the side as Kirishima planted himself directly between Midoriya and Monoma, arms wide as though to physically shield him.
“Hey! Enough of that, Monoma,” Kirishima said, voice low and rumbling with a growl that carried more instinct than reasoning. “You’re not touching him, got it? Stop acting like he can’t handle himself after being kidnapped!”
Midoriya froze, startled, opening his mouth to protest. Midoriya’s brows furrowed slightly, a mixture of confusion and mild irritation flashing across his face. “I—no, I can manage this myself,” he began, trying to push forward, voice even but firm, “I’m more than capable—”
Kirishima’s hand shot up again, more insistent, this time pressing lightly against Midoriya’s chest, stopping him mid-step. “No, you’re not doing this alone, Midoriya. Not this time.” His tone was not just protective but almost rude in its insistence, cutting off Midoriya’s own words and agency as though the thought of him handling Monoma alone was laughably impossible.
Mina’s stance softened only slightly, but her eyes stayed locked on Monoma, her grin teasing yet commanding. “You’ll thank us later. Seriously. Sometimes being strong doesn’t mean you have to fight every fight yourself.”
Monoma blinked, caught between irritation and genuine confusion, his smirk faltering as he realized he wasn’t just facing Midoriya but three of the class’s most immediate pack members, their positions and postures synchronized to block and defend without a word. He opened his mouth to retort, but the words wouldn’t come. Kirishima’s growl vibrated faintly in the air, Denki’s stance radiated warning, and Mina’s sharp glare left no space for argument.
Finally, he muttered through clenched teeth, voice dripping with equal parts irritation and disbelief, “Tch… whatever. You really are wrapped up in your little pack, aren’t you? Can’t even face a single person without your whole class babysitting you!”
With that, still fuming, he muttered something about being late and stormed off, shoulders tense, glaring back over his shoulder once before disappearing down the hallway.
Midoriya exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling in steady, controlled breaths. He looked at Kirishima, Denki, and Mina in quiet confusion, blinking at them like he had just woken from a strange dream. “Thanks,” he said softly, voice low but tinged with disbelief. “I… I could have handled that myself. So why, why did you all—?”
Kirishima just grinned, patting him firmly on the shoulder, his warmth and strength radiating around Midoriya like an armor. “Because you’re our omega, Midoriya. Pack rules. We don’t leave you to deal with that kind of idiot alone. You’re too important to risk it.”
“Yes, but I usually handle him myself, it's not like he really means it. It's just Monoma being himself.” Izuku defended.
Denki chuckled, giving him a playful shove, eyes sparkling with both mischief and protective instinct. “Yeah, you usually handle him, but sometimes we’ve gotta remind you who’s got your back.”
Mina skipped ahead, waving for them to follow. “Come on, Izuku. Lunch won’t wait, and we can’t have Monoma ruining anyone else’s day. Trust us, sometimes you don’t get to handle everything yourself.”
Midoriya followed silently, a swirl of gratitude, confusion, and slight irritation washing over him. He was strong, capable, more than capable of handling Monoma, yet the pack’s instinctual, almost rude intervention left him unsettled. He didn’t quite know whether to be annoyed, relieved, or flattered, maybe a little of all three, but he couldn’t deny the warmth of having his friends so fiercely, instinctively watching over him.
Midoriya navigated through the crowd, the occasional brush of shoulders and waft of food scents filling his senses as he moved toward the table he shared with Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu, and Shinsou.
Despite having spent the last three days living together in the dorms, it still felt different being back in the public space of the cafeteria, surrounded by students from other classes who didn’t share the same closeness, the same unspoken bonds, the same instinctive rhythm that Class 3-A had developed.
Sliding into the bench next to Uraraka, he immediately felt the soft brush of her shoulder against his, and the faint, comforting scent of her perfume mingled with the warm, earthy smell of the cafeteria food. Tsuyu gave a small nod in greeting, her eyes calm and observant as always, while Iida’s posture was impossibly straight, hands folded neatly on the table as if preparing to record a report on the conversation about to unfold. Shinsou leaned back slightly, head tilted, his dark eyes narrowing just enough to suggest he was quietly analyzing the room—and him.
Uraraka’s smile was immediate, a burst of warmth that made the tension from the hallway dissipate slightly. “Hey, Deku! You’re finally here. How are you doing so far today?” she asked, tilting her head in that subtle, curious way she always did, the faint brush of her pheromones wrapping around him, familiar and grounding.
Midoriya exhaled, letting his shoulders relax slightly, though a small frown tugged at his features as the memory of Monoma flashed across his mind.
“It… was weird,” he began, glancing down at his tray before meeting their eyes. “I ran into Monoma on the way here, and, well… he was being… Monoma. I tried to handle it myself, but…” He paused, fingers tightening briefly around the edge of the table. “…Kirishima, Denki, and Mina just… jumped in. They basically defended me before I could even finish saying anything.”
Tsuyu blinked slowly, her voice calm and measured as she asked, “You mean… doing their job as the pack alphas.”
Midoriya nodded, the memory of the synchronized gestures and protective stances replaying vividly in his mind. “Yeah I guess... Kirishima stepped in front of me, Denki kind of… shifted to block him from behind, and Mina moved to my side. They were growling, practically glaring him down, and I… I didn’t even get to finish defending myself. I mean, I could have handled it, but they just—interrupted. Before I even had a chance.”
Uraraka tilted her head, glancing at Midoriya with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Well… they didn’t mean to upset you, right? They just… care about you. I mean, you are our omega.” Her words carried that subtle, instinctive resonance, a mixture of genuine affection and the kind of primal awareness that made Midoriya pause for a moment longer than expected.
Shinsou leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, dark eyes focused and calculating. “Sounds like a classic pack response,” he said quietly, voice low, almost analytical. “You were threatened, and the most instinctual members of the group moved to shield you.”
Midoriya blinked at him, slightly overwhelmed by the precision of Shinsou’s analysis. “Yeah… that’s exactly it,” he said quietly, tracing the rim of his tray with his fingers.
“I… I could have handled Monoma. I’ve handled him before, I’m strong enough to deal with him, and I wasn’t scared. But… they just acted for me, like I couldn’t. And it’s weird. I don’t know how to feel about it.”
Tsuyu croaked another soft laugh, and Shinsou’s eyes narrowed slightly in amusement. “Well expect more of it. Alphas are more protective over omegas, especially after a traumatic event.” Shinsou said. “It’s part of life, part of this pack. You’re their omega, Izuku. You’ll get used to it—eventually.”
Midoriya smiled faintly, shaking his head. “Yeah… eventually,” he repeated softly, taking a bite of his food, letting the warmth and familiar scents of the cafeteria settle around him. Despite the confusion and the strange mix of emotions, it felt… right. He was home, and the pack was here. He wasn't stuck in a cage anymore. He was back with his pack. He was okay. And if his pack wanted to watch over him, so be it—even when he didn’t need it.
────୨ৎ────
The bell echoed sharply through the hallways, pulling Class 3-A back from lunch and signaling the start of the afternoon session. The chatter from the cafeteria trailed off as Midoriya walked alongside Uraraka, Iida, Tsuyu, and Shinsou, their footsteps falling in rhythm along the polished floors. Even as they made their way back to the classroom, the warmth of the shared lunchtime conversation lingered, a soft undercurrent of comfort and camaraderie threading between them.
The classroom door loomed ahead, a simple barrier between their dorm-like morning comfort and the structured intensity of the afternoon’s heroics. Aizawa was already there, standing in his usual slouched posture at the front of the room, arms crossed, dark eyes scanning the students with that unreadable, piercing gaze. The subtle tension in the air shifted immediately, the residual chatter dying down as the students instinctively straightened, aligning themselves into orderly rows even as their hearts raced slightly with anticipation.
“Class,” Aizawa’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade, low and measured, commanding instant attention. “Today, we are moving into the heroics portion of your training. You will be conducting team battles. Teams of four against four. Each team will face one another in rotation. This is not a light sparring exercise. I want you to treat it as if it were a real mission.”
Midoriya’s chest tightened slightly, a familiar flutter of anticipation and strategy kicking in, while Uraraka’s eyes sparkled with that subtle energy she always carried, ready for action, ready to react. Bakugou was excited to finally get back into the fighting. Since Izuku had been kidnapped, heroics class had been put on hold.
“Each team will rotate through matches, taking turns attacking and defending,” Aizawa continued, voice flat but carrying the weight of authority. “There will be no holding back. I want you to act as though this were a real battle. You will have your teammates’ safety in mind, but do not hesitate. Push yourselves, test your limits. This is your chance to identify weaknesses in both yourself and others. You will get no further guidance than what I give you now.”
Midoriya’s mind immediately shifted into strategy mode, imagining the possible combinations of classmates and opponents, the quirks they could anticipate, and the subtle ways in which the pack dynamics would influence each movement.
“Before we begin, I expect all of you to change into training gear. Once you are ready, move immediately to the outdoor training area. There will be no excuses for tardiness or incomplete preparation,” Aizawa said, sweeping the room with his gaze. “You will rotate teams in four-on-four battles. Do not underestimate your opponents. Do not treat this as play. Approach it seriously.”
The changing room buzzed with energy, the echo of footsteps, zippers, and laughter bouncing off the walls as the Class 3-A alphas and betas and omegas shed their uniforms for their training gear. The smell of his classmates' scents mingled in the air with the faint scent of shampoo and deodorant, creating that familiar mix that Midoriya had come to associate with home, with his pack, with the unspoken safety of his classmates’ presence.
Midoriya moved to his locker with measured steps, pulling out his training jacket and gloves, but even as he slipped them on, his mind couldn’t help but drift for a fraction of a second back to that week when he had been kidnapped.
The memory was sharp—a cold room in a cage, the faint echo of voices, and the way Caulder had sneered, voice low and mocking, “We will break you. An omega trying to be a hero? That's laughable”, the words had drilled into him, a reminder of his vulnerability, of how others had underestimated him.
He shook his head slightly, forcing the memory away. I'm strong and today I will prove it, like I do, time and time again.
He was just about to secure his gloves when Ojiro, perched on the edge of the bench nearby, tilted his head, eyes sharp and glimmering with curiosity. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Midoriya?” He asked, voice playful but carrying an undercurrent of concern. “I mean… you’ve only just returned back to class today. You don’t have to push yourself too hard.”
Midoriya straightened, chest rising slightly, and gave a small, confident smile. “I’m all good,” he said, voice steady. “Recovery Girl cleared me for battle this morning. She said my body’s ready.”
Shinsou, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, nodded thoughtfully. “Good. You shouldn’t overdo it, but… if Recovery Girl says you’re ready, then you’re cleared.” He gave him a small, approving croak.
Iida adjusted his gloves, giving him a formal, almost analytical nod. “Very well. As long as your physical status has been verified, your participation is authorized. Ensure that you maintain focus and exercise appropriate situational awareness at all times.”
Midoriya’s eyes scanned the room again, taking in his friends as they finished getting ready, the hum of energy and faint scents of adrenaline filling the air. But then, his gaze inadvertently landed on Bakugou.
Bakugou was already halfway through changing into his training gear, shirt off, muscles taut and defined, skin glistening faintly from the warm changing room air. Midoriya’s chest tightened immediately, a sharp warmth crawling up his neck as his eyes inadvertently traced over Bakugou’s bare torso.
The faint rise and fall of his shoulders as he adjusted his pants, the way his skin caught the overhead light, everything was… impossibly striking. His own heart gave a little skip, and he felt heat bloom across his cheeks before he could stop it.
Bakugou didn’t notice, or maybe he did, Midoriya thought faintly with a mix of embarrassment and intrigue, but his glare remained sharp, scanning the room as though warning anyone who might misstep.
“You sure you’re not gonna chicken out today, Deku?” he said, voice rough but low, the words almost teasing in tone but carrying that unmistakable alpha authority. “Don’t slow the team down.”
“I’m not going to chicken out,” Midoriya replied, trying to keep his voice steady despite the sudden, flustered awareness that had him acutely conscious of the alpha standing only a few feet away. “I can handle it.”
Bakugou snorted softly, adjusting his belt. “Yeah, we’ll see. Don’t get in my way, Deku. You’re strong enough—I know that—but don’t act like this is going to be easy. I won't go easy on you.” His voice held no condescension, no hovering protection. Just respect. Pure, alpha respect, and it made Midoriya’s chest tighten further.
“I wouldn't want it any other way.” Izuku smirked.
Shinsou, ever perceptive, tilted his head and smirked. “Heh, Izuku, you’re blushing.”
Midoriya’s eyes widened, flustered, and he quickly averted his gaze, fumbling slightly with his gloves. “I’m not!” he sputtered, though his ears betrayed him, tinged red at the subtle truth.
Kirishima, catching the exchange, chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless, man. Even in the changing room, you can’t hide it. Even your scent gives it away.”
“Yea yea, whatever, let's head out before Aiwaza yells at us.”
────୨ৎ────
“All right,” Aizawa began, voice flat and cutting through the low hum of conversation. “Listen carefully. Today’s training exercise will be a series of four-on-four team battles. One team will act as heroes, the other as villains. You will rotate after each match until all teams have faced each other at least once. Each team must work together to achieve their objectives while minimizing injury to teammates and opposition. This is not a friendly game. Treat it as a real confrontation. Full focus is required.”
All Might stepped forward, voice booming, carrying that unmistakable excitement and gravity.
“That’s right, students! This is your chance to test your abilities once again, your teamwork, and your instincts! Think of this as a simulated rescue mission or villain apprehension. Heroes, you must protect civilians, disarm threats, and ensure the ‘villains’ cannot complete their objective. Villains, your mission is to subvert the heroes’ plans—be creative, be aggressive, but remember: no real harm. This is a controlled, but realistic scenario. Rules are strict, and failure to follow them will result in immediate disqualification for safety reasons!”
Aizawa continued, pacing slowly in front of the students. “Victory conditions are simple. Heroes win if they neutralize the villain team or complete their objective. Villains win if they evade capture, disrupt objectives, or eliminate the hero advantage. You are allowed full use of your quirks within safety protocols, but any attempt to inflict permanent harm will be stopped immediately. No excuses. Teamwork, strategy, and situational awareness are the keys here. I will be monitoring, as will All Might, and intervention will occur if safety is compromised.”
“Safety is important,” All Might added, arms crossed, eyes bright with intensity. “But don’t let it make you timid! You need to think on your feet, respond to threats, and push yourself. A hero’s job is not just strength, it’s observation, timing, and decision-making. Your abilities, your instincts, and your synergy with your teammates are what will carry you to victory. This is your chance to practice as though a real villain attack is happening right here, right now!”
Uraraka leaned slightly toward Midoriya, her warmth brushing his arm as she whispered, “Sounds serious, huh?”
Aizawa finished, voice cutting flatly over the wind. “Teams are set. Heroes, stand to the left. Villains, stand to the right. You have one minute to prepare. Rotation will begin immediately afterward. All Might and I will signal the start. Understood?”
“Yes Sir!”The class murmured affirmatively, each student taking a deep breath, focusing, feeling the air tighten around them. Midoriya’s pulse thumped in his chest. No holding back. Treat this as real. Protect, fight, anticipate…
Aizawa’s gaze swept over the students. “First match: Heroes—Uraraka, Kaminari, Bakugou, and Jirou. Villains—Tooru, Todoroki, Kirishima, and Midoriya. Prepare yourselves.”
The students immediately shifted into position. Uraraka bounced lightly, Denki sparked faintly, Bakugou’s glare swept the field with calculated intensity, and Jirou’s stance was relaxed but ready. Across from them, Tooru’s flexible form stretched and readied, Todoroki’s calm aura flickered with icy determination, Kirishima’s arms flexed, and Midoriya tightened his gloves, taking a steadying breath, trying to shake off the familiar swell of pack instincts pressing him to step back.
All Might raised his arm high, voice booming. “Begin!”
And with that signal, the first battle erupted into motion, the clash of quirks, movement, and strategy filling the outdoor training area, the sound of energy and determination ringing out as Class 3-A dove headfirst into the simulation.