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Izuku learnt at a young age that in order to have peace he has to act useless and defenceless. Society was not as fair as they made little children believe, the second they find out you were quirkless, they either look at you with anger and disgust or if you’re lucky they would look at you with pity and sadness.
Izuku was six when he learnt that if he played his cards right then the teachers would actually care about him, however he would rather be ignored by them than be watched like a hawk all the time in case he somehow hurt himself again because of his ‘clumsiness’ and ‘fragility’.
Izuku was eight when he first learnt that he would be accused of cheating and stealing no matter what just because of the shoes he wore and a little word on a piece of paper.
Izuku was ten when he first learnt that if he got a lower score that Katsuki, even by one mark, he would be graded fairly, because God forbid quirkless people were smart. He couldn’t possibly get a better score than the best of the best, the only hope for Aldera to get any fame, the person with a perfect quirk and a future top ten hero.
Izuku was eleven when he learnt how to perfect his analysis, because in a world where quirks are all that matters, the only way the quirkless could survive is to blend in and hide themselves away. He was eleven when he already finished middle school content on his own because he was bored and no one to hang out with. He was eleven when he stopped paying attention in class but still got decent grades because as long as he scored less than Katsuki the teachers would mark him fairly and not call him a cheater.
Izuku was fourteen when he found out that he got into UA, and now that he had a quirk, he didn’t need to hide his true talent anymore, but habits are hard to get rid of, so as long as no one finds out faking his scores wouldn’t hurt anyone. Right?
Unfortunately for him his principal would turn out to be the smartest creature on the planet, so when he is tasked with marking class 1A’s exams after the summer because Aizawa couldn’t, his entire plan was thrown out the window, but that’s ok because he can finally shine like he was always meant to.
–
Shouta wasn’t sure why the principal asked for a staff meeting in the middle of a school day but if it helped him escape from his hell class he wouldn’t complain, he loved that class (not that he would ever admit it) but sometimes they would get a bit too much to handle. He hoped that the supply they had would survive until the meeting ended.
Once he got to the meeting room, he began realising that the only teachers present were those who interacted with his hell class, great, even without being present they caused him problems.
“Thank you all for coming here on such short notice, I know some of you had lessons but if this goes to plan it will be worth it!” the Rat had that weird expression that he always had whenever he discovered something interesting or had another plan to ruin some lives. “I was marking the first-year hero classes’ papers, and I came across something interesting! One of the students have been faking their answers!”
“As in cheating? Or?” Vlad asked confused. Shota understood, it wasn’t unusual for students to cheat, it happens all the time, he didn’t understand why it would need a whole meeting.
“Not exactly! One of the students is purposely getting questions wrong.”
“How are you so sure that they are getting them wrong purposely and just didn’t forget to revise?” at this point Majima didn’t know why he’s even here in the first place, he didn’t teach the hero classes until their second year, and he didn’t really interact with many of the kids.
“Well, how would you know if a kid knew the topic but purposely got it wrong?”
“If they wrote the exact opposite of the right answer?” Present Mic replied, not exactly sure where this is going.
“Correct! This student has managed to write the exact opposite of the right answer for about 20% of the paper and they got the other 80% all correct!”
“So, what you’re saying is the kid got 100% on the paper but purposely dropped their score?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying Midnight!”
“Are you going to tell us who the student is, or do we have to guess? Because after dealing with the hell spawns I don’t feel like playing your mind games.”
“You have nothing to worry about Shouta it’s actually quite simple, but since I’m feeling nice the student is in your homeroom class”.
“Of course they are, they’re all problem children,” Aizawa sighed “anyone have any guesses?”
“Well, they’re purposely getting 80% highest all the time so it’s not the top 5 people in your class since they are capable of getting above that. Maybe someone who doesn’t have much confidence?”
“While I like your deduction Yamada I’m afraid they are better than that, I only caught this one and they did do it in other tests, but they varied their score each time to make it look more realistic. I only noticed because they somehow managed to write the exact opposite of what’s in the mark scheme.”
“I don’t want to come to conclusions too quickly but… is it Midoriya?”
“What makes you say that Ectoplasm?”
“Well, sometimes he doesn’t really focus on lesson, so I ask him a question, and he gets it right, however, he then gets that same question wrong in the exam.”
“Now that I think about it, he does that in English too, he’s basically fluent but still gets some grammar wrong sometimes, and I’ve seen him teach Uraraka ASL and Todoroki and Iida BSL during lunch.”
“He does a similar thing in Art History too…”
The room started all agreeing with the explanation, also having noticed the odd behaviour but brushing it off to exam nerves or a bad day.
“Ok we got the student but that doesn’t explain why me, and Vlad are here, we don’t teach Midoriya,” Majima voiced after the others have calmed down a bit.
“Well Vlad is here because he’s a hero class teacher and he also co-teaches the practical lessons sometimes, so I wanted to ask if those also have a similar pattern, and you are here because although you don’t teach Midoriya directly yet, he has interacted with you on a weekly basis thanks to Hatsume,” Nedzu started “I wanted to ask if he downplayed his knowledge or ever held back when asked a question?”
“I mean, I don’t really understand his mumbling as he does it really quietly but if what Hatsume answers with is part of his conversation, I don’t think he’ll need his support module next year, he would be able to pass with flying colours right now if he wanted to. If you randomly saw him without his blazer in the labs you might mistake him as a support student not a hero student.”
“Thank you for that Majima, what about you Vlad?”
“Now that I think about it whenever he does talk, he always glances towards Bakugo and if he notices the teen is getting mad then he’ll end his point quickly.”
“Shouta? Toshinori? Is this true on your end too?”
“Young Midoriya has always been smart, during lessons he gives his input when requested and they’re always insightful, however on exams those same inputs always lack in some way…”
Everyone then turns to Aizawa, silently hoping that maybe these were all strange coincidences and they didn’t miss such a large red flag.
“I’m not too sure, the problem child doesn’t talk as much in Law and Ethics, he aces the topic quizzes and does well in tests, I haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary on my part.”
“Well could I check for myself? And while we’re at it, I’d like to check the other subjects too!” Nedzu was enjoying this way too much, regardless all the teachers began making their way to get the most recent exams from their module, handing them to him.
–
Fifteen minutes into checking Nedzu started giggling quietly, causing most of the teachers to shift uncomfortably. Forty minutes later, he was full on laughing, loudly, manically. At this point the teachers didn’t know whether to make a run for it or not.
Nedzu suddenly stopped laughing. The silence was almost worse.
“…principal Nedzu?” Midnight asked carefully.
The principal started placing each paper in front of the teachers, each one at a specific question which was previously marked wrong or gained fewer marks than possible.
“What exactly are we looking at?” Aizawa asked, he really hoped that whatever the rat found wouldn’t corrupt his class.
Nedzu tapped on one of the papers, “Question fifteen.”
The teachers leaned forward.
“The answer on the mark scheme only requires two sentences.”
“And? That is the amount he wrote although half of it is marked wrong” Vlad asked, big mistake.
“Midoriya’s first draft answer was approximately four hundred-fifty words.” His smile widened, the Rat was definitely enjoying this.
The room went silent.
“What?!”
“He wrote the answer in pencil before rubbing it out and replacing it with a simplified version in pen.” Pushing another paper forward he continued, “he did this for each paper at least five times in each.”
“He wrote the answers before changing them?” Ectoplasm asked in disbelief.
“No.” Nedzu’s grin began to widen once again. “ He wrote university-level answers before simplifying them.”
At everyone’s silence Present Mic decided to bite the bullet, “Okay, but.. why would the little listener do that?”
Aizawa couldn’t look away from the papers. Each ‘incorrect’ answer did indeed have faint pencil markings underneath, nearly impossible to see with the naked eye but still visible enough if you look for it.
“Because someone taught him it was safer,” he said quietly.
The room went still again, differently this time.
Nedzu did not correct him. Instead, he gathered the rest of the exams into a single stack and set them down like they weighed more than paper should.
“I’d like to examine some earlier samples.”
“Earlier? From the beginning of the year?” Cementoss enquired, finally seeming to start wrapping his head around the situation.
“No,” his ears tilted slightly. “From middle school, maybe even elementary, because if this pattern began before U.A., then what we are observing is not a habit.”
A pause.
“It is adaptation.”
With that he left the room, already thinking of what he would do once he found proof of what is clearly years of abuse. He couldn’t wait to tear down another school, no one hurt one of his students, especially someone as bright as Midoriya.
As he left, for the first time since the meeting began, nobody in the room had anything left to say.
–
A couple hours later Izuku was called into Nedzu’s office.
As soon as Izuku waked in, the office felt different. Not physically. Nothing had changed within the office itself – the same books, the same files, the same overly neat stacks of paperwork, the same China set, with a new tea still warm awaiting for him.
But the air was heavier.
Aizawa stood near the door he just passed. Present Mic had gone unusually quiet and seemed to look… guilty? Midnight had her arms neatly folded in front of her, her expression softer than usual, lacking her usual flirtatious flair. Lastly, Majima sat next to her, slightly dwarfed by Present Mic on his other side.
And Nedzu… he was watching him. Not like a principal. Like someone trying to solve a very delicate and complicated equation.
“Midoriya Izuku,” Nedzu began gently. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”
Izuku bowed quickly. “I-I’m sorry if I did something wrong- ”
“You haven’t,” Nedzu interrupted.
That made Izuku stop. It wasn’t the answer he expected. If he didn’t do something wrong, then they might’ve found something else that they disapproved of, why else would he be called to the principal’s office, with four other teachers present at that.
Before he could spiral for any longer Nedzu gestured to the seat opposite him. “Please. Sit.”
Izuku hesitated for half a second, then obeyed. His posture straight, polite, careful – like always. Too careful.
Aizawa noticed it now in a way he hadn’t before. The way Izuku chose where to place his hands, the way his shoulders stayed slightly tightened (as if waiting for impact, his mind supplied) the way he avoided eye contact as much as possible, looking slightly to the left.
Nedzu placed a stack of papers on the desk between them. Izuku’s eyes flickered down.
For the briefest moment, so quick it almost went unnoticed, his expression changed.
Recognition.
Then control.
Nedzu spoke softly, “these are your examinations from multiple subjects.”
Izuku nodded once.
“And you will not deny they are yours?”
“No,” Izuku said immediately. “They are mine.”
A pause. His expression changed again, for the briefest moment.
Fear. And then shame.
The control again.
Nedzu tilted his dead. “May I ask you a question?”
Izuku hesitated, then nodded again.
“Why do you intentionally lower your scores?”
The room went completely still.
Izuku didn’t move. Not at first. It wasn’t shock. It was calculation.
Aizawa saw it – clear as anything. The way Izuku’s mind had already started running through possible answers, possible outcomes, possible dangers. It was so obvious once you look for it that he couldn’t believe he missed it all this time.
Then, quietly, Izuku exhaled.
“I don’t.”
Nedzu didn’t react. “That’s incorrect.”
Izuku’s fingers tightened slightly on his knees. A long silence followed. Then Izuku spoke again. Softer. Quieter.
“… I, I don’t want trouble.”
At that Midnight frowned. “Trouble?”
Izuku nodded once, still not looking up from the pile of papers in front of him.
“If I get things wrong, people don’t really look at me,” he said carefully. “They just… move on.”
A pause.
“If I get things right too often, they start asking questions.”
Aizawa’s expression shifted slightly. Recognition.
Izuku continued, voice steady but quiet.
“Questions about cheating. Or copying. Or… how I could possibly know it.”
He gave a small, mechanical shrug.
“So I just made it easier.”
Nedzu leaned forward slightly. “Easier for who?”
Izuku hesitated. Then looked up for the first time since the meeting started.
“… For everyone.”
Silence again.
Quickly averting his gaze back to his hands he continued. “ I didn’t want to stand out, its fine now. I’m at U.A., I don’t have to –“
He stopped himself. As if he’d almost said too much.
Aizawa spoke for the first time. “Don’t have to what?”
Izuku went still. For a moment, it looked like he might not answer. Then –
“… be noticed.”
The words were so simple they almost didn’t land at first. But they did.
Nedzu didn’t speak immediately. When he did, his voice was quieter than before.
“Midoriya,” he started, “this behaviour did not begin here.”
Not a question, just a statement.
Izuku’s eyes dropped again.
“… no sir.”
A pause.
Nedzu slid one more document across the desk. Older. Faded records.
“I would like to understand when it did begin.”
Izuku stared at it for a long time.
Long enough that Midnight shifted uncomfortably.
Then, barely above a whisper, Izuku said:
“Middle school.”
And the room changed again. Because now it wasn’t about grades anymore. It was about what kind of place makes a child learn to disappear on purpose.
No one spoke immediately after that.
Even Present Mic didn’t try to fill the silence.
Izuku’s hands had curled slightly on his lap now, not tightly enough to look defensive, but enough to betray that something had shifted. His gaze stayed fixed on the edge of the desk, as if looking anywhere else might make the moment more real.
Nedzu watched him carefully. Not probing. Not pushing.
Waiting.
Aizawa finally broke the silence, voice low. “Aldera.”
Izuku flinched.
Small. Instinctive. Barely visible – but impossible to miss once you saw it.
That was enough.
Nedzu exhaled slowly through his nose. “I see.”
Izuku spoke quickly after that, too quickly, like filling the space before anyone else could.
“Its fine, really. It was a long time ago. I adjusted. It doesn’t matter anymore – “
“It does,” Present Mic interrupted gently.
That shut him down faster than anything else had.
Izuku’s mouth closed with a soft click. His shoulders lifted slightly, then settled again, as if he was correcting himself out of a habit.
Aizawa looked away for a second. When he spoke again, his voice was rougher.
“You learned to make yourself smaller.”
Izuku hesitated. Then, almost reluctantly, a small nod.
Nedzu leaned back in his chair. For once, he didn’t look amused. He looked tired.
“That is no longer acceptable,” he said.
Izuku blinked. “Sir?”
Nedzu tapped one of the exam papers once. “You will not be continuing this pattern at U.A.”
A pause.
Izuku’s voice was careful again. “I can adjust my scores if – “
“No,” Nedzu said immediately.
Sharp. Final.
Then, softer: “You will not be lowering yourself for safety here.”
Silence.
Aizawa stepped forward slightly, just enough that Izuku had to look at him.
“You’re not in that place anymore,” he said.
Izuku didn’t answer. Not because he disagreed, because he didn’t know how to respond to something he had never actually believed was possible.
Nedzu stood, moving around the desk.
When he spoke again, his tone had shifted into something more practical – decisive.
“From this point forward, your academic placement will be adjusted.”
Izuku’s head lifted slightly.
“Yes,” Nedzu said. “ You will no longer be restricted to first-year baseline material in subjects where you demonstrated mastery.”
Midnight frowned slightly in confusion. “You mean… advanced classes?”
“Partially,” Nedzu replied. He tilted his head. “And partially something else!”
Izuku watched him warily now, like he was afraid to misunderstand.
Nedzu continued. “You will attend higher-level theoretical lessons in subjects where appropriate. You will also be assigned independent study modules under supervision.”
A pause.
Then, unexpectedly: “And you will assist in teaching younger students in controlled environments.”
Izuku blinked. “Teaching?”
“Yes.” Nedzu clapped his hands once. “I’ve heard that Togata has regained his quirk recently and won’t be able to spend time with Eri as much anymore.”
Aizawa added quietly, “She has been improving faster during your visits.”
Izuku’s eyes widened slightly at that.
Nedzu’s expression softened just a fraction. “You are not being removed from your class,” he clarified. “It’s just being expanded beyond it.”
Izuku’s fingers loosened slightly on his knees.
“… I don’t understand,” he admitted quietly.
Nedzu gave a small shrug.
“That is because you have been operating under the assumption that your knowledge must be hidden or reduced to be acceptable.”
A pause.
“That assumption is incorrect.”
For the first time in the entire meeting, Izuku didn’t immediately correct himself.
He just… sat with it.
Aizawa straightened slightly. “That includes exams,” he added. “No more playing dumb.”
Izuku looked at him again. “I wasn’t—”
Aizawa gave him a flat look.
Izuku stopped.
“…I understand,” he said instead, looking away.
It wasn’t confident but it was honest.
Nedzu returned to his desk, picking up the stack of papers again—but this time, he didn’t look at them like a mystery anymore.
More like a problem that had already started being solved.
“Midoriya Izuku,” he said, “Your intelligence is not the issue.”
Izuku looked up again.
Nedzu’s eyes were steady. “Your survival strategy is.”
The room went quiet in a different way after that.
Not heavy. Not tense. Just still.
Aizawa opened the door slightly, signalling the end of the meeting without saying it outright.
But before Izuku could leave, Majima spoke softly for the first time.
“You don’t have to disappear here,”
Izuku paused in the doorway.
For a moment, it looked like he might respond on reflex – something polite, something minimizing.
But he didn’t. He just nodded once. Small. But real.
And then he stepped out.
–
The changes didn’t happen all at once. But they did happen.
First came the new timetable – extra classes, unfamiliar symbols, subjects Izuku had only ever read about on his own.
Then came Nedzu’s “consultation sessions,” which were less consultations and more quiet discussions where Izuku was, for the first time, asked what he wanted to learn.
Then came Eri.
Small, curious, bright-eyed Eri who clung to his sleeve while asking him why numbers behaved the way they did in equations. Izuku had frozen the first time she asked on her own accord. Then, carefully, he answered. And she had smiled like he had given her something important.
In class, things changed more slowly. Aizawa still called on him. But now, when Izuku answered, no one flinched when it was correct. No one questioned it. No one waited for him to lower himself afterward.
And over time… he stopped doing it.
Not all at once. Not perfectly. But enough. Enough that one day, when a test paper was handed back –
There it was. A full score.
No hesitation written in the margins. No erased brilliance hidden underneath. Just an answer. And for the first time, Izuku didn’t feel the urge to make it smaller.
He just held it. And kept it as it was.