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The atmosphere inside the Ministry of Heroics' central briefing room was suffocatingly formal. Thick, polished marble pillars lined the grand hall, casting cold shadows across the floor, and at the head of a massive obsidian table sat Commissioner Director Hanabusa a man whose ego was as wildly inflated as his media coverage.
Across from him sat Shouto Todoroki.
Shouto’s posture was textbook perfection. His spine was straight, his hands rested neatly in his lap, and his Class 1-A uniform was immaculate not a single wrinkle marred his blazer, and his red tie was pulled into a flawless Windsor knot. On paper, he looked like the ultimate, compliant product of UA's elite hero standards.
Standing against the back wall, hands buried deep within the folds of his dark capture scarf, Aizawa looked like he wanted to be anywhere else on the planet. Next to him, leaning casually against a stone pillar with a light smirk tugging at his lips, was Hawks. The winged hero’s red feathers twitched with silent anticipation. He had sat in on official hero debriefs with Shouto before. He knew precisely what was about to unfold.
"Todoroki-kun," Director Hanabusa began, tapping a thick, heavy stack of papers against the polished table to emphasize his authority. "We’ve thoroughly reviewed your joint-patrol engagement from Tuesday. While the villain was subdued, your choice to freeze the entire commercial square caused minor municipal infrastructure delays and disrupted evening transit. As the son of the Number One Hero, you are expected to represent absolute public convenience and structural efficiency."
Hanabusa leaned back in his leather chair, puffing out his chest. "You must understand that public image is fifty percent of a hero's duty. Your father would never allow such sloppy collateral management."
The room went dead silent. Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose, letting out a long, silent exhale. Here it comes.
Shouto didn't tilt his head. He didn't blink. His expression remained a completely flat, unreadable pane of polished ice.
"Director," Shouto said. His voice was smooth, polite, and perfectly modulated the exact tone of a star student addressing an honored elder. "The villain possessed a high-calibre kinetic Quirk capable of leveling three residential blocks. The ice containment took two seconds to deploy, neutralized the threat immediately, and resulted in zero civilian casualties."
"That is entirely beside the point—"
"If public convenience is your primary metric for heroism," Shouto cut in smoothly, his deadpan delivery lacking even a trace of malice or hostility, "I suggest replacing the Pro Hero registry with a municipal road-paving committee. They clear streets much faster, and their ego-to-output ratio would likely prove far more cost-effective for your department."
Hawks let out a sound that was half-cough, half-strangled wheeze. He quickly raised a winged arm to cover his lower face, his golden eyes sparkling with pure, unadulterated delight. Oh, the kid is vicious.
Hanabusa’s face flushed a deep, mottled purple. "Now see here, young man! You are speaking directly to the senior administration of the Public Safety Bureau! Show some respect for the chain of command!"
Shouto tilted his head just a fraction of an inch, his mismatched eyes sweeping over the director’s pristine, expensive suit with clinical boredom.
"I respect competence, Director," Shouto replied flatly. "The chain of command is merely an administrative arrangement designed to give people who don't fight villains something to sign. If you brought me here to critique my tactical choices, I suggest you put on a vest and demonstrate a superior method in the field. Otherwise, my presence here is an inefficient use of UA’s academic hours."
"You arrogant little—!" Hanabusa slammed his palms onto the obsidian table, rising to his feet. "Do you think your father's status protects you from severe disciplinary action?!"
"My father's status is an asset to his agency, not my moral compass," Shouto said smoothly.
Without breaking eye contact, Shouto pushed his chair back with quiet grace and stood up. He smoothed the front of his blazer and gave a sharp, perfectly executed 45-degree bow—the absolute epitome of traditional Japanese etiquette.
"If there are no further tactical critiques rooted in actual combat reality," Shouto added, his tone still perfectly even, "I will return to my dorms to complete my homework. Good afternoon, Director."
Shouto turned on his heel and walked toward the heavy double doors, his footsteps echoing rhythmically against the marble floor.
Aizawa didn't say a word. He simply pushed off the wall, gave Hanabusa a dry, tired nod that offered zero apology, and followed his student out into the corridor.
As they crossed the threshold into the sunlit hallway, Hawks casually dropped into step beside Shouto, flashing a massive, boyish grin and resting his hands on his hips.
"Kid," Hawks whispered, leaning in with a low, appreciative chuckle, "that road-paving line was poetry. Absolute poetry. I genuinely thought the old man was going to burst a blood vessel right then and there."
Shouto didn't break his stride, looking sideways at the winged hero with total deadpan indifference. "It wasn't a joke, Hawks. Their budget allocation for public safety is profoundly inefficient."
"Even better," Hawks wheezed, clapping a hand onto Shouto’s shoulder. "Never change."
Aizawa let out a low, gravelly sigh, pulling his capture scarf higher over his mouth as they walked toward the building exit. "Todoroki."
"Yes, Aizawa-sensei?" Shouto asked, his voice returning to its quiet, dutiful baseline.
"Next time you obliterate a bureaucrat's career prospect..." Aizawa rasped, his dark eyes glinting with a rare, microscopic sliver of amusement behind his messy black hair, "...make sure you do it in writing so I can file it under official coursework."
"Understood, Sensei," Shouto replied calmly, adjusting his cufflink as they stepped out into the bright afternoon sun.