Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

As Shouta awoke, the first thing he noticed was the feeling of pure relief flowing through his body, an all-encompassing calm as though he were finally escaping from a harrowing experience. The sensation was not entirely unfamiliar, but the source of it evaded him. Why was he panicking in the first place? Was there a villain of some sort? Slowly, he peeled his eyes open to try and gauge the situation. Darkness. As his awareness grew, he found that he felt a blindfold around his head and restraints around his arms and legs. Just as he began to feel panic set in again, he heard a small voice from beside him.

“Aizawa-sensei, are you better now?”

He let out a confused noise as he struggled to make sense of the situation. The voice sounded like a child, almost certainly. Why was he tied up in a room with a child? Small hands started to pull at his restraints, although they were too clumsy to be effective.

“Are you safe?” His voice was even softer than usual and slightly scratchy from disuse. He didn’t have the faintest idea where he was, but considering the fact that he was tied down and blindfolded, it didn’t seem like a safe place for a child.

“It’s clear!” a masculine, adult voice announced from the other side of the room. His blindfold was pulled off, and the light nearly blinded him. A man in a white coat loomed over him, removing his restraints. He wasn’t acting threatening, but the situation was so jarring that Shouta immediately pulled back when he was free, curling his legs to his chest and shuffling as far back on the table as he could. The man in the coat nodded at him and moved toward the other end of the room. Shouta watched as he approached another figure, still tied to an adjacent table with wisps of pale blue hair coming out from behind the blindfold. Shouta felt a shock of recognition through the panic.

“Shirakumo?” he called out.

The man removed the blindfold, and Shouta saw a pair of wide blue eyes staring back at him. Unlike Shouta, Shirakumo seemed to be tied up in a straight jacket. Even through the thick material, Shouta could see the heaving of his chest and the trembling of his arms. He held eye contact with him, trying to figure out what was going on or if his friend was safe, but all he could determine was that Shirakumo was just as confused as he was. The man in the coat was undoing the straight jacket now, but he still hadn’t addressed either of them.

A small pull on Shouta’s hand took his attention away from the scene as he saw a little girl next to him. She was maybe five or six years old with a small horn on her forehead, white hair, and tears welling up in her red eyes. She spoke in a small voice, rough with tears.

“You’re ok, right Aizawa-sensei? I fixed you, right?”

“I-I…yes, I’m ok,” he replied, even though he still wasn’t quite sure that was true. He got down off the table and knelt in front of her, keeping himself between her and the strange man.

“Are you safe?” he asked her again. The little girl nodded slightly, although she still looked like she was about to burst into tears again.
“What’s your name?” he asked. She looked up at him, seemingly surprised.

“You… you don’t remember?” Shouta searched his mind, trying to bring up some sort of memory of the girl. She seemed strangely familiar, but he still failed to find a concrete picture of her in his mind. The only idea he could conjure was that she was someone he needed to protect, even more so than most civilians.

“Eri-chan!” The man in the coat had finished releasing Shirakumo from his bindings and was making his way back toward the little girl. Shouta stood between them and activated his quirk, staring the man down as he approached. The man paused and spoke in a dismissive voice.

“I’m not going to hurt her. Your part is all done now Eri-chan, so you can come with me,” he said, looking back up at Shouta and Shirakumo. “The two of you wait here for now. Someone will come along to get you eventually.”

The little girl gave Shouta’s hand one last squeeze and walked over to take the hand of the man in the coat. They left the room, and the door closed decisively behind them. The room was silent.

“Shouta! Are you ok?” Shirakumo asked, crossing the room toward Shouta and grabbing him by the shoulders, looking him up and down frantically. Shouta felt a rush of pure relief flow through him despite the panic and confusion. Shirakumo always had that kind of effect on him. Shouta was by nature a shy and anxious person who often felt as though he was in way over his head, but with Shirakumo around that weight was lifted in favor of a light and giddy sort of freedom. Shirakumo was here. Whatever situation they were in would turn out okay one way or another.

“Yeah, I’m ok,” he replied. “Are you? Do you know what’s going on here? My memory is all over the place.” Shirakumo took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His brow scrunched up in the way that it did when he was struggling with his homework.

“I think I’m ok? I can’t really figure out what’s going on, though. The last thing I remember is going to bed back at home, but the memory feels really old somehow.” Shirakumo trailed off for a moment as he opened his eyes, glancing back over at the discarded straight jacket sitting on top of the table. “I felt so awful when I was waking up, like there was something really important that I was failing to do, but I can’t remember what it was.”

Shouta could relate to the feeling. The unexplained panic and fear that he felt just upon awakening had faded quickly, like it was just a nightmare, but a feeling persisted in the back of his head that he still couldn’t place. It was concerning to say the least.

“I don’t think we’ll be able to figure anything out like this. Let’s take a look around and see if there’s anything here.”

He and Shirakumo searched the room for all of five minutes. There were the two tables, each adorned with enough straps to keep down any sort of superhuman villain one could find. There was a straight jacket. There was a large mirror on the wall that Shouta assumed to be two-way. There was a solid metal door. The room was clinically clean and painted in a neutral shade of beige. The room seemed to be soundproofed, or else they were in an isolated location, as they couldn’t hear anything from outside the door. They finished their search predictably disappointed and sat down next to one another on the floor along the back wall.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing else to do for now,” Impossibly, Shirakumo smiled at him and wrapped an arm around Shouta’s shoulder. The warmth from his arm set around his neck and seemed to spread to the rest of his body. Shouta was cold, he realized suddenly. He was wearing only an unfamiliar set of thin, white cotton clothing, and the cold of the concrete floor sunk deep into his skin. He shifted closer to Shirakumo so that their sides were completely pressed together. Shirakumo’s smile widened.

“You know, Shouta, I don’t really have the first idea what’s going on here, but I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Eye contact was something that Shouta had always struggled with. There was a level of intensity to it that made it difficult to maintain for long. It always felt like people were examining him or judging him even though he knew logically that it was intended to be friendly. Making eye contact with Shirakumo, though, was something different. The intensity was certainly there—twofold—but the feeling of judgement never seemed to manifest. It was like staring at the sun, beautiful but blinding.

Shouta looked him in the eyes for a fleeting moment and returned the smile as best he could. It could never be enough to match the kindness that Shirakumo showed him, he could never be enough, but he tried his best anyway. Shirakumo’s arm squeezed a little tighter around his shoulders.

“So why do you think we’re here? My bet is that Sensei got sick of grading all of my math homework so he had us detained. This is probably some sort of convoluted math bootcamp!”

“Then why am I here? I have an A in math,” Shouta said. Shirakumo laughed, his eyes lighting up like stars even in the dull fluorescence of the room.

“Well, Sensei knows I won’t learn a thing unless you’re there to help me!”

They spent a stretch of time coming up with theories about where they were, ranging from villains with memory wiping quirks to alien abduction to a drawn-out practical joke that Yamada had better cut out right now. Nothing was solved, and their situation certainly didn’t improve, but Shouta felt the weight in his chest lighten incrementally the longer they talked. Between whispered comments, Shouta felt his eyelids start to grow heavy as the stress of the situation began to drain him. His head sank down to the side and onto Shirakumo’s shoulder, and he fell into a gentle sleep.

Oboro drifted in and out of consciousness for an indeterminate amount of time, his head resting against Shouta’s as they leaned back against the wall. They’d been alone in the room for hours as far as he could tell, and the only thing keeping him from succumbing completely to the exhaustion that’d been weighing on him was his desire to treasure the feeling of Shouta in his arms. His head was slumped on Oboro’s shoulder, and Oboro could feel his chest rising and falling with slow, even breaths. Oboro carefully ran a hand through Shouta’s hair. The repetitive motion was comforting, and Shouta’s hair was much softer than it looked.

The moment of calm was broken by indistinguishable screaming coming from the other side of the door. The words were impossible to make out through whatever soundproofing was on the room, but the volume was steadily growing so that noise was echoing around the room. Oboro gently shook Shouta awake and smiled as he met drooping dark eyes.

“I think someone’s coming,” he told him, listening more intently as the source of the noise seemed to grow closer and clearer. After a few moments, the source was close enough that Oboro could begin to make out the words more clearly.

“—KNOW THAT HER QUIRK IS STILL UNDERDEVELOPED! WE WERE GOING TO TAKE THIS SLOWLY! YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN THEM KILLED!”
The voice was… awfully familiar, although Oboro didn’t have the faintest idea why Yamada would be here and speaking with such… authority. Oboro looked down to Shouta who looked back with an equally confused expression.

“Is that—?” Oboro began, but he was cut off by the opening of the door.

There were two figures in the doorway. The first was Nedzu-sensei, looking at them with the most serious expression that Oboro had ever seen on his face. The second was a tall man—with even taller hair—wearing a leather jacket and a familiar pair of speakers around his neck. The resemblance to Hizashi was uncanny to say the least, although this man was several inches taller with an extra foot of hair. He looked them both over with a shellshocked expression on his face, seemingly unable to move. Nedzu-sensei moved forward first, approaching them with a small smile on his face.

“I’m sure this must all be very confusing for you,” he began, extending a small paw down to help them up, “Come with us. I’ll explain everything as best I can.”

“Thank you, Sensei,” Oboro said, shooting another glance at the Hizashi look-alike. The man’s eyes looked to be watering now, a tear slipping down his cheek as he stared back with a heartbroken expression.

Oboro held out his hand to help Shouta to his feet. When they were both steady, he squeezed his hand and held them down at their sides. It wouldn’t do for them to be separated now.

Nedzu-sensei nodded approvingly at them and scurried back toward the other man, climbing his lanky body and settling on his shoulders. They followed Nedzu-sensei out the door and down a series of dark hallways. He and Shouta had no shoes, so the floor was cold and uncompromising against their bare feet. As they walked, Nedzu-sensei spoke in a calm voice about how they came to be in the situation they found themselves in.

The first and most pressing aspect of which was that they were currently 15 years past their most recent memory.

Oboro had been presumably killed 15 years ago and was experimented on by villains, turning him into villain named Kurogiri. Shouta had been a teacher at UA and was captured by the same group of villains a few months ago. He had also been experimented upon and turned into a villain. Both of them had been captured by heroes and held by the Hero Public Safety Commission until they found a safe way to revert them back to their normal selves. Apparently, the Hero Public Safety Commission felt that the powers of the little girl they had seen, Eri, were controlled enough to make use of, and worked behind the backs of Eri’s caretakers to bring her in.

Aspects of the explanation, like the technicalities of becoming a “nomu” and the politics involved in their capture and rehabilitation, were too complicated for Oboro to follow in his current mental state, particularly with all of the other difficult information being thrown at them in tandem. Oboro might not have believed any of it—really, how could he be caught up in what amounted to mental time travel?—if he couldn’t see a fully grown and uncharacteristically quiet Yamada Hizashi walking beside him.. Oboro had never been in the same room as Hizashi for more than ten minutes without hearing some sort of outburst, which may have contributed to his fraught relationship with some of their teachers. In Oboro’s experience, Hizashi wore all of his feelings on his sleeve and rarely had any issue sharing them with anyone who asked, and also anyone who hadn’t. His silence was disconcerting.

Nedzu finished his explanation of the events that led them here as they came to the entrance of the building. They were in a lobby now, one that resembled a waiting room for an office. The little girl from before, Eri, was sitting on one of the chairs and fidgeting with her hair. A friendly looking woman was sitting at the front desk, smiling at Nedzu and Hizashi as they passed and then giving Oboro and Shouta a suspicious look. One would never think that they were keeping high schoolers contained in an underground laboratory.

“I understand that this has been a very stressful day for you. For now, we’ll take you back to UA, and we can sort out the details of your future after you get some rest,” Nedzu said. “For now, you’ll be considered a ward of UA, just like Eri-chan here.”

Nedzu led them out of the building and opened the door of a car sitting outside. Oboro climbed in the back seat after Eri and scooched across to the middle to let Shouta in the car. Uncharacteristically, Shouta still hadn’t let go of his hand. Usually Shouta would tolerate his overly physical affection for a few minutes before pushing him off and looking embarrassed. The only exception to this was when he was too tired to think about his embarrassment. Oboro had many treasured memories of naps on top of the roof with Shouta’s head on his shoulder or lap. Oboro squeezed his hand again, and settled down next to him.

Hizashi sat in the driver’s seat, and they rode in relative silence to UA.

UA was both comfortingly similar and shockingly different, Shouta thought. The main buildings were all in the same spots, looking just as imposing and polished as they did when Shouta last saw them, but there were more buildings that had been constructed in the past fifteen years, changing the view of campus considerably. In particular, two large buildings had been added parallel to one another toward the back of campus. The left had a sign labelling it as a student’s dormitory, and the right had a sign for a teacher’s dormitory. Had UA changed so much in fifteen years that it had been converted to a boarding school?

They were led into the building labelled as the teacher’s dormitories. On the first floor was what seemed like a large communal space with a big TV, several couches, and a modest kitchen. Nedzu-sensei pointed them over to the couches and then said goodbye, leading Eri through another door and farther into the building. Shouta and Shirakumo sat down on one of the couches as Yamada (older, taller, and concerningly quieter) stood in front of them. His eyes were watering slightly as he addressed them.

“So, I know this must all be a bit of a shock to you, but we’re going to do everything in our power to help you settle in…” Yamada’s voice was shaky and thin, as though he was on the verge of tears. “Oh, who the hell am I kidding?” Yamada lunged forward and wrapped his arms around both of them, letting out a small sob. “Fuck, I just missed you guys so much! You can’t do that to me again!”

Shouta shot a panicked look over to Shirakumo, who seemed to take the hint. Shirakumo was always better at handling interpersonal crises than Shouta was. Shirakumo wrapped his arms around Hizashi.

“We’re right here, Hizashi. Everyone is totally okay, so just let it out, man.” Shirakumo rubbed a hand along his back.

“Seriously, you guys aren’t allowed to leave me again! You’re going to stay with me and stay safe, got it?” Yamada let out another sob.

“Ok,” Shouta whispered, “we’re here.” Shouta was no stranger to Hizashi Yamada’s intense emotions, but the situation was unfathomably strange. Yamada was significantly older than them now, but it felt almost as though they could be back on the rooftop together, as Shouta attempted to tolerate Yamada’s many physically affectionate tendencies. Shouta felt Yamada’s tears start to sink into his shirt.
They stayed like that for a few minutes before Yamada pulled away and began wiping at his eyes.

“Sorry about that.” He sniffled one more time and then pulled himself together. “We’ve been planning to find a way to bring you guys back for a little while now, but we agreed that we should wait until Eri was better trained with her quirk. The hero public safety commission disagreed with us, so it looks like they decided to take things into their own hands.” His expression flickered a bit, brows furrowing in anger and then smoothing back out in an instant. “But as far as we can tell you two are unharmed, so we’re just going to have to move forward.”

“So, there’s no chance of us going back to before then?” Shirakumo spoke in a much softer voice than usual, and Shouta could see that he was struggling with the situation. It made sense, after all. Shirakumo was popular with their class at UA, and he would surely miss all of his friends. He also had a good relationship with his family. Shouta had been over to their house for dinner a few times, and it was easy to see that Shirakumo’s parents were genuinely proud of their son. Shouta, on the other hand, rarely spoke to the rest of their classmates, preferring to spend his time with just his few close friends, and his relationship with his parents ranged from grudging tolerance to outright animosity. The entire situation they were in was obviously jarring, but the idea of not going back to his normal life was one that he was tentatively attracted to, so long as Shirakumo stayed here with him. He didn’t think it likely that Shirakumo would take the same comfort from being in this situation with him, though.

“It… It doesn’t seem like there is,” Yamada said candidly, “You guys technically lived out the last fifteen years. The powers that were used changed the physical state of your bodies to a younger state can’t be used to change time in any way. It looks like you’re going to be stuck with us.” Yamada gave a sad smile. “Look, I know this is a lot for you to adjust to. Why don’t we make dinner and I can answer some of your questions?”

They went into the kitchenette and prepared a meal. Yamada, who had somehow learned at least the basics of cooking in the past fifteen years, directed them to chop vegetables and prepare rice. While they worked, he babbled about various aspects of the future, like his radio show and stories about some of their students. Occasionally he brought up something that he had done with Shouta prior to his capture by villains, and Shouta felt a twinge of discomfort. The Eraserhead that Yamada mentioned sounds capable in a way that Shouta didn't feel he could match. Shirakumo latched onto those stories, though, asking questions about what Shouta was like as an adult and looking over at Shouta with what could only be pride when Yamada described how capable a hero Eraserhead was. A painful feeling bloomed in Shouta’s chest, but it wasn't entirely bad.

Just as they were finishing dinner, Eri came back into the room followed by a skeletal looking man with blonde hair. He looked old enough to have been a hero for well over fifteen years, but Shouta didn't recognize him as a pro hero from before. As the man entered the room, he stared at them both for a moment, but his gaze seemed to linger on Shouta in particular. Yamada looked up from the pot on the stove and waved them over.

“C’mon, you’re just in time for dinner. Do you like stir-fry, Eri-chan?”

The little girl hummed in affirmation and went to sit at the table next to Shouta. Her little nose was scrunched up and she looked at him intently.

“Hi?”

“Aizawa-sensei, can you do the quirk thing?” Shouta couldn’t even process being called sensei right now, so he decided to ignore it. He looked around for any sign of a quirk that needed to be stopped.

“Umm… Is there someone dangerous nearby?” His response just made her seem frustrated. Yamada came to the table, setting a pot of rice down and reaching over to pat Eri’s head.

“Eri-chan has some difficulty controlling her quirk. It usually helps her to control it if you erase her quirk occasionally.”
“Oh, um, ok then. Right now?” Eri nodded enthusiastically.

Shouta activated his quirk and felt his hair float from where it was brushing his shoulders. Eri looked immediately relieved, her shoulders sinking down and the little horn on her forehead shrinking to what he assumed was a more manageable size.

“Thanks,” she whispered, leaning her head on Shouta’s arm. Shirakumo gave him a thumbs up from his seat at the table. At least his quirk was useful for something. Eri leaned back and looked him over. Her expression was difficult to discern, but she looked almost disappointed. “I’m sorry I fixed you wrong. I couldn’t control it, even though you taught me how to. I promise I meant to do it right.”

Shouta instinctively reached out and put his hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t the most confident person in the world, but he was usually fairly good at understanding little kids. The girl looked guilty, like she was expecting to be punished for a slight that Shouta couldn’t even perceive. He remembered feeling like that sometimes as a child, when his father was in one of his bad moods. The room was quiet now, a slight tension filling the air.

“You mean because I’m supposed to be older?” he asked levelly. She nodded, and he could hear a slight whining in her throat, as though she were holding back tears. “I don’t feel like I’m supposed to be any older than I am, so I don’t think any harm was done. Without your help, I would still be all tied up in that room, and I wouldn’t be myself at all.” He briefly recalled the feeling of being tied up and blindfolded in that cold, windowless room and suppressed a shudder. “It was unfair of the adults to ask you to do something so difficult all by yourself. You did a good job, so there’s no reason to be sorry.”

The tears flowed freely now as Eri threw her arms around him and sobbed. “I missed you so much,” she cried. “Please don’t leave again.” Shouta held her awkwardly for a few minutes, as Yamada nodded behind him and mouthed “good job.”

After a few minutes, the tall, skeletal man approached the table extracted Eri from his arms with a smile. He walked to the other side of the table and gingerly sat down with Eri in his lap, still sniffling slightly. Yamada began placing dishes on the table, steaming with fresh-cooked pork, rice, and vegetables.

“So how are the two of you settling in?” the skeletal man asked, scooping a pile of rice onto Shouta’s plate. His demeanor was welcoming, but he seemed almost nervous somehow, or maybe just shy.

“Everyone has been super welcoming!” Shirakumo said enthusiastically, grabbing a serving of pork, “It’s crazy to see Hizashi here so old! Really one time I saw him eat a cookie straight off the ground without using his hands and here he is cooking a full meal!”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that I’m a functioning adult with a thriving career!” Yamada said, playfully ruffling Shirakumo’s hair. The skeletal man smiled and turned to Shouta.

“And you, Aizawa-kun?”

“It’s been okay,” Shouta said. “What was your name again?”

“Ah, actually it’s a bit complicated um—”

“That’s All Might!” Yamada interjected, “He’s been teaching at UA for the past year. Took over a lot of your classes when you went missing, Aizawa.”

All Might. The symbol of peace had certainly changed since Shouta had last seen him on TV. As a child Shouta had looked up to All Might, a powerful hero in his physical prime who seemed to effortlessly protect and comfort the public. He remembered staring at the TV in wonder as he watched the man carry people to safety with a smile on his face. As he got older, though, and began his own hero training, he found that All Might just served as a reminder of all of the things that he lacked as a young hero. He set a standard of presence and showmanship in his heroics that Shouta had neither the ability nor the desire to attain. Looking at the sheepish man now, it struck Shouta that the standard may have been too much for All Might to attain too.

“You lost weight,” Shouta stated bluntly, grabbing a bit of rice with his chopsticks.

“Haha, well I sustained a serious injury a few years back. Unfortunately, that made it difficult for me to maintain my heroic form, so I’m just a teacher now.”

“It’s great that you’re still teaching, though,” Shirakumo encouraged, gesticulating with his chopsticks, “I’m sure that the students here could learn a lot from you even if you can’t practice anymore yourself.” All Might seemed to brighten slightly with his comment. Shirakumo had that kind of effect on people.

They had a pleasant meal together, with Yamada and Shirakumo doing most of the heavy lifting in the conversation and Shouta, Eri, and All Might chiming in occasionally when addressed. Despite the strange situation, it was almost comfortable. Shouta didn’t get to have a lot of dinners like this with his family.

After dinner, Yamada led Shouta and Shirakumo to a room down the hall. The door to the room was labelled “Eraserhead” by a plain black plaque.

“This was your old room, Aizawa,” Yamada said, opening the door, “You two can use it for now, and we can get you set up with something more permanent soon.” The room was serviceable but sparse, containing a single bed, a desk stacked high with papers, and a few boxes in the corner. Yamada dragged in a futon and a few pillows. “I’ll be in the common room for the next few hours and my room is two doors down on the right if you need me. The bathroom is across the hall. You guys are welcome to back into the common room, of course, but I thought you might want some time to yourselves.” Yamada squeezed Shouta’s shoulder. “I’m going to talk to Nedzu and a few other teachers, and we can make a plan for where you guys want to go from here tomorrow.”

Yamada left the room and walked back toward the common room. Shouta found himself alone in the room with Shirakumo, looking at the single futon in the center of the room. He plopped down on the floor, leaning back against the wall.

“A lot of changes all at once, huh?” Shirakumo asked, sitting down next to him. That was the understatement of the century. Shouta took a moment to respond.

“It doesn’t seem like there’s any way to go back,” he said. No way back to their time or their class or their internship or their parents. The idea was so absurd that the reality of the situation refused to set in.

“No way out but forward, then,” Shirakumo replied, ever optimistic. “Hizashi is still here, and he said that Kayama-senpai is teaching here too! We can finish the hero course just like we planned and start our own agency when we graduate. We can totally make this work.” Shirakumo certainly had a way of simplifying a situation until it no longer seemed intimidating.

“But what if they don’t let us into the hero course again?” Shouta had had a difficult enough time getting into the course the first time, anyway. Maybe they wouldn’t find him worth teaching this time around. Shirakumo gave him a knowing look.

“Are you kidding? Remember, you were teaching here as an adult. They have undeniable proof of your potential as a student. If either of us is going to have a problem getting in it would be me. I never even became a hero in the first place.” Shirakumo was smiling, but Shouta could see a shift in his expression as he finished talking.

“Now you’re being stupid. Whatever happened to you… the first time around wasn’t your fault. Of course they’ll let you in.” If the hero world couldn’t recognize that Shirakumo Oboro was exactly the kind of hero they needed, then it wasn’t worth keeping around anyway.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement then,” Shirakumo said, placing a hand on Shouta’s shoulder and standing up. He stretched his arms above his head and gave an exaggerated yawn.

“Well, I’m beat. I’ll crash on the futon, so why don’t you take the bed?” Shirakumo sat down cross-legged on the futon and began changing into the set of spare clothes he had been given.

“You should take the bed. I can sleep anywhere,” Shouta protested. Shirakumo wiggled dramatically under the covers.

“Too late! I’m already way too comfortable, so I guess you’ll just have to take the bed.”

Shouta had to suppress a smile as he turned out the light and got under the covers. For a moment, he thought that he wouldn’t be able to sleep as thoughts about the suddenly uncertain future began to trickle in, but then the exhaustion from the day crept up on him and he found his consciousness slipping away.

He fell asleep to the steady sound of Shirakumo’s breaths.

Oboro dreamt through a haze of purple smoke.

He dreamt of a young man with white hair and severed hands attached all over his body. The young man was fighting someone, a hero dressed in black. Oboro almost recognized him, but it didn't matter. What mattered was protecting the young man, in every way possible and at all costs.

The young man struck at the hero again, grabbing his elbow and crumbling it to dust. Oboro felt a primal sense of pride coursing through his body. Yes, the young man should kill the hero. He should kill anyone who gets in his way. It was his right to do so. The hero screamed in pain, and it rung sweetly in Oboro’s ears. He came in closer. It was time to collect his charge now and bring him somewhere safe, another threat was coming.

Both the white-haired young man and the hero looked up at him, the former with smug confidence and the latter with desperation. The hero’s eyes dug into him, and suddenly the hero was everything and the man covered in hands was nothing. How could he have possibly thought to hurt this man? His eyes were bloodshot, twitching with the effort of staying open. Oboro reached out for him. He had to help him, he had to save him from the man covered in hands, but he was too far away. He watched as those tired eyes crumble to dust.

Oboro jolted awake to see a familiar pair of eyes in front of his face, their expression similarly panicked but full of concern rather than despair. Shouta, his panicked mind supplied, and he suddenly found himself able to breathe again. Shouta knelt over him with his hands on his shoulders, still in his pajamas which looked several sizes too large.

“You… you were talking in your sleep,” Shouta said, slowly removing his hands. “You sounded upset.”

“Oh sorry! I was having a weird dream, I guess. Sorry to wake you up.” There was no point in worrying Shouta about it. Things were difficult enough for him right now without throwing Oboro’s disturbing dreams into the mix.

“Are you alright? It sounded bad.” Shouta leaned back and sat at the edge of the futon. Oboro suppressed a flutter of disappointment in his chest at the lack of proximity. He plastered a smile on his face.

“Yeah, I’m totally fine. Honestly, I barely remember it already. It’s probably just from sleeping in a new place.” It was a lie, but Oboro didn’t know how he could possibly explain the sight of those bloodshot eyes piercing him as they crumbled. “You can go back to bed if you want.” Shouta looked at him as though he wanted to say something else, but he stood up and went back to the bed. Oboro laid back down and tried to clear his head.

Oboro slept fitfully for the next couple hours, waking up at intervals and never sleeping deeply enough to dream about anything. He gave up on sleeping at about six in the morning, which he deemed just late enough to be acceptable. He had always been an early riser anyway.

Shouta was still asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly under the covers. He looked peaceful, and it was nice to be able to see him when he woke up in the morning. Shouta filled his chest with warmth in a way that no one else could. Oboro couldn’t even explain why, exactly. Shouta was just such an honest person, so straightforward with his intentions and genuinely caring for other people. Something in Oboro just demanded that he protect that sincerity with everything he had. He pushed down the urge to get in the bed with him and pull him close—Shouta had never shown any interest in relationships, with either girls or boys, and Oboro refused to make him feel uncomfortable by shoving his feelings in Shouta’s face.

Oboro got up, dressed, and left a note for Shouta before going out to the common room. Pale, early morning light was streaming in through the windows, and Oboro could smell a soft, herbal scent. The emaciated figure of All Might sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea as he did something on his laptop. As Oboro entered the room, he looked up and smiled pleasantly.

“Good morning, Shirakumo-shounen. Did you sleep well?”

“It wasn’t too bad. Couldn’t really get back to sleep, though.” All Might pulled out a chair at the table.

“Well, I’m sure you have a lot on your mind. Have a seat. I made some tea if you want some.” Oboro poured himself a cup and sat cross-legged in the chair. The scene was shockingly peaceful. If you had told Oboro a month ago that he would get the opportunity to sit down for tea with All Might, his excitement would have been uncontrollable. Now, though, the mood was contemplative. Oboro quietly sipped his tea, and All Might occasionally typed something on his laptop, painstakingly pecking out keys using just his index fingers. Oboro thought about all of the things he had learned so far, about how he came to be here and what his life had turned into after his death.

“Can I ask you a question, All Might?” All Might turned toward him accommodatingly, a pleasant expression on his face.

“Of course. What would you like to know?” Oboro considered the dream he had, and the rush he felt while watching violence unfold. He remembered the look in Shouta’s eyes when Oboro refused to help him.

“Nedzu-sensei said that I became a villain after I died. Did… did I ever kill anyone?” All Might’s expression fell, and he sighed before replying.

“Before I answer you, I want you to know that nothing that happened was your fault. We still have a lot of research to conduct, but we know that when a person is turned into a nomu, they lose the ability to act of their own free will. It may have been your body, but it wasn’t you. Do you understand that?”

Oboro did, logically. But the dream felt real. It felt like him.

“Yes, sir, I understand.” All Might didn’t look entirely convinced, but he continued anyway.

“The villain you became was a nomu named Kurogiri. He worked with the League of Villains, a group of villains who are dedicated to destroying hero society. To answer your question: we just don’t know if Kurogiri ever killed anyone. Kurogiri’s quirk allowed him to warp people from one location to another using a dark purple cloud. His role was usually one of support, so he was not often directly involved in fights. There are no witness reports of Kurogiri physically dealing a killing blow to anyone, but the League have killed before, and Kurogiri would have aided them in that endeavor. However, the blame for his actions does not fall on you, it falls on the shoulders of the people who used you to create Kurogiri.”

Oboro considered it. It certainly could have been worse, but the idea of being responsible for the death of another hero, even tangentially, was painful.

“Thanks, All Might.”

“Please let me know if you have any other questions. I understand that this is a challenging time for you.” All Might smiled at him again. Oboro considered asking about the dream, but decided against it.

“I’m alright for now, thanks.” He turned back to his tea, and All Might resumed his work.

As Oboro was finishing his tea, he heard a light set of footsteps draw nearer and saw Shouta walk into the room, still in his pajamas. Oboro smiled at him.

“Hey, you’re up early!” Shouta looked at him and paused for a moment before responding.

“You weren’t in the room,” he stated bluntly, sitting in the chair next to Oboro’s and pulling his knees up to his chest. His posture was even more withdrawn than usual, so Oboro shifted his chair a little closer and began pouring him a cup of tea.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I was just a little too keyed up to sleep.”

“Good morning, Aizawa-kun,” All Might chimed in. Shouta nodded at him and took a sip of the tea. All Might continued, “Present Mic is off doing his morning broadcast, so I offered to look into some options for the two of you going forward. We could discuss some of those options now, if you want, and of course you’re both welcome to change your minds or choose something entirely different. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Yeah! Yeah, that sounds great,” Oboro said, looking over to Shouta. He was still curled in on himself, looking straight at his tea.

“Ok,” he agreed softly. Oboro shifted his chair even closer so that their hips were almost touching and flung an arm around his shoulder.

“Whatever the options are, we’re going to stick together,” Oboro asserted. Shouta’s mouth twitched slightly in what Oboro’s trained eye recognized as the bare beginning of a smile. Better.

“I’m glad to hear that,” All Might said, “We need our friends now more than ever. I suppose I’ll start with this option then,” he said clicking a few times on his laptop and turning the screen toward them. At the top of the screen was a header reading “UA High Student Registration.” There were two copies open on the screen, one with Oboro’s basic information filled in and another with Shouta’s. “You are both welcome to re-enroll at UA. All of your expenses would be covered by the school, and you would be able to live in the dormitories with the other students. I understand that your last memories put you in your second year, so you would be invited to join our current second years if that is what you want.”

The option was certainly appealing. Even given what would almost certainly be considered an insurmountable setback (that being his own death), he could still get back on track in the hero course. He could still be the hero he had always wanted to be, and he could still have Shouta at his side.

Shouta’s faced had shifted from sullen to what Oboro interpreted as tentatively hopeful. He sat a little straighter in his chair and brushed his hair away from his eyes with his hand.

“So we would just be let back into the hero course? We wouldn’t have to test into it?” Shouta asked.

“That’s right,” All Might replied, “I spoke with some of the other faculty members last night, and they were all very supportive of your acceptance into the hero course, if that is the path you choose.” He clicked to a new tab on his computer which contained an email thread with various UA teachers, all expressing enthusiastic consent to taking on Oboro and Shouta as their students. In particular, Oboro saw an email from Midnight, utilizing an immense number of emojis, many of which could in no way be related to their presence in the hero course (really, why a peach?).

“Anyway, Shouta,” Shirakumo interjected, “even if you did have to retake the entrance exam, we both know you would crush it! We both would!” Shouta rolled his eyes at him, but Shirakumo placed his expression as his embarrassed-pleased expression, not his truly embarrassed expression.

“Well said, Shirakumo-shounen!” All Might said. “I have it on good authority that you will grow into an excellent hero in due time, so there’s no need to concern ourselves with whether you are deserving or not.”

Oboro beamed, but Shouta seemed to shrink a little bit under the weight of such heavy praise from such a prolific hero. Well, Oboro knew that All Might was entirely correct, so Shouta would just have to learn to accept the praise. They had the opportunity to learn at UA under the greatest hero of all time. It would be insane to turn that down, but All Might had mentioned other options.

“What were the other options you were talking about, then?”

“Well, you are of course welcome to return to your parents and finish your education at another school. It has been many years since they last saw you, Shirakumo-shounen, but I’m sure that they would be delighted to have you back in their home regardless.”

All Might clicked over to a tab that contained pictures and contact information for their parents. His parents’ address had changed, listing an apartment in a small town about an hour away from the city. Oboro stared at the picture of his parents. To him, it felt as though he had just seen them perhaps a week ago, but the people in the photo were clearly aged. His mother’s hair was completely grey, and he could see deep lines in his father’s face that made him almost unrecognizable. His parents looked tired, but his father’s arm was wrapped securely around his mother, and they smiled warmly at the camera. Oboro was suddenly struck with a deep longing to see them again, to make sure that they knew that he loved them.

“I’ll pass,” Shouta said pointedly, “Option one sounds good.”

Oboro looked to the photos of Shouta’s parents on the page. They were individual pictures, not a family photo. His father’s was a headshot that looked like it came from a business card, impersonal to say the least. His mother’s looked several years old, a photo of her and another woman, possibly a friend or sister. Oboro had never met Shouta’s parents before. They always passed on family events like parent’s day or school festivals. Oboro had asked about them once or twice, but Shouta always answered noncommittally, stating that things were fine.
All Might seemed caught off guard.

“Of course these options aren’t mutually exclusive! You are more than welcome to visit your parents if you join the hero course.”

“My parents already raised me once. There’s no reason to ask them to do it again out of the blue fifteen years later. I’ll just stay in the dorms, if that’s ok.” All Might blinked in surprise but smiled politely after a moment.

“This is your decision to make. You’re always allowed to change your mind, as well. And you, Shirakumo-shounen?”

Oboro’s chest ached with the desire to live with his parents again, but he took a moment to consider the logistics of going back to them now. For one, he still dreamed to be a hero, and the students of the hero course were living in dorms now. The address his parents were listed at wouldn’t even be within a reasonable distance to commute to school. It wouldn’t make sense for him to go back home while training to be a hero, and that wasn’t even factoring how his parents would react to seeing him again. Fifteen years was a long time for your son to be dead.

“I—I want to see my parents again, but I still want to train at UA. And I don’t want to overwhelm them with everything all at once.” Oboro thought about his mother’s grey hairs and his father’s aged face. “Could we maybe break it to them a little bit at a time?” All Might smiled softly.

“Of course. So the both of you would like to stay in the dorms for now?”

“Yes, sir!” Oboro answered, and Shouta nodded.

They spent the rest of the morning working with All Might on various paperwork and logistical concerns. At nine, they turned on Present Mic’s radio broadcast, and Oboro listened with pride as Hizashi cheerfully delivered news about everything from heroes to music to pop culture with his signature enthusiasm. Oboro took note of some of the names of newer notable heroes, some of whom he recognized as old classmates or newbies to the hero scene from before. Occasionally, he would ask All Might about a hero that Mic had mentioned in passing, and by the end of the morning, he felt he had a pretty good grasp of the current hero scene.

At around noon, Present Mic barged back into the room followed by the clicking of heels as a woman in a skintight costume with deep blue hair came into the room. Oboro lit up when he saw her.

“Kayama-senpai!” He rushed out of his chair to stand in front of her. Midnight laughed and swooped him into a big hug, spinning them around in a circle and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“I’d heard they brought around a couple of little delinquents! Come here! Let me look at you!” She put her hands on Oboro’s shoulders, looked him up and down, and nodded. “Yep! You’re still as hand—handsome as ever….” She hiccupped slightly as she spoke, her clear voice breaking into a weaker sound. Oboro saw a tear start to slip out of the corner of her eye. She wiped it away furiously and a bright smile found its way back to her face. “It’s good to see you, buddy.” She let go of him and crossed over to the table where Shouta was sitting.

“No—” Shouta’s dismissal was interrupted by a very enthusiastic attempt at a hug. He dodged out of his chair, rolling onto the floor. Midnight stood over him and crossed her arms.

“Hey, you’ve been gone for months now. This hug is not optional.” He looked up at her skeptically, but she had already swooped in and pulled him close, pressing his face into her collarbone. He allowed it for a moment, and she released him with a squeeze a moment after he began to struggle. “Ok,” she said, rubbing her eyes and adjusting her glasses slightly, “Now, are you guys ready to go?”

“Where are we going?” Oboro asked enthusiastically. Both Hizashi and Kayama-senpai grinned.

They walked down the main street of the shopping district, several bags in hand. Hizashi and Kayama-senpai had decided to take them out to buy new clothing and other belongings. Apparently, both of them had fairly successful hero careers, so they had enough money to fund a shopping trip without much regard to cost. Oboro had grabbed swaths of colorful shirts with fun patterns as well as some comfortable looking athletic clothes. Shouta had grabbed a handful of dark pieces of clothing, mostly sweatpants and plain shirts, all of them sturdy but inexpensive. Oboro occasionally held out other options for him, things with a little bit more color, but he turned most of them down. Oboro’s favorite was a pale pink t-shirt with a little cat’s paw printed on the breast pocket. It was one of the softest things he had ever felt. Shouta had taken it into his hands, gently rubbed the material, and wordlessly added it into his basket with the slightest smile on his face. He saw Hizashi give him a thumbs up over Shouta’s shoulder.

“Oh, this is so great! I finally feel like a real sugar mommy,” Midnight sighed as they were picking out new cellphones. Shouta glared at her and put down the phone that he was looking at.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a teacher or something?” he demanded, looking flustered. “Nobody wants to be your sugar baby, so just stop.”

Oboro was glad to see that they never changed. During their internship with His Purple Highness, the two of them would bicker frequently, usually because Kayama liked to trample all over Shouta’s carefully constructed boundaries. They had a sibling-like relationship, though, where Kayama would tease him and Shouta would snark back to save face. During their internship, Oboro typically floated between them to help smooth out the edges in their personalities when they interacted with one another.

“Aw, that’s not true, Kayama-senpai! I’m sure you’ll be a great sugar mommy someday.”

Kayama pinched his cheek. “You are just so sweet. See, Aizawa! Take notes. That’s how you’re supposed to talk to a lady. He called me senpai and everything.”

“I’ll be your sugar baby!” Hizashi butted in. “What’s the pay like? Do I get benefits?”

“Oh there are all kinds of benefits,” Midnight purred, batting him playfully on the arm. Shouta groaned.

“Please, we’re in public. I’m begging you to be normal for once in your lives.” Now that he mentioned it, Oboro could see a few other customers staring at them, particularly at Kayama who was wearing clothes that skirted the line of obscenity. Shouta grabbed the box for the phone he was looking at and grabbed Hizashi by the arm, dragging him to the front counter to pay. Oboro smiled and grabbed his own.

They went out for lunch, sitting in a corner booth, and Oboro listened as Hizashi and Kayama told various stories about their hero careers, often featuring a grown Eraserhead. They hadn’t ended up starting their own hero agency, to Oboro’s disappointment, but they had still stayed together as teachers, even after he had died. He almost felt a little bit left out, considering he was the only one missing from the stories, but he laughed along cheerfully as they described mishaps with villains and teaching anecdotes. Shouta sat next to him, quietly eating his food and smiling occasionally. After a while, the topic of the conversation shifted to their class.

“You guys will love them. They’re all great kids,” Hizashi assured them. “You were their homeroom teacher, Aizawa, so they’re all used to you already.” Shouta looked slightly surprised.

“I taught homeroom? I figured I would teach like math or something.” Homeroom teachers were typically the ones most responsible for caring for students on a personal level. Oboro personally thought this would be a great fit for Shouta, who was very insightful and caring in the ways that really mattered.

“C’mon Shouta, you spent all of those years training me and Hizashi into doing our homework. How could you let all of that experience go to waste? Of course you would be a good homeroom teacher!”

Shouta rolled his eyes but seemed to accept the praise anyway.

Hizashi grinned at them over a plate of noodles. “Oh yeah, those kids really look up to you, you know. They’re all just going to be happy to have you back in one piece just like the rest of us, so don’t sweat it.” He started heaping more noodles on each of their plates. “And Shirakumo, you won’t have any issues getting to know people. They’re a bunch of little go getters. Never seen a class with so much positive energy before.” Oboro felt a little glow of excitement light inside him.

“I can’t wait!”

They paid for their meal and made their way back to campus, bags of clothing and personal items in hand. Tomorrow was Sunday, so Hizashi offered to introduce them to the class in the morning. Tonight, he said, he would break the news to them so they would have some time to get used to the idea. He and Kayama brought them back to the teachers’ dorms, and Hizashi left to go talk to the other students. Kayama stayed behind and helped the two of them set up their new phones, entering in numbers for a few of the teachers and installing some apps she thought they would like.

After Hizashi returned that evening, they sat on the couches and watched a movie. All Might and Eri had joined them, so Kayama was forced to put on something more child-friendly than she might have otherwise. Most of the teachers split their attention between the movie and their computers, grading papers and making lesson plans.

About a half hour into the movie, Oboro felt Shouta’s head sink down on his shoulder. He sat there, only vaguely aware of the movie as he tuned in to the warmth of Shouta’s weight on his shoulder and felt his deep breaths. After a bit more time passed, he saw that little Eri, who was sitting on Shouta’s other side, had also drifted off to sleep, her head resting in Shouta’s side. Oboro craned his neck to get a good look at them. Kayama came over with her cell phone and began taking pictures with a grin on her face. Oboro was certain that Shouta wouldn’t be happy about that, but he looked cute enough that there was no way Oboro would turn his nose up at some pictures.

When the movie was over, All Might came over and scooped Eri off of the couch to take her to bed. The movement jostled Shouta enough that his eyes blinked open, and he fixed a sleepy look at Oboro.

“You want me to carry you to bed too?” Oboro teased. Shouta turned slightly pink and pushed himself to his feet.

“I can walk,” he protested, “I’m going to bed early. Tomorrow’s probably going to be exhausting.” It was probably only about 9:30, but Oboro felt his eyes drooping slightly as well. Usually, he could stay up well into the night without issue, but after his restless night of sleep last night, he was running on fumes.

“Yeah, I think I’ll hit the sack too. Gotta be at our best when we meet the others tomorrow, right Shouta?”

“Sure.”

They made their way back to the room, and Shouta immediately fell into bed and fell asleep in his clothing on top of the covers. Oboro maneuvered him fully onto the bed and draped a blanket over his shoulders. As he tried to fall asleep, he couldn’t help but stare at Shouta’s sleeping face through half-lidded eyes. When he finally drifted off, wisps of the dream from the night before, of his best friend crumbling away, swirled around in his dreams like clouds.

Shinsou Hitoshi considered himself pretty hard to shake. He’d been through a lot in his life and dealt with a lot of bullshit, so nowadays it felt like very little could really faze him. Generally, he left his classmates to do all of the showy emotional outbursts while he kept to himself, keeping his head down and working hard in the hero course.

Apparently, he wasn’t quite as unshakeable as he thought.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and he had been in the dorm common rooms with some of his classmates. They had been debating what to have for dinner while Bakugou angrily refused to cook them anything too complicated and Kaminari and Sero proposed increasingly elaborate dishes. Hitoshi and Midoriya sat off to the side, studying for an upcoming hero law exam, and Midoriya occasionally chimed into the discussion with easy recipes that were immediately shot down.

Just as they were about to harass Bakugou into making homemade ramen, Present Mic entered the room with his usual boisterous demeanor.

“Hello little listeners! I’ve got an announcement to make! Can you guys get everyone gathered in the common room?”

A few confused glances were exchanged. Usually any announcements were made at the beginning of homeroom, and they were usually made by All Might, their current homeroom teacher. Present Mic only taught English, and Hitoshi didn’t think the English language had changed drastically enough that an announcement for his class couldn’t wait until Monday.

The last time they’d had an announcement like this, it had been a grim-faced All Might coming to deliver terrible news. The look on Koda’s face when Shinsou had knocked on his door and explained that there was an announcement made Shinsou certain that he remembered the last announcement as well.

About four months ago, All Might, looking close to tears, had visited their dorms early in the morning and informed them that Aizawa-sensei had been captured by villains while out on a reconnaissance mission. He hadn’t been able to answer many of their questions, only able to provide reassurances that they were doing everything in their power to get him back. There were a lot of tears that night. The reassurances worked for the first week or two, but as time went on, they became less and less frequent, until Hitoshi finally realized that no one seemed to expect to get him back anymore.

Until three weeks ago, at least, when a group of his classmates had encountered a nomu with a familiar ability to erase quirks in a large radius for extended periods of time. Hitoshi hadn’t been there with them, but he’d heard disoriented, emotional accounts from some of the people who had. A black nomu with red eyes had attacked them brutally, only to stop in its tracks, trembling in front of them as it knelt down and refused to attack them further. The pro heroes had come in and apprehended it at that point, and no one had been able to get any information from the hero public safety commission since, always told that the matter was still “under investigation.” They had never gotten confirmation, but the students who had encountered the nomu face to face were all certain that it was connected to their teacher’s disappearance.

Hitoshi sat back down in the common room, off to the side like usual. The rest of his classmates were finishing funneling into the room, and Present Mic stood leaning against the kitchen counter in front of them.

“Alright, little listeners, quiet down! I’ve got some good news!” The low murmur of whispers quietened down, and Hitoshi could see expressions of hope begin to light up his friends’ faces. Present Mic continued. “We were able to verify that the nomu that we subdued and captured with your help a few weeks ago was created with Eraserhead as its base.”

The whispers broke out again, and Hitoshi felt his breath catch in his chest. They had suspected, of course, but having confirmation still felt like a punch to the gut. To think that someone had put their teacher through so much suffering was unimaginable. Then again, Present Mic had said this was good news. Present Mic waited for a moment until the whispers died out again.

“With Eri’s help, the hero public safety commission was able to restore him back to a human state. As far as we can tell, he is whole and healthy again.”

The whispers turned into a roar of excitement as Present Mic was barraged with questions from everyone at once.

"Where is he"

"Is he okay?"

"Will he come back and teach us"

"Can we visit him?"

Present Mic cleared his throat, and the questions ceased.

“This is where it gets slightly more complicated. He’s unhurt, but Eri’s control of her quirk wasn’t quite strong enough to return him to exactly how he was. She overshot the mark a little bit. He is himself, but he’s about sixteen years old, now.”

Silence.

“But…. But we’re sixteen years old,” Kaminari said obviously. Present Mic nodded sympathetically.

“It’s definitely weird! Part of being a hero is learning to roll with a situation, no matter how weird it is! Anyway, he said that he still wants to be a hero, so we re-enrolled him in the hero course! Congrats on the new classmate!”

What? Hitoshi’s brain did a hard reset in order to process the new information. Aizawa-sensei was alive. This was of course cause for celebration. He was now sixteen years old. He was joining their class. His classmates were looking around at one another with similarly incredulous expressions.

“While we’re learning to accept weird things,” Present Mic added, “do you guys remember Kurogiri from the League of Villains? He was also a nomu made from the body of a UA student named Shirakumo Oboro! Good kid! He’ll be joining you guys too! Anyway, I’ll bring them around tomorrow morning, so you guys have a good night!” After dropping that bomb, Present Mic left the room before anyone’s brain could process what he said.

The ensuing night was one of the most bizarre that Hitoshi could remember. His classmates’ reactions ranged from stunned silence to wild speculation. Most of them hung out in the common room for the night, so the room was constantly busy. Bakugou set to making dinner, snapping at people whenever someone asked for his thoughts on the situation. A group of girls sat at the kitchen table, chatting about what they thought it might be like tomorrow.

“He’s gotta be, like, really intimidating, right?” Mina said. “He’s probably going to take one look at us and be like ‘how did you idiots end up in the hero course?’” Asui shook her head.

“Aizawa-sensei has always been really nice, though, even though he’s kind of grumpy, kero,” she countered. “He’s probably just going to be serious.”

“Maybe he’s really small! Like Mineta small,” Hagakure said, giggling. There was a small burst of laughter between them.
“No way,” Uraraka protested, still laughing, “What do you think, Shinsou? The two of you were pretty close.”

Shinsou considered it for a moment, long enough that the girls seemed to think he wouldn’t respond.

Just as they were turning away from him to go back to their conversation, he said, “I think he’s probably just a kid.”

“You’re probably right,” she agreed softly. “What about Kurogiri? Do you guys think he’ll still be all… purple?”

“Probably not,” Yaoyorozu said, “Aizawa-sensei doesn’t look anything like that monster we saw. If Kurogiri was really a nomu, then the person he was made from probably looked different too.”

Yaoyorozu was one of the students who had encountered the nomu version of their teacher a few weeks back, along with Kaminari, Ashido, and Hagakure. Hitoshi could tell that she was still pretty shaken by it, although she put up a laudably brave front. They all were.

Hitoshi left them to their speculation and went over to a quieter area, where Midoriya and Iida were studying. He pulled out his hero law textbook.

They still had an exam on Monday, and he got the feeling that they wouldn’t get much studying in tomorrow.