Chapter 28

When Toshinori walks into the faculty office with a heavy heart, he finds it mostly empty but for Aizawa slouching at his desk. The only teachers who would still be there are those in the heroics department, helping with evaluations of the practical exams. His ears still burn, raw from the tongue-lashing he got from Recovery Girl, for all that she gave it to him over an hour ago. He feels sick to… well, the empty place where his stomach used to be, at least, and Aizawa looks nearly as bad as he feels.

When he comes around to the younger hero's side, he sees why. The paused video footage on screen is of one of the practical exams. The one he proctored himself, to be exact.

Toshinori has already seen it. He's promised himself he'll sit down and watch it again once the acidic burn in his gut fades, but now might as well be the time. It seems Aizawa is stronger than him in this respect.

At the moment, Aizawa's face is mostly hidden by the hair falling over his face, and what little Toshinori can see of his eyes, isn't pretty.

"Aizawa?" He says cautiously. They have never been friends, but this, at least, warrants discussing.

Aizawa shifts in his seat, pushes one side of his hair behind his ear, and glares at the frozen screen. For a moment Toshinori thinks he's ignoring him, and then—

"Fucked up."

It's a mumble, on par with young Midoriya's usual sotto voce muttering. "Pardon?"

Aizawa sits up marginally straighter. "I fucked up," he repeats, louder this time.

It's almost a relief to hear that, not because he enjoys hearing Aizawa take blame, but because his junior is open to discussion at all. "Ah," Toshinori replies, and feels confident enough to nudge the nearest chair closer and sit down. "I… might as well take responsibility also—"

"No." Aizawa laces his fingers together and glowers over the platform of his hands. "My decision, my bad judgment." He lets out a long sigh through his nose. "You know what annoys me? I could have avoided this with one change. Just one. No other rearranging necessary."

"How do you mean?"

The furrow in Aizawa's brow deepens. "Midoriya and Todoroki."

Toshinori blinks in surprise. "Really? I… hm. They get along fairly well, so they'd make a good team, but… in that case, wouldn't that be too easy for them?" Moreover, he can't imagine what would happen in a team-up between Yaoyorozu and Bakugou. The poor girl has been so unsure of herself lately; having to work with someone as forceful and stubborn as Bakugou would only discourage her further, wouldn't it?

"No, that's not—" Aizawa shakes his head. "I mean switching them."

Toshinori opens his mouth to reply, then stops. And thinks.

"...Huh," he says.

"Midoriya already has decent analytical and tactical skills," Aizawa says. "Considering how destructive his quirk is, that's to be encouraged, and collaborating with Yaoyorozu would both strengthen that and put her in a favorable position to assert herself." He takes a deep breath. "Todoroki and Bakugou both rely on brute force at the expense of collaboration—pairing them against an overwhelmingly powerful opponent like you would have forced them to rethink their usual strategies."

He falls quiet, and Toshinori nods. It makes sense; even an inexperienced teacher like him can recognize that Yaoyorozu has been struggling with self-confidence lately. Up to thirty minutes of working with young Midoriya could have cured that easily enough. "Why not choose that in the first place, then?"

Aizawa's eyebrows knit together, and he makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. "Saw the animosity between Midoriya and Bakugou. Misjudged the problem. Stupid."

He may not get along with Aizawa, but hearing the younger hero so disgusted with himself throws Toshinori for a loop. "Aizawa, I also—"

"No, shut up. I know what you're going to say, so save it."

Undaunted, Toshinori pushes on. "Did he tell you that something was wrong?"

"He shouldn't have had to," Aizawa gritted out. "I should have noticed without it being pointed out to me by my own students."

"He told me." Toshinori forces speech past the lump in his throat. "Or at least he tried."

At this, Aizawa sits up a little straighter. "He talked to you about this? When?"

"On the way to the exam," Toshinori admits. "He was nervous. Signing to himself again, though I couldn't tell what. I don't remember what I said, but he looked me in the eye and told me it was 'the nightmare scenario'. I thought he was being purposely melodramatic, but…" His successor's tired, desperate eyes flash in his memory again, and he swallows his guilt. "I underestimated things."

"Hm." Aizawa's frown deepens. "And after?"

"He, ah." It's not nice to think about. It still twists at him to remember it. "He said it was—he didn't know how to beat me, so the only way to win was to do something unexpected." His voice turns bitter with shame. "And I would never expect him to risk disappointing me, would I?"

Aizawa's cheekbone shifts as he clenches his teeth. "Anything else?"

"Nothing. I left him with Recovery Girl." He hesitates, eyes his colleague, and wonders if there's a tactful way to ask his next question. "I… take it you've spoken with her?"

The grimace on Aizawa's face tells him all he needs to know. "Asked her the same question, once she was done yelling at me."

"And?"

"Nothing. Didn't talk to her or anyone else. Stayed silent until he left."

Toshinori's heart sinks further. "...Oh."

The door swings open, and Present Mic comes strolling in, missing his jacket and absently scratching at his arms. "Shouta, quick, I need your help."

One of Aizawa's bloodshot eyes twitch. "What."

Present Mic stumbles a little to join them, either unaware of or purposely ignoring Aizawa's dark mood. "Your students," he almost whines, "buried me in bugs. Bugs, Shouta. Creepy crawly death dealers. I can't stop feeling tiny little legs all over me." He shudders deeply. "I think I got all of them, but can you help me check?"

"Yamada," Toshinori sighs. "Now really isn't the time."

"Oh. You guys busy?" Yamada sobers almost instantly, though he still twitches a little. He catches sight of the screen. "Oh hey, test footage. Figuring out feedback, or what?" Thankfully, he seems to read the silence that follows, and his face falls. "Oh. Uh… so I'm a little afraid to ask, but what happened with Midoriya this time?"

Toshinori looks at him sharply. "How do you know it has to do with Midoriya?"

"Couple reasons. I saw him before he left campus, and he looked pretty rough. He usually stutters a little whenever he has the chance to say goodbye to me, which is both flattering and adorable, but he didn't say two words to me today." Toshinori shifts uncomfortably. "Mostly the look on your face, though. No offense, All Might, but you worry about him more than the rest of the class put together. Not that I blame you at all, considering what he gets up to if you don't keep an eye on him, but you're worse than a single mother with that kid." He pulls up a chair to get a comfortable view of Aizawa's monitor screen. "So what's up?"

Instead of answering, Aizawa starts up the footage.

There's no audio, but there doesn't need to be. The video footage shows the pair at the beginning of the exam, Bakugou storming through the testing ground and pointedly ignoring Midoriya as he rushes to keep up. It's plain that Midoriya is trying to communicate, but Bakugou isn't listening.

The conversation, such that it is, gets more heated as Midoriya gets desperate and frustrated while Bakugou continues to brush him off. Midoriya's hands twist at his sides in familiar ways—

"Hold on, is he signing?" Yamada leans forward for a better look.

"You recognize it?" Toshinori asks.

"All-Might, you're talking to the guy who spent his entire childhood trying not to knock down his house with a shouty quirk he couldn't always control. Yeah, I know sign." He squints. "Kinda garbled, though. And it's a bad angle. Something about finding the exit fast—probably putting together his own plan, since it doesn't look like his partner is interested in working with him. Oh man, is this him doing the mumble thing, but in sign? That's adorable."

And then, of course, the inevitable scene arrives. Whatever Midoriya says to him, Bakugou doesn't want to hear it.

Yamada cringes when Bakugou's swing makes contact. "Oh. Okay, I see why you two are in a mood."

Aizawa stops the video. "That's not the part that concerns me the most; it's this." He plays back the previous minute, before Bakugou lashes out. At one point, Bakugou turns to face him and grabs his arm, and Midoriya—

Midoriya freezes. He stops moving, stops talking, doesn't even try to resist or get away. He stops, and even after Bakugou lets go, it takes him a moment to move again.

"Not a good sign," Yamada remarks. "Has that ever happened before?"

"Not that I've seen. They haven't been paired up for training since day two." Aizawa finally closes the video. "They've avoided each other since then, and I assumed it was just a mutual grudge they needed to get over." His jaw tightens, and he rises from his seat. "I'll see you two tomorrow."

Toshinori lets him go without a word, and soon takes his leave as well. He has quite a bit to think about.

"I'm leaving for school, Mom."

When she hears this, she takes him in her arms and holds him long enough to risk making him late. Izuku lets her without complaint, knowing he probably scared her; until now, he hasn't spoken to her with his mouth instead of his hands since yesterday. Whenever he goes quiet, it reminds her of things they would both rather forget. She finally lets him go, and he and Rei leave the house at a run to make up for lost time.

"Hey, Deku!" He catches up to Uraraka before he reaches UA's front gate; usually it's the other way around. "You're a little later than usual aren't—oh, that doesn't look good." Her good-morning cheer gives way to instant concern. Privately, Izuku wonders if he could have gotten away with wearing a face mask today. Recovery Girl fixed his nose as good as new and jump-started the healing for his bruised face, but that only means that the marks look days old instead of fresh. Even Morino commented on his appearance in the bathroom mirror; from nose to chin, his face is a dark, blotchy purple-green.

Does he have time to run to the nurse? Beg one more healing off of her?

"That's to be expected, considering your opponent," and Izuku jumps, because Iida's suddenly right there which means Tensei is also right there, and a little warning would have been nice. "All-Might certainly didn't go easy on you, did he?"

Izuku stares at him, nonplussed. Iida thinks All-Might did this to him. Iida thinks Izuku spent any time whatsoever actually fighting All-Might.

"I don't think any of the teachers did," Uraraka says. "Aoyama and I almost didn't pass at all!" She winces. "Actually, we technically went over the time limit, but since we still got the handcuffs on Thirteen, we passed anyway."

"It was a close fight in my case as well, but Ojiro and I managed to pull through quite successfully," Iida replies. "Still, I was pleasantly surprised when they announced your victory, Midoriya. Congratulations on being the first."

"Yeah!" Uraraka bounces on her toes. "You've gotta tell us how you pulled that off—fastest win in class, up against the number one! And you were working with Bakugou."

"We'll have plenty of time to trade stories later," Iida says, and Izuku sighs with relief as his stomach churns. "We're already a bit late—oh, good morning, Todoroki."

"Morning."

Izuku focuses on the ground at his feet. He can feel eyes on him—Todoroki's eyes, studying him, probably remembering the last time they saw each other.

"Are you all right?" Todoroki asks.

For a moment his tongue and throat lock up, and Izuku fears that his goodbye to his mother was a fluke, that the muteness will stretch to weeks and months again. But he swallows in spite of his dry mouth, and tries again. "Fine," he mumbles. "Just slept a lot, because of the healing."

"Ah," Todoroki replies, and Izuku hurries into the building before he can attract any more questions.

Final exams are the talk of the classroom, naturally. Izuku keeps his head down and weaves through his classmates, desperate to avoid notice. Kaminari, looking emotionally worse for wear, approaches him with what might be congratulations, but Rei bares her teeth and hisses, exuding fear in a noxious cloud, and it's enough to make his classmate change his mind.

Gradually, over the minutes before the start of class, he hears the results of the rest of the exams. It's not that he's trying to listen. But the talk is all around him, so it's impossible not to absorb it.

Todoroki and Yaoyorozu: escaped Aizawa together. Passed.

Tsuyu and Tokoyami: defeated and handcuffed Ectoplasm. Passed.

Jirou and Kouda: escaped Present Mic together. Passed.

Mineta and Sero: escaped Midnight together. Passed.

Uraraka and Aoyama: defeated and handcuffed Thirteen. Passed.

Shouji and Hagakure: defeated and handcuffed Snipe. Passed.

Iida and Ojiro: escaped Power Loader together. Passed.

Ashido, Kaminari, Kirishima, and Satou were the only ones who failed the practical exam.

A heavy pit had settled in Izuku's chest at some point after he left Recovery Girl, and now it weighs even further on his heart. He puts his head down on his desk, cushions his chin on one arm, and prays that no one will approach him. The results speak for themselves.

Everyone else pulled together—not him. Everyone else stayed with their partners and faced daunting odds as a pair, as a team—not him. Everyone else was clever or daring or determined or some combination of all three—not him. Everyone else struggled and sweated and fought for their victory—not him, not him, not him.

In every other team, they either triumphed together, or they didn't triumph at all.

It isn't possible for him to sink any lower in his chair, but he tries. Rei's aura bleeds fear and unease as she crouches over him, and his classmates avoid his desk without quite realizing why. And Izuku is so wrapped up in his nerves and shame and heavy, aching guilt that he forgets. He forgets where he is, and he forgets one inevitable fact.

"Bakugou, heya!" Kirishima's voice carries through the entire classroom, and Izuku's pulse stops dead in his chest. "Man, congrats on finishing the exam so fast! How'd you and Midoriya pull that off—?"

Izuku knows what's coming, deep in his most basic instincts, thanks to years of habits and patterns drilled into his head. It's enough of a warning to shove himself up off his desk and back, as far back as he can go before his shoulders slam into the seat behind him.

He's not sure what causes the ringing in his ears, whether it's Bakugou's hands slamming onto the surface of his desk or the accompanying explosion that blackens the wood—and isn't this distantly familiar, an old panic-trigger that he hasn't seen since middle school, a lifetime ago—

"Deku, you slimy little shit!" And just like that, the past months haven't happened, there's no UA, no One For All, no All-Might or Aizawa-sensei or Nana, and Midoriya Izuku has no quirk and no friends except the ones whose hearts don't beat anymore, the ones who can cry out with rage but can't protect him. Bakugou is there again, inches away with fire and thunder at his fingertips, and Izuku can only shrink back and cower and freeze blank and empty because at least when he's empty he doesn't feel like the Deku whose name means useless, weak, crazy, look at him shake, watch me make the quirkless creep cry like a little girl

There are tears in Bakugou's eyes, anger and frustration making him weep with rage. "I told you not to get in my way! I told you I was gonna win it right, and you fucked it up again!"

Panic howls through his veins, and he waits for pain, for burning, for smoke and thunder, but instead there's a pitiful pop and then silence, and the coils of a scarf whip around Bakugou with an audible snap, and Izuku looks through darkening tunnel vision to find red, red eyes.

Not Bakugou's eyes, Eraserhead's eyes, bloodshot scarlet and cold and furious

Their teacher yanks Bakugou back, slamming him down into his seat, and no teacher has ever done that before—stopped Bakugou cold, stopped his anger and his quirk and even his voice, gagging him before more poison words can scald Izuku's ears.

And just like that the danger is past, and a roomful of eyes stare and stare and don't look away. If anyone speaks then Izuku can't hear it past the cotton wool in his ears and the high-pitched whining tone echoing in his brain. He pumps the brakes on his roaring panic, because homeroom is only ten minutes and he needs time. But it's just like Sachi's car, that mangled steel corpse left to rust on the beach—the lines are cut and Izuku is going to crash.

He breathes in, filling his lungs just enough to spit CanIbeexcused in a half-coherent stream, and waits for Aizawa-sensei's nod before he weaves through the desks and hurries to the door. He makes it to the hallway before the classroom becomes too small to let him breathe.

Cold, willing hands tug at him, guide him, pull him along—blank white eyes surround him, soft with pity as their owners whisper reassurances that skim uselessly off the shell of terror around his heart. Tensei—he thinks it's Tensei, and maybe the other one's Narita—leads him somewhere, and he follows. The last time this happened, he was in the hospital, fleeing to a bathroom so that he could break without anyone witnessing it. He follows their lead as they herd him along, hoping they find somewhere fast, because he doesn't have much time before—

Half-blind, he runs straight into someone—warm and solid, a living person who catches him by the shoulders before he can fall over.

"Young Midoriya?"

No no no not him anyone but him why didn't they warn me

He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a strangled noise.

There are hands guiding him along again—All-Might's hands, this time. The ghosts are still there, just beyond his reach. A door closes behind him, and when his legs finally quake out from under him, a sofa is there to catch him.

"Breathe," someone says close to his ear. Not All-Might—Tensei? Narita? He can't keep track anymore. He counts in his head, tapping along with a finger on his knee—too fast, seconds aren't that fast, but it helps. It helps.

When the tunnel vision clears and he comes back into himself, there are hands on his. He's already gripping them, and loosens his fingers with a whispered sorry.

"Are you all right?" All-Might asks him.

Izuku nods until his teeth rattle, fighting against the pressure building in his throat. This is the first time he's spoken with All-Might, the first time he's looked at him since after the exam, and his mentor found him like this. He looks to the ghosts, finds Tensei watching him, and stares back with pleading eyes.

"Sorry, Midoriya," Iida's brother says softly. "But… you need to not be alone right now."

"Don't blame him, kiddo," Ms. Nana murmurs from somewhere by All-Might's shoulder. "When I saw them leading you off, I asked them to bring you to him. You need to talk to him about what happened out there."

His eyes burn, and he shuts his eyes before the tears can come—not yet. His throat feels blocked again, filtering air through but leaving words locked tight inside of him.

I'm sorry, he signs, and it's not like his indistinct, furtive signing with Rei. He shapes the phrase carefully with his hands. It's a simple one, a basic one, and one of the first he happened to show All-Might.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." All-Might's hand settles upon his shoulder, warm and reassuring. "Did something happen in class?"

Yes. His hands shake, and he switches from signing to finger-spelling. It's slower, but it's easier for All-Might to understand if he sounds it out than it is for Izuku to try to express himself with the limited sign he's shown him up to now. I couldn't do what you wanted, he says, slowly, one syllable at a time. Or I could, but I didn't try. I gave up so fast. I couldn't win the way I wanted. Tears trickle down his face, and he ducks his head so he can't look All-Might in the eye. I'm sorry I disappointed you.

All-Might watches, reading each sound as he gradually ekes out the words. "No—no, my boy." Izuku drops his hands into his lap, and All-Might grips his shoulder until he raises his head again. "I'm not disappointed in you. I'm not upset with you at all."

His disbelief must show on his face. Without breaking eye contact, All-Might gives a gentle shake of his head. "I wasn't listening to you. You tried to tell me, in your own way, that you needed help, and I didn't listen."

Izuku gapes at him, wide-eyed and disbelieving, because—no he didn't, did he? He made a stupid joke but other than that he kept his mouth shut. All-Might was strong, stronger than anyone else, but he wasn't a mind reader.

Words are still hard, but at least his face is apparently an open book. "One of the marks of a good hero," All-Might says quietly, "is knowing when something is wrong without needing to be told. And I'm finding, now, that the same can be said of teachers—only it's a very different type of 'wrong' that I have to look out for." He pauses, looks away for a moment, and continues. "When I let the exam continue when you were clearly uncomfortable with it, that was… that was wrong of me. As your teacher, you deserved better from me."

Izuku can only stare at him, at a loss for words. It's just like All-Might to let his Symbol-Of-Peace habits color his teaching methods, chasing and worrying over every hint of someone else's distress. Izuku isn't ungrateful for it, but it still fills him with warm embarrassment. He's supposed to be the next symbol of peace, isn't he? This is a school for heroes; he shouldn't have to be coddled.

He twitches and bites back a yelp when someone pinches him sharply on the arm. He looks down, and Rei glares up at him. Stop that.

Izuku resists the temptation to scowl. Trust Rei to be overprotective.

"Can I ask you a question?" All-Might says. "It's kind of personal, but just yes or no is fine." Izuku looks at him again, swallowing his nervousness. All-Might frowns. "You told me once, quite a while ago, that you went through a shy phase, and that's what made you learn sign language." Izuku's throat seizes, and he shakily nods. "Mm. That phase have anything to do with young Bakugou?"

His eyes are glued to the floor now. It would be easy, so easy, to shake his head and move on. But at this point… would there be any point in trying to hide it?

Izuku offers one more jerky nod.

He doesn't look up at All-Might's face, but he hears the noncommittal little hum. "Are you all right to go back to class?" All-Might asks, and Izuku sighs with relief. "If you'd like to stay longer…"

Izuku shakes his head and finally lifts his hands from his lap again. I'm fine.

All-Might looks skeptical, of course, but Izuku gets to his feet before his mentor can press the issue. If he hurries, he can catch the last few minutes of homeroom. Aizawa-sensei probably isn't happy about the exam either, much less the mess this morning with Bakugou, and Izuku would rather not give him any more reasons to frown on him.

"You okay?" Tensei asks, as the classroom ghosts follow him back. Izuku nods stiffly. There are only three or so minutes left before next period; on the bright side, that means he'll only have to endure Aizawa-sensei's disapproval for that long.

Tensei and Narita vanish well before Izuku gets to the door—Tensei's eager to get back to his brother, and Narita gets bored easily when there isn't a crisis. Rei stays close, and Izuku braces himself before nudging the door open.

Heads turn to look as he steps back in, which is jarring but inevitable. Izuku swallows uncomfortably as he steps in, looking instinctively to his own scorched desk, and in particular the one in front of it.

He blinks.

Uraraka blinks back, looking equally as bewildered as he feels, which makes sense because she's sitting in Bakugou's desk. Bakugou is nowhere to be seen.

Izuku looks to Uraraka's old seat as he passes it on the way to his own, just out of curiosity, and finds Bakugou's bag shoved under the chair, and a piece of paper fixed to the desk with a bit of tape.

tantrum-throwing baby jail, it reads. From the desk next to it, Satou grins and flashes him a thumbs up.

Izuku hurries the rest of the way to his seat.

Homeroom ends not long after Midoriya returns. Aizawa considers it a minor miracle that the entire class didn't descend upon him as one the second he opened the door.

"You're all dismissed. Please save pressing conversations for when you're outside of my classroom."

Midoriya skirts around the outside of the desks, slowly so that he stays behind the bulk of the crowd. His path takes him closer to Aizawa's desk than it would have, had he taken a straighter route, and his pace quickens as he tries to hurry to the door.

"Not you," Aizawa says, and for a split second Midoriya looks like someone facing the gallows.

Uraraka, who was sticking close to him up to that point, gives him a sympathetic look. "Want us to wait?" Midoriya shakes his head and gives her a grin, and she reluctantly follows the rest of the class out. The room empties, leaving Midoriya standing awkwardly in front of Aizawa's desk.

"Sit down," Aizawa sighs, because the boy looks ready to tip over.

"I'm sorry," Midoriya blurts out instead of sitting. "I-I know you were trying to teach me something with the exam but I just g-gave up instead of actually trying to learn anything and I know I messed up and I could have done so much better b-but I didn't a-and… it's fine if you fail me or I have to retake it. I-it's fine. I understand."

Well, Aizawa thinks wryly. At least he's talking again. Out loud, he says, "At least lean on the desk behind you if you're not gonna sit down. You look like you're about to fall over." Hesitantly Midoriya obeys. He grips the edge of the desk and stares at the floor, and Aizawa huffs out a sigh. "My intentions with the exam were to address the animosity between you and Bakugou, while also hammering out some of the other bad habits you both have been showing. The Sports Festival showed me that you both are decent strategists capable of collaborating in teams—just not with each other." He pauses. "My assumption at the time was that this was a problem you both had to work to fix. On top of that, I had hoped that being forced to work for victory with someone he holds in contempt might teach Bakugou a little humility."

Midoriya winces. Aizawa takes another deep breath.

"And for that, I owe you an apology."

Deathly silence falls in the empty classroom. Slowly, Midoriya raises his head and stares at Aizawa as if he spoke that last part in Welsh.

"Midoriya, you are a student," Aizawa continues, before the boy has the chance to launch into another apologetic tirade. "Your responsibilities at this school are to learn, grow, do your homework, and try not to screw up. And that's on you. Your learning, your growth, your homework, and your screw-ups. No one else's." He hesitates again, gritting his teeth, because he hasn't had to eat crow in front of a student since back when he was a rookie teacher. "I misjudged the history between you two. And by doing that, I made your growth a tool to further Bakugou's, which I shouldn't have done."

"But—" Midoriya breaks in. "But it's not just—heroes have to do that, don't they? Collaborate with other heroes even if they don't get along? I can't—I couldn't leave people in the lurch just because—"

"Your classmate's poor behavior is not your responsibility." Midoriya startles when Aizawa interrupts him. "And fixing it is my job. Trying to shovel some of that headache on you was unprofessional."

Midoriya shrinks in on himself. "But… didn't I sort of just make it worse? And even if it's not my responsibility, what about the test?"

Aizawa raises an eyebrow at him. "What about it?"

"I mean… I didn't really…"

"I believe the testing parameters were quite clear, Midoriya."

"But—"

Aizawa is tempted to ban him from beginning sentences with that word. "Only one of you was required to escape the testing ground in order to pass. You fulfilled that requirement. We have it on tape and everything."

"But I gave up!" Midoriya looks desperately confused. "I—I just l-left him, I abandoned my teammate and in real life… w-why are you just letting it slide?"

Aizawa takes a while to answer, partly to give his student a chance to calm down, but mostly to take a good, long look at him. He started this awkward discussion expecting a sigh of relief at the end, a thank-you stammered out before Aizawa could wave it off, maybe an embarrassed little bow. But here's Midoriya arguing with him, piling blame on his own shoulders and refusing to accept that he isn't the one that screwed up this time.

Besides which…

"Midoriya, what happened when you passed through that gate?"

The question gets him a startled blink. "Um… the bell rang?"

"Meaning what?"

"Th-the exam ended. And I… passed."

"Meaning what?" Aizawa presses.

Midoriya frowns in confusion. "Um… All-Might showed up? With… with Bakugou…" He blinks, and Aizawa sees realization dawn. "The fight stopped."

Aizawa nods. "Regardless of the difference between a test and real life, you had a difficult situation before you, and you dealt with it. The course of action you chose prevented further conflict between you and your teammate, ended the conflict with your opponent, and prevented further injury to your partner." He pauses to make sure it's sinking in. "We were grading for judgment just as much as strength or skill. You're not invincible nor infallible, and you went for the most reasonable outcome, and that, Midoriya, is why I'm 'letting it slide.' Because doing otherwise would be punishing you for Bakugou's poor decisions. Or worse, I would be punishing you for mine."

Midoriya blinks twice more. Tears gleam in his eyes, threatening to overflow, and a moment later they aren't just threatening anymore. Aizawa averts his gaze to give his student some cursory sense of privacy, and waits until the sniffling dies down before he pushes forward one last time.

"How long has Bakugou been bullying you?"

His student startles again, wiping hastily at his eyes. "I-It's not—he…" Whatever lie he was preparing quickly sputters out. The floor draws his eyes again. "Um. F-five years, I guess."

"Since the fourth grade, then?"

"N-no, I mean…" Midoriya fidgets. "Five years, um, cumulatively. It started when we were five, after… after our quirks came in. And then when I was seven I switched schools and didn't see him again until middle school."

"Hm." Aizawa nods. He takes out a slip of paper, jots down a quick note and his signature, and slides it across to Midoriya. "Here. Get going."

Midoriya takes it. "What's this?"

Aizawa raises an eyebrow again. "It's a late note," he says. "Show that to Cementoss so he won't mark you down."

"O-oh. Thanks." Midoriya looks like he's about to cry again—and really, it's just a late note.

Aizawa gives a slow blink. "Get to class, Midoriya."

"Yes, Sensei!" Midoriya nearly knocks over a desk in his scramble for the door, and Aizawa sits back and considers how to proceed.

"I want a do-over."

Aizawa's forehead twinges, the warning sign of a stress headache. He opens his eyes to find the classroom emptied out, students gone for the day—all except one.

Bakugou scowls at him over the desk, less angry than simply sullen, hunched over with his hands shoved in his pockets in a pose that looks simultaneously indifferent and defiant.

"What was that?" Aizawa asks. He stirs subtly in his chair, going from relaxed to ready in a single shift of muscles.

"I said I want a do-over," Bakugou snaps. "Let me re-take the exam."

"The practical exams were graded pass or no pass, Bakugou," Aizawa says evenly. "And you passed. There's nothing for you to make up."

"It was bullshit and you know it!" Bakugou's hand hits the desktop with a dull thud. He doesn't slam or pound it, and his palms don't give off a single spark. The kid's being polite. "I passed on a fucking technicality, so how about you actually test me without Deku fucking everything up?"

Aizawa clasps his hands loosely in front of him, lacing the fingers together into a small bridge. He considers the boy in front of him through narrow eyes.

"Is this how it usually goes?" he asks.

Bakugou blinks, squinting in confusion. "What?"

"You make demands, shout them loud enough, throw a tantrum until you get what you want? Is that how you deal with teachers?" Aizawa pauses. "Is that how you expect to deal with me?" The note of danger in his voice is gentle compared to what villains get, and Aizawa carefully controls it as it trickles into his voice.

The result is clear; Bakugou bridles, but for once he keeps a leash on his temper. Or at least what passes for a leash, with him. "I'm not throwing a tantrum!" he barks. "I just want—"

"Speaking of what you want," Aizawa breaks in. "Tell me something, Bakugou." He meets his student's eyes and holds them. "Why do you want to become a hero?"

"What—" Bakugou bites down on what is clearly another budding tirade. "The fuck? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Humor me. Why do you want to become a hero?"

Bakugou scowls, clenches his hands into white-knuckled fists. "Because I want to win. I want to be the strongest—the best. And I want everyone to know it."

"That doesn't answer the question," Aizawa says.

"What do you mean that doesn't—"

"You want to win, you want to be the best, you want to be the strongest, but that doesn't tell me why you want to be a hero." Slowly Aizawa sits up straighter. "Why not be a professional martial artist, then? Why not join the armed forces? Look into cage matches? Why not spend your days wandering the city, picking fights with everyone who looks at you funny?" He lets the full force of his glare pour into Bakugou's eyes. "Why not be a villain?"

Slam. "Fuck you!" Bakugou forgets his manners then. He's not stupid enough to use his quirk, but this time Aizawa feels the desk reverberate with the force of the blow. "Where the fuck do you get off calling me a villain!"

"Where do you get off calling yourself a potential hero?" Aizawa asks. "Anything I just listed off would give you the chance to prove your strength, to prove yourself stronger than those around you—the last one especially. So why do you want to be a hero?"

Bakugou stares at him, red eyes blazing, speechless with fury.

"What I hope," Aizawa continues, "is that somewhere, deep down, there's some part of you, some deep, buried instinct, that points you to the side of the angels. That some part of you, no matter how small, wants to do good. I hope, for the sake of your position at this school, that I'm not wrong."

This time, Aizawa sees a flinch. It's not much, but it's there, and the self-righteous fury in his student's eyes starts to crack, just a little. "What's that supposed to mean."

"First of all, it doesn't mean I'm going to expel you," Aizawa says. "You're an arrogant, headstrong, immature teenager, and at this point you need guidance more than you need a punishment that final. What it does mean… well. You're strong, and you're talented, and you have a powerful quirk. So tell me, Bakugou—when was the last time you used any of those gifts for someone else's benefit?" Bakugou blinks. "When was the last time you helped someone in need? Fought for something that wasn't your own ego? When was the last time you risked an injury, for no other reason than to prevent someone else from doing the same?"

By this point, Bakugou is shaking—with rage or something else, Aizawa can't be sure. All he can do is hope that some of this is sinking in.

"Does that matter to you, at all?" Aizawa asks. "Has it occurred to you even once that the most important aspect of being a hero is to protect those weaker than yourself?"

He can hear Bakugou's knuckles popping from here, the boy's clenching his fists so tight.

"I don't know how your teachers have dealt with you in the past," Aizawa says flatly. "And frankly, I don't care. For what it's worth, I don't think this is entirely your fault—you're used to getting your way because no one has ever bothered to tell you no, and that's on them. But I learn from my mistakes, and from the mistakes of those who came before me, so I'm telling you, right now: no. No, you may not re-take the exam. You'll stick with the results you have, and receive extra attention this summer to fix the plethora of problems I saw in your performance."

He rises from his seat, and Bakugou's shaking stills as he makes his way around the desk to stand in front of his student. "You'll also be starting the next term with a four-day suspension, for assaulting a classmate and damaging school property. And I will be watching your progress, to make sure you learn the right lessons and un-learn your bad habits." He stoops a little, until they're eye to eye. "Let me be clear, Bakugou. Here at UA, we train heroes. I am not interested in teaching combat skills to a bully—or worse, giving one a license to use his quirk freely. I am not interested in teaching a student who doesn't seem to realizing that treating the people around him as stepping stones and garbage makes him utterly unworthy of standing alongside them.' Bakugou tenses. It looks more like a flinch. "I will do my best with you, Bakugou, but I need you to work with me. So shape up and learn from this, or there really is nothing I can do to help you."

"Learn what." Bakugou's voice is quieter, but still sharp and scraping and burning with shame and resentment.

"You can start with this exam," Aizawa says, straightening again. "If you're worried that you couldn't learn anything, then here's a lesson you can take from it: people have limits, Bakugou. Even the kindest, most patient people have limits, and you managed to hit Midoriya's the other day, didn't you?" This time Bakugou really does flinch. "Heroes are human. They're fallible. And like every other human being on the planet, they can be pushed too far. So if you need a reason to fix your behavior, here's one: one day in the future, you'll find yourself in the same position you did the other day, only it won't be make-believe. You'll be up against enemies who are stronger than you, more prepared, more deadly." Aizawa locks eyes with him one last time. "And how you treat your allies can be the difference between having help, and being utterly alone."

Bakugou tries to hold his gaze. It's a valiant effort, but after a few seconds his chin drops, and he stares at the floor with watery eyes.

Izuku's hands are in Ms. Morino's hair, helping her pin up a complicated up-do, when his phone buzzes and Morino's hair ends up hopelessly snarled.

"Ah, beans," Morino says. "This isn't working. Go ahead and answer that, Midoriya, we can try this again later." She vanishes without another word.

There isn't much to do, with the term over. There's no homework, of course, and with a summer training camp in their future, there's little more he can do but pack, text his friends, and let the excitement build.

He checks his messages, and finds a new one from Kirishima.

[4:18] Kirishima:

Heya Midoriya! So me and some of the others are gonna get together and hang out this weekend before we leave for camp and I was wondering if you wanted to come?

His phone pings with another message.

[4:20] Kirishima:

Oh and uh. Bakugou's not coming. It's really not his thing and

also some of the others told me what happened in study group. Sorry I wasn't there, that was super not cool of him :(

In spite of himself, Izuku can't help but smile.

[4:22] Kirishima:

But anyway if you want to come with, that'd be pretty cool. There's this sweet shopping mall in Kiyashi Ward with some great stores. I'm thinking we can buy some awesome supplies to bring to camp, you know?

So what do you say?

Mika springs up onto the bathroom counter, and Izuku obligingly scratches her ears as he sends his response.

[4:22] Me:

sounds like fun! count me in.