Part 3 (Week 2)

The heavy door of the 1-A classroom groaned as it slid open, the usual chatter of the students dying down as they shuffled inside. The air, still thick with the lingering scent of sweat and training mats, hung heavy with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. It was only the second week of their collective detention, a punishment for the game night 2 weeks ago.

Instead of the familiar scene of desks and textbooks, a single sheet of paper awaited them on the teacher's podium. Aizawa, his perpetually tired eyes scanning them, simply gestured towards it. "Read it," he grumbled, already looking like he was contemplating retirement.

The class swarmed the paper, murmurs of confusion rising as they deciphered the barely legible handwriting. "Group assignments for the week?" Kaminari whispered, a note of despair creeping into his voice. It seemed like Aizawa had decided to escalate their punishment from menial classroom tasks to something…more creative.

The Deku Squad – Midoriya, Uraraka, Tsuyu, Todoroki, and Iida – were the first to groan. Assigned to the local middle school, they were tasked with teaching a sex education class. A wave of embarrassed silence swept through the group, broken only by Iida's frantic muttering about the importance of proper instruction and Midoriya's face turning a shade of red that rivaled Kirishima's hair.

The Bakusquad – Bakugou, Jirou, Kaminari, Kirishima, Sero, and Ashido – were given the equally bizarre assignment of watching the primary schoolers for the entire day. Kaminari promptly started making distressed squeaking noises, Jirou covered her ears, and even Kirishima admitted, with a touch of trepidation, that this sounded like "a challenge." Bakugou, predictably, looked like he was about to explode, muttering about "bratty runts" and "unnecessary screaming."

The remaining students were divided into two groups: one assigned to highway cleanup duty, a seemingly endless task of picking up trash along the scorching roadside, and the other to volunteer at a nearby nursing home, a duty that seemed, on the surface, less grueling but carried its own set of emotional challenges.

"This," Aizawa said, his voice flat, "will be your responsibility for the rest of the week. Get to it." The door slid shut with a final, decisive thud, leaving them to their fate.

The Dekusquad found themselves standing before a sea of bewildered and slightly giggling middle schoolers. The fluorescent lights of the classroom seemed to amplify their nervousness. Uraraka, usually so bubbly, was a pale imitation of her usual self, and even the unflappable Todoroki seemed to be searching for an escape route. Iida, attempting to maintain some semblance of order, began by delivering a lengthy lecture on the importance of responsible behavior, which was met with a chorus of vacant stares.

Then, the questions began. Innocent, yet incredibly awkward. "How babies are made?" one young boy piped up, earning a fit of giggles from his peers and a choked cough from Midoriya. Tsuyu, ever the composed one, attempted to answer with a calm explanation of biology, but quickly found herself drowned out by the cacophony of increasingly personal and embarrassing queries. Midoriya, in a desperate attempt to regain control, launched into a detailed explanation of hormonal changes, which only served to confuse the students further.

The experience was nothing short of a train wreck. The air in the room grew thick with discomfort, punctuated by the occasional stifled laugh and the constant flushing of the Dekusquad's faces. By the end of the session, they were left feeling utterly drained, traumatized, and in desperate need of an explanation of the meaning of life.

Over at the primary school, the Bakusquad's day was descending into chaos of a different kind. The primary schoolers, fueled by boundless energy and a complete lack of inhibition, swarmed them like a pack of tiny, adorable predators. Bakugou, true to form, initially threatened to blast them all into next week, but was quickly disarmed by the sheer, unadulterated cuteness of the little monsters, who promptly started braiding his hair and decorating him with crayon marks.

Jirou spent most of the day hiding behind Kirishima, trying desperately to avoid the high-pitched shrieks and the never-ending stream of questions about her quirk. Kaminari, however, seemed to have found his calling, much to everyone's surprise. He discovered that his electrical charge could make the swing set operate on its own, turning him into an instant hero amongst the younger crowd, even if his brain cells were slowly frying in the process. Mina, meanwhile, transformed herself into a human jungle gym, allowing the kids to clamber all over her.

The nursing home group, initially dreading the thought of a quiet and uneventful afternoon, found themselves facing their own unique challenges. The elderly residents, while physically frail, had a wealth of stories to share, some heartbreaking, some hilarious, and all incredibly moving. They learned about lives lived through wars, joys, and heartbreaks, and listened with newfound respect and compassion. Despite the initial awkwardness, a bond began to form as the students helped with chores, read aloud, and simply sat and listened.

The highway cleanup crew, on the other hand, were having a far less enriching experience. The sun beat down mercilessly, trash bags filled quickly, and the endless stretch of road seemed to mock their efforts. By the afternoon, they were exhausted, sunburned, and covered in grime, a far cry from their usual heroic endeavors.

The week stretched on, each day bringing its own set of unexpected trials and tribulations. The Dekusquad emerged from their sex-ed sessions increasingly shell-shocked, the Bakusquad were slowly being domesticated by the primary schoolers, the nursing home group learned a quiet humility, and the highway crew continued their Sisyphean task, each person bearing their cross as they went along. They found themselves dealing with things that they had never planned, never expected, and in many ways, were ill-equipped to handle.

By Friday, the 1-A students were a far cry from the confident, aspiring heroes they had been a week prior. They had stared down monsters, battled villains, and pushed themselves to their physical limits, but nothing could have prepared them for the sheer awkwardness of teaching puberty to prepubescent middle schoolers, or the chaotic energy of a room full of primary schoolers, or the profound experiences shared by the elderly.

That Friday afternoon, as they gathered back in the classroom, they barely resembled themselves. There were new marks of understanding, new bonds forged, new perspectives that had been formed. Aizawa merely glanced at them, his gaze holding a hint of something that might have been…approval?

"Tired?" he asked, his voice as gruff as ever.

A chorus of exhausted but strangely affirmative nods filled the room. They had survived. They had endured. They had learned things they would never have imagined, all thanks to one particularly creative detention assignment. It had been a week of hell, true, but perhaps, just perhaps, it had also been exactly what they needed. They were heroes in training, after all, and learning to navigate the complexities of the human experience, in all its awkward, messy, heartwarming, and sometimes infuriating glory, was every bit as crucial as mastering their quirks. This week had taught them that in the most memorable and embarrassing way possible.