Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki, now the Pro Hero Dynamight, stared down the panel with a manic gleam in his eyes and a smirk that read more as defiant satisfaction than any sort of real joy. Aizawa had seen him make that face exactly three times prior, and it was enough to make him worry on its own.
Aizawa sat slouched in his seat, avoiding eye contact with the crowd of heroes, including a Hero Commission representative and a police officer, all packed around the table. They had been called into the largest meeting room UA had available to discuss an application the the UA Exceptional Acceptance Hero Program, an initiative that hadn’t been implemented in all of Aizawa’s time as both a student and a faculty member. The program, as had been announced by Nezu at the beginning of this insane meeting, was sort of a failsafe for potential heroes who missed their opportunities to receive training in their high school years. It was something like the Vigilante Rehabilitation Programs some agencies had, except with higher prestige, more demanding requirements for entry, and the opportunity to teach in UA for three years. Basically, individuals who had achieved organized, outstanding “heroic” deeds while working legally in conjunction with law enforcement or pro heroes were eligible to apply for an opportunity to both teach students at UA and receive some supplementary training of their own, in return for a Professional Hero License and recognition at the graduation ceremony.
Apparently, Aizawa’s former problem student had researched this ancient and dusty program, and was here to vouch for the application of one Midoriya Izuku, formerly known as Deku. It was unusual, but hardly worth getting up so early on a Sunday.
Midoriya Izuku himself stood at the front of the room next to Bakugou, and the contrast couldn’t have been starker. Next to Bakugou’s feral grin and sharp angles, the stocky, fluffy-haired man’s cheerful demeanor and childish freckles felt drastically out of place. He looked nothing like the man Aizawa had encountered several years ago.
This was not ideal. UA had been contacted to assist in a raid on one of the League’s ever-changing bases, and Aizawa had been separated from the group of heroes. Was it his own fault for charging after a dark figure into a previously-unmapped underground section of the building? Debatable.
However, Aizawa was certain he had only seen one figure, and heard one set of footsteps as he pursued them down a dimly lit corridor that was more tunnel than hallway. He had decent chances one-on-one, especially if it was someone who chose to run rather than fight.
He heard the sound of door hinges ahead, and caught a glimpse of faint early morning light at the end of the corridor, framing the figure he’d been chasing. They didn’t bother to close the door behind them, and Aizawa threw himself up the short flight of stairs and through the opening after them.
A quick flick of his capture weapon sent the villain sprawling across the abandoned street, wrapped around their ankle, but not securely enough to stay when they kicked it off. Aizawa was ready to go for another wrap, his quirk already activated, when the villain flipped over onto their back and leveled a weapon at him.
It was some kind of gun, but there was no telling what it fired. Bullets would be a pain, but Aizawa could deal with them. Some new serum or drug could be a problem. And they still weren’t sure that they had found all of those quirk-canceling bullets the Shie Hassaikai had distributed before their downfall.
The villain themself was nearly unidentifiable. Dark, baggy clothing hid their figure effectively, which Aizawa could grudgingly appreciate, the bottom half of their face covered with a metal mask, eyes hidden behind dark-tinted goggles, and hair tucked away under a hood. Other than a pair of red sneakers, this villain was completely anonymous.
“Listen,” they said, voice altered by a modulator, “Killing a hero will cause me problems, so I don’t want to do it, but if you force my hand, I won’t hesitate.”
“If you don’t want to kill heroes, then you shouldn’t be with the League of Villains,” Aizawa snapped, keeping his capture weapon ready. It could, in some cases, deflect a projectile, but not consistently.
The villain was slowly getting to their feet, weapon still steadily trained on Aizawa’s chest. “They understand my goals. A total restructuring of society, where those of us who have been shunned and silently crushed under the foot of the powerful can finally take our place as–”
Aizawa whipped his weapon forward, wrapping up the gun and yanking it neatly out of the villain’s hands. These guys always got sloppy when they were monologuing. He tossed the gun aside and moved toward the villain themself, who stumbled back to avoid first his weapon, then a kick. He heard a faint growl of frustration, distorted by the modulator, and then the villain was engaged, meeting him blow for blow with parries and dodges. They were, Aizawa noticed quickly, a skilled fighter, but beyond trying to stagger Aizawa’s movements or forward progress, they made no moves to land any impactful hits. It felt more like sparring than a real fight.
His unintentional lull into the pattern of a simple but vigorous fight was broken when a faint hum suddenly began from the edge of the street. Like it was some kind of trigger, his opponent rushed at him, a snap change from defense to aggressive offense. Aizawa was caught off guard, and before he knew it, found himself pinned to the pavement, the surprisingly heavy villain sitting on his back.
“I was told you might need extraction, Deku,” a familiar voice called, and that was the hum. The ambient sound of Kurogiri’s portals. It was followed by the thump of a heavy footstep that Aizawa was willing to bet was yet another Nomu.
Before answering, the villain, Deku, leaned down to Aizawa’s ear, and whispered, quiet enough that the modulator didn’t pick it up and project it, “If he thinks you’re still capable of fighting, he will kill you to make sure you don’t follow. If you know what’s good for you, stay down.”
Then, louder and modulated to Kurogiri, “Thanks for the late arrival. I just finished up with the one that was following me. Let’s get out of here, fast.”
Whether it was the right choice, or simply a fear born from having been hospitalized by a Nomu before, Aizawa stayed down, listening to the sound of footsteps, one set light, another massive, vanish into the dark hum. Then silence as the sun slowly rose, increasing the light from its grey glow.
He’d been understandably conflicted first by Deku’s mercy, and later when he discovered that the discarded gun had been loaded with nothing but red paintballs.
“Now, then,” Nezu broke the tense silence in the meeting room. “I’m sure that everyone attending has thoroughly read through the agenda, which outlines Mr. Midoriya’s details and qualifications, but why don’t you introduce yourself anyway?”
“Of course!” Midoriya agreed, and you would never think from his amicable, easygoing tone that he was facing judgment from some of the country’s top heroes. Or that he could be downright terrifying in combat. “My name is Midoriya Izuku, and I’m applying for the Exceptional Acceptance Program that Principle Nezu just described. I’ve been working for the past four years in collaboration with Pro Hero Dynamight and, indirectly, the Japanese police department as an undercover agent in the League of Villains under the alias ‘Deku.’ It’s an honor to meet you all!” He bowed deeply, and came up still smiling.
“Please tell us more about how you chose this path,” Nezu prompted.
“Well, I’ve always dreamed of being a hero, but the opportunity to attend a hero academy wasn’t available to me.” He gave a sheepish little laugh. “So, when I graduated from high school, I was looking into work that could be done with law enforcement or as a resource for a hero agency. And just in time, Ka– Dynamight, that is, reached out.”
“You contacted him with the intention of employing him as an undercover agent?” Hawks asked from his position leaning against the back wall. There weren’t enough chairs for everyone, and Aizawa supposed his wings preferred the open space.
“No,” Bakugou answered, looking terrifyingly delighted to be addressed. Aizawa didn’t recall him ever being that excited to be called on in class, except perhaps for battle simulations with no collateral restrictions. “Izuku and I grew up together, but we fell out of contact while I was at UA. After graduation, I tracked him back down to talk about some unsresolved shit we had going on. He needed a job with a hero, the League was starting to get completely out of control,” –several people scowled at the implications of being unable to handle the League, but Aizawa knew it was true– “and I knew he had what it took to get us an advantage. They had a traitor in UA? Why not give them a taste of their own medicine?”
“And how do you know this?” Nezu asked, looking at the former student perfectly calmly.
“I have an insider,” Bakugou growled through gritted teeth, like it pained him to admit. “I have had an insider for three damn years now, but I’ve mostly been communicating with the Hero Commission directly. The more people who know, the more danger my source is in.”
“And you’re telling us now? Why?” Aizawa asked.
“Because you wouldn’t believe me otherwise, and we don’t have time for the Commission’s piece-of-shit procedures right now. I’m telling you, with absolute certainty, that the League has a warehouse full of people to turn into Nomu at this location, and if we don’t act now, they will all be dead or worse.”
“Why your former principle and homeroom teacher?” Nezu said, but Aizawa had the feeling he already knew. He just wanted to hear it.
Bakugou looked like he’d rather cut off his own toe, but barged onward. “Because I trust you two to not be the UA traitor, and I know from experience that you have the resources to get this taken care of. Quickly. As in, now.”
Nezu nodded with a smile. “Consider it done! I’m guessing, to protect your contact, you will not be on this mission.” It was not a question.
They found the human trafficking warehouse exactly where Bakugou’s insider said it was, with all the security systems exactly as they’d been informed. No one died that day.
Aizawa looked between the two young men while Bakugou spoke. Midoriya appeared harmless enough, he supposed, at first glance, with his rounded features and friendly disposition, but he was starting to see some similarities. That smile of his was a bit too consistent, just a shade unnerving to be held for so long, and the soft lines of his clothing still betrayed a strong, versatile physique lying beneath.
A quick look around the room at some of his other former students (invited due to both their positions as heroes and UA graduates) revealed varying degrees of fear and respect. (Kaminari and Kirishima at both ends of the spectrum, respectively.) Bakugou, the student who straight up refused to call any of his peers anything other than “extras” for the first year of his schooling, and still called his closest friends vaguely insulting nicknames, was referring to this man by his given name, and practically bragging about his abilities. What kind of monster could demand that much honor?
“And when you say ‘what it takes?’” Midnight inquired.
Bakugou answered first. “Like he said, he had the motivation it takes to be a hero. Always has. And he’s always been smart, quick in the moment and able to see the bigger picture. No one can get more information about someone just by watching them move, or is better at digging into weaknesses you didn’t even know you had. He’s a dirty fucking fighter, focused on saving people no matter the cost, and knows how to wield his strengths and exploit any mistakes.”
Midoriya chimed in, his cheeks a little pink from embarrassment. “Very importantly, I also had a believable reason for joining the League. Once I said I was quirkless, I hardly needed to say anything else. It was easy to draw the connection from the derisive way society treats quirkless people to villainous intents: breaking the system, switching the power hierarchy, rejecting a hero system that doesn’t serve everyone, revenge for the thousands of suicides worldwide. It earned me immediate sympathy and pity from the League. The ones who didn’t respect my conviction thought so little of me that they never would have deemed me capable of betrayal. Taking a name that meant ‘worthless’ solidified my position in their minds. And,” Midoriya added, seeing many uncomfortable expressions around the room, “Kacchan knew me well enough to know that I was never a risk for turning into a double agent. I’ve wanted to be a hero my entire life; nothing was going to change that.”
Kacchan, Aizawa noticed, and raised an eyebrow. That certainly was… credence to their childhood connection, he supposed. Midoriya didn’t seem to have noticed his slip, and Aizawa restrained himself from looking back at Bakugou’s peers for their reactions.
All Might– Yagi, he asked to be called now– cleared his throat in the resulting silence. “It must have been very difficult,” he said carefully, “pretending to be quirkless while surrounded–”
“Oh!” Midoriya interrupted, his smile growing just a bit toothier, his back a hint straighter. “I wasn’t pretending! I’m registered as quirkless, and have the toe joint to prove it.”
There it was, Aizawa thought, once again comparing the two in the front of the room. There was where he was seeing the connection. It was two different approaches, to be sure: Bakugou with his swiveling head and snarling glare, ready to bite the throat out of anyone who doubted him or his friend; Midoriya with his perfect mask of politeness and naivety, daring anyone to point out that the thing he was proud of was actually a flaw. It was a quieter aggression, to be sure, but there was no doubt in Aizawa’s mind. Bakugou had spoken the truth: this Midoriya was a dirty fighter. He hid his grin in his capture weapon.
Yagi cleared his throat several more times, but never managed another word, apparently struck speechless by this revelation.
Midoriya picked his story back up, plowing through the atmosphere of shock effortlessly. “That is, in fact, the reason that I was unable to complete a hero track in high school. Every hero academy in the world has an explicit ban on the application of quirkless students. I still applied to every hero school in Japan I could find, but none of them permitted me to take entrance exams.
“For this mission, though, being quirkless turned out to be a much greater advantage than we thought it was originally. If you don’t mind me rambling a bit of background for a moment…” He took a step away from the table, then stood on one leg, holding his other foot in front of his thigh, like half of a crossed-leg sit. “People think that an extra toe joint is an invisible difference, but it actually affects footwear. Everyone with the joint, myself included, needs special-made shoes that can accommodate the different shape. There’s some very telling literature about how wearing shoes made for people without a toe joint can damage the bones and cartilage in the feet of quirkless people–”
Bakugou coughed pointedly.
“Anyway!” Midoriya continued, unbothered. “It’s infinitely more comfortable to wear specific brands of shoes if you’re quirkless. And, due to the declining percentage of quirkless individuals in the new generation, and general prejudice, very few brands are available that produce the appropriate shape, and only one makes decent quality athletic footwear.” He pointed once again to his still-raised shoe, a bright red sneaker with a white sole. “They are very distinctive, as they only come in this color pattern.” He lowered his foot and looked around the room.
Aizawa followed suit, and found about half the audience still in shock from the proud pronouncement of Midoriya’s quirklessness, and half looking very confused at what red shoes had to do with infiltrating the League of Villains.
“So, being familiar with these shoes made it instantly recognizable that Shigaraki was wearing the exact same model,” Midoriya concluded, and waited a moment for his point to sink in.
“Are you implying that Shigaraki Tomura was quirkless? We saw he had a disintegration quirk!” Yaoyorozu was the one who spoke up.
“Yes, I am. And he did have a disintegration quirk… Are you all familiar with Shigaraki’s heritage?”
Aizawa was not, in fact, familiar with anything special about Shigaraki’s heritage.
Yagi, however, sighed deeply at the question and answered. “Most in the room are not. However, I am comfortable telling you all: Shigaraki Tomura was biologically related to the hero who mentored me when I was young. All For One explicitly told me at Kamino Ward that he had been chosen as his successor for the sake of this connection, in order to prove how I had failed my master’s family.”
There was a beat of recognition before Midoriya resumed. “That is also what I concluded. However, All For One never informed Shigaraki of this fact, letting him believe that he was chosen because society turned against him due to his destructive quirk. In actuality, I believe that All For One first found him through his connection to All Might, and then purposefully gave the quirkless child an ability that would invariably result in tragedy. Shigaraki himself admitted that he had little memory of the development of his quirk, attributed to the trauma, but also that he felt it was absolutely uncontrollable for the first several years he had it. From my understanding, when a child first develops their quirk, it comes with a low level of innate understanding, a sensation in the body part it manifests in, some kind of built in warning or limiting system. It seemed like Shigaraki did not have any of those traits, as if the quirk was not well-attuned to his body. Like it had been introduced from a secondary source.”
“How does the fact that he was given his quirk change anything? We all know he ended up with All For One’s full power anyway,” pointed out Thirteen.
“It mattered more that it was information that had been kept from Shigaraki, that his beloved Master had deliberately ruined his chances at acceptance and a normal life. Honestly, being quirkless to begin with might have been enough for Shigaraki to reject society, but he had to make absolutely sure.
"In the final raid, I was the only member of the League left in the headquarters with Shigaraki. This is all in my report of the operation, but I think it’s worth rehashing. He was falling apart, fuming at the heroes for taking away his chosen family, for ruining all that he saw as good and right. He was also hypervigilant about checking his surroundings, paranoid and on a hair trigger to obliterate everything within a five kilometer radius. As I’m sure you know, the building was surrounded by covert heroes, and Dynamight warned me that they were going to move in. I told him to wait five minutes, and then move with the utmost caution and stealth, because I could distract him. We’d known the end was coming for weeks, and I’d been carrying a pair of supercharged quirk-canceling cuffs at all times.
"I asked Shigaraki to sit with me. At the time, he didn’t know exactly how close the threat was, so I could override his paranoia for a short while. I took a risk, telling him everything I’d figured out. How I traced the connection from All Might to himself, and what I suspected about the nature of his first quirk. I took as long as I could, was as calming and sympathetic as possible. In the end, I don’t know if he was about to explode at the dishonesty of All For One or spiral into doubt, but it didn’t matter. Eraserhead,” he nodded to Aizawa, who hunched his shoulders higher to hide in his capture weapon further, “dropped into the room from behind Shigaraki, canceling his quirk for a moment and allowing me to get the cuffs on him. He was… incensed, but mostly just confused and afraid, I believe.”
Aizawa was vital to this final, most important step of the operation to take down Shigaraki. He had over a dozen of his most trusted, capable colleagues in hiding, scattered around the area, but he had to be the one to go in first. They had nothing and no one else who could stop Shigaraki from using All For One at a distance, and if he activated that horrendous franken-quirk, they were all doomed.
Just as he was going over the plan one last ( last, last, this is your last mission) time in his head, his com clicked on. “Hey, Bedhead, it’s me.” Dynamight. He was one of the most distant heroes from the base, as well as one of youngest, but his personal experience with the League wouldn’t allow him to sit out this mission. “You can’t go in.”
“What’s changed?”
“I just got word from my insider,” and that was what Dynamight always called them, his insider, a traitor placed close to Shigaraki that had been feeding the Heroes information for years. They only ever communicated with Dynamight, but their intel was always good. “Shigaraki’s in a fucking tizzy. If you go in now, you’ll set him off and get blasted into space.”
“Then what do you and your insider suggest we do? If we delay this any longer, he’ll change bases again, and there’s no guarantee the next one will be so free of civilians.”
A pause, presumably where Dynamight was communicating with his source, and then: “Wait five minutes, and then stealth like you’ve never stealthed before. Do not fucking breathe levels of stealth, because if you get me blown up, my mother will have some real fucking words for you.” Aizawa had met Bakugou Mitsuki on several occasions, and had no doubt she would chase him into hell to deliver those words. “He’s going to delay and distract as much as he can.”
“He?”
“My insider. Try not to kill him, please. He’ll be the one that isn’t, you know, a raging villain manic with the power of hundreds of years of quirks.”
“Understood. I’m going in five minute from now.”
A silence, but the com didn’t click off. Faintly, like Aizawa wasn’t supposed to hear it, he heard Bakugou say, “Don’t you fucking die on me now, Deku.”
In five minutes, he began the arduous process of “stealthing like he’d never stealthed before,” blending with shadow, moving as quietly and slowly as his pounding heart would allow.
He got to the block that contained Shigaraki’s last hideout, and held his breath.
He looked down on the roof of the hideout where Shigaraki was ready to blow, and held his breath.
He slipped into the crawl space above the ceiling of the room where Shigaraki and Deku were talking, and did his best to stop the blood from pumping through his veins and his nerves from firing. He could hear nothing over the echoing thrum of his own pulse.
Aizawa bit the bullet, reminded himself one final time that he had told Eri how much he loved her before leaving for this mission, and crashed through the ceiling into the room. He barely had a moment to register the scene in front of him, (a completely empty room, two figures sitting on the floor in the center, Shigaraki’s back to him, the other the dark-clad form of Deku, goggles absent and hood down to reveal disheveled green hair) before Shigaraki was turning, a wild animal fire in his eyes, and Aizawa activated Erasure.
It hurt. It hurt like someone was ripping every cell of his eyeballs and optic nerves and brain into pieces and pouring acid over them to finish the job. Every instinct in his body screamed to close his eyes, close his eyes, close his eyes, and it felt like an eternity. The second Shigaraki began to yell, he knew it was over. Overcome by the pure, screaming sensation of his quirk straining to remain intact in the face of such power, Aizawa blinked.
The pain stopped immediately, even when Aizawa opened his eyes again. He didn’t think he was capable of activating his quirk again (it ached like a broken bone), but that was alright. Deku, that slippery little villain-who-was-actually-Bakugou’s-insider, the one who had inexplicably let him live years ago, had fastened a pair of cuffs around Shigaraki’s wrists.
The supervillian was staring at disbelief at his arms, and Aizawa raced forward to pin him to the ground and slap on his own pair of cuffs, just to be safe. There was no such thing as complacency with Shigaraki. Aizawa didn’t even dare look up at Deku, who could have easily taken him out, what with how focused he was on the thrashing villain under him. He had survived, they’d all survived, he’d survived.
“Shigaraki’s been neutralized, everyone get inside now!” he shouted into the coms, which was met by a ruckus of heroes no longer caring if they were heard, rushing to make sure. To not rest until they were certain a million times over that this was done.
Distantly, Aizawa was aware of Deku calmly walking away from the scene. “Thank you,” he called out weakly after him. “You…”
Deku’s footsteps didn’t stop, but he responded with just the faintest tremor, nothing close to Aizawa’s shaking panic, “You’ll see me again soon, I think.”
And then Bakugou’s insider was gone, and the rest of the heroes arrived, including Dynamight himself, and it was over. The way Shigaraki screamed and wept about betrayal and destruction echoed in Aizawa’s head long after he left. He went home to his daughter that night, and told her once more how much he loved her.
“And do you believe that your knowledge and distraction were critical to the success of the operation?” This question from one of the Hero Commission representatives.
“Critical?!” Bakugou interrupted, and Aizawa sighed quietly at the outburst. He never did quite master his temper, however far he had improved since his own admission. “Without Deku, we never would have caught Dabi, or Compress, or that shithead doctor! He provided me with the intelligence that led us to five fucking Nomu facilities, and did a hell of a lot more on his own! Did you idiots ever wonder why members started turning against each other, their communications and supply chains broke down, and their recruitment plummeted? Deku was across enemy lines the whole time, chipping away at everything they built until it fucking imploded! Of course he was fucking critical! ”
“In fairness,” Midoriya quickly stepped in, holding his hands up in placation, “I don’t have proof that my intervention in that final raid was absolutely necessary. As I said, Shigaraki was already on edge, his mental state declining rapidly, and he didn’t know that the heroes were coming. It’s possible that they would have been able to infiltrate the base and neutralize Shigaraki unassisted.
“But I don’t think it would have worked. Shigaraki was in a panic, throwing out sensory quirks at random to try to catch anyone approaching. He’d already killed every rodent and insect in the base to avoid them ‘distracting’ him. And if the heroes had been caught, I am 100% confident they all would have been annihilated, and Shigaraki’s rampage wouldn’t have stopped until exhaustion or dehydration killed him.”
A chill fell over the room. It was a harsh reminder of exactly how large the threat had been not even a full month ago. The world had remained turning, life continued. It was easier to not think about a massive genocide when it had been averted in a mission with zero casualties. But it could have been a disaster unlike anything the world had ever seen. Midoriya’s smile had gone cold, his light tone simply emphasizing his meaning.
Aizawa finally raised his voice. “I, for one, agree with Midoriya’s assessment. Shigaraki was an unstable nuclear weapon, and we needed every advantage possible to safely capture him. I could only barely cancel a quirk as large as All For One for a fraction of a second, and even that was excruciating. Without backup in that room, I would have been killed the moment Erasure dropped.”
“Thank you, Aizawa,” Nezu gave him a nod. “Now, what was it that you did while you were with the League, Midoriya?”
“I spent most of my time at the League as a strategist. They all believed me to be mostly incapable of physical combat, and I played into that. However, I did need to use my intelligence to apparently further their cause, or else I would have been completely useless to them. I had my quirk analyses of a handful of heroes, severely pruned down to give just enough an edge that the League would find it acceptable. In order to mitigate the damage done by those analyses, I pretended it took me much longer to put together my files than it actually did, and took the time to pass word through Dynamight that certain heroes’ information had been compromised, and that they were being targeted. To my knowledge, no hero was ever severely wounded or killed as a result of my actions, but the League believed that I was doing my best.”
“Is that what you intend to do here at UA, if you are accepted?” Cementoss asked. “Quirk analysis?”
“Something like that,” Midoriya answered with a deceptively serene smile. “I have a background in self-defense, and Kacchan helped me train physically before we undertook this operation, but my greatest weapon has always been my mind. I've been performing quirk analysis since I was old enough to write, and I’d dare to say I’m damn good at it.
"One of the goals of the Exceptional Acceptance Program, if I recall correctly, was to bring in diverse perspectives of the field work required for heroes. I not only have the undercover experience to rival a rookie underground hero, I also have the unique position of doing it all quirkless. I believe there’s an overreliance on quirks, especially among heroes, and it blinds people to the abilities they have outside of one special area. I think I can help students not only expand and augment their quirks more effectively, but teach them to work outside of them, and be prepared for the likely situation where their quirks are either neutralized or not well matched.”
Aizawa nodded quietly to himself. He’d been trying to use his own quirk to instill some of those messages in his most quirk-blinded students, but having a whole faculty member devoted to it would be far more influential.
Nezu also seemed pleased. “I think that is an excellent idea, Midoriya! Everyone will find, of course, your full course proposal and sample lesson plans in their copies of your application. I will remind you, of course, that the Exceptional Acceptance Program only allows for you to instruct an elective course, to allow you time to participate in your own training. I do believe, however, that you would be allowed to conduct individualized consultations in addition, as your proposal suggests.”
“Can you really say that you’re qualified to teach quirk analysis as a quirkless individual?” A second Hero Commission representative asked. “I mean no disrespect to your intelligence or teaching capability, but aren’t you missing the very trait you claim to be expert in? Would the students be willing to respect and learn from you?”
Their tone absolutely meant disrespect, Aizawa thought to himself.
Midoriya, of course, just grinned that toothy grin. “I can say with confidence that I am qualified, partially because I am ‘missing that trait,’ as you put it. I may not have first hand experience with a quirk, but I can assure you that I am exceptionally well-read on the matter, and have over two decades of observational experience. My quirklessness means that I have the capability to be completely unbiased toward the quirks of others; I do not see them as similar or dissimilar from my own, and am not tempted to pigeonhole students into paths like mine. I have observed and analyzed an incredible diversity of quirks used both in heroics and other professions. I can think creatively and innovatively about quirk applications and weaknesses because I am not emotionally invested in any quirk being better or more useful than another, and in fact may be more able to come up with solutions for students who struggle with their quirks. It may be controversial, but I know that it is possible to succeed with no quirk at all, so in the rare case of someone with a truly self-destructive or unworkable quirk, I know how to help them proceed without it. For those with temperamental quirks or those who need more control, I once again don’t have the bias of someone who knows how their own quirk feels, and therefore can research, accept, and adapt to whatever methods work for that particular student.
“As for the students’ respect,” and now the analytical practicalism faded back into that passive aggressive meaningfulness, “I have no control over how they feel about me. I imagine that they will know, simply by the nature of rumors, who they choose to take my elective with. If they choose to spend their time and energy at the most prestigious hero academy in the world taking a course that they truly believe they can get nothing out of, then that is their mistake to make. I can say, however, that those who are capable of seeing the worth and power in those who society has labeled as less than themselves– those are the ones who will truly thrive as heroes, who have the most potential to serve their communities, and the ones who I am most excited to teach and learn from.”
“Isn’t there a good reason for the exclusion of quirkless students from hero courses?” a hero Aizawa didn’t recognize groused loudly. She looked older, of the generation that Aizawa would have expected to be both more familiar and accepting of quirklessness.
“More like an archaic, insulting reason,” Yamada answered quickly. “Honestly, I didn’t know that UA still had that restriction for applicants, and you can expect me to be challenging it soon.” Nezu gave him a nod of recognition, and Aizawa expected that adjustment to go through unhindered.
“Besides,” Hawks spoke up once again, flicking his wings irritably (Aizawa wondered if they were really uncomfortable, or if it was just an affectation to complement his tone). “From what I’m getting, this dude has worked tirelessly for the past four years, longer than a standard hero course, to break down the most notorious and dangerous villain organization that has ever existed. And after all that, you’re going to deny him a teaching position?”
Well, Aizawa thought, scowling into his capture weapon, there was no need to make teaching sound quite so insignificant. We’re responsible for society’s future, you know.
“And there’s no quirk limit on the Exceptional Application Program, correct?” This was pointed out, surprisingly, by Shinso. Aizawa had honestly been surprised that his introverted protegee had deigned to attend, let alone speak up. “So there shouldn’t be any qualification issues with Midoriya’s application.”
“Quite right!” Nezu declared, and clapped his paws together with a soft thump. It was, contradictory to his entire personality, very cute. “Are there any more questions or concerns to be addressed while Mr. Midoriya is present? No? Well, in that case, thank you very much for your time and testimonies, Midoriya and Bakugou. Now is the time when we will discuss your application amongst ourselves and come to a consensus concerning your acceptance or dismissal. Do you have any parting thoughts to share with us?”
Bakugou, at some point, had returned to his default position of an aggressive scowl and slouch, probably bored by the social political nature of the questioning. He shrugged, and looked to his friend.
Midoriya took a deep breath. It was the first time in this whole affair that Aizawa had seen him close to nervousness. He looked around the room, taking care to meet the eyes of every person in attendance. His brave grin had finally faded to a piercing, determined stare.
“I have no need for your pity,” he spoke clearly, more firmly than before. “If you had any intentions of making your decision based on some patronizing concern for my pride or future, I would suggest you reconsider. Think instead of the value for the hero community, the value to your students and future generations, of seeing that barriers are still being broken, and that we cannot afford to discard anyone as worthless.”
He bowed once again, smile back in place by the time he rose. “I eagerly anticipate your decision. Thank you all.”
The door closed behind him, and Aizawa got ready for an incredibly infuriating verbal battle for the next couple of hours. With any luck, his side would be well defended enough that he could sneak out for a nap.