Chapter Text
Sigh.
Shōta lets out a quiet stream of air through his nostrils. Placing the bottom of his palm under his chin, his cracks his neck with a satisfying pop.
He shouldn’t really be here this late, but he’s off patrol tonight and he needs to catch up on lesson planning for the coming year, so he’s still hunched at his computer in U.A.’s staff lounge at 11pm. The few teachers who work in the lounge during break have already gone home. He glances down at the eleven unopened text messages from Hizashi, and one from Nemuri.
For a moment Shōta lets his eyes droop closed like they’ve wanted to do all day, and the sensation stings. He hadn’t even realized he’d gone without blinking for so long, staring at the screen. Although, he went without blinking most of the time. Too many years of using his quirk will do that to a person. Eyes still closed, he reaches down and feels his way through his bag for his eye drops. Snatching the mostly empty bottle, he unscrews the cap and lets a drop fall into each eye. On the second eye he ends up squeezing out too much, overcompensating for the low volume, and he clenches his eye shut, blotting the excess tears on his sleeve. After a few blinks, he packs up to leave.
He turns off the lights in the staff room and clicks the door shut behind him. He checks his phone while he walks through the dimly-lit hall. Most of the light in the corridor comes from his phone screen, giving his face and the lockers he passes an eerie glow. Most people would probably find the school creepy and surreal with most of its faculty and all of its students gone for the summer, but Shōta enjoys the quiet. He doesn’t get much of it at home with Hizashi, and being around at least twenty teenagers every day usually has him taking naps at the school. While everyone else uses the break to spend time with family and friends, Shōta catches up on his solitude, and his sleep, as best he can. Every semester ends in burnout for him.
That’s not to say he doesn’t socialize at all. On the contrary, Hizashi and Nemuri drag him to drinks at least once a week, and they usually rope him into outings with other teachers and pro heroes on a regular basis. But all of that plus the work he puts into his two jobs drains his battery past empty on good days. Shōta can recognize he’s not like other people in that regard, and so he acts accordingly. Hizashi and Nemuri are two of the only people who understand how he is and don’t judge him for it. They accept him, and in return Shōta lets them drag him to social events and does his best around other people. All in all, it’s a fair trade.
As he walks through the hall, he opens all of the unread messages. He reads them all, scrolls to the bottom of Hizashi’s DMs, and replies.
Shōta: ok. on my way home
Immediately his phone lights up in reply.
Hizashi: Good! Wondered if u died
Hizashi: I got takeout for u
Shōta: thanks. be there in 30
Hizashi: Kk!!
There’s one unopened message from Nemuri, from earlier in the day. She’s out on patrol right now. Still, he sends off a quick reply before he reaches the front doors of the school, sliding his phone into his pocket as he walks through the sliding doors and down the concrete steps. It’s a clear night, the stars shining down a ridiculous amount of light. The moon is hidden behind the city’s skyline. In the air, the scent of earth and life hits Shōta’s senses, along with the smell of lingering dew in the grass. The night is fairly cool for summer, but still humid. As he steps off the path to shortcut through the grounds, his boots pad into the soft ground. The hum and glow of the distant lamps lining the pavement cast shadows on him from multiple angles, as if he’s walking on a planet with more than one sun in the sky. He reaches the front gate, and it parts for him and closes behind him, locked up tight, the school a veritable fortress.
He heads in the direction of the station, but walks past it. There isn’t a train that runs this late during the summer, so he has to walk home. His apartment is about a half-hour away on foot, fortunately. He and Hizashi had argued when they first chose the location, Shōta touting the practicality of the distance from the school and Hizashi wanting to live downtown because ‘it’s way cooler, yo!’. In the end, Shōta had won, but only because he agreed to let Hizashi ride his bike on the weekends— which is another reason he’s walking right now instead of riding, but a deal is a deal.
He reaches his apartment building without incident, and hikes up the three flights of stairs to the apartment. The building itself is fairly new, but has no elevator. Shōta will never understand the people who choose to live on the upper floors and carry their groceries up twelve stories. Shaking his head, he pulls his key out of his boot and lets himself in.
He hears Hizashi before he sees him. He’s locking the door when he hears his friend’s footsteps pad on the linoleum tiles of the kitchen.
“Heya, Shō! Glad to see you’re not dea— woah! You look a little worse for wear, dude.” Hizashi’s face is concerned when Shōta turns around and they make eye contact. He’s wearing a ratty neon-pink tank top and lounge pants, his reading glasses dangling on the tip of his nose and a pair of headphones around his neck, no doubt connected to the tiny iPod shuffle he’s had since middle school.
Shōta rubs an eye with his hand and shrugs. “Nezu made me have tea with him today. For three hours.”
Hizashi raises his brows at that. Shōta walks past him leaning on the counter and moves over to sling his bag onto the coffee table before flopping onto the couch. “Geez. Well what did he wanna talk to you for three hours about?”
Shōta groans and throws an arm over his face to block out the fluorescent kitchen lights stabbing him in the eyes. “Seismican is retiring.”
“Wait what!?” Hizashi asks. “No way! He’s been at U.A. since we were kids!”
“That’s precisely why he’s retiring,” Shōta replies.
“Who’s gonna replace him, I wonder?” The sound of ice clinking against glass and a drink being filled floats through the kitchen into the living area. Shortly after, there’s weight near Shōta’s feet on the end of the couch.
“That’s what Nezu called me in for. He wanted me to help him choose a candidate.”
“Oooh! Who are the choices? Or is that confidential?”
“That’s the thing. He wouldn’t tell me. He asked me questions instead, about what kind of hero should be teaching the class rather than who.”
“Huh. S’kinda cryptic.” He hears Hizashi take a sip of his drink.
“It was tedious, but rational,” Shōta argues. “By not telling me the names of the candidates, it cut out any implicit bias I might have had in my answers.” A pause. “Anyway, he just wanted my opinion. He’s the one making the call.”
“Well whoever it is, I just hope it’s not Endeavor, man,” Hizashi says. “He’s a great hero and all, but I do not like that guy.”
Shōta scoffs into the crook of his elbow. “No one likes Endeavor.”
“Except for maybe Endeavor,” Hizashi snorts. “God, how much do you think he reeks? From sweating constantly. He’s covered in fire all the time. S’gotta be fuckin’ gross.”
Shōta makes a face through his sleeve. “Ugh. Stop talking.”
He can practically feel Hizashi’s shit-eating grin from here. “Do you think he has flaming pubes?”
“Shut. Up.”
Hizashi’s resounding cackle has the upstairs neighbors banging on the ceiling for him to shut up.
“Sorry!” He calls to the ceiling, before leaning his head in Shōta’s direction with a quieter tone, “Not sorry.” Shōta groans.
_______
Shōta is severely regretting not having pushed Nezu for the names of the candidates.
All Might is going to take over foundational hero studies at U.A.
Shōta is absolutely pissed. When he’d told Nezu that the new teacher should be someone who would give anything to protect the students, he hadn’t meant like that— because he’d also stressed to Nezu the importance of hiring a candidate who understands the harsh reality of the hero world, understands that not everyone is cut out for the dangers being a hero brings, and All Might is not that person. He’s not even qualified to teach. All Might has set an impossible ideal that everyone wants to live up to, but never can. He’s giving false hope to kids who are only going to end up dead in some alleyway after thinking they could do the impossible like him.
And now he’s going to be teaching one of the most crucial courses for first-year students at the top school for heroes-in-training. So yeah, Shōta’s pissed. Deep down, he’s also worried that he’ll have to peel more than one student’s corpse off the wall before they’ve even begun their career.
This morning, Nezu had called everyone to a staff meeting to break the news. All Might himself isn’t even here, apparently called away in an emergency. And in absence of that, Nezu had pulled another surprise: another teacher, Toshinori Yagi, will be joining the staff to teach music.
Shōta rakes his eyes over the man, taking in his tall spindly frame and sunburst hair. He looks like he’s drowning in the oversized suit he’s wearing, and behind sunken cheeks lies a face with sharp yet delicate features. All of the man’s vitality seems to be in his eyes, bright blue like the sky, and sometimes glowing against the shadows on his face. Must have something to do with whatever his quirk is. He looks nervous under the attention of all the staff members. Shōta can practically hear him fidgeting from here. Still, he’s surprised at how steady the man sounds as he bows and introduces himself to the room, even if the confidence is somewhat ruined by the blush dusted across his cheeks.
Once the meeting is over and all the talk of the entrance exams comes to a close, Shōta moves to leave. However, his way is blocked by a tall figure.
“Ah, Aizawa-kun, isn’t it?” Yagi asks. “I’m Yagi.”
“Yeah, I remember,” Shōta says, deadpan. This seems to make the other man nervous.
“Uh, right. Um. I just wanted to personally say hello and that I’m looking forward to working with you!” He gives Shōta a small smile. Shōta blinks.
“Since you’re in the General Studies department, we likely won’t be working together much.” Yagi’s face takes falls a bit, and Shōta continues. “But. We might end up planning certain events together so that they don’t conflict. Welcome to U.A.”
Yagi doesn’t seem to now how to respond, and Shōta is about to move away when Hizashi elbows himself into the conversation. “Translated, he means ‘It’s very nice to meet you! Welcome, and I’m excited to work with you as well!’” Shōta sends Hizashi a mild glare, which gets promptly ignored. “Hizashi Yamada, or Present Mic. Yamada’s fine.” Then he sends the man a disgustingly enunciated wink and a smirk. Shōta has to force himself not to roll his eyes at his friend. Why are they friends, again?
Yagi blushes at Hizashi’s antics and clears his throat. “Ah, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Yamada-kun.”
“Nah, pleasure’s all mine,” he says, and he slings an arm around Shōta’s shoulders. “I know you just got here and all, but I wanted to invite you to a little get-together a few of the teachers are having this Friday, going out for a few drinks. We’d love to get to know you, Yagi-san.”
“Oh, uh,” Yagi stutters, “while that’s very kind of you, I’m sorry to say that I don’t drink.”
“Oh, that’s not a big deal! No one will force you to drink. It’s more of a casual thing, anyways, so no worries. You’re still more than welcome.”
Yagi hesitates for a moment before nodding his acquiescence. “Alright.”
“Great!” Hizashi says, finally letting Shōta free of his too-warm grip. “Let’s exchange phone numbers and I can text you the details.”
Five minutes later, Shōta is walking out with Hizashi, who’s still fixing the new contact details in his phone while he follows Shōta into the hall. Once they get far enough that Shōta knows no one will overhear, he stops. Hizashi nearly runs straight into him, having not watched where he was going. His head snaps up and around to figure out where they are, his surprised gaze falling on Shōta.
“Woah, man! What are we doing over here?”
“What was that all about?”
Hizashi stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “What?” At Shōta’s silence, he continues. “Oh you mean asking Yagi to join our group this weekend? What’s wrong with that?”
Shōta’s lips quirk into a line. “Not that.”
“Then what?”
“You were flirting with him.”
“Pfft! Was not,” Hizashi says, looking affronted.
“I was right there, Hizashi. You winked at him.”
“You did wink at him,” Nemuri says from behind Hizashi, who yelps and nearly jumps out of his skin. Shōta just slowly blinks— he’d already figured she’d follow them. “Nearly turned the man into a tomato too, if his face was any indication. You’ve got some fast game, ‘Zashi.” Hizashi splutters.
“I swear I was just getting his number for the group outing!”
“You got his number?” Nemuri practically snatches Hizashi’s phone out of his hand as if to confirm that yes, he did get Yagi’s number. “Oh nuh uh, I don’t believe you one bit.”
“Hey! What gives!?”
Hizashi is trying to get his phone back, but Nemuri’s holding it out of reach while she pulls out her own phone in her other hand and starts copying Yagi’s number into her own device. “Okay, fine, maybe he’s a little easy on the eyes, but I really did just get his number for friendly purposes! Now gimme my phone back!” At this point Nemuri is done with his phone and shoves it in his face and he barely catches it after she lets go, choking on technology halfway in his mouth.
Nemuri smirks. “Okay, now that, I believe.” She puts her phone back in her tool belt. “So, this Yagi guy. Where do you think Nezu pulled him from?”
“That’s what I was wondering,” Hizashi says now that he’s recovered. “He didn’t exactly give off hero vibes to me. But I thought U.A. only hires pros.”
“He’s probably retired,” Shōta says from where he’s leaned back against the wall. “I knew that Nezu was looking for someone to teach FHS, but not music.”
“Wait, you knew he was going to hire All Might?” Nemuri asks.
“No, just that he was looking for someone.” He blows some of the fringe out of his eyes. “He asked for my opinion last month, but he didn’t give me any names. Now I regret that I didn’t ask. All Might may be a great hero, but I’m not confident in his teaching abilities.”
“I didn’t know he even had a license to teach,” Nemuri says. “Maybe he’s working on an emergency license until he can take the exam.”
“If that’s the case, then it’s even worse than I thought,” Shōta remarks.
“Okay, but he’s All Might!” Hizashi says, a hand on his hip. “It makes sense for him to teach FHS. He has a lot of field experience he can use to sprinkle his wisdom all over young impressionable minds! And his ideals are what make a lot of people want to be heroes in the first place, right? At least, that’s originally why I wanted to become a pro.”
Shōta rolls his eyes. “That’s exactly why he shouldn’t teach the class. He’s going to fill their heads with impossible ideals and goals, and those kids are going to leave the program and get themselves killed because no one had the guts to drop a truth bomb on them in their first year.”
Hizashi shrugs. “Agree to disagree, I guess. Anyways, y’all wanna catch dinner before our phat jam sesh tonight?”
“What about Shaun?”
“Oh, right, shit.”
“I’ll text him to meet us at the gate,” Nemuri says, sending him a message that they’re leaving the building.
____
Shōta manages to put the whole All Might thing out of his mind that night, instead unloading his frustrations into his guitar. It works, up until Friday comes, and he’s sitting smushed between Hizashi and Nemuri in a large booth with the other teachers. A conversation starts up about All Might joining the faculty and Shōta can’t escape because he’s in the middle of the booth. He’s never letting Hizashi convince him not to sit on the end ever again. Instead of doing anything, he just closes his eyes and sighs and wills away the oncoming headache. It hasn’t even been half an hour. Half of them just got here.
They’re at a decent bar downtown, the one Hizashi, Nemuri, and Shōta frequent for their meetups. Large gatherings like this with the other teachers are few and far between because of the gross mismatch of schedules that comes with being pro heroes. Shōta finds it ironic that they all more or less have the same jobs but completely different hours.
Shōta was only able to make it because he’s going on patrol later in the night. Others probably would be disgruntled at not being able to drink much as a result, but Shōta only ever gets shit-faced around Nemuri and Hizashi anyway. The only real negative consequence is that he’ll feel like complete shit tomorrow at rehearsal— weekend rehearsals always happen on late Saturday mornings, right after Hizashi gets done with his radio show, because it’s easier to book the studio for two consecutive hours rather than separate. So Shōta is going to show up to rehearsal running on fumes, coffee, and energy gel.
When he opens his eyes, he sees a tray of drinks being set down by the waitress. Vlad ordered an entire row of shots for himself. Figures. The conversation is way too lively for his current mood, but he tolerates it, and no one pressures him to speak. The scent of lingering perfume is so strong that it seems to be coming from everywhere. If Shōta didn’t already know that it’s the stuff Hizashi wears, he probably would have guessed it was Nemuri.
A few moments later, there’s movement outside the booth. There’s a newcomer to their table.
“Heyyy!” Vlad calls out, shot raised in the air, “It’s the new guy! Nice of you to join us, Yagi-san!”
Yagi wears a sheepish expression, standing awkwardly in a navy long-sleeved shirt and black pants. There’s a jacket folded over his arm despite it being way too warm outside for an extra layer. The people on the end of the seats make room for him to sit, and he does so quietly. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s nice to meet you all again.” That seems good enough for the other teachers, because they begin bombarding him with all kinds of questions: Where are you from, Yagi? Where did you work last? Have you always taught music? Oooh, wait, how old are you?
“‘Zashi, you don’t just ask people how old they are!” Nemuri says, elbowing his side and talking over the loud resulting “ow.” Yagi looks at them with bewildered eyes.
“Sorry about him,” Nemuri says sweetly. “Something you’ll learn about Yamada is that he never shuts up.”
“HEY!”
She snorts. “See?” Hizashi pouts into his drink.
Yagi smiles awkwardly. “Uh, it’s no problem. No offense taken, honestly.”
“So, Yagi-san, you’re teaching music this year. What type of ensemble are you planning for?” Ken pipes up from his seat.
“Oh, well, although music has recently been reinstated as a compulsory subject in Japan, the format of the class is more flexible. For now, I’ll be teaching general music classes for each year of students, and also starting an inter-year school orchestra.”
“Woah, a whole orchestra, huh?” Vlad asks. “Does U.A. even own instruments?”
Yagi sips his water. “There are a few old instruments from when the music department was disbanded around fifteen years ago. Some of them are beyond repair though. Nezu’s given me a small budget, but mostly I’ll be thrifting used instruments as needed. It really depends on registration numbers, but I won’t get those until after the entrance exams.”
“Speaking of entrance exams, I heard we have a record number of applicants this year. Apparently there are more kids applying for the hero course than ever before in U.A. history.”
“Yeah, Nezu mentioned that once I think,” Thirteen says. “The General Studies and Support departments are taking in more first years than before. Something about boosting ratings and filling all the spots in the student dorms.” Shōta rolls his eyes.
“It should be about whether or not they have the skills to succeed. Accepting students who aren’t cut out for the program just sets them up for failure.”
Across the table, he and Yagi make eye contact. “You may be right,” he says. “But, maybe letting in more students will give more of them the chance they might not have had otherwise.”
Shōta tilts his head and blinks, mouth open to respond, when someone else beats him to it. “So, are you a pro hero, Yagi-San?”
Yagi’s eyes widen at that. “Uhh, why do you ask?”
Okay, that’s not suspicious at all. Shōta inwardly rolls his eyes at that.
He’s wondered that himself. He’d gotten curious enough after the staff meeting to look up ‘Toshinori Yagi’ online, and when nothing had turned up, he’d looked deeper. What he’d found, or rather, not found, was telling. According to the web, there was no Toshinori Yagi. The only thing Shōta had managed to unearth was an old grainy photo of a blonde teen with bangs matching Yagi’s at a U.A. sports festival before Shōta’s time as a student. The man had no social media, and there were no profiles from previous employer websites. It was like Nezu had pulled the man out of nowhere. The best guess he has so far is that Yagi, whether he’s retired or not, must be or have been an underground hero. He might have been involved in some extremely covert operations for there to be almost no record of his existence. What’s more, the man doesn’t seem to have a physically manifesting quirk, so there’s no way to identify the man based on his abilities until they’re demonstrated, which very well might not happen soon since he’s teaching gen ed classes.
“Some of us were wondering because typically U.A. only hires pro heroes on for faculty positions,” Nemuri says.
“Oh,” is all he says for a moment. Shōta raises a brow. “Well, if you must know, I’m retired. And most of my work involved confidential situations, so you probably wouldn’t know me.”
“Makes sense why I’ve never heard of you!” Vlad chuckles. “For a while there I wondered if Nezu had actually hired a civilian!”
“I mean, nowadays, I suppose I am,” Yagi says, scratching the back of his neck. “Although, my other job has me very busy.” At the curious looks, he adds quickly, “Not that that will get in the way of my teaching! It won’t.”
“What’s your other job, Yagi?” Nemuri inquires.
Now it’s Yagi’s turn to be confused. “Oh, sorry. I assumed principal Nezu had filled you all in.” He sips his mostly untouched water again, eyes fixed on the table as he says, “I’m chief secretary of All Might’s hero agency.”
Oh. Now it makes sense.
Shōta can feel himself fill with quiet annoyance. Of course that’s why he got hired. He’s probably just there to be the number one hero’s babysitter. All Might probably made a case to Nezu that he couldn’t live without his secretary nearby. So not only did he hire someone completely unfit to teach Foundational Hero Studies, but he also hired the man’s lackey.
Shōta tunes out for the rest of the night. There are enough people there that no one goes out of their way to speak to him besides the subtle look he gets from Nemuri halfway through the evening asking if he’s okay. He just blinks twice in the affirmative and she leaves him be. He is no longer interested in the conversation and instead focuses on sipping his drink and not accidentally breathing in the alco-breath coming from Hizashi, who is leaning more and more on him the later it gets.
Eventually, everyone turns in for the night. Shōta parts ways with his friends outside the bar, Nemuri reassuring him that she’ll make sure Hizashi gets home safe as she stuffs the man’s drunken limbs into the back of a waiting cab. Shōta leaves them, and walks off toward his patrol district for the night. He is definitely in for a long one.