Chapter Text
“No, it’s a quiet day. I’m almost done.”
He strolls along the sidewalk of a tranquil street, where the warmth of a few bars and restaurants provides respite on this chilly October afternoon. The light of the establishments lulls people who are exhausted from work towards them like moths to a flame.
“So am I — my show will be finished in about an hour. And then, my dear Sho, I will take you out to hit the TOOOWN!”
Shota moves the phone away from his ear to escape the booming sound of the obnoxiously loud and energetic voice of the man on the other end. He sighs.
“Do I get a say in this? I could list twelve things I would rather do than go out.”
“Don’t tell me, let me guess — all of them involve you, alone in your apartment, doing typical Shota things.”
“And what do you classify as typical 'Shota things'?
“Mostly sleeping.”
“Correct.”
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Come on, man. You’re working yourself to the bone. Don’t forget to give your mind some breaks, too.”
“I get breaks. The best breaks I get are the ones that involve me, my bed, and silence. Did you happen to notice the lack of energetic people on that list?”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN ENERGETIC PEOPLE? We could go to a small bar, no energetic people as far as the eye can see!”
“Will you be there?”
“I mean…obviously, buddy.”
“My point stands.”
Shota can hear Hizashi sigh. “You know what, you’re coming. I’m no longer asking. I’ll pay. Get out of your basic ass routine. Sleeping, training, and working. There is more to life than just that. We’ve got something to tell you anyway, so you’re coming. Even if I have to drag you there myself by that damned scarf of yours.”
“We?”
“YES, Nemuri is coming, too.”
“Can’t you just tell me now? There is no sense in meeting when you could just as easily tell me over the phone.”
“Nope, if you want to find out what’s going on outside your little big world, you gotta come.”
There really is no debating with him. Shota pinches the bridge of his nose, stopping in his steps. What are the two of them up to now? Rarely was it something good if they schemed out something without supervision from someone who knew how people in their early twenties should actually behave.
“Fine. Text me the address. I’ll be there in two hours.”
“FINALLY!” Again, Shota moves the phone away from his ear. “I’ll text you the details. See you then, buddy!”
After hanging up, he closes his eyes for a moment. “Great. There goes my night.”
With his eyes shut, Shota takes in the refreshing breeze blowing through his hair and observes the customary sounds that a Friday evening typically elicits in this particular area of Musutafu.
The aural hum of passersby, the echoes of bars and restaurants upon the opening of the door by a newcomer seeking comfort, nourishment, a beverage, or a sense of distraction or tranquility after a strenuous week of work. From afar, one could discern the speakers emanating from the large screens in the inner city, expressing their thoughts on yet another villain attack that had been stopped by a hero. Shota, however, suddenly hears something entirely different.
Meowing.
Meowing? He turns his head towards the source of the sound. With both hands in his pockets, he casually strolls towards a secluded back alley that is populated by large, discarded cardboard boxes, scattered trash, and a feline.
“What are you doing here? No home to go to?” Shota crouches down and extends his right hand towards a white cat with ginger markings running down its back and face. The feline gazes at him and, after a brief period, proceeds to approach him with caution.
The diminutive creature meticulously examines his hand and, upon determining its reliability, gently presses its head against it.
Shota gradually initiates touching and petting the feline and observing its slenderness. The animal's sharp shoulder blades and hip bones render it to appear to be both older and younger simultaneously, despite its likely age.
“Not much food to scavenge in this area, huh?”
Shota surveys the alley and observes two additional cats huddled together near one of the enormous upside-down cardboard boxes that may have once contained a refrigerator, given its immense size. A tortie cat is currently slumbering, while a gray tiger-striped feline is undergoing self-cleaning, occasionally switching positions to extend its grooming session to its sleeping companion on the left.
“At least you’re taking care of each other. Any more of you strays here?”
In response, the cat of white and orange hues immediately commences circling him and rubbing its body against his legs and arms, utilizing any warm contact it can obtain.
Rational of them. Grouping up for a better chance of survival. Smart.
Sighing, he stands back up.
“Good luck.” And, with that, he leaves the shadowed alley behind him.
Two hours later, and Shota Aizawa misses the quiet back alley with the stray cats. He would prefer to be there rather than in the current location where he finds himself situated. Sitting in the booth of a bar that seems to have the wildest mix of people he's seen in a long time. Young businessmen and women still in their fancy outfits from work play a game of darts in a corner. A group of forty-something women seem to catch up after not seeing each other for a long time — if the obnoxious volume of their conversations is anything to go by. Even more obnoxious, a group of thirty-something men are desperate to find someone to leave with or take home tonight.
And three twenty-something heroes in a booth with drinks in front of them. Three glasses of Gin-Tonic sit in front of a black-haired woman wearing specs. A man with long blond hair pulled back into a loose half-up-half-down hairdo and glasses is sitting in front of a curious-looking colorful cocktail with a little umbrella and gummy cherries wrapped around a spiral straw. One glass of whiskey, neat, in front of a man with shoulder-length black hair and bored eyes that tiredly look around to take in the current clientele in the bar that he had been dragged to.
“So, Shota dear, what’s new with you these days?” The woman with dark hair takes a generous sip of her Gin-Tonic after experimenting with the straw in her mouth while gazing at the man with black, untidy hair in front of her.
“I met some cats today.”
The woman narrows her eyes with playful intent, while a cheeky half-smile appears on her red lips. “Ouh… is that code for anything? Who would have thought, the ever so serious Shota Aizawa finally found himself some pu-”
“Not everything is a fucking innuendo, Kayama” he rolls his eyes without real malice behind. “It’s irrelevant. What did the both of you want to talk about?”
Next to the woman, the blonde man perks up. “Loosen up, buddy — we just got here. Let’s wind down a bit after work before we get back to business! Let’s make a toast to the three of us — friends from the past, coming together for the future! YEAHH!”
Hizashi abruptly raises his cocktail glass, urging the others to follow suit.
Shota, instead of his glass, raises a brow. “The future?”
Nemuri laughs as she holds her almost empty glass next to the one of the loud blonde on her right. “The future!”
With a sigh, Shota raises his glass as well, gently tapping the others. “You’re two of the most annoying people.”
“And yet, you still love us.”
Shota looks at the two in front of him. Hizashi Yamada, a man whose voice volume can only be matched by his energy level. And Nemuri Kayama, a woman who is already halfway through her second drink of the night.
“So now that that’s behind us — what have the two of you come up with now to make life for the people around you more inconvenient?”
To prepare himself for the improbable response he is certain to receive, Shota takes a big sip of his whiskey while scrutinizing the two individuals in front of him with suspicion.
Hizashi feigns a hurt expression, dramatically clutching his chest. “WHY OH WHY HAVE THE GODS GRACED ME WITH SUCH A SERIOUS FRIEND? Will the pain ever end? Please, metaphysical entities, grant me a version of Shota Aizawa that lets go of his emo demeanor. Help him stray away from the black parade and into a less serious parade. A bright parade, perhaps?”
A barely noticeable twitch in the corner of his serious friend's mouth begs to disagree with said statement.
Nemuri glances at him with a slight tingle in her blue eyes and a smile on her lips. “It’s still all business and no pleasure with you?”
“Well, not everybody can combine both — like you. That being said, I read last week that you had to tone down your costume. Again.”
A diminutive pout appears on her lips. “Only because I’m surrounded by so many damn prudes. Can you believe that I now have to have my whole skin covered? Which — in all seriousness, makes little sense. I need some of my skin uncovered for my aroma mist to come out effectively. I had to rip off my sleeve only yesterday afternoon to put some jewelry store robbers to sleep. The entire evening, I spent sewing it back together. Do you know how hard it is to sew thin, flimsy material? Not much pleasure there, I can assure you that.”
On her right, Hizashi lets out a loud laugh. “I would have PAID to see the ever-so-hot Midnight sit alone in her apartment — in sweatpants I bet, cursing at some fabric and pricking her fingers with needles while trying to SEW! What would your adoringly horny fans say to that image?”
Nemuri gazes down at her nearly depleted beverage and takes another sip. “That image would never see the light of day. I’ve got an actual image to maintain. And that image does NOT fit into yesterday evening's activities. A sex symbol doesn’t sew.”
Shota observes a slight shift in the tone of her voice. “Then why portray yourself as such?”
At that, Nemuri regains her composure. “Because, one — it is fun, most of the time. Second — every hero has a theme going on to stand out. This just happens to be mine. And third -” A sigh. “You try making a name for yourself as a woman in the hero business without catering to men.”
Hizashi stares at her for a brief moment with a rare serious expression in his eyes. “You do you, Nemuri. Whatever you feel comfortable with and whatever you’re happy with. In all realness, you know that both of us,” he gestures between himself and Shota, “know that you’re capable whether you're wearing your costume or your sweatpants.”
The black-haired man slowly nods in agreement. “He’s right. But I get it. You’re smart. Smart and confident enough to use your image to your advantage. It’s quite a rational move on your end, actually.”
The blonde wraps one arm around Nemuri's shoulders. “WHOOOAAH! DID YOU HEAR THAT?! That’s pretty much a compliment here from our cat-loving friend! Besides, if you weren’t smart, Nezu would have never actively sought you out to offer you that position at U.A.!”
Shota perks up at the mention of their old school. “A what now at where?”
Hizashi and Nemuri exchange a quick, discerning glance and a smile. After turning back to face their friend, they both yell out: “SURPRIIIIIISE!”
And then there is the underground hero, who, for the majority of his life, is a quiet person. Not because he doesn’t know what to say. He simply usually doesn’t bother with completely pointless conversations. This time, it’s different. All he can do is stare dumbfounded at the two people sitting in front of him. This time, he actually doesn’t know what to say.
“Nezu asked for me specifically! Can you believe that?” The R-rated hero looks at him with big eyes. “He offered me a teaching position. Oh, can you imagine the pleasure of shaping all those young minds?”
“I really, really can’t.”
What on earth is happening? This can’t be the future they were talking about earlier, right?
No, even worse.
Nemuri pipes up again. “You better! Because you know what? I put in a good word with Nezu for our very own Present Mic and our very own Eraserhead. Aaaaand? He would be positively delighted to have both of you start teaching at U.A. Hizashi already accepted. Oh… I am trembling with excitement!” Nemuri reaches for her third glass of Gin-Tonic and raises it in celebration before taking yet another generous sip.
Hizashi did what now? Accepted? And wait, they want him to become… a teacher?
No way in hell.
Shota wonders if he had unknowingly been hit by a quirk today. Some form of nightmarish-mind-altering quirk that puts people in some form of Twilight Zone.
“YEAH MAN, IT WILL BE JUST LIKE THE GOOD OLD DAYS!” The booming voice of the blonde in front of him rips him out of his thoughts.
This is one of the rare occasions where Shota's expression does not resemble one of boredom, fatigue, or neutrality. No. He looks borderline shocked. “Is this a joke?”
Both of his friends muster him confused.
Hizashi looks at him wide-eyed, a smirk on his lips. “Nemuri will be teaching Modern Hero Art History, and yours truly will take on the role of an English teacher. Plenty of young listeners at U.A.! A huge audience just waiting to learn and become Pro Heroes!”
“We can show them the ropes. Ahh, the vibrant youth!” Nemuri chuckles slightly with a slight smile on her lips.
Shota, however, raises an eyebrow and shifts his gaze between them. “So, no joke.”
“Nope, buddy — no joke!”
Shota sighs and takes another sip of his whiskey. Then, another. “This is the pinnacle of irrationality. Even for you. Teachers? You don’t even have any background in education. You are both Pro Heroes — public Pro Heroes, I might add. And Yamada, you’re also a radio show host. And a popular one at that as well-”
“Aww, thanks bro, didn’t know you kept track!”
“-so what, you just want to moonlight teaching? And again: neither of you, or me for that matter, have any background in education. Those are actual children we are talking about. Children, whose parents trust the school and the teachers to teach their kids about becoming a hero, about life. Parents, who trust the school and the teachers to protect their children.”
And we… I couldn’t before. Why… why on earth do they think it would work now?!
The two aspiring teachers in front of him go quiet.
A pregnant pause.
They seem to know where, or perhaps to whom, his mind wandered.
After a couple of seconds, Hizashi leans forward and puts a hand on Shota’s arm. “Shota… listen. That's exactly one of the many reasons why we’re doing this. Because we need to make sure that it never happens again.” He shoots him an honest, reassuring smile. “I know you think that we sometimes don’t think things through properly. But it’s not like when we were younger, having naive dreams of opening an agency together right after school. You remember, the three Dumbigos? The Rooftop Squad?”
And of course, Shota Aizawa remembers. How could he ever forget?
Hizashi continues. “It’s not like that anymore. We’re adults. Young ones, well, at least the both of us-” He gestures between himself and the black-haired man in front of him.
Nemuri practically bristles at that. “Hey, watch it, Voice-Boy!”
“-but adults nonetheless. We gained actual experience. On the job. We save people every day now. But wouldn’t it be even better to help others be able to save even more people someday?”
Shota takes in his friend's toned-down and serious demeanor. He knows that the man he has known for so many years truly means what he is saying.
But Hizashi isn’t finished yet. “I meant what I said on the phone earlier. Man, you need to look towards the future a bit more. You can’t just stay in your little world. It breaks my heart that you try and somehow make up for something that was never in your control in the first place. You started that way back in school already, after-” he cuts himself off. “I… We are not asking you to give up your Underground Hero stuff. But you could do both at the same time if you wanted. Teach and do hero work. We will as well. And I know that Underground Hero work doesn’t pay that well. The teaching position does. We’ll learn together, and we’ll grow into it together. Nemuri and I already ordered books and found flexible classes on education and pedagogy that we will attend so we can get our teaching licences. I know that you always have to think about stuff like that for a while. Just… consider it. I really think it would do you well.”
Nemuri remains silent during the exchange between the two men. She knows what, or rather who, they’re talking about between the lines. The words and name left unsaid. She knew him, too. Although the three Dumbigos (a rather fitting name at that time, as she recalls) were her juniors, she was the one who got Shota and… him… the workplace study spots. She was just as much responsible for what had happened.
Shota pinches his nose. Then looks at his whiskey. One more sip left. With one quick motion, he swallows the remaining alcohol, feeling how the warmth of the liquid sweeps down his throat. The booth is quiet for a long moment, while he takes in his empty glass. Only the background music of the bar, mixed with the happy chatting and laughing of the people surrounding them, can be heard. A stark contrast to the topic and vibe their little table holds at that moment.
Then, he quietly speaks up. “I… look, Yamada, Kayama. If you want to do this, then do it. But I… this is not me. I don’t, no I can’t or want to take care of naive, annoying little brats with little to no manners. Or deal with their parents. I have nothing to teach anybody. I’m not like you. Not only that, but I don’t want new additions to my short list of people I actually give a shit about. I’m not… caring. I’m not made for that.”
At this, Hizashi almost seems to get angry. “Screw that, I call bullshit on all of that. You and I both know that you’re just a big ol' softie in disguise. I bet you even took some time to pet the cats you mentioned earlier.”
“That is irrelevant.”
Hizashi sighs and leans back in his seat, sipping on his colorful cocktail, almost emptying it in one go. After a couple of seconds, he speaks up again. “Look, man. We obviously don’t want you to do anything you really don’t want to do. I just think it might do you some good. But you don’t have to decide now. The offer is still on the table. Take it now, in a week, in a year, or don’t take it at all. It is completely up to you.”
Nemuri plays with the straw in her now empty glass. The third one. “He’s right, you know. Nezu immediately remembered you. He’s a patient… man? Mouse, bear? At any rate, I’m sure whatever or whenever you decide, he’ll be okay with it.”
Suddenly, Shota is presented with a new glass of whiskey. He looks up questioningly with a raised eyebrow at the waiter, who also puts new drinks in front of his friends.
The waiter notices his confused look and nods towards Hizashi before leaving the table again. “Your friend flagged me down a couple of minutes ago.”
“Thanks.”
Shota turns back to said friend. “Always thinking two steps ahead, huh?” A short pause. “Look… I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you for thinking of me in all of this. And when you start, I hope you won’t have any problem children like we were back in the day.” With that, he raises his new glass of whiskey. “To your new jobs. And your new gray hairs that are bound to come in soon.”
And with a lifted mood, the three heroes clink glasses together and spend the rest of the evening discussing lighter topics while the drinks continue to come.
The following morning, Shota contemplates whether the previous night was indeed reality or if his mind is attempting to deceive him. In his bed, he turns to lie on his back and stares up at the ceiling.
The most bizarre thing was not that Nemuri at some point mixed different beverages and forcefully poured the dangerous concoctions she created down Hizashi's and Shota's throats. No, that happened before and would again. It also wasn’t when he himself got told that he, apparently, wasn’t turned towards his friends while talking to them, but rather towards two big plants on the windowsill next to their booth.
No, it was the prospect of all three of them becoming teachers at their old school.
The both of them can do whatever they want. No point in wasting energy once they’ve made their decisions.
A sigh departs from his lips while an arm slouches to shield his tired eyes from the morning sun that tries to penetrate the closed curtain of his modest apartment.
Shota knows what he wants. What he is made for. Sure, realistically, he could use some more money. Hizashi was right. Underground hero work doesn’t pay as well as public hero work. And yes, maybe he should get out of this rut that he had found himself in for a couple of years now. But, no. In no way would that be accomplished by becoming a teacher.
Of all things. A teacher. Him. Shota practically snorts in disapproval at the irrational notion.
Even if he'd consider it for monetary reasons, logically it would not make much sense. He has nothing to teach anybody. He makes do with the current income he has. Living alone, in a two-bedroom apartment, it’s enough. He doesn’t have much, doesn’t need much.
No use in spending time on thoughts that have really no point at all.
With a look at the digital clock on his nightstand, he sighs and gets up.
After a small but nutritious breakfast (consisting of a vitamin jelly pouch) and a large cup of coffee, Shota starts his daily routine of cleaning and tidying up his place. Not much to clean and not much to tidy. A man living alone could only do so much disarray to the few belongings he possesses.
Putting his hair in a low ponytail, Shota starts his training routine of stretching and body weight exercises before he puts the previously collected laundry in the two-in-one washing machine and dryer. With a look at his clock, he decides that there's some time to play some video games while he waits for his clothes to be ready before he will have to leave the comfort of his apartment.
While snuggled up in his favorite blanket, he takes in the room that is only lit by the TV and enjoys the sound of his gaming console launching.
“Damn, dude — I thought you’d grown out of that stuff.” Hizashi slumped down on the couch next to his best friend after letting himself into Shota's apartment with the spare keys, originally given to him for emergencies only.
“Of what?”
“Playing video games, man. How are you ever going to find anyone, holed up in your little couch-nest like that? At least get a cat or something!”
“Video games actually stimulate the mind to quick decision-making and train the hand-to-eye coordination at the same time.”
Hizashi sighed. “Only you could manage to take the fun out of a game, Sho.”
“It IS also fun.”
“To each their own, I guess. Anyway, don’t think I haven’t noticed you dodging my question about meeting someone neeeeeew. You know, someone who can keep up with your charming attitude and make you go out more. Man, I can’t always be the one dragging your black-clothed ass out of your house. I’ve got enough jobs as it is!” He nudged Shota in the side with a smirk, who in return spared no glance at the man next to him, eyes glued to the TV screen. “You know, I saw Fukukado yesterday, she asked me about you.”
“Who was that again?”
“Ms. Joke! You know, turquoise hair, fun personality, sparkling smile — the whole nine yards — you know, you could make her Mrs. Joke, she seemed quite interes-”
“No.”
“Fine, then a cat? We both know how much you love those little furry…things.”
At this, Shota paused the game and turned to the pushy blonde next to him. “I have considered that.”
“And?”
“And: also, no. It makes no sense.”
Hizashi looked almost scandalized. “Makes no sense?”
“For multiple reasons. Cats are expensive. They need to be trained rigorously. I have a strict schedule that works for me,” Hizashi raised an eyebrow and quickly glanced at the paused video game with a slight smirk on his lips before looking at his friend again. Shota continued, “And also, with hero work — you never know when or if you come back from a job. You remember how Sushi was at the beginning after…” He unpaused the game with a distant look in his eyes and continued playing. “It’s just not rational.”
Hizashi huffed a small laugh at his friend's well-thought-out argument against his own obvious desire for a cat. “Wow, you seem to have put a lot of thought into convincing yourself that it is not ‘rational’.” The last word was dramatically imitated in Shota's usual stoic voice.
“I made a pro and contra list.”
“Of course you did.”
The sound of the finished washing machine pulls Shota from his thoughts. Based on pure muscle memory, he appears to have completed the level without even noticing. So lost in remembering the past conversation.
After putting away his clothes and taking a quick shower, he prepares himself for the day. Following donning his customary black attire and carrying a bag containing his scarf, Shota retrieves his motorcycle helmet, wallet, and keys and departs from his tranquil little apartment.
Before he arrives at his weekly destination, he stops at a little flower shop and buys the usual light blue lilies, incense sticks and a water bottle before parking his motorcycle in front of the open, yet uninviting gate to the familiar cemetery.
Standing in front of the stone formation under a big Shikizakura tree, he brushes some fallen leaves and petals off the tombstone, when the little Jizo statue catches his eye.
“You keep on watching out for him out there, right?”
He replaces last week's lilies and puts a new incense stick in the stand before lighting it.
“It hasn’t rained in a while. Not many clouds, either. You would have liked that. Ironic, really, right?” Shota carefully pours water from the water bottle into the designated little basin at the bottom of the tombstone.
“Hizashi and Nemuri came up with another crazy idea. As per usual. Nothing much has changed there. Teaching. They put it in their heads now that they want to become teachers. At U.A. Can you believe that? Nemuri, maybe. She always had that… you know, dominating side to her. I’m positive that she’ll make sure to have all the students' attention. But Hizashi? He intends to teach English. Sure, he is very skilled at that. Remember how I told you about his time abroad? But teaching? I don’t know about that. It’s not just explaining school subjects to kids, it’s so much more. Helping them in so many different ways. In school, in life, how to be responsible, getting them out of their shells so they realize their full potential, helping them out of difficult situations that they might face at home.”
A pause.
Nostalgia.
“… What am I saying? I am rambling. Of course. Of course, Hizashi could do that. I know for a fact that he can. After all, he’s a people person. Just like you were.
You would be a good teacher, too. I think. If the hero agency thing wouldn’t have worked out. They want me to join them in becoming a teacher. But for me, it doesn’t make sense. I am neither a people person nor do I have anything to teach. Nothing of value at least. And besides, who has the energy to deal with a bunch of kids all day? And grade papers? And prepare classes? And exams? I don’t know how Nemuri and Hizashi intend to do that while keeping up with their hero work. And for Hizashi… his radio show as well. But I am sure they will find a way. Somehow they always do.
That is pretty much everything new, I would say. Not much going on in my life. Which is good. Two days ago, the quirk of a little boy manifested in a store, and he accidentally turned a whole aisle of baking goods into bugs. Hizashi would have screamed and probably busted all the eardrums in a two-kilometer radius had he been there. The good thing was, that once I erased his quirk, the bugs turned back to flour and baking powder and such. It was a whole mess, though. The mother made the kid help the staff clean up. Maybe there is still some hope for the young generation.
The kid was scared, though. Less of the bugs, more so of his quirk and the complete surprise of the situation. I was able to calm him down a bit. I told him what you and Hizashi told me to do, back in the day, you know. Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Find things around you that you could smell, touch, and see. It helped him. So you helped him, too. Thank you.”
Shota looks up when he hears a young couple walking towards a grave a few rows up. He doesn’t want or need an audience. He picks up last week's lilies to throw them away on his way out of the cemetery.
“I suppose that is it. No, before I forget, Nemuri told us yesterday that Sushi is getting a little fat. I’m sure she just overfeeds him a bit, but that being said - cats are a lazy bunch, they rarely get any exercise. Look at me, rambling about everything and nothing at all. If Hizashi knew that I could talk this much, I’d never hear the end of it. But I’ve got to go now. I have to buy some cat food before I start my patrol. I found some cats in a back alley that need some help. I’m sure that sounds familiar to you. See you next week, Oboro.”