Chapter Text
The room was full of small noises, pencil scratching the paper, sighs of desperation or an occasional grunt when the question was found complicated. Class A-1 was taking a maths test under the supervision of Aizawa-sensei. The homeroom teacher was filling for his fellow pro-hero, Ectoplasm, who had been called for a mission requiring his specific quirk.
He was currently settled into his trademark yellow sleeping bag, half laying on the teacher desk, his eyes closed, lazily sucking on an apple compote bag, but no student was foolish enough to try and cheat. No one would really dare upsetting the dark-hair hero, especially when he was not feeling it. Well, Aizawa-sensei was rarely feeling it. So more or less, Class A-1 was always on their best behaviour.
But it was especially true after the summer the students just lived through. If the attack on the U.S.J. had not been traumatic enough, there was the summer camp, where Bakugō had been captured. Then the license exam, where Bakugō (and Todoroki, but mostly Bakugō) had failed. So, while they were still all aiming to become pro-heroes, they were all very happy to be nothing but students for a while, and good students as it was.
This meant no cheating.
Not very heroic any ways, would say a certain hardened future pro-hero, who was right now contemplating suicide by inhaling his pen, rather than to face his best-friend and maths tutor when said tutor would come to realise he had done maybe 35% of the test … and he was pretty sure half of it was wrong.
Though…. This might not be his biggest concern right now. Kirishima looked ahead and on the left where he could make some of his ash blond hair between the rows of their classmates. All things considered, it was short of a miracle Bakugō had time to tutor him. Erf. He could already imagine his face and hear his yelling when he’d realised how bad it went. With a deeper sigh, Kirishima straightened in his chair and returned to his test, motivated to score at least over 40%, in honour of his “bro”.
Despite having nothing but a quick look over, Kirishima had attract the attention of the teacher. No one had grasped how acute Eraserhead’s senses were. More than once, they had complained he had eyes being his back, or something like extra sensitive earring, when truth be told, they collectively sucked at being discreet. Even when they were trying. Particularly when they were trying. After all, they were in the best pro-hero course. Pro-heros were not known to be discreet, unless you were aiming for undercover work like he eventually did. However, nearly no one in this class had the predisposition for such a nice work.
Bakugō (and Todoroki, but mostly Bakugō) first in line.
Content that there was not one foolish enough to just try and cheat, he let his head lay back on the cold surface of the desk and allowed himself a five second micro nap. He deserved it. Having visited all twenty families to convince them to allow their kids to stay at UA’s dorms had not been a leisure cruise. Just the amount of paperworks involved had killed him better, deeper, than any Villains had so far.
Suddenly, the quiet of the day was disturbed.
A loud, rambling snore echoed in the classroom.
Out of all the sounds possibly happening in this specific classroom, this one was pretty low into everyone’s list.
Laughing, every day. Explosion, most certainly. Growling, why not. Tears, hopefully rare – unless it was handing back assignment day. Yells of rage, murder, or end of the civilisation as the Gods made it, probably, when a test was announced. Snoring, however?
Aizawa grunted and decided to join the realm of living humanity once again, by lifting his neck and opening his eyes. Then, he met nearly all of his students’ glare, some questioning, others outraged, most perplex.
He scoffed, his pride a bit damaged by their automatic suppositions he had been the one snoring. Why, but why, would they think he was really sleeping during class? He was a professional, was he not?!
The snore happened again, and all eyes drifted to Bakugō. No one expected to find him asleep. In fact, he was furiously drawing a graphic as if the parabolic represented a personal offence of some kind. If looks could kill, the “Xs” of his equations would have died ages ago, letting the problem be unsolvable for generations to come.
If not Bakugō, who then?
Well, apparently, Bakugō junior.
In the form of his little sister, currently slouched on his torso and shoulder, deeply napping like only a nearly four year old could.
She looked like a cute toddler, with her long light brown hair, mostly inherited from her father, and her dark red eyes, from her mother’s side. However, she was the carbon copy of his older brother when it came to be annoying. Being loud was certainly genetic, at this point.
She snored, again, in a way it should not be physically possible. How could such little lungs get that much air in and out?
Giggles started to bloom all around the class, clear sign that focus was lost for most of the students. With this, Aizawa had no other choices but to intervene. He was not paid enough for this. With a sigh, he unzipped himself out of the sleeping bag and walked to Bakugō who kept acting as if an industrial digger was not resounding by his ear. Maybe the kid was deaf? Or selective of earring? Any way, he showed no concern at all, keeping a diligent work on his sheet. He even gave the impression he was not impeded by the weight on his left side, making it look easy to do maths with only one hand. Knowing what he knew of the teen now, Aizawa would bet he was seeing it as a challenge only he could achieve, and none of the “extras” or “morons”.
As he approached the temperamental blond’s desk, he was met with a distinctive disapproving click of tongue.
“She’s going to cry.”
“She is disrupting the class.”
“They can suck it up. They’re supposed to be heroes, aren’t they?” In a way, he was not wrong. Pro-heroes need to be able to push back emotions and distractions to focus on the mission.
“And you’d be more comfortable.”
“I am perfectly fine.”
“Bakugō…”
“When she is throwing a fit, that’s your problem.” He warmed his teacher. He should not have to, but he sure did not want to have half the class on his back after. When it was too late.
“I can handle her.”
“Your death….”
And Bakugō allowed Aizawa to pluck his sister out of his sweet, warm, safe embrace. She immediately mewled a protestation, trying to cling to his shirt with chubby fingers. The sound grew louder as the older man inexorably pulled her away. For a second, regrets slowed his actions. The little girl sensed it, as she was not moving further and she whined, a welcome cut from her wailing, accentuating her grabbing motion towards her brother.
Aizawa then crossed his student’s gaze and the amount of satisfaction he could read, like telling him told you so with blatant disrespect, just riled him up. No way he was going to admit Bakugō might be right on this instance. Wincing as she was now fully screaming – kids did have higher pitch – since she was not going back to her previous comfy napping position, he ended holding her in his arms.
“Stop this. Your brother needs to focus on his test. You don’t want him to fail, right?” Oh, this was low. Resorting to emotional blackmail on a toddler. But his sanity was more precious that his dignity. “Just keep sleeping.” He hoped she would. Many kids had this fantastic capacity to fall asleep even in the most dire circumstances. But the Bakugō’s were not most kids – alas. She was now fully awakened and ready to release her fury, like the kraken. So much for keeping class 1-A focused.
Still holding the crying little girl, Aizawa went back to his desk and sighed. He was really not paid enough. He tried bouncing her on his knee but she was still crying. And Bakugō was smirking, still working on his maths sheet like nothing was wrong.
“What about drawing Nii-san a beautiful drawing? To show him how talented you are?” He offered, sliding a blank piece of paper towards her. She loved drawing. Most of the time, it was nothing but lines and big patches of colours, but she would always babble about what was what, and everyone had to nod with serious, unless you wanted to provoke another crisis. Hence, everyone had crayons at the ready.
With a sniffling, Hibiki contemplated the option. For a second, just one, Aizawa believed he had won. He had vanquished the kraken! But no. It was no ordinary kraken. It was a Bakugō kraken.
“I hungry!” She declared with a pout. One that gave a final sound to any further negotiation.
“Fine.” With another sigh, he sacrificed one of his compote. After her snack, the girl was all too happy to indeed started drawing, grunting each time a crayon was rolling away from her limited reach, so Aizawa changed career to become a crayon holder.
The door opening, and Present Mic entered. It was rare another teacher would interrupt a class, and last time it happened, they ended with Hibiki. Luckily, the blond did not seem to be carrying bad news – or another baby.
“I can take over if you want.” He offered his best friend. “I just came back from the Commission, and I have some papers to grade. I can do it here.” The pro-hero was teaching English at Yuei and indeed, there was a stack of papers under his arms.
“Can you grade and hold the kid?” It was purely theoretical.
“She got lungs. I heard her from the courtyard.”
“Windows open.”
“The East yard.” The other side of the building. She was a Bakugō, for real.
Yamada ended taking a seat next to Aizawa, and started going through some of the essays, occasionally chatting with this best friend and colleague. It was even more unusual, but UA did not really care for traditional teaching methods. And the situation was even less normal.
“No news on the relocating front?”
“Nope, UA is still the safest option.” Eraserhead confirmed with a sigh, caressing Hibiki’s head. She was rather nice when she shut up. A little (a lot) like her brother, when you thought about it.
So the two teachers were still here when the bell rang. Iida, as class representative, collected the tests and handed them over. One by one, the students exited the class, going directly to the training ground where their next lesson was. Katsuki approached the desk to collect his little sister, who happily chirped at his sight.
“Look, Nii-san, I drew peonies!” Aizawa decided to keep to himself he did not see any peonies or anything on the sheet. “And here, I did sunflowers!”
“Hey! That…. That one of my essays!”
Indeed, Hibiki had used several copies to draw, when she run out of blank sheet. Yamada was livid. Kirishima bursted laughing.
“Oh, you can’t blame your dog, Yamada-sensei!”
“And here, I did…. Daddodil.”
“Daffodil.” Katsuki corrected and looked at Present Mic with a smudge face. “We are learning flowers this week.” As if it was a reason! “Come here, Crumbs, I’m going to be late to hero class.”
“Yeah, hero class!!” She cheerfully clapped her hands and diligently trotted by his side. “Let’s kill them all!!” She ferociously claimed, moving her fists as if she was boxing or something, which only made her brother dark-chuckled while ruffling her hair. Then she spun towards the teachers, waving at them. “Bye-bye!! See you next!” Because, as much as she adored her brother and was trying to act like him, she was still sweet and polite – something no one was expecting from Bakugō-Junior.
None the less, Aizawa learnt from this, and the next day, Hibiki had her own little desk and chair, with a little cot bed for her napping, and an entire box of papers for her drawings.