Chapter Text
Aizawa Shouta hasn’t seen or heard anything of Shirakumo Oboro in over a decade, mostly by design, but he’s thought of him every day since his death. Which is why, when he sees the boy with wispy mist floating from the strands of his hair, his mind immediately goes to his lost friend.
And then he watches Shirakumo Izuku, younger brother of Shirakumo Oboro, take down the zero-pointer, and he knows he’s already identified one problem child of the year. It would be just Shouta’s luck that he’s related to his greatest regret, though.
The day had started so well, too. He had sent Hitoshi off to his own exams knowing that even if his son starts at UA in gen-ed he would make it into the hero course eventually, just like Shouta had. The coffee maker in the teacher’s lounge had brewed an acceptable cup of coffee, which it was always hit or miss on. The students he proctored during the written exams were quiet and subdued, so no issues there.
Then Hizashi, who should have been explaining the hero course exam to a room of middle schoolers at the time, had sent him a very incoherent text message that could only have meant trouble.
Scanning the heads of hero-hopefuls waiting at the starting gates, it didn’t take long to realize what that trouble was.
Shirakumo Izuku
Quirk: Fog; Can control the humidity of the nearby area, creating a fog that typically becomes denser as its size grows smaller, making it capable of holding considerable weight.
The picture on his file is a near match to Shouta’s memory of Oboro but overlaid with a soft green instead of that bright blue. Same facial features, the same smile. The ends of Izuku’s curly hair trail into green tendrils of fog, and even in the photo, his eyes seem to glow bright green.
Shouta’s attention doesn’t stray from Shirakumo throughout the entire exam. He displays an impressive amount of control of his Quirk, even if Shouta’s critical eye can see room for improvement. His clouds aren’t quite like Oboro’s—who made large, fluffy monstrosities and used them as his personal purse and carriage—but Izuku uses this to his advantage, weaving the fog together to create tiny, solid platforms, hoisting himself into the air and kicking down hard on the robots from above. A solid strategy considering his control of humidity isn’t as naturally destructive as the Quirks of most other contenders in the exams.
He uses them defensively, too, creating dense shields from thin air to block hits aiming for himself and, when possible, other examinees. If his villain points were lacking, which they might be solely due to the unfortunate Quirk matchup, he is surely at least gaining rescue points. Those are what Shouta really cares about, anyway. A hero should always prioritize saving lives over destruction.
Then the zero-pointer appears, and Shouta knows what will happen the second before it does. Oboro had always been reckless, had never once considered abandoning someone in need, and of course that trait would happen to be genetic. Izuku charges forward, crouching in front of the girl trapped beneath the rubble, unafraid of the robot stomping towards them. Then, he whirls to face the zero-pointer, eyes flaring with mist as if a fog machine was lodged in his skull. Shouta wonders what he’s trying to accomplish, since he sees nothing until the zero-pointer shudders, sparking as it collapses to the ground in a heap. Heavy fog leaks from its vents like sludge.
Beside him, Nezu cackles gleefully. Not good. “How fascinating.”
“Care to explain what just happened?” Shouta is glad Nemuri has the balls to ask, because he’s curious but doesn’t have the energy to deal with that look on Nezu’s face.
“Isn’t it obvious?” the rat asks as he takes a sip of his tea, even though it clearly isn’t obvious. “Shirakumo increased the humidity within the robot, short-circuiting its wiring by causing water damage. Incredible.”
“If he could do that why wasn’t he doing it before?” Shouta mutters. If the kid was wasting his potential…
Then, on screen, Izuku wobbles and clutches his forehead as he attempts to steady himself.
“It must require a lot of his energy to have created so much fog that it managed to damage the zero pointer,” Nezu explains just as Izuku’s knees buckle and he falls to the ground. “Not to worry. Shuzenji is aware of the situation and has it handled.”
“Room for improvement then,” Shouta offers. “He’s still conscious at least, so he knows his limits.”
“Quite right! And I’m sure you’ll have a wonderful time honing his skills as his teacher next year!”
“You’ve decided he’ll be my problem so quickly? Give him to Vlad. I want nothing to do with Shirakumo, although I’m sure you already know that.”
“Oh, I’ve had the classes organized since the exam ended! Shirakumo will surely excel under your tutelage, Aizawa, and I know you well enough to expect that you not allow personal connections affect your treatment of the students. Am I incorrect in that assumption?”
Gritting his teeth, Shouta groaned, “It has nothing to do with ‘personal connections.’ I’d simply prefer to not deal with another problem child this year.”
Nemuri laughed under her breath. “All your students are ‘problem children,’ Shouta.”
“Yes, but this one will be a Problem Child with emphasis.”
Unfortunately, the time before school starts goes exactly as Shouta expects it to. Hitoshi is placed in gen-ed, which he is understandably disappointed about, but at least he’s determined to prove his worth in the sports festival. Shouta’s class list is full of problem children, as it is every year, including a boy that placed second in the entrance exam with only villain points who will undoubtedly be an issue in class.
And, of course, Shirakumo Izuku is in 1-A as well, just as Nezu promised. He had managed to earn 23 villain points—impressive with a Quirk lacking offense—and an additional 60 rescue points, ranking him first.
On the first day, Shouta sneaks into the room when no one’s paying attention like he always does, and he observes. Naturally, the seating chart placed Izuku right behind the villain-points boy, Bakugou Katsuki, conveniently putting the most problematic of the Problem Children in one place. From his position unnoticed on the floor, Shouta watches the two interact.
(His smile is just like Oboro’s. It hurts to see.)
Bakugou is busy sneering about something, while Izuku seemingly attempts to placate him with only moderate success. Every small explosion fired from the blonde’s palms are easily, almost instinctively, blocked from spreading outward by thick fog, but Bakugou continues his tirade without pause, gesturing to the classroom at large and complaining about the presence of ‘damn extras’ ruining his reputation by association and glaring particularly viciously at Iida Tenya. With a weary look, Izuku just pushes Bakugou back into his seat, pointing to the clock as the class bell rings, and he finally quiets—even if he does growl something under his breath, which Izuku sighs at.
(A small section of his brain is reminded of Oboro, who was always able to sense when Hizashi’s energetic enthusiasm was getting to be too much, always able to settle him and redirect his attention until he calmed down.)
They’re clearly familiar with each other. Hopefully the friendship—if that’s what that was—between them will reduce the problem children’s trouble rather than multiply it, but that seems to be an unlikely expectation.
Shouta waits for the students to notice him and settle. Eight seconds, not too bad to start, but they’ll have to get better. He tells them so. Then he directs them to grab their gym uniforms and meet him on the field for his annual Quirk assessment.
(He ignores the flash of something passing over Izuku’s face at the sight of him and hopes it wasn’t recognition.)
Contrary to popular belief amongst his students, Shouta doesn’t really care about the strength of his students Quirks. It would be rather hypocritical of him, after all, since his own Quirk would not give him any obvious advantage on any of the physical assessments. A Quirk is only a tool in a hero’s arsenal, and Shouta is only concerned with how his students use those tools to their advantage when they approach these tests. While some Quirks act like a hammer and are simple to use to one’s advantage—Bakugou’s Explosion, for example—he’s curious to see how the kids with less offensively oriented Quirks hold themselves in this situation. Their potential lies not in the strength of their Quirks but in the creativity of how they use them.
He’s slightly surprised when the designated problem students are the first out of the locker rooms. Bakugou strides forward like he’s walking into a battle he has already won, with an unearned cockiness that Shouta’s eager to wring out of him over the course of the year. Izuku, at his side, is shyer in his gait, glancing behind himself periodically to stare incredulously at the exterior of the school behind him. Shouta recognizes the look in his eyes as disbelief, as if he’s amazed he has gotten this far.
When they approach, Izuku nods respectfully in greeting and not-so-subtly kicks Bakugou in the shin when his friend tilts his chin upward haughtily. Shouta returns the nod, acknowledges their efficiency being the first on the field, and looks away from Izuku’s imploring, searching gaze as he waits for the rest of the students.
The two students bicker, one more quietly than the other, as the others start to join the group. Bakugou promises that, whatever competition will be, he will pound the ‘extras’ into the dust and be the best. More gently, Izuku says, “Kacchan, we don’t even know what we’re doing yet. Besides,” and suddenly a determined smile stretches across his face, “I’ll be sure to give you a run for your money, so watch me.” Bakugou responds with his own devious sneer.
(That determination, that excited grin, is so achingly familiar.)
He uses Bakugou for his demonstration, since he scored in the top 5 and his Explosion can clearly show the difference a Quirk can make in a physical assessment. The student’s realization that they’re free to use their Quirks however they please is accompanied with their cheers of excitement, but Shouta goes cold when he hears someone use the word ‘fun.’
“Fun? Hero work isn’t playtime. If you’re here for fun, you’re in the wrong profession. Whoever shows the least amount of potential and ends up in last place will be expelled.”
As expected, this receives a chorus of protests from his students, but Shouta does not make empty threats. It’s for good reason. A hero that doesn’t take his job seriously is a dead hero, and he refuses for any of his students to end up that way.
(He thinks of a student—a friend—crushed beneath the weight of a building and the weight of others’ failures.)
The fear of expulsion has created a more serious atmosphere over the students. Only Bakugou is seemingly immune, unconcerned by the threat as he faces each challenge head-on and usually with a cry of ‘DIE!’ to accompany him. At least, Shouta admits, his confidence isn’t entirely unfounded, even if it is a bit premature. He scores high on all of the tests, even the ones that his Quirk isn’t useful for. He’s clearly been training his body alongside his Quirk, which at least says something about his determination to succeed.
The rest of the students perform reasonably well, too. The versatility of Yaoyorozu’s Quirk easily lands her in the top scores of each test, and Todoroki has obviously trained his own Quirk for years and has an incredible grasp on his ice, although Shouta will need to address his hesitation of using fire, since he seems to avoid it at every opportunity. Izuku pauses before each of his tests, as if analyzing the best approach to each situation, which is wonderfully refreshing from a student. For the long jump, he’s so deep in thought that Shouta has to call a tired “Shirakumo!” when he misses his turn.
(He doesn’t realize until then that it’s the first time he has referred to Izuku by his family name, even mentally. Calling him Shirakumo only solidifies the connection between Izuku and Oboro when Shouta is doing everything in his power to distance his student from a ghost.)
“Sensei?” Izuku calls as he approaches the sand pit. “The only objective is to not touch the ground, right?”
“That is correct.”
Izuku grins, his eyes streaming with dense fog as a small, misty platform hovers in front of him. He hops vertically, landing on it easily, then forms another platform just a couple inches away which he steps onto. From the sidelines, Bakugou curses. “Little shit’s just gonna go forever,” he growls as Izuku easily walks over the sand and further across the field, creating footholds of fog under each step.
Shouta gives him a score of infinity for the long jump.
The ball throw is the last test of the assessment, and Shouta has Bakugou go again to be fair to the other students. Grinning, Bakugou shakes out his arms. “I’ll put my last score to shame,” he promises, then launches the ball with a bang.
It makes it only 19.7 meters.
For a moment, everyone is silent, staring at where the ball fell in the dirt after colliding with a wall of fog. Then, Bakugou whirls on Izuku, palms popping with explosions. “Shitty fuckin’ Deku, what the fuck wa-!”
Instinctively, Shouta lashes out with his capture weapon and restrains Bakugou before he can land a hit. His eyes flare red to keep Bakugou from burning through the capture weapon with his explosions. “No unauthorized Quirk use to injure another student, Bakugou.”
“Hah?! I wasn’t gonna do anything! And he used his Quirk first!”
Well, that is technically correct. “Shirakumo, explain.”
(Oh, how that name burns like poison spilling from his mouth.)
Izuku shuffles shyly. “Well, my Quirk is only helpful in some of the tests, and I really don’t want to be expelled after working so hard to get here, but then I realized that I don’t necessarily have to use my Quirk to help myself. I just need to do better than my opponents. So, I sabotaged Kacchan’s ball toss.”
“Do you think heroics is just a game to be won?”
Breaking eye contact, Izuku clenches his fists. “I’m fully aware that being a hero isn’t a game, and that it’s dangerous. I know you’re aware of what happened to my brother, Eraserhead-sensei.” Shouta hasn’t told his students his hero name yet. Izuku definitely recognizes him, then. “I also know that, in a fight, it’s not always enough to give yourself every possible advantage. You have to disadvantage your opponent at every opportunity. That can make the difference between victory and loss.”
(“…you’re aware of what happened to my brother….”)
Definitely a Problem Child.
But at least he’s an interesting one.
Nodding, Shouta releases Bakugou from the capture weapon. “Shirakumo’s reasoning is correct, so I’ll allow it this once. But I do wish to see how your peers perform without any interference, so please refrain from doing that again.”
“Yes, sensei.”
“Bakugou, your turn is over. Your score stands at 19.7 meters. Kirishima, you’re up.”
Grumbling, Bakugou stomps back toward Izuku, but he doesn’t seem inclined to attack, so Shouta just lazily watches them from the corner of his eye. Izuku smiles at his friend bashfully but doesn’t flinch from the blonde’s glare. Eventually, Bakugou huffs, loses steam, and watches the rest of the students finish their assessment with Izuku.
When the students finish, he sends them back to the locker room while he looks over the scores. He had promised to expel the student with the least potential, and he’d meant it, but that didn’t necessarily translate to the student ranking in last place like he’d implied. After all, Hagakure Toru’s Quirk hadn’t been well suited to any of the tests, but she maintained an upbeat attitude throughout the assessment and genuinely seemed to try her best despite the odds. She didn’t deserve to be expelled just because invisibility didn’t grant her any form of super strength or speed. She had the potential to make a decent underground hero.
Instead, Shouta places Mineta Minoru in the lowest position. His Quirk is interesting, in all fairness, but the boy has an annoying, whiney personality that Shouta really doesn’t want to deal with for the rest of the year. And he’s pretty sure he’d seen him leering perversely at some of the girls during the assessment, and that’s definitely something Shouta doesn’t want to deal with for the rest of the year. In all honestly, Mineta is lucky Shouta can only expel him.
The scores are displayed neatly on the chalkboard by the time the students return to the classroom. The Todoroki boy is the first one back, and he only glances neutrally at the scores as he takes his seat, seemingly disinterested in his placement as runner-up. Yaoyorozu at least appears excited about her ranking highest in the class.
Bakugou, seeing his name listed in fourth, spins on Izuku behind him. “I won, nerd! We’re watching the original All Might movie tonight, and you’re buying the snacks.”
Izuku, who placed sixth, hums. “You did beat me, but Kacchan, didn’t you say you’ll beat everyone else? You didn’t even make the top three.”
“Huh?! You’re the one that needs to do better, Deku! I won’t be a hero partner with anyone less than the best, ya hear me?! It’s gotta be us two at the top, so meet me there.”
(“Let’s form an agency, the three of us. We’ll be a team!”)
“You have to actually be at the top for me to meet you there, Kacchan.”
Shouta is thankful, like he is every year, that the desks are resistant to most types of damage, because otherwise Bakugou would be destroying his much more effectively. He’s too exasperated to put a stop to it, though, and Bakugou isn’t hurting anyone, so he just lets him wear himself out.
The rest of the students trail in slowly, most looking relieved by their placements above last place. When Mineta finally stumbles in and stares at the board in horror, Shouta just points at the door and he leaves in a stunned daze. Now there’ll be an open spot in his class for Hitoshi to transfer into. His kid just needs to prove his worth at the Sports Festival, and everything will fall neatly into place.
“That’s all I expect of you for today. Take a syllabus on your way out and come prepared tomorrow.” He grabs his sleeping bag and goes to wait for Hitoshi in the teacher’s lounge.
When the day is finally over, him and Hitoshi walk back to their house nearby, and Hitoshi tells him about his day, promising that everyone left Hizashi’s class with their eardrums still intact at the end of the day. Then, he asks about Shouta’s day, and Shouta only huffs in reply.
Hitoshi rolls his eyes. “I bet all those hero kids are damn annoying, huh? Everything handed to them on a silver platter with their perfect Qui-”
Shouta slaps him upside the head—gently. “You’re too bitter,” he scolds, and Hitoshi sighs.
“Okay, maybe only most of them are like that,” he acquiesces. Shouta doesn’t argue this, since it’s partly true. “Hey, are there any cute boys in your class? There’s no one really that cute in gen-ed, but maybe there’s someone in the other courses…”
“Hitoshi, it would be unethical of me as a teacher to say that any of the literal children in my class qualify as cute. If you want to answer that, you’ll have to meet them yourself.”
(He briefly considers introducing Hitoshi to Izuku and wonders if the attraction to Shirakumo boys is a trait that will run in the Aizawa family. He says nothing of it.)