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They don't let it be.
No, that would be too simple. Too nice, too kind. Their empty hearts have no room for compassion, not in this world, not in this lifetime.
They're forcing Midoriya to testify.
As if the tapes weren't enough. As if the written documents weren't enough. As if the blatantly false statements from Aldera corrected by Shouta Aizawa and Nedzu weren't enough.
It all should have been enough, Shouta knows. Enough to keep Midoriya from ever seeing his past teachers or principal ever again.
And yet here Shouta is, on what could- what should have been a normal Wednesday afternoon, sending his student a text asking the boy to meet him outside of the dorms.
This isn't the type of news Shouta wants to drop on his kid in a text, after all.
(It's also not the type of news that Shouta wants to give at all , but that's irrelevant by now.)
Midoriya doesn't take long, not even five minutes pass before his Problem Child is coming through the door, eyes scanning the grounds and locking onto him immediately.
"Sensei!" Midoriya calls out, excitedly, and Shouta can't help but wonder if Midoriya would have ever called out to his previous teachers in such a joyful manner.
If things had been different, maybe.
If his teachers weren't all pure, unashamed assholes.
"Let’s go for a walk," Shouta says, the bitterness that comes out whenever he thinks of Aldera hard to maintain. "I've got something to tell you."
They make it barely two steps away from the dorms before Midoriya blurts out, "Is my mom okay?"
"Of course," Shouta assures, although perplexed. "Why wouldn't she be?"
"You look…upset," Midoriya admits, his answer a bit hesitant, looking bashful yet relieved with his first assumption being wrong. "If it was a swap, you'd be happy. And I think we're past the point where you'd expel me-"
"We're well past that," Shouta cuts in, because it's true and Midoriya should know this by now.
Midoriya laughs. "I'm glad; I like being here." Then, tilting his head, he asks, "So what is the matter?"
For a moment, just a single instant or two, Shouta considers lying. He considers brushing off Midoriya’s concerns and making an excuse up, perhaps simply drop a new assignment on him and try telling him again tomorrow, on Thursday, or perhaps even the day of-
But Shouta knows Midoriya, and he knows that his kid does better when he has more time to prepare for whatever is to come, and so he dives right into the deep end.
"I've been setting up a case against Aldera." Shouta watches as Midoriya’s eyes widened, mouth opening somewhat. "They're making it a necessity for you to testify."
Midoriya blinks up at him, once, twice, and then again.
And then he’s speaking, voice filled with a sense of confusion as he asks, “What?”
And, okay, that’s fair, because Shouta is dropping this on him out of the blue, and he hasn’t really given any indication that he was doing this, but the sheer disbelief in Midoriya’s eyes is almost painful to see.
It’s like Midoriya never expected anyone to try going against such a vile school.
Oh.
That’s exactly what it is.
Ignoring the hurt that quickly threatens to overwhelm him, Shouta speaks again. “I’ve been working on a case with the help of Detective Tsukauchi and Nedzu. We’re taking your middle school down , Problem Child. Unfortunately, they’ve somehow managed to make it a requirement for you to come in.”
“You...took the time to do that?” Midoriya asks, and Shouta nods. “But why? That must have taken a lot of time, sensei.”
“It’s worth it,” Shouta says instantly, and a shine fills Midoriya’s eyes. “What they did to you was awful, kid, and all of the teachers who encouraged your bullies don’t deserve to have their licenses. That whole school needs a mass reform, or a shutdown, either one works. But letting them keep going as they are?” Shouta snorts. “No chance in Hell, kid.”
Midoriya’s expression pinches, tears welling up in his eyes, and Shouta braces himself for impact. And he gets one, in the form of an overly strong teenager barreling into his arms, latching onto him and crying.
“No one’s ever- you saw - I never thought someone would try -” Half started and never finished sentences sputter out of Midoriya’s mouth, and Shouta just tightens the embrace, letting his kid get out the words he never had the reason to say.
And, eventually, the tears dry up, not fully, but enough, and Midoriya is leaning back, arms unlatching from Shouta’s shirt and moving to wrap around himself.
“Thank you,” Midoriya says, voice barely a whisper. “I’ll do my best.”
“I know,” Shouta says, and he means it.
Because Midoriya always does his best, and it’s time that this fact is fully recognized.
(Oh, Aldera will burn. Friday can’t come quick enough.)
-----
And as if hearing the prayers of a rather parental teacher, Friday morning arrives without delay, and the students of 1-A keep an eye on the door as the minutes tick down, coming closer and closer to the start of homeroom.
Because Izuku Midoriya has been himself for a few days now, and it is Friday now, and this together is a somewhat stressful fact.
"He was Hatsume last time," Ochako Uraraka murmurs, glancing between the entrance and those who she talks to. "Who do you think he will be this time?"
"No clue, but they'll probably be more chaotic," Hitoshi Shinsou says with a shrug, and Uraraka nods along.
"He may be someone calmer, instead!" Tenya Iida refutes. "I'm sure sensei will give us a reprieve once more."
"Do you really believe that?" Shinsou asks, and Iida sputters.
But he never truly gives an answer.
Shouto Todoroki, for his part, merely tilts his head and says, "I don't think Midoriya will be doing a swap at all, today."
"What makes you say that?" Shinsou asks, and Todoroki shrugs.
"Well," he starts, and is promptly cut off by the bell ringing, the door opening right after.
And in walks the man of the hour, and every hour before and after when it comes to such a topic as acting, dressed to the nines and definitely impressive in this moment. Wild green hair is tamed, the curls less frantic, more subdued. Black dress pants and a white button down cover his person, a black suit coat covering most of the shirt. Dark dress shoes tap against the tiles, and a perfectly done tie stands out, a sign of change.
Instantly, the students of 1-A are clamoring for ideas, minds in overdrive as they try to recall just who would wear such an outfit. Anyone is an option, nowadays. Heroes are recalled, villains remembered, students from all over Yuuei thought of for a brief instant before being forgotten just as quickly. Nineteen students run through mental lists, trying to envision who Midoriya might be today.
Yet they all draw blanks.
But then they are thrown for a loop once more, when Shouta Aizawa, their homeroom teacher, enters the room.
Because his outfit matches Midoriya’s perfectly , from the suit down to the tie, with hair slicked back as well.
And Aizawa has never matched with Midoriya, not once, except for when Midoriya was assigned to impersonate their teacher for his second swap. So for the two to be dressed perfectly alike?
Well, something must be off.
And indeed something is, although it is not what the class expected, as they never expected Aizawa to turn to them and say, "Midoriya is not acting today. Do not question him on his apparel."
And then Aizawa is heading to his podium, and Midoriya to his desk, and the room is silent for a moment.
Only to be broken an instant later.
"Because he told me," Todoroki finishes, and Shinsou sighs.
"You couldn't have told us beforehand?" Uraraka asks, and Todoroki shrugs.
"It just came up."
Three sighs fill the room, a feeling of exasperation emerging. It seems that the students of 1-A do not need Midoriya to take on another assignment for their emotions to be played, no.
No, they can manage just fine on their own, lost in their own hypotheticals.
The day starts, calm yet tiresome nonetheless.
-----
The day passes calmly, and true to his word, Izuku Midoriya does not once show signs of acting. He responds to his name, offers his usual sunshine smile, and says and does things that only the greenet would do if he were himself that day.
But then the day is done, and routine shifts. Because normally, when the school day is over, Midoriya will do one of two things. He will either go off on his own, usually to train or talk to a teacher, or he will join his friends in whatever activity they want to do that day, whether it be hopping right into homework or leaving campus to get a snack.
Today, however, Midoriya does neither, and it is surprising to the students of 1-A to see their peer leaving campus side by side with Aizawa, neither looking all too pleased as they go.
No, today is abnormal, for as normal as it has been, and the students of 1-A wonder if they will learn why.
They just hope that Midoriya and Aizawa will be okay, whatever they're off to do. It's the only good result that comes to mind, when they both had such dreadful expressions on their face.
(Why would their friend look so tense? Who hurt him?)
(Far too many.)
-----
The case of Aizawa v. Aldera begins without delay, both sides having arrived for the set time, with various emotional states being portrayed. Gesu Yarō exudes confidence, the kind that only someone far too smug and self-assured could have. Yarō’s lawyer, a plain-faced man, shows nothing at first glance, although one would see the doubt in their eyes, the knowledge that the person they represent is not in the right, and never was in the first place.
And then there is Shouta Aizawa, who holds nothing but a stiff anger in his eyes and a tenseness in his jaw, rage coursing through every inch of him except for the gentle hand that guides his student and kid in all but blood, Izuku Midoriya. And Midoriya is tense, wary, shoulders hunched in a way that they haven’t been in quite some time, eyes darting around, assessing exit points, ways out of danger.
The moods are varied, but there is one goal in mind.
The two who have organized this standoff, Aizawa and Yarō, hold nothing but the hope that their opposition suffers.
Court comes into session, and the sides take their places. Aizawa’s lawyer, a man paid for and trusted by Yuuei numerous times, known for nothing but his many successes and the failures he never had, takes to the front, offering the story to the judge. No evidence is given, not yet.
There is a plan. A trap.
Yarō steps right into it.
Their first story is based on lies, on claims that Midoriya was never hurt, was never abandoned by their school and left to suffer. Their first tale is that Midoriya is crying wolf, that Midoriya was not given teachers who encouraged his bullies to be crueler, that Midoriya was not taught by a staff composed of those who are bullies themselves. Their first statement is that Midoriya has not told the truth, and that he is merely seeking attention.
And this is when they are reminded of the evidence. The evidence that Yarō knew they’d have, that was openly noted. Videos recordings, audio, written corrections and more. Midoriya’s case is solid, and the opposition has always known this. Still, they tried to play ignorant, they tried to lie.
Yarō’s lawyer changes his tune, plays up the past. He uses Midoriya’s late bloomer status as an excuse, even as he winces through his own explanation. He tries to claim that the school was merely trying to toughen up Midoriya, so that he could face the real world, and then, when that does not work, that there was no reason to ruin the futures of those with potential over a single Quirkless boy.
The lawyer even goes so far as to reveal Yarō’s belief that Midoriya is faking his Quirk- a statement proved wrong easily enough, when the judge asks Midoriya to activate Superpower, and then has Aizawa erase his Quirk.
As if the scars weren’t enough.
Back and forth, the lawyers go, until Yarō clears his throat and whispers something to his lawyer, who winces before standing up, expression smoothing out.
“My client wishes for Midoriya to go to the stand now.”
The judge grants the request, and Aizawa has to let his still soft grip on Midoriya’s should slip off. The greenet moves forwards, eyes somewhat dazed as he slinks into position.
It only gets worse from there, the questions somehow so much more infuriating when thrown directly at Midoriya.
“Midoriya, it’s stated by my client that you had a tendency to pick fights when no one was watching, so that your peers would get in trouble. Do you agree that you got into a lot of fights while at Aldera?”
Midoriya looks flustered by the wording, eyes wide as scarred hands grip onto the podium. “I- I didn’t pick fights, sir. I was an easy target- nobody liked the Quirkless kid, after all-”
“And did you do something, to make them dislike you?” The lawyer interrupts, seeking a new angle, and Aizawa seethes in his spot. “Kids don’t just wake up and decide to hate.”
“They do, sometimes,” Midoriya murmurs. “I didn’t do anything to them. I was different, that was all, and they had all been taught that I was lesser because I was Quirkless.”
“It gives you a major disadvantage,” the lawyer agreed, his own eye twitching at the word, but voice remaining calm and formal. “Surely, it would be foolish to believe that you were on equal playing grounds as them.”
“It would have been,” Midoriya agrees. “But I knew that. It just meant I’d need to work harder, to reach your goals.”
“My client states that you wanted to be a hero.”
“It’s why I’m in the hero course,” Midoriya agrees, eyes flashing with a hint of the confidence that has been kindled by his time with Yuuei, and Aizawa flashes a smirk at the boy. Midoriya sees, and his shoulders drop, tension fading away. “I’m going to be a hero.”
“But that’s now that you have a Quirk,” the lawyer tries to counter. “Do you honestly think that you would have been in the course, had you not manifested the Quirk?”
“Not right away,” Midoriya says openly. “But I got lucky.”
“You did-”
“And getting lucky does not negate the fact that my teachers encouraged my peers in tormenting me for having dreams. I was given a worse starting point, yes, but it is not my Quirk that lets me keep my spot in Yuuei. If I was all brawns and only brains, I would have been gone from the start. It is the parts of me that I have always had that make me who I am, not the Quirk that presented late.”
“But you-”
“I’m just a kid, sir,” Midoriya says, voice broken but words steady all the while. “And that’s all I was then, too. I didn’t want to seek attention, I didn’t want to cause trouble, I didn’t goad anyone on or ask for them to hate me. I was just a kid , sir, with a Quirk that hadn’t presented yet. If you can tell me how I should be blamed for that, or for the people who saw me and thought I was a good punching bag for their frustrations, please let me know. I’ve been trying to figure it out for over a decade, now.”
The man has no answer.
Midoriya leaves the stand, and a bit of him seems to be left behind as well.
For better or for worse, the past remains, and Midoriya walks away.
-----
Guilty.
The court takes their side, and condemns Aldera and its people for its actions and misdeeds. It's not being shut down, technically, but the heavy fines and license revocations of all of the teachers who encouraged such blatant Quirkism doesn't leave much room for the imagination on the fate of Aldera.
And that's perfect, because it means that Shouta can grin in manic glee as he and his students leave the courtroom, Midoriya’s shoulders untensing with every step.
"They're done," Midoriya murmurs, and Shouta nods.
"They are," Shouta agrees. "They won't be able to hurt you or anyone else ever again, kid."
He expects the tears, but still sighs when they come, shaking his head with a smile that he will only admit to himself to be fond.
And then he places a hand on Midoriya’s shoulder and squeezes, gentle but grounding, a sensation that Midoriya seems to grab onto.
"You did good, Problem Child," Shouta praises, and Midoriya gives him a smile through a watery sob. "Come on, let's go get something to eat, you're probably hungry by now."
And if 'something to eat' ends up being mochi?
Well, there's no way that Shouta would make Midoriya pick another option, not today.
No, he simply gets his own, because today is a day to celebrate.
A step in the right direction, and a good one at that.
Shouta is just glad to see his kid looking so relieved, a bit of his past dealt with once and for all.
It's nice.
-----
But it's not all that occurs, on such an important Friday evening. No, because with nightfall comes Izuku Midoriya to Shouta Aizawa's room, knocking on the man's door with a careful gentleness, unwilling to risk waking anyone with curfew just passing.
He hates the fact that he's breaking a rule, especially so blatantly, but the conversation he's about to have...it's one that he can't risk others overhearing.
Luckily, Aizawa opens the door just fine.
“Problem Child?” Aizawa asks, and that’s it. No ‘why are you up past curfew?’ No ‘what are you doing here?’ Those aren’t the important questions, now, not when Aizawa knows Izuku will answer them immediately.
And he does.
“Sensei, can...can we talk?”
They can. Aizawa nods, opening the door and letting Izuku slink in. There’s a small living room, in Aizawa’s dorm, and Izuku takes one of the chairs, Aizawa sitting opposite him. And then Aizawa just….just sits there, waiting patiently, giving Izuku a chance to find his voice in order to speak.
He finds it, and the first words come tumbling out, loose and clumsy, falling from his lips with graceless ease.
“I was Quirkless, before Yuuei.”
Aizawa nods, because he knows this, has known this for a while now, ever since the second day of Izuku’s acting assignments. He’s waiting for something to change, for something new to be said.
“I was never supposed to get a Quirk.”
Aizawa pauses, no doubt due to the phrasing, the implication, but it’s the truth that Izuku has always known, ever since the day of the diagnosis.
Izuku Midoriya was not made to have a Quirk.
“You think you were never going to manifest your Quirk?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku laughs. It’s a bit too bitter to be normal, but maybe that’s what going over years of mistreatment in a day does to someone.
“I was never going to have a Quirk at all. This Quirk isn’t mine , sensei.” Izuku takes a deep breath, then lets it out, a secret he’s held close to his chest being released at the same time, “I was given my Quirk by All Might on the day of the Entrance Exam.”
“Given,” Aizawa repeats, and Izuku nods, the motion a little too jerky to be normal, shuddering a bit as he breathes in.
“We met ten months before. He- he trained me.” Izuku laughs again, hands wrapping around himself in a half-attempted hug. “I had….impressed him, I think. Have you ever heard of the Sludge Villain?”
“The one that attacked Bakugou,” Aizawa confirms. “It’s in his file.”
“Yeah,” Izuku murmurs. “They only cared about his file, didn’t they?” Tilting his head, Izuku asks, “Did the file ever mention a Quirkless boy entering the scene?”
“No,” but Aizawa is already catching on, a sort of wry smile tugging at his lips, “but I have a feeling that was you, wasn’t it?”
“I always was a problem child,” Izuku agrees, but then he laughs, and it feels a little more real . Aizawa’s smile widens, becoming more genuine all the same, and Izuku can’t help but relax into the chair a little bit more.
Aizawa isn’t disgusted, after all, nor is he dismissive. He’s the same as he always was.
And for the first time in his life, it’s a good thing for a teacher to be this way.
“But I rushed in. It was reckless, but, well, that was Kacchan . I couldn’t just leave him there. The heroes weren’t doing anything, and Kacchan would have died.”
“You don’t think he would have gotten out?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku shrugs.
“Maybe. Probably not. Kacchan’s only reaction back then was explosions, explosions, and more explosions, and….well, I didn’t want to leave it up to chance. Suffocating is awful, sensei.”
Aizawa straightens, eyes narrowing. “You say that like you have experience,” Aizawa says, but the tone of his voice isn’t doubtful.
No, it’s worried.
“The Sludge Villain found me not long before he reached Kacchan,” Izuku recalls, ignoring the way that his throat clenches, a memory of breathless gasps and lungs far too full for his liking (or living, but that’s another matter that he also likes to forget). “All Might saved me.”
Aizawa nods along again, but he doesn’t interrupt, so it doesn’t take Izuku long to keep going. And so he explains, telling his homeroom teacher about how he’d leapt on to All Might as the man took off, of his desperate question and the answer he’d received.
“All Might said no,” Izuku admits, disappointment seeping into his tone despite the ending he knows that he’ll get to tell. “I mean, it’s what I had heard every day of my life, but...it was All Might , you know?”
“But he left me there, on the rooftop, and it was just me up on that building.”
“And then what?” Aizawa asks, and Izuku grimaces.
“Then I heard an explosion. The Sludge Villain had escaped from All Might’s pocket, and had found a new target.”
“Bakugou.”
“Yeah. Kacchan was caught up in there, and I acted, and All Might...All Might was impressed that I’d do that, despite having my dreams crushed just moments before.” Izuku snorts. “As if I hadn’t had them crushed for a decade.”
“Kid, that’s….that’s not good,” Aizawa settles on, and Izuku shakes his head.
“It wasn’t. It sucked, sensei, and that’s putting it lightly. But...no one else viewed it that way, back then. At Aldera, no one would have sided with me. The teachers ignored me, I was admittedly lucky if my peers ignored me, it was a….a rough time, admittedly.”
And it was. Izuku remembers all of the years of just...putting up with it all, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do. Remembers all of the self-doubts and worries and the inability to fully believe in himself and his future. Even as he broadcasted his dream of being the first Quirkless hero, there was always a part of him that thought that he’d fail, a part that didn’t want to even try because it felt safer to give up while he was ahead.
But Aizawa went to bat for him, went to court for him.
“No one ever wanted to advocate for the Quirkless kid,” Izuku murmurs, and he knows that he’s crying all over again but he can’t help it, not as he smiles at his teacher. “Thank you for being the first.”
And as Aizawa moves from his chair, pulling him into a hug that feels safe and unrestrictive and oddly like home , Izuku knows one thing.
He’s never had a better teacher.
And Izuku can’t help but melt into the embrace, knowing that the future will be good and bright.
Because maybe he is Quirkless, underneath the power of One for All, but he is cared for, and that’s more than enough.
It’ll always be more than enough.