Archive of Our Own ^beta

i.

If Shouta only knew what he was getting himself into, then maybe he would've gone through with his threat of expulsion before he even got around to meeting Class 1-A.

It's wishful thinking, the thought of being rid of the gremlins before they even have the opportunity to make his life miserable. And on the off chance that he encounters a time travel quirk, maybe he'd ask to be sent to the past to tell his younger self to close his eyes and believe they don't have potential.

But fate despises him, so he has to face the consequences of his actions and live with it. Why he doesn't just expel them now to make up for it, he'll never say, but he can always pull out the excuse "it'll be more trouble than it's worth now," anytime.

It's not that they've grown on him; that's a foolish conclusion. Lies and slander — all baseless accusations. It's simply because they're well on their way to becoming heroes, with experience under their belts and the determination to reach it. Moreover, it's illogical for him to remove them without an actual reason aside from them being the kids that they are.

But sometimes, more often than not, his gaze lands on Class 1-A and he thinks, "when will this day end?" by default. And like those other times, this is exactly what crosses his mind as he stands before three of his kids.

Quite frankly, when Shouta heard that Tsukauchi has news for him, the first line that crosses his mind is, what has the problem children done, now? Because somehow, they manage to find a way to get tangled in every possible mess available despite the existence of the dorms.

And, really, he shouldn't have been surprised when the word that keeps on being brought up through the year resurfaces. The incredulity of the situation still baffles him, considering that he allowed them out without him just for one, single day.

Vigilantism.

In the end, the actions of his students, should the circumstances have even been slightly different, can be summed up by that word. He gave them permission to fight most of the time, but there were instances when they jumped straight into the battle when they shouldn't have.

It was vigilantism when they faced the Hero Killer — yes, All Might, I've obviously been briefed regarding that — and still that word when they headed to Kamino — what were they thinking, diving headfirst into danger like that? — to save Bakugou. Then there's the fight against the Gentle Criminal, which could have been considered as one because Midoriya wasn't supposed to be there at all, if it weren't for the existence of his Provisional Hero License.

Those cases were to be expected; his class liked to cause havoc whenever possible, after all. But having the person he was least expecting to do it be almost listed as that? Well, they're always seeking to surprise him. He just wishes their actions were less headache-inducing, because at this point he thinks they're just doing it all to spite him.

"So," he drawls tiredly, because he isn't awake enough for this, "vigilantism."

Midoriya has, at least, the decency to look somewhat embarrassed. The other two, on the other hand, barely even shrugs at his words.

He keeps his gaze on Shinsou, whose actions were deemed as vigilantism due to his lack of license. Despite that, his student remains unbothered.

Shouta hates how their uncanny similarity is slightly clouding his judgement, because damn it, he understands the kid and his thought process. What he did was heroic and logical, and he can't fault him for that.

His protégé subtly glances at Midoriya. Said student parts his lips open, most likely to say something in Shinsou's defense —

"If your words will be something along the lines of, "it wasn't his fault but mine," then I don't want to hear it."

— and promptly closes it, smiling sheepishly. Shouta sighs. The kid means well, and has a good heart. Still, he needs something else other than them taking the blame.

If he allowed Midoriya to continue his statement, the three would undoubtedly try and claim the crown for whoever is at fault for themselves. Damned kids would fight tooth and nail to protect their loved ones — too heroic for their own good.

Todoroki glances at his friends, before looking at Shouta expressionlessly. For some reasons, he's already regretting being in this position.

"In our defense," he starts, face not betraying anything, "we were left unsupervised."

Shinsou snorts, masking it with a badly faked cough. Midoriya, on the other hand, gapes at Todoroki, seemingly horrified at the idea that his friend would even dare think of saying that.

And Shouta — well, he wants to slam his head against the wall. Maybe collapse onto the ground and pretend they don't exist. Or perhaps he'll just take his previous statement back — the kids are clearly out to stress him further, not to be heroic.

Plus Ultra, they cheer, as they rush into danger and leave Shouta to handle everything else.

The worst thing is that he can't even call him out for saying that, because he's right. Hizashi has already mentioned it to him, retelling the story with his gaze fixed downwards due to his shame, and Shouta may or may not have scolded his friend for it.

Still, he stares at Todoroki, unimpressed, "That doesn't make it any less illegal."

Todoroki looks at him with a perfect impersonation of his own expression, unfaltering. "I never said it did."

Shouta pinches the bridge of his nose. This class is going to give him premature grey hairs, if he doesn't have them already. "This has been such an unbearably exhausting day. My patience reserved for the week has now dwindled away to non-existence."

"Um," Midoriya replies intelligently. "It's only Tuesday?"

"Point remains," he sighs, waving them off dismissively. "Whatever. Talk to All Might or something, let him play the bad cop for once. I'm sure he has a thing or two to say about vigilantism — I don't care what he does. Scram."

The three turn to one another, then they wordlessly head out of his office. Before they can completely leave, however, he hears Shinsou say, "Well, that worked as planned."

He really should've expelled them during their first day, the insufferable brats.

ii.

Students usually prepare their own meals. The dorms have a kitchen for that very purpose, a way for them to bond, have fun, and whatever social interactions that may bring. The class representatives have set up a routine for cooking, changing daily for fairness. And while most of them are good at cooking, it can't be helped that there'd be accidents.

Shouta has always been aware of the possibility. They're still kids, no matter what anyone says. But the scene before him blows his mind — and it's not a good thing.

This? This is a disaster. Beyond it, even. The kitchen looks like a storm lashed out inside the dorms; flour scattered across the pristine tiles, ketchup painting the white walls, and the scent of charred inedible food are what welcomed Shouta warmly.

He can't even wrap his head around it. He doesn't know just what exactly it is they're cooking, and apparently his class doesn't know either. They're desperately trying to salvage what they can — or at least some of them are — but even Midoriya has steered clear of the kitchen despite usually being the first one to volunteer to help.

"It's good, sensei, we promise!" Kirishima says, lying through his gritted teeth. "It just needs a little… flavor."

"Once again," he inhales, trying to keep his voice steady. "It does not need more — Kirishima, let go of the salt or so help me — "

"But sensei, it needs three tablespoons of salt," Uraraka says unhelpfully, clearly wanting nothing but world domination, if the way she's trying to poison them all with the amount of seasonings they're adding because of her is anything to go by. "A little more wouldn't hurt! It's all — " she waves her hand, gesturing at the ingredients, " — subjective. Add as much as you want, Kirishima!"

"It… it says teaspoon," Shouji points out, reading the recipe online with one of his hands, another glaring at the failed dish as though it offends him. And maybe it does. "How much did you say you put in again?"

"...I — four tablespoons, I think?"

"Fools," is all Tokoyami says before retreating to his room. Shouta wishes he could do the same, but he's stuck supervising these kids. He knows they can do worse, and that's not a comforting thought at all. So, he needs to stay until this — whatever this may be — is over.

Ojiro stares at his classmates' mess before sighing. "Who even came up with the idea that the entire class should cook together on Sundays?"

"What do you mean?" Jiro teases, grinning as she eats the snacks that she probably bought for herself alone. "It's bonding, y'know? For the experience, for the — "

"If you say one more word I will burn the entire kitchen down to the ground," Bakugou snaps, the only one actually doing something for the sake of eating. "I hate this. I hate it here. What the fuck, do you guys not even know how to boil water? How do you not know that when we cooked pasta just yesterday?"

"First of all, rude," Sero says as he passes by, carrying — so they're cooking chicken, now? Weren't they thawing beef? "Second, of course we do! Who do you think makes you coffee in the morning?"

"Fuck you, I make my own coffee," Bakugou scoffs. "The only person I trust here is myself, and rightfully so. Fuckers."

"Language," Shouta says instinctively. Everyone ignores him, more interested in further messing with their food despite their ability to cook well on a normal day.

He watches helplessly as they gradually turn the kitchen into something else he'd really rather not have seen in this lifetime. And honestly? He'd never be able to express his gratitude that the teachers eat by themselves and not with their respective classes.

Maybe he can do something about it, can tell them off for making a mess and activate his quirk. He knows that one word from him and they'd stop, with how much they respect him.

But laughter filters into the open air, smiles on their faces as their eyes shine with how happy they are. And, well.

Just today.

For now, he'll simply regret his life choices as he watches from a distance.

iii.

Along with the dorms comes a few ground rules. The guidelines are simple — maintaining cleanliness and orderliness within the campus, no quirk usage unless permitted or under urgent circumstances, and such.

One of them is the curfew policy.

It's not hard to follow, with the curfew being 11 rather than 8 or 9 or something else as early in the evening. Moreover, they can head to the common room if they so please — others' rooms, the rooftop, and the outside of the building being the restricted areas — so Shouta couldn't see why they wouldn't follow it.

But because Class 1-A loves causing chaos and stressing him, they must have agreed with one another that violating the aforementioned policy, in the words of Iida Tenya, is "a great way to strengthen and deepen the connections of our class." Or so he heard as he passed by them, anyway.

He wants to believe that he's simply been convinced by his peers to think such, but he remembers that he's already knee deep in vigilantism. Not that Tensei is a good influence either — he's probably told Tenya of all the times they broke the rules back when they were still in high school.

If he wanted Shouta to kill him, he could've just said so.

But that can wait. For now, Shouta hides his presence as he checks on his students, all 20 of them on the rooftop at 2 a.m. Ironically, they're playing the very game that'll tear their friendship apart: Monopoly.

They're pointing at one another irritatedly with hushed whispers, and Midoriya, Asui, and Yaoyorozu are the only ones calmly playing. He scans the rooftop. Most must have decided to simply watch, or they also have a routine like their kitchen set-up.

"You're making me pay rent? Me? Are you sure? Because last time I remember, I paid for your ice cream," Kaminari hisses, pulling away his hand from his piece as though it burned him. "You're heartless. Ungrateful. How dare you — "

"Are you paying or will I have to pry it from your cold, dead hands?" Asui asks, expressionless. Kaminari sputters out a quiet, "that's not even how that phrase works!" But soon enough, the Monopoly money is in her hands. "Glad to know we've come to an agreement."

Kouda inches away from the players as their faces darken, hugging his bunny closer as he scans the players' money, assessing them carefully. Meanwhile, Aoyama subtly gulps as he rolls the dice, clearly resigned to his inevitable fate despite him pretending otherwise. He moves his glittered piece. Yaoyorozu smiles lightly, not as kind as her usual one. Money is passed around again, this time falling in the hands of the vice class representative.

"Please let me quit," Satou says as he shifts in his seat. Shouta takes that as his cue to crash their small, quiet gathering that is clearly against their school rules.

"Would you look at the time," the class jumps at his voice. He really needs to teach them more about situational awareness. "It's almost as if — huh, it's already two in the morning, who would have thought?"

"Sensei," Iida clambers to his feet, panicked. "It's — we've simply lost track of time! We've been here way before curfew, so..."

"Really, now," Shouta pulls out his phone, showing them the alert that all 20 of them passed through the rooftop doors at 12 in the morning. "How do you explain this?"

The class remains quiet. He raises a brow at them.

"It's… we forgot to check the time, but we got food?" Hagakure tries, gesturing to the food around them.

"That's exactly what happened!" Yaoyorozu adds, smiling sheepishly at the realisation that she said it too quickly. "Sorry, sensei. It won't happen again."

Shouta pinches the bridge of his nose. "These kids…"

They fall into yet another silence. The students stare everywhere but him, while he waits for someone to move. The seconds trickle by with no one brave enough to do so. Just as he's about to dismiss them, someone speaks up.

"Sensei, five more minutes, please?" Kaminari pleads, and the rest of the class follows his lead.

All he wanted to do after patrol was sleep. How did he end up awake with his class until four in the morning?

iv.

He wants to disown his kids.

There's not even a single month in the span he's known them that's villain-free. Even having a week off from anything remotely related to heroism is a rarity, if not non-existent.

And he's proud of them. Really, he is. But there's an ache deep in the marrows of his bones, clawing in his chest, and the terror of having one of them not come back to the dorms overrides the rest of his senses. It keeps him up at night, paranoia clinging to him as he checks the surveillance feeds and patrols the expanse of UA.

To say the least, he's tired beyond belief.

So when his class goes on a school trip, he had hoped that it'd go differently. They deserved as much rest as possible, being the students that they are.

He should've known that the universe wouldn't be so kind as to grant him his one, single wish.

As they venture towards their destination for their school trip, a villain attack ends up on the main streets, successfully blocking their way. At once, their vehicle veers off lane, tires squealing irritably as it screeches to a halt, trying to keep themselves out of the battle.

"Alright," he announces, readying to jump into the fray himself. Because unlike the students in the bus, he's an actual pro-hero who can handle the situation by himself, thank you very much. "We're trapped here until the roads clear. I'll check out the fight myself and will be back once it's over. The rest of you, please, for once in your lives, listen to me and stay on the bus until I say otherwise."

He then rushes out, wielding his capture weapon as he gradually takes their opponents out one-by-one.

Naturally, Class 1-A didn't quite catch the last part of his tear-inducing speech. It takes them 30 seconds at most to reach the center of the battlefield after his arrival and less than ten minutes to subdue the villains.

Show-offs. He quells the pride in his heart, more resigned than anything as they have once again dismissed his instructions.

Following the debriefing, his seriousness reverts to never-ending tiredness. And once they're back in the bus, he lets out a long, suffering sigh.

"What did I say about the attack?" Shouta asks them, crossing his arms in front of him.

At first, none of them dares to say anything. They glance at one another, clearly trying to shift the blame, but soon apparently come to a collective conclusion.

Whatever that is, he doesn't know. He's not paid to learn of it either.

"That we're stuck here until we're allowed to go?" Ashido finally quips. He glares her way, but it's hard to get mad when his entire class is grinning happily at him.

"Would you look at that? I'm not a ghost after all," he deadpans. "If so, why did none of you listen when I specifically told you to not get involved?"

Todoroki perks up. Shouta raises a brow at him, challenging him to speak after the stunt they pulled just a few weeks ago with Shinsou. Todoroki either doesn't care enough or simply doesn't care at all because despite Shouta's expression, he replies, "Well, at least it's not vigilantism since we're legally allowed to fight."

Shinsou raises his hand in an attempt to further prove their point. "I stayed on the bus."

"Vigilantism or not, you failed to follow instructions," Shouta tells them. Why do they keep searching for loopholes in everything that he says? "There'll be punishments once we return to our campus. Have fun dreading it during this trip."

Several groans of protests echo in the bus. Shouta's mind wanders to the resignation letter in his laptop that's ready to be submitted anytime. Maybe it's time to consider retiring and opening up a coffee shop instead.

+1

There are ashes in his tongue as the rubbles creak underfoot. The building he's on is at the brink of collapsing, but he ignores it as he carefully makes his way to the civilians caught in the crossfire.

His heart is hammering against his ribcage, a shudder rippling down his spine as it fully sinks in him just what is going on. He takes the civilians' hands and guides them to the safe zone with his breath caught in his throat, worry overriding his senses as he darts about, doing his job while his mind wanders.

He needs to focus, but he can't. Emotions will do nothing but get in the way of his work, so he should crush it before someone gets hurt.

His gaze drifts anyway, never staying on one point. There's too many things going on, so many people to find specific individuals. But he can't help but search for his class, for his kids that he got separated with when the first explosion tore through the district.

Where are they?

"Eraser, great timing!" Someone calls for him. Midnight. "Over here — she needs to be pulled out."

"Okay," he says blankly. She shoots him a concerned gaze. And after they've guided the formerly trapped girl from the rubbles, Midnight pulls him aside.

"What's up with you?" Midnight asks him. "What's — hey, eyes on me, Shouta. What's going on in your head?"

He surveys the area. Collapsed buildings. Blaring sirens. Bloodied and injured people scattered across the streets.

He knows they're capable. He knows that more than anyone else, have watched them grow from mere students to actual future heroes. But he sees a rubble falling down, thinks of a too kind smile even in his last moments.

And he hasn't even found a single one of them.

"My kids," Shouta says. "I can't find my class."

Midnight's expression softens, edges of her lips curling upwards. She starts walking again and he trudges after her, and they look around for those in need of help.

"I forgot how much of a dad you are," she teases, and he glares at her. She waves him off dismissively. "They're fine. I saw them in another part of the district, working together like in their licensure exam."

The thought of it warms his heart, pride rushing through his veins as he raises debris that's trapping someone's foot. He acknowledges the flood of "thanks" with a nod, before glancing at Midnight again.

"Where?"

She points at Zone C, on the opposite end of where they are. No wonder they haven't crossed paths.

"They've been looking for you," Midnight tells him, patting his back. "Worried, but they're doing okay."

He hums in response. They split paths somewhere in Zone B as he makes his way to his class' zone, wanting to confirm her statement for himself. To see is to believe, and all that.

And there they are, just as she said, with dirt, ashes, and dried blood clinging to their skin as they rush to and fro in their area. Those interacting with civilians are smiling kindly, reassuring them with confidence. Everyone is serious as they handle the situation with utmost care, dealing with it with certainty and professionalism.

He buries the lower half of his face in his scarf and smiles slightly, his distress shifting into something… lighter. Like relief. Fondness. Pride.

He returns to his job, rescuing and helping people more efficiently and smoother now that he knows they're doing well. And when everything has been dealt with, he finds himself gravitating towards his class who are sitting and lying on the ground and rubbles, evidently tired.

"Sensei, you're okay!" They greet happily, jumping to their feet at the sight of him. He can't stop the grin that makes its way to his face.

"Of course," he says, as though he hasn't been worried himself. "Who do you think I am?"

"Well… we don't know," Ashido laughs. "Sorry, who are you again?"

"Brats," he lightly reprimands, and the heavy tension in the atmosphere eases into an odd sort of silence.

His class is staring at the remnants of the district, not caring for the cuts and scrapes on their bodies. He's aware that they're thinking that they could have done more. They've always cared more for others, always looked out for those in need of help. No matter what state they're in, they never hesitated to hold out their hands.

"I saw what you did earlier," he tells them, gaining their attention. They need this. "You worked smoothly and helped a lot of people. From reassuring people to rescuing them, you've all done well. Great job. You're already heroes despite only being first years."

He then turns away, his limit for showing emotions already reached. But someone suddenly tackles him from behind, holding tightly onto him. And another. Then another. Soon enough, he's in a group hug with his class, save for a few people.

He lets them be. Just this once.

This is his class, anyway. His kids. And despite all the stress they've caused him and all the mess they've created — or maybe even because of those — he's grateful to have been a part of their lives.

They're chaotic most of the time and are clearly out to spite him. But being their homeroom teacher, he admits, is the one thing he'd never dare regret being.