Chapter Text
Training begins with Aizawa sitting Shinsou down, locking eyes with him, and saying, “We need to talk.”
Shinsou likes to consider himself a level-headed person, but getting sat down on cold, aluminum bleachers and stared down by Eraserhead’s infamous crimson gaze—that’s enough to put anybody on edge. Throw in a turn of phrase like that, and Shinsou’s ready to promise Aizawa that whatever he screwed up, he’ll fix it if Aizawa just gives him one more chance. He’s a hard worker and no matter what his middle school records say, he’s never slacked off when he had the opportunity to do otherwise.
He hopes that by now his mentor has seen Shinsou’s work ethic shine through his bad academic reputation enough that he’ll believe it if Shinsou says something like that. Most of the black marks Shinsou is sure are on his record are from his earlier years, anyways. In the early grades, his mom lost custody of him and it felt like the whole world was ending because he’d finally got on her nerves enough that she’d thrown him away.
It was only years after the custody change that Shinsou thought back to the whole situation and realized that she hadn’t had a choice in the matter—and, frankly, probably really shouldn’t have. The stuff that happened while he was living with his mom, he wouldn’t think it was okay if it happened to anybody else, so it wasn’t okay if it was happening to him.
At least, that’s how the counselor he went to for a while had him think about it. It’s been years since his required therapy sessions, and it’s hard to remember most of it by now. The big things where they tried to convince him that, y’know, child abuse is wrong—those mostly stuck. Back then, everyone was scared that he’d either think he deserved it, or start lashing out at everyone around him. With a quirk like Shinsou’s, he supposes it was only natural how concerned everyone was.
Anyways, point is, when you stress out a recently semi-orphaned eight-year-old that still has tenuous control over his quirk at best, you get a few quirk slips, and more than a few tantrums. And then the looming shadow of that eight-year-old’s permanent record follows him into middle school, where teachers are more likely to crack down on students who have a reputation, or no respectable family to care for them—even though they’re only meant to receive that information to handle a ‘sensitive case’ in the first place. Eventually it just means he gets automatically filed into the ‘developing delinquent’ mental folder of anyone who has access to his records. If he’d gone to a regular high school, Shinsou is pretty sure that his teachers probably never would have even seen them unless something came up—but UA is special like that.
It’s also special because none of the teachers here have actually acted like they think he’s a developing delinquent. Especially not Eraserhead. So it’s stupid that a little ‘we need to talk’ is sending him spiraling like this. Unfortunately, the knowledge that it’s stupid doesn’t stop Shinsou’s breath from catching as he tries desperately not to look like he’s gone from ready to do Aizawa’s draconian training warmups to suddenly panicking.
“It’s about internship opportunities.”
Oh. He’s not in trouble. There’s a trickle of discomfort in the back of his mind that he indulges, and it says, maybe Aizawa-sensei should learn to be less ominous with his students before he gives someone a heart attack. I can’t be the only one he’s done this to.
“You aren’t in the hero course yet, so you can’t try for a provisional license,” Aizawa says, leaning forward, “which means that despite receiving some attempted offers during the Sports Festival, you’re ineligible for the current, more advanced internship opportunities that the hero course is facing right now. However, I consider you too advanced for more basic internships. As a result, you are at risk of falling behind in both training and experience.”
Shinsou’s brain almost stops working at ‘receiving some attempted offers during the Sports Festival.’ He’d heard about the insane number of offer letters that hero students like Todoroki got after their impressive display during the festival—General Studies wouldn’t stop gossiping about it, and also the fact that Bakugou had gotten less offers despite winning. It was one of the things that had put a little fizzle of unease into Shinsou about his plan to transfer. Bakugou had clearly gotten shafted because people (probably rightfully) judged him for being volatile and angry, despite his powerful quirk and his clearly displayed skill of control over it. If an abrasive personality put people off badly enough that winning the UA Sports Festival didn’t overcome it, then what kind of chance did Shinsou have with a quirk like his?
Then again, it’s possible Todoroki just got a bunch of offers because he was a rich kid and Endeavor’s son. That still sucked, because it’s not like Shinsou has money or parents.
It’s a weird realization, that he’d apparently gotten offers despite all of that—and that it doesn’t matter anyways, because he’s not allowed to accept them.
“Oh,” says Shinsou, tugging on the long sleeve of his winter PE uniform. So, in the end, maybe he is in trouble, just a different kind. Maybe Aizawa has decided that Shinsou’s a lost cause—too much trouble to train, trying too little and too late.
“Therefore,” Aizawa goes on, sharply enough that Shinsou meets his eyes again, “I have come up with an alternative option for field experience. And…”
Aizawa sighs, crossing his arms and leaning onto the bleachers behind him.
“I’m not happy with this,” he informs Shinsou, “but it is the most logical option. This alternative option… it isn’t just a field experience opportunity. If you accept, it’s a real mission that you will be accompanying me on, with a unique role that only you can fill. It’s only being permitted as an exception, because you’re uniquely suited to the role and because you’d be working with me, your teacher.”
“Wait,” Shinsou finally interrupts, internally wincing as his mentor's eyes fix upon him and he realizes his rudeness. “So you’re saying that I’m getting some kind of chance to go on a hero assignment because there’s something only I can do?”
Aizawa nods.
“... Is this because of my quirk?” Shinsou asks, hesitant. He doesn’t know what kind of answer he would prefer.
“No,” Aizawa says, and the force that Shinsou didn’t realize was tightening around his ribs at the prospect unravels. He wants to use his quirk for heroics—he does. But historically speaking, people asking him to use his quirk for something… it’s never been for things he’s comfortable doing. He trusts Aizawa, but the thought still worries him, and memories of getting cornered after school so he could make a girl say yes to a date with some skeevy guy lap at the back of his mind. He’d never said yes, but it’s earned him more than one black eye over the years—and that, in turn, earned more judgment from his teachers and occasionally his group home’s stricter care workers.
That Aizawa answers his question verbally, effectively stretching a marionette string between the two of them that Shinsou need only just pull, helps steady him further. Aizawa trusts him, and would never ask him to do something untoward with his quirk—Shinsou knows that. It just helps when he can feel it, too.
(He’d never act on it, of course. He would never cross that line. But it helps that Aizawa clearly trusts that fact, too.)
“I would never compromise your trust by asking you to agree to something dangerous that you don’t have all the information about,” Aizawa tells Shinsou, who tries to look like he isn’t already completely prepared to agree to whatever this is. Unfortunately, Aizawa’s knowing expression tells him he’s failing at it. “But you need to understand that this is highly confidential information. If it gets out, people could be put in danger. Hero license or not, you’re a developing professional, so you’re going to be trusted with it—I want you to understand the gravity of that.”
Shinsou nods, a little wildly. He does understand—in fact, he’s reeling a little bit. Forget the way people think about him because of his quirk, just the fact that he’s a teenager means that most adults aren’t liable to trust him with anything they consider sensitive information. The fact that he’s just being handed this, because he’s earned his place on the bottom rungs of the ladder of professional heroics, makes his chest go light.
“We have reason to suspect that the number one hero’s family,” Aizawa sighs, “is being targeted by a particular member of the League of Villains. During the upcoming school break, Endeavor and Todoroki Shouto are going on… a cruise.”
The way Aizawa says ‘cruise’ is the same way most people say ‘Driver’s License Center.’ The word communicates both his exhaustion and exasperation at the concept. Shinsou’s heard him talk with other heroes: other than with Present Mic and Midnight, he’s usually too professional to throw that much blatant shade. When Shinsou ducks his head to hide his grin in his artificial vocal chords, it’s because it’s a little funny, but also because it warms him embarrassingly that he’s within the circle of people that Aizawa lets a little bit loose with.
“Are you afraid that they’re going to get attacked on the ship?” Shinsou asks.
Aizawa nods. “It’s pretty likely. Investigation into the matter has shown evidence of League planning to that effect, and tactically it’s an advantageous location to set off such an attack, with little opportunity for Endeavor to rely on backup.”
Shinsou can see where this is going, and he is trying very, very hard not to literally vibrate with anticipation. He’s not Midoriya—he has an impression to maintain!
“That’s why,” Aizawa says, “we are going to be that backup. We are going on the trip with them, undercover.”
“Yes!” Shinsou cheers, pumping a fist into the air. As soon as he does it, heat flushes across his face and he glances back at Aizawa, forcibly settling himself.
Thankfully, his mentor mostly just looks amused. “It’s not going to be a vacation, Shinsou.”
“No, it’s going to be even better,” Shinsou shoots back. “Who cares about going on a vacation? I get to work with pro underground hero Eraserhead to save the number one hero! And—um.”
Actually...
“Um, is Todoroki okay?”
“Todoroki is fine,” Aizawa reassures him. “His father has briefed him on the situation. I get the impression that Endeavor sees it as some strange form of field training.”
“I mean, aren’t we basically doing the same thing?”
Aizawa shoots him a look. “We aren’t going on vacation.”
Shinsou shrugs, tamping his grin down to a smirk. He holds with his original point—this is way better than a vacation. He’s never actually been on a cruise before, but he’d much rather be on one doing hero work than trying to figure out what rich people are supposed to do on boats.
“Yooooooo! Eraser! Are you done briefing your protege?!”
Shinsou peels his hands off the aluminum bleachers and presses them to his cheeks to suppress the redness he’s sure crawls up them as Present Mic swings around the doorway. Aizawa visibly turtles back into his scarf a little bit, but huffs a soft laugh when Mic flops dramatically over the railing in front of them. Mic’s heels fly off the ground and he nearly tips into Aizawa’s lap, except Aizawa catches him by the shoulder and pushes him upright before he can get too far.
“Whoo! Thanks for that, Eraser,” Present Mic laughs. “Looks like I got a little too enthusiastic! But can you blame me?! I’m just so excited to see my favorite surly little father-son duo!”
Shinsou jolts, going cold. No way. There’s no way, right?
“Wh—what?”
He can’t think of any reason for Present Mic to say something like that except to make fun of Shinsou, but there’s no way the voice hero would just be cruel like that.
Probably.
Shinsou has misjudged adults in the past.
Present Mic blinks at him over his sunglasses, pushing them back into place with a finger. “Eraser,” Mic says. “You did brief him, right?”
“I told him the important things,” Aizawa grumbles.
Present Mic’s fingers go under his shades and he rubs at his eyes before dragging them down his face. “So only the technical details. Poor Shinsou.”
“It’s, um, I’m sure it’s fine?”
“Mm,” Mic hums, rocking on his heels again. “Lucky for you, I’m here, so you don’t have to find out! So it sounds like the bit that Eraser forgot to mention is that you’re going to be posing as father and son on this cruise!”
Shinsou winds his fingers together tightly between his knees, making sure he’s still breathing at a rate that doesn’t betray the strange, rough pounding of his heart that those words cause. It’s stupid, and he’s overreacting.
“It’s a father-son cruise, of course,” Present Mic explains. “One of those modern family bonding trips for rich businessmen that don’t see their kids enough. That’s why it just had to be you! Between the attitude and the perpetual shadows under your eyes, you’re like a mini-Eraser! Not that sleeplessness is a trait to aspire to, you know, I hope he’s not actually teaching you his bad habits…”
“I’m not,” Aizawa mutters. “I’ve been very clear that he’s to do as I say, not as I do.”
Shinsou snorts a laugh, and the moment of levity is enough to release the tension building in his throat. The way Present Mic describes it, it makes sense. And jokes about bad sleeping habits aside, Shinsou is really flattered. Or, at least, the part of him that remembers being nine years old and dressing up as Eraserhead with his foster sister’s scarf and some yellow sunglasses for Hero Day at school is. He’s not as obvious about it as Midoriya with All Might, but he kind of idolizes Eraserhead. Becoming his protege—and, wow, Mic actually called him Aizawa’s protege instead of just his student—has only made him respect Aizawa more.
He desperately wants to impress Aizawa, to leave no doubt in his mentor’s mind that he made the right choice when offering to train Shinsou. Imagining what it could be like to be his son—well, what little kid hasn’t dreamt of their hero rescuing them? He’s older now, though. More mature, more focused on what’s important, less prone to silly flights of fanciful daydreaming.
He can’t let anybody know the ridiculous way that the thought of passing off as Eraserhead’s actual son gives him butterflies, though. He would absolutely never live that down.
"You’re probably not even old enough to pretend to be my dad,” Shinsou decides skeptically.
“I’m not,” Aizawa admits, “and I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you’re probably the only person who thinks I actually look thirty-one.”
Shinsou blinks. “Wait—I thought you were like... forty. I just didn’t think forty was old enough to be my dad. I didn’t really do the mental math—?”
Aizawa closes his eyes and retreats into his scarf. He could defend himself, Shinsou supposes, but it would be difficult to hear over the sound of Present Mic choking to death on his own laughter.