Chapter Text
“Midoriya, stay behind. Everyone else can leave.”
Izuku looks around at his classmates, all of which are packing up their things hurriedly. Conversation was scattered through the room, though it was quiet and rushed.
What could Aizawa-sensei want with him? He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong, but... all day Izuku’s classmates had been… off. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but everything had seemed… tense? Even the more talkative ones in the class—Kaminari, Mina, Kirishima, and even Uraraka and Kacchan—had been quiet. Izuku had tried to start up a conversation, ask how his friends were, but no one had responded. They all looked... nervous, perhaps even melancholy, when Izuku had talked, so he stopped.
Homeroom had been short, with nothing major to discuss, and as soon as Aizawa-sensei released them, the class had left, leaving Izuku alone.
Although Izuku was a nervous person—getting stressed over nothing was like second nature to him—he could tell something here was wrong, and it wasn’t just him.
They hate you , a small part of Izuku’s mind whispers. Those thoughts, once at the forefront of his mind at all times, had been dwindling recently. Izuku had friends now, he wasn’t bullied, and people actually enjoyed being around him, despite his weirdness. Some even called it endearing. But now… he wasn’t so sure.
He tries to reason with himself that no, nothing was wrong, it’s probably just a bad grade or something, but the thoughts still remained.
Once Izuku’s backpack was zipped up and on his shoulders, Aizawa-sensei stands up and gestures at him to follow. His teacher’s movements are stiff, and his face is set in a stoic expression. Izuku swallows the around the nervous lump in his throat and follows him out of the classroom.
Aizawa-sensei walks in a brisk pace down the hallway, and Izuku struggles to keep up. For the millionth time, he wishes he were taller, but isn’t his main concern at the moment.
He keeps thinking about his classmates’ off behavior, why his teacher was acting so stern, and the tense air that seemed to surround Izuku that day. Was it something he said? Something he did? Or was it all some elaborate prank?
Although U.A. was very different from Aldera—discrimination and bullying strictly forbidden—he couldn’t shake the thought that they might not accept him.
He wouldn’t put it past them. All through Izuku’s life—or from his official quirklessness and up— he had been teased. Which was fair. He didn’t amount to anything, not compared to everyone else. Not compared to Kacchan.
So, sure, he was made fun of. Some jokes at his expense, some physical violence, but nothing Izuku couldn’t handle. This is fine, he would always tell himself.
Through suicide bating— verbal and physical (he still shutters to think about the “flowers incident”, as he likes to call it)— this is fine.
Izuku knew he was weird—his classmates made sure of it. He mumbled, rambled, dreamed of being a hero even though he was a quirkless freak. But it was fine.
All he needed to do was not think about it. It was just how things went, and there was nothing Izuku could do about it.
Keep your emotions in check, don’t stand out, don’t cause trouble. A constant loop in his head.
(It was wrong, Izuku knows. U.A. taught him better. He should never have been treated like that, quirk or no quirk, but there was nothing he could do about it.)
But that was then.
And now things were better.
Or were they? Izuku’s head swam with possibilities of what Aizawa-sensei could want. Was this all just a joke? Did his classmates really care?
For the first time in his life, Izuku felt like he had friends. Actual friends. Were they faking that? Was Uraraka’s enthusiasm based on a lie? Did Iida really care for his well-being? Was Tsuyu’s blunt but kind honesty real? Were they really his friends, or were they just pretending?
But that was ridiculous. Izuku had a quirk, an amazing one at that, and everyone was so, so nice. He was treated like an actual human being, for the first time since he was 4 years old.
Izuku still didn’t know what he did, but there had to be some answer. All he had to do was find it.
Finally, he and Aizawa-sensei arrive at what Izuku could only assume was their destination. It was one of U.A.’s completely soundproof meeting rooms; All Might and Izuku often met in rooms similar to this.
The door opens silently, and Izuku is faced with an empty room. He shivers slightly, then walks inside.
Two small couches face each other, but other than that the room is unusually bare. Izuku chooses the couch closest to him and sits at the edge.
As Aizawa-sensei walks in, Izuku fights the urge to curl up. Instead, he clasps his hands in between his knees—the look on his teacher’s face practically screams sit still and listen to me, young man.
Aizawa-sensei was normally very stoic and hard, but Izuku could see that he cared for his students. There were even times where he looked at 1-A—Izuku included—with fondness. But he didn’t look like that now. His face is set hard, there’s a tension in his shoulders, and the softness that usually showed through his eyes was gone.
Izuku forces himself to sit up and look his teacher in the eyes. Then, distantly, he reminds himself to breathe through the anxiety filling his body.
Aizawa-sensei sits down, then sets something on the table.
It’s his hero analysis notebook, the 13th in his little series.
Internally, Izuku is sighing in relief, though the tension stays. He hadn’t been able to find his notebook the previous day when he tried to write in it during training.
Tokoyami had been working on a new super move; using Dark Shadow to make himself fly. Izuku couldn’t just stand there and do nothing, so he reached into his bag to pull out his notebook. But it wasn’t there.
At the time he figured he probably just left it in his room, and made a mental note to write everything down later.
But he hadn’t found it that night. It was slightly worrying, but Izuku must have put it somewhere—he would find it eventually.
Apparently Aizawa-sensei had found it, though he didn’t seem very happy about it.
The man crosses his arms, leaning back into the other couch slightly. “Midoriya, this is yours, correct?”
Izuku nods, nerves forming a lump in his throat.
“I’ll say this briefly,” Aizawa-sensei says, sighing slightly. “Are you the traitor?”
Izuku freezes. Whatever he had been expecting, this was far from it. His thoughts slow to a snail's pace in shock.
Him? The traitor?
That topic was brought up on occasion— the odds of the League of Villains knowing exactly where they were and when they would be there was far too much for it to just be a coincidence. It was often a joke, but deep down everyone thought about it.
But Izuku?
“W-why do you think—think that, s-sir?” Izuku manages to stutter out.
“You can see it right there—you’re notebook,” Aizawa says.
Izuku glances down, looking at the worn pages; they’re slightly burnt and wrinkled at the edges, and have the tell-tale bend of water damage. Was there something wrong with it? Izuku knows it’s weird, but it was also… such a big part of him. Almost his entire life he wrote in his notebook, starting with All Might, then Kacchan, and then to other classmates and heroes.
It eventually became a habit to write any ideas and observations he had. That notebook was his life; his interests, his thoughts, and was just who he was.
But apparently it was evidence of him… being the traitor?
“I still don’t—don’t understand,” Izuku says. His gaze still rests on his notebook, but he can see his teacher from his peripheral. He looks...disheveled, now that Izuku thinks about it. The bags under his eyes are more prominent than usual, which is saying a lot. His messy hair frames his face, and his slouched posture betrays his exhaustion.
Aizawa-sensei takes in a deep breath, then speaks.
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“I found this yesterday after class on your desk. When I looked inside, I was… surprised. I’ve always known that you love analysis, but this…” Shouta trials off. It’s unusual for him to be at a loss for words—he’s normally crystal clear on his thoughts and opinions, and isn't afraid to show that. But now, he’s not quite sure how to portray his thoughts accurately.
It takes a moment, but then Shouta speaks again. “The amount of detail is way more than I expected, and while normally I would praise that, my suspicions aren’t leaning in your favor. Your analysis of your classmates and the teachers are too detailed.”
‘Detailed’ is an understatement. Every student in his class has at least 5 pages dedicated purely to them. They each entail fighting styles, in depth analysis of their quirks, drawings, and even personalities and individual traits.
But the most concerning thing was the weaknesses. There were many, many detailed explanations of ways to exploit their quirks. Heck, the boy even used some parts of their personality as a weakness, as a way to defeat them.
It wasn’t just his classmates, however. Nearly every teacher at U.A.—even the ones who didn’t teach Midoriya directly—were included.
If that wasn’t suspicious, Shouta didn’t know what was.
Every teacher, sans Yagi (the man is far too fond and biased of Midoriya), knows about this meeting. Shouta had also made sure that the rest of 1-A knew. There had been some fuss, especially from Midoriya’s close friends, but eventually everyone agreed it was best to be cautious, then went on their way.
Shouta shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He isn’t sure how to continue, so he looks at Midoriya, scanning for any betrayal of emotions in the interrogation. His student— traitor, his mind whispers—looks very, very confused, but the most prominent emotion is fear.
Now, Midoriya is a jittery person. It took Shouta quite a while to fully earn his trust, and his student always seemed surprised when his classmates talked to him. The stutter in his voice was a constant.
But he was also trusting, and kind. Shouta could see it from the first day—heck, even from the footage of the entrance exam. Midoriya always cared passionately about hero work, and seemed extremely determined to be a hero.
That’s what made this hard.
Shouta wanted, yearned, for him to be wrong. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s grown fond of his class this year, including Midoriya. They all showed so much potential, though they lacked finesse. That was Shouta’s job—to help his students grow into respectable pro heroes. And they kept growing, if their experiences with villains was any indicator.
And Midoriya… Midoriya showed that desire to be a hero more than anyone else.
Part of Shouta—the distrusting underground-hero part—wanted Midoriya to be the imposter. Wanted this whole mess with the League to be over. But the other part—the teacher in him— wanted to be wrong. Midoriya shined with potential, especially with his newfound control over his quirk.
Shouta blinks his eyes, bringing his mind back to the present.
Midoriya is very obviously trying not to fidget, and his gaze is turned down at his feet. He seems just as lost in thought as Shouta had been.
Shouta clears his throat, and Midoriya’s head whips up fast, eyes widening. “So, what do you have to say about this?”
The lack of a response thus far had increased Shouta’s suspicions, but he was willing to give his student the benefit of the doubt—for now.
“I still don’t—don’t get it.” Midoriya’s eyes are starting to get glassy, a tell-tale sign that he’s about to cry. Shouta can’t say he’s surprised—Midoriya has always been the crybaby in the class. His student takes in a shaky breath, then looks Shouta in the eyes. His voice quiets down, almost to a whisper. “ Why would I be the traitor?”
The amount of emotion in the boy’s voice is almost overwhelming— it shakes and cracks in some places. Shouta expected anger, but all he’s receiving right now is sadness.
“This school… it’s been a dream come true.” Midoriya’s head drops again, and he continues, “I have—I have friends and teachers that care.”
What does that mean? Midoriya was always timid... But this?
“And I’ve—I’ve tried so, so hard. I’m not perfect at using my quirk, far from it, but I’ve improved. I’m learning, and even though so much… stuff has happened, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
“Why…” he looks up at Shouta again. “Why can’t you see that?”
And this… this is not what Shouta expected. Midoriya wipes his eyes with his sleeve and stands up with surprising calmness. He bows his head—for what, Shouta can’t be sure—grabs his backpack, then leaves. His pace is slow, unhurried; his face betrays no emotion.
And somehow, that’s even worse.