Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A month after society expels Izuku from every school in a 200 mile radius, (centerpoint: sludge villain) and a week after his mother is fired in a similar way, Izuku sends in his first job application.

It’s rejected, of course. No one wants the sludge villain kid, but he can’t do much of anything else can he? So he sends in another application, to a restaurant (rejected) and another to a botanists shop (they wouldn’t let him in the store) and another, until finally he writes his final one- the riskiest application yet.

And what does he have left to lose? He’s already tried everything he could to salvage his reputation, but the media was so keen to drag him through every mud puddle from Aldera to the gallows. It feels like all the world knows his name, and the bittersweet twist of shame reaches deep, because he’s talked with all the same reverence of a c-list villain or a dog shit stain, and isn’t that just wonderful?


He walks into the interview office, sits down, folds his trembling hands along his lap and awaits another refusal.


“You’re hired.” Nedzu says immediately. 

Izuku's head jerks up, “What?”

“You’re hired. Employed. Recruited. Welcome to the team.” Nedzu says again.


Izuku wants to simultaneously sink into his chair and bang his fist on the table for answers, Kacchan style. He settles for sitting slackjawed in confusion, “I haven't even shown you my resume!”

Nedzu smiles like someone who’s just tasted a bad bit of food but can’t spit it out, “On the contrary, I think you have. It is not the most traditional curriculum vitae, though one must remember that this is not the most traditional school .” He slips a newspaper across the larger than life desk. “ Quirkless Boy Endangers Everyone ,” is written in neat print characters. There is a picture of him underneath, beaten and covered in slime, with crisped hair and a black eye, and Izuku reflexively scowls for a second before remembering where he is. 

“I saw that.” Nedzu says. “And there is no shame for showing anger in my office, especially if the feeling is justified.” Nedzu’s impossibly permanent smile fades, sombering to fit the mood. “I know what it’s like, to be put down like this- to be ridiculed and slandered.”

“To be less than human.” Izuku whispers before his mouth can catch up to his cellless brain.


Did he really just say that to an animal?! Right as they were talking about ridicule?! God, way to push all the human supremacy buttons! Might as well go all out and start living in the woods like a quirkless blood purist while he’s at it!

Nedzu laughs, and Izuku can’t tell if it’s genuine or a coverup for his own justified feelings. “I’d rather call it less than a person, but I do understand where you’d get the idea. Would you care for a drink, Midoriya-san? Chamomile?”


He accepts the homely red mug and washes away the nervous ramblings of his brain. It’s cherry tinged, eastern service, and makes him feel slightly more at-ease. “Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome- use the coaster please, yes thank you.”


“S-sorry.” Izuku cringes. Somehow he’s simultaneously fucking up this interview and acing it, key point being that he’s “been hired” for the past three minutes or so while also doing everything in his power to change that. Well, he guesses he may have a general knowledge of what to do during an interview, but knowledge and experience really are two wildly different things, apparently. His notebooks come to the forefront of his mind and Izuku adds that bullshit to his mental list titled: 100 reasons why you could’ve never become a field hero. He forcibly makes his brain shut the fuck up via a pinch to the thigh before he spirals into a mumble storm.


Nedzu calmly waits for Izuku’s brain to quiet. “It’s alright. But back on the topic of business, I do have a proposition for you, if you’d like to hear it?” Three stark white papers rest under Nedzu’s paw somewhat nonchalantly, and every TV drama Izuku’s ever watched is crawling out of the pits in the back of his eyes to tell him that the twitchiness in Nedzu’s claws is a sign of impatience and he should use the hell out of it. Desperation in your favor, Izuku thinks, pinching his thigh slightly harder because he’s already fucking hired- calm down. 

Izuku pauses for a second and pretends to contemplate, for suspension of disbelief. Three seconds, and then, “Fire away.”


Nedzu does not immediately start talking about the proposition, seemingly using Izuku’s own tactic against him. Instead, he starts slowly folding his paws over the papers in a way that makes Izuku hyper aware of Nedzu’s pro-hero status . His smile alone is an ass kicking waiting to happen, no way in hell he’s going to survive this interview if Nedzu keeps doing that with his face. The fact that Nedzu doesn’t even have lips makes his visage equally as upsetting as it is cheerful, which is an oxymoron that he doesn’t want to delve into right now and ok-

Izuku takes another moment to compose himself behind a sip of tea, meeting Nedzu eye to eye with a look that he hopes doesn’t portray Izuku’s need to run to the nearest bathroom and never come out again. Nedzu turns the papers to face him.


“I’ve taken some time to look into you and I’ve decided to grant you the job. These right here are your proposed hours, this being your salary, and these documents over here will effectively emancipate you if you so choose. Either way you’ll have to become a ward here- staff dorms are only open for certain residents and I doubt that you’d appreciate the daily commute.”

Izuku shakes his head numbly. Just thinking about waking up at five in the morning for a cold train ride is making him yearn for a coffee, “That would suck.”

“Indeed.” Nedzu clips the papers together and hands them to Izuku with both hands, “I understand the publicity has not been kind to you either, no need to recklessly endanger yourself in the subways.”

“Yeah, thats-” Izuku pauses to reflect on that: the publicity has been bad, but Izuku’s so used to the glares and “accidental” quirkist-leaning crimes that he finds it hard to differentiate one hate from another. “I guess my Mom’s been a bit stressed lately.” He says even though she’s stressed all the time.

“Well let’s hope that extra revenue gives her time to relax.” Nedzu laughs, “your training starts Tuesday!”

Then Nedzu’s smile turns, black eyes wide with the white reflection of the overhead lights, a tinged blocky shine to his stare. “To think that you’re the first non-pro hero teaching staff in nearly a decade! What an opportunity, I truly wish you luck!” He says, tilting his head up to the ceiling to laugh like a shitty TV supervillain.


And while Izuku knows Nedzu is fucking with him, (not that Izuku blames the chimera, high specs is a prime quirk to fuck with people) the way he says it doesn’t help his awkwardly compressed breathing. He’s going to be coworkers with pro-heroes, though not in the way that four year old Izuku had initially thought.


He thinks as he accepts the papers, looking over his basic information with a mix of nervousness and acceptance. Izuku takes in the last sip of tea in hopes that the chamomile’s sedative magic still works. He’s reading the second to last page when he spots an odd blank area. “Nedzu, sir?”

“Just Nedzu is fine,”

“Well, um,” Izuku flips the paper over, but it's just more blank space. “There are a few blank areas under ‘prerequisites’ and I was wondering. . .”

“Ah, well then. Maybe we should do the paperwork here.”


The next ten minutes are spent clearing up questions while Nedzu guides his hands over the paperwork. Izuku feels like a fucking idiot for not knowing his way around the forms, but every time he so much as thinks about the awkwardness of the situation, Nedzu calmly reaches out and reassures him: “A lot of staff sign their papers in-office.” Even though there’s no way in the nine circles of hell that's true. That being said, the mental image of Vlad King in a cushy leather chair, leaning over a stack of papers while Nedzu tells him where to sign makes him less nervous at least. 


“You just need to sign here and here.”


“This is for any requests-”


“Student permissions-”


“Authoritative power-”


Which is how he finds himself four or so hours later: somehow blazerless, lost in a sea of paperwork, and freshly legally hired.


“I’ll get these turned in within the day!” Nedzu says while shoving the papers neatly into some drawer. “You’re officially UA staff for the next ten years, minimum!”

Izuku pauses. Furrows his brow. Remembers reading the words “base number of years” in fine print and blindly signing along to Nedzu’s wishes. “That’s fair.” He says, because there are a lot worse things to accidentally sign yourself up for than a guaranteed well paying salary courtesy of UA. His nonchalance somehow manages to catch Nedzu off guard for a split second. Good. Taste of his own chamomile and all that.


“Well then, if you’re all signed up and ready, get out of my office!”


Theres a laced threat vaguely stuffed under those smiles, Izuku thinks, promptly forgetting about his discarded blazer as he gets the fuck out of there with a spattering of odd documents and one of Nedzu’s tea cups- completely accidentally. Guess he has a cup now, and a job.

The papers crinkle slightly in his hands as he grabs for his new keycard (a temporary, he’ll get a custom one Tuesday) and swipes it along the overly intimidating security panel to the gates of UA. The screen displays his name over a faceless placeholder photo, creepy as hell considering he’s only been here a total of- he checks his watch- 

Five hours?!  

Shit, fuck, his fucking train is going to depart in ten minutes!

Izuku rushes through the rest of the gate and gets to the station with literally no time to spare, gates closing on him as he shoves his way under the legs of the evening rush. Then it's ten more minutes of commute, a train switch, a stop at the local konbini for a victory snack, and twenty more minutes walk to get home the long way ‘round- because avoiding people after Nedzu is akin to recharging the social batteries of his soul. Saying a quick “Thank you.” To the cashier who gave him the whatever-on-a-stick earlier nearly made him collapse on the street- not to be dramatic- but he doesn’t even know if he can talk to his own mother right no-

“Shit.” Izuku says, “Fuck, I forgot to tell her.”

Chapter Text

Izuku tells her he has “A job.”

His mother takes it. Izuku cannot tell if she takes it well.

“My babyy!” She cries, latching onto his shirt in a vice grip. “I’m so proud of you, my little overachiever! A job out of middle school-” She pauses. Her grip gets tighter and Izuku makes a last ditch effort to float his papers onto the counter before she crushes them. They catch wind and spiral up- he ends up flicking them onto the floor instead. Izuku is assaulted by yet another heart-stopping contraction and can’t help but to stare at the paper on the ground and think of it as a metaphor for his life. “I can’t believe they’ve done this to you- villainized you, forced you to grow up like this. . .”

Izuku does not make a comment on growing up, instead he returns his mother’s hug and breathes in the contradictory smells of hospital sweat and fresh laundry.

“Come, sit down honey, I made sushi.”

The table is quiet for a few minutes as Izuku loads his plate. The konbini food from earlier pales in comparison to his mother’s homemade love filled wonder, but it still takes up space in his stomach. Izuku finishes half his plate before he resorts to fidgeting with his chopsticks. Obviously this is prime time for a conversation, courtesy of a worried mother.

She fiddles with the new tablecloth, the seats, the lights, and then speaks: “So, you got a job?”

“Yeah.” Izuku says, sticking a single grain of rice on his tongue.

“Wonderful.” She says solemnly. Then, in a different tone, “That's wonderful! Oh, of course I’m going to want to meet your employer and tour your work. Back when I was your age I had a little part time helping a local street vendor, they were so sweet!” His mother delves into the past for a good few minutes, her own topic of choice for mutter storms. She ends up recounting tales of her past jobs: one street vendor and one store cashier, before off-railing into her last job as a registered nurse.

“Koharu-san decided that no one under her had any sense of diplomacy when it came to dealing with kids- you know how the division is- and that's when I got promoted. Completely switched my job around, stuck with the recent hero graduates and all-” She cuts herself off as she registers The H Word. “Oh, sorry sweetie, it slipped my mind.”

Izuku doesn't know why she does that. Takes the bowl out of the cupboard and smashes it across the ground just to have some glass to walk on.

He’s about to roll his eyes and snark about slipping on the aforethought glass when it hits him: “It’s fine.” Izuku says, his eyes widening with Nedzu-like glee as he realizes that God has descended from heaven to give him the perfect opportunity to tell her where exactly he’s working. “You worked with recent graduates a lot, right?”

His mother looks uncomfortable, maybe because of the H word, probably because she was recently fired. “Sometimes. Mostly I dealt with younger heroes in training, second or third years that needed a quick patching up before Recovery Girl took them off my hands.”

“Recovery girl works at your hospital?” Izuku squints his eyes, his mother slowly explaining that Recovery Girl has access to most hospitals, apparently. The more he thinks about it the more it makes sense- which is stupid if only for the fact he had to think about it first. Dumbass brain put too many cells into heroics and not enough cells in common sense land. Figures.

“She’s a special case. Most healing quirks are. It’s- remember how I told you I worked in surgery sometimes, um, for foreign body removal?”

“Yeah?” Izuku says.

“It’s like that.”

“Ah.”

And just like that, the prime window of opportunity to drop the bombshell is gone. Guess he’ll have to settle for the good old fashioned “Izuku has no tact” way of doing things. He makes full eye contact before speaking.

“I got a teaching job at UA.”

His mother chokes on her drink.

Way to go Izuku!

“Mom! Mom are you ok! I didn’t- I’m sorry!” Izuku waves his hands about, completely useless to the world as his mom gapes like a dying fish. “Just, deep breaths? Deep breaths!”

“You got a job where?!”

“UA.”

“WHAT?!” She screams shrilly and somewhat hysterically. Izuku chooses to stay calm throughout this, though it is very hard not to panic.

“I applied for an interview yesterday, and apparently they wanted me to come in the very next day. It kinda- well- telling you slipped my mind. . . a bit. . .slightly-”

“You got a job at UA.”

“Yes.”

“A teaching job at UA.”

Izuku sighs. “We’ve established that.”

“But-” she cuts herself off. The conflict is clear in her eyes, you’re quirkless, you’re powerless- “You’re fourteen!”

“I can do this!” Izuku says confidently, but then he starts to think about it and realizes that he is fourteen, and he’s never been in a leadership position in his life, let alone a teaching position. “I can!” He says once again, this time for himself. “Look, I know it’s going to be hard, but they wouldn’t have hired me for no reason? It’s UA, I mean, they’re a whole establishment.”

His mother hums in concerned agreement and takes another sip of her drink, clearing her throat with the slight afterburn of a watery inhale. “You’re right there, but. . .”

The room descends into silence once more. Izuku really wishes their conversations didn’t play out like this.

“Can I see your, um, papers?” She asks him. Izuku points to the floor and Inko calls the forms to her with Minor Levitation, which is his favorite quirk right above All Mights. He can’t help but to notice her instant smile upon activating it- she once described the feeling as akin to sifting her hands through cotton candy- but her smile quickly mutates as she reads through the documents. Something sad? And vaguely horrified?

“What?” He says, not panicking at all. He leans over the table to glance at the forms. “What is it? What’s on the papers?”

She looks at him oddly. “Calm down Izuku, you’re working yourself up again.” She waves a hand and suddenly he finds himself back in his seat. He is a small object. Figures. “It’s mostly positive- on the surface at least. You realized you’ve secured this job for ten years, right?” She looks worriedly at him.

“Is that a bad thing?” He winces. He really really hopes he didn’t screw his life over or something— though that might be a little extreme, anything’s possible nowadays.

She gives him another look. “It can be, depending on your employer.” She flips to the front page and squints, “I’m having a talk with him anyways.”

Izuku sits in confusion for a couple more minutes as his mom goes through the papers, taking photos of a few with her phone in a manner that suggests she’s texting, but from his angle all he can see is the cold end of her phone screen.

”I’m keeping a copy of these.” she says with an air of finality, “I’ll help you set up your own account for your income too— but you’re not getting a dorm.” 

Aww, what?” Izuku whines halfheartedly, only teasing, “But the train ride!”

And the look is back. Though there’s something off about it, a tinge of sadness around the edges that make her smile lines look more like worry creases. “Sweetheart. You know I’ll support you in whatever you choose, right?”

“Right.” Izuku says because its true, if there was anyone he could count on, despite everything, it would be her.

”I just,” she starts, then takes in a deep breath, “I’d feel more comfortable if you kept close to home. You may be old enough to— enter the workforce, but you’re too young to stay away from home.”

She holds his hand, caressing it gently. “You know, they used to have laws in place to prevent kids from working, and then quirks went and muddled the definition of ‘kid,’” she sighs, “I know you can handle this though. You’re more than capable.”

Izuku puts his hand over hers as a tear runs down her cheek. She dabs at it, her smile turning hopeful. “I’m just worried about you, Izuku. Nothing is wrong with this job, or with what you’re doing.” 

“I start on Tuesday,” he says softly, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

“In three days?” She asks. Izuku glances over at the calendar and yeah- his mother is right. Ok, so he has three days to prepare for his first day- but it won’t be his first first day until classes start, which is in? How many months? He needs his notebooks, it’d be best to plan this out now. 

“Now listen here young man, I know that look.” She stops him in his tracks, Izuku already halfway out of his seat and ready to grab the nearest sheet of paper and pen. Izuku sits back down, and she continues, “You’re not planning anything until we set some ground rules. Employed does not mean independent.” 

She smiles at him and he smiles back, normalicy returning to the air. “Ok— I mean, we’ve got three days to plan anyways. That should be plenty of time.” 

She nods her head in agreement, and dinner resumes as normal for all of ten minutes— then a lightbulb blows out. 

His mother sighs. “First thing we do is buy the good lightbulbs.”

”Agreed.”

Chapter Text

So apparently three days is not a lot of time.

Izuku wakes up, takes a shower, checks the date and nearly slips on the bath tile because it’s the morning of. His mother recently forced him into the habit of early to rise, early to bed, which is something the Midoriyas were supposed to have in common with the Bakugous, according to his mother’s thirty- something-year-friendship.

Izuku looks at his four-year-friendship, (ten years buried) and then to the mirror and then back to the date, which mocks him, then looks to his rumpled clothes, which also mock him.

“Hey mom?!”

“Yes?!”

“I need some help!”

And so the next twenty minutes are filled with his mother lightly berating him for not taking care of his clothes and also not knowing how to iron them. By the time her lecture is over, Izuku is half tempted to iron his own head to the board, but that train of thought is derailed the second his mother drags him to a mirror to fix his hair too.

They end up getting ready for the day together, no short amount of flying off the handle, (it is 5 in the morning) but they at least manage. They pile into the car and silently curse the fact that UA is farther out than his mother’s hospice center, which was the only place to take her job offer in the area. It’s both their first days, and some strange emotion is bubbling up, not unlike that of a child excited for their first day of kindergarten, except now it's a child excited for their first day of corporate entanglement.


Eh. Same thing, different stages. 

She drives out as far as she can and drops him off on the street, Izuku fiddling with his key card and spare blazer all the while. 

“Goodbye sweetie! Have fun on your first day of sc-” She stops herself. Re-evaluates. “Sorry, I’m way too used to saying that.” 

Izuku laughs and then she laughs and then it takes two more minutes to say goodbye, but by the time she ends up on the other side of the street Izuku’s somehow still running early (a testament to his mother’s almost neurotic morning routine) which is at least one good thing in his favor.


Murphy’s law, god help him. 

Someone really dead looking is waiting for him at the gate with a clipboard under one arm and two cups of coffee. Izuku swipes his card along the outer gate even though the man is right there and can just let him in, and finds out that the system fully recognizes him now. It gives him an odd sense of pride, or disconnect, but the most important thing is that he isn’t a nervous wreck by the time he gets to the man.

“Here,” The stranger says, handing him a cup of coffee. “I was assigned to show you around campus. Don’t stray.”

Izuku takes a sip to stop himself from making remarks about the corpse man’s matching attitude. 

Taking micro sips from his cup every once and a while, the two make their way to each gym, the forest, and the track field before they head into the main building.

“There are more facilities here, but I’m not filling out the forms to borrow a campus vehicle at five in the morning on a Tuesday.” The man says in perfect monotone as he unlocks the doors to the school. The morning is quiet and cold and watery; the condensation on the glass doors is almost dramatic in the way the drops cluster and roll down to the slightly muddy ground. Before they step into the much warmer, less humid main building, the man fumbles around in his pocket and procures another key. “For you,” he says.

Izuku nods gratefully, taking the key with both hands, “It’s fine, I’m sure I can just look at a map to see the other buildings. Thanks for showing me around campus.”

The man sighs like his lungs are being sat on, “It’s my job.” he says, making ‘job’ sound almost whine-like. It contrasts heavily with his face, a mix of exasperation, pride, and fondness.

The main building isn’t empty, per se. There are a few teachers about: some of them in hero uniform, some in formal wear, (and one in fluffy pyjamas, lucky bastard) but the sheer disconnect of a school as large and populated as UA being so uninhabited makes the situation weird and fuzzy. The patchiness of the overhead lights doesn’t help the abandoned air, every other light being shut off in the early morning.

“You’ll get used to it,” The man says, noticing Izuku’s stare. “We normally don’t turn everything on until 6:30, that’s usually when the first students start to arrive. Until then we just,” His hands wave about in the air, “Enjoy the calm while we can.”

“Seems logical,” Izuku says because, yeah, it is, and Izuku finds himself also enjoying the calm as the man nods to him in solidarity.

“We’ve got a few months until the first day, but protocol is protocol.”

“What works, works.” Izuku plays ‘yes man’ again, shrugging. He finishes his cup of coffee and dumps the disposable into a nearby garbage can, which when he looks into it, seems to be full of only coffee cups. He then holds out his free hand. “Izuku Midoriya,” he says as clearly as he can, shaking the man’s hand once.

“Shota Aizawa,” The man, Aizawa, introduces himself back. “Did you go over the papers we sent you?”

“In the mail?”

“Yes.” 

“Working rules and employee conduct policy?”

Aizawa’s mouth ticks up by just a hair. “That's the one.” 

They continue walking along the corridor for several minutes, Aizawa stopping every once in a while to introduce him to a staff member or point out a room he’ll need access to in the future. After two flights of stairs they reach the oversized door of a high rise classroom. Aizawa reaches for the door handle, pauses, and then turns to Izuku with a peculiar expression.

“Now, I do have one more question to ask you before we continue. Do you promise to answer me truthfully?”

Izuku nods once, maybe slightly too fast from the way his head pounds. The coffee in his system is working hard to simultaneously wake him up and turn him back into the nervous wreck he was at his interview, but Izuku refuses to let that happen a second time. 

Aizawa takes a deep breath. “What color was your policy packet?”

Izuku feels like he’s given a lot of people ‘ the look’ in the last few days, but he lets it slip out once more, brows creasing as he says, “Periwinkle?” 

The door next to his head slams open with enough force to blind him via Hair In Eye. “ I fucking knew it! ” The new person says as Izuku struggles with his bangs.

“You don’t know shit, Nemuri.”

“It’s periwinkle, the newbie agrees with me!”

A new voice joins the fray, this one slightly more cheery than Nemuri’s, “It’s lavender-”

“No!” Aizawa and Nemuri say in unison.

Izuku can only gawk now that he can see again, because standing right in front of him in the doorway to the elusive class 1-A , are Present Mic and Midnight , arguing about color values.

“Look, I’m just saying, you don’t need to get so specific!” Present Mic argues.

“And lavender isn’t specific?”

“It’s better than mauve, Shota, the packet isn’t anywhere near mauve-”

“It’s pastel mauve-”

 “Nope! It’s too early for the policy packet debate!” Nemuri- Who is actually Midnight oh my God - says, “Come on, you know the rules. Pay up boys!” 

Both Aizawa and Present Mic reach into their wallets and grab ten thousand yen. Aizawa attempts to hand it to her like a normal person, gets rejected, sighs, and then starts flipping the money onto her person in a stripper-esque fashion. Present Mic has been doing this from the start.

“Yes!” Nemuri says excitedly, grabbing the fallen bills to put into her own wallet. “Someone here tell the rest of the staff I won.” She grabs Izuku by the shoulders, “And I have an ally in color now.”

“You need to give him half of that, then.” Present Mic says.

“Why do I feel like I should have context for this?” Izuku says numbly as Midnight herself hands him ten thousand yen.

“You shouldn't, you only just got here. But for reference, the policy packet debate is the office conspiracy.” She says.

“No one has ever agreed on a color, until now.” Present Mic says, fluttering his fingers with the last two words.

“History has just been made.” Aizawa sighs, looking resigned. “Also, there's almost a zero percent chance of this kind of disagreement if the packets really were the same color.”

“So you’re saying Nedzu is sending everyone different color packets to fuck with people?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it then,” Nemuri says, hands on hips. “Square up, I know you’re a document hoarder at heart. Bring your copy tomorrow and we’ll settle this once and for all.”

Present Mic laughs behind a hand, “ Meet me behind the school!” He says, mocking them like a sensible adult. 

The absurdness of the situation makes Izuku’s tension snap like a rubber band- that is to say that it flings out of his body at mach speeds, probably leaving something broken inside. He clutches the ten thousand yen confusedly.

“Stop it you two, you’re scaring the TA,” Someone says from beh- oh my god that’s Powerloader. 

“It seems like you’re scaring him more,” Mic says.

“I’m not scared.” Izuku interjects, “It’s six in the morning, I’m processing.”

“Valid,” Nemuri says, “Have we done introductions yet?” When Izuku shakes his head no, Nemuri lights up, “I’m Kayama Nemuri- call me Nemuri, it’s nice to get some fresh meat in here.” She shakes his hand.

Present Mic is next, looking almost sheepish as he shakes his hand with a weak grip, “Yamada Hisashi, uh, call me what you like, listener.” He jabs a thumb at Nemuri. “Sorry about her.”

They all turn to where Powerloader should be, but he seems to be long gone. The silence stretches as they stand in the hallway, the two heroes probably waiting for Aizawa to introduce himself, not knowing he’s already done that.

Izuku can’t stand the silence.

“So. . . mauve?” he turns to Aizawa.

Everyone’s expression shifts. “Dont.” Aizawa says, scowling. Meanwhile, Nemuri is smiling and Yamada is hiding more laughter.

“Mauve, like purple.” Yamada says, and they start to shuffle to the other end of the hall as one big mass of tired people. As they walk, Izuku gets a better chance to look at his coworkers: Nemuri and Aizawa and Yamada, because he won’t call them by their hero names unless they specify. They’re coworkers. And despite his somewhat lesser title as “teacher’s assistant,” he still holds a teaching position in the same institution as the pro-heroes around him. He’s just as staff as the rest of them. 

“Do you know how many TA’s got hired this year?” Yamada asks him. The hallway is eerie in the way the darkness clings to the corner of tiles. It feels like there should be murmuring coming from classrooms, but all he can hear is the footsteps of the group and the hum of the overworked dehumidifier. Even though someone is talking, the school is still silent, and great! Now his nerves are back.

Izuku half shrugs, curling into himself. “No, I was only at my interview. This is technically my first time on campus. Well, first time on campus outside of Nedzu’s hall, I mean.”

“You didn’t wander after your interview?”

“No?” Izuku says, “I didn’t know I was allowed to do that, usually loitering is a crime.”

Nemuri snorts and says “This is UA.” As if that clears up anything.

“I was going to miss my train too, so either way I had to leave.” 

Aizawa side-eyes him, “You took public transport at this hour?”

“Oh, no. Um, I only took it that one time- to get to the interview, and my Mom drove me out this time.”

“Your Mom dr?!- I mean, you didn’t drive yourself?” Yamada says as the group stops in front of an unlabeled, locked door. He fiddles with his keyring.

“What is it with you guys and trying to get me to commit crimes?” Izuku says, because his brain to mouth filter was connected to the tension-rubber band that snapped earlier.

“It's not a crime to drive to UA. You get your license revoked?” Yamada asks playfully, rotating the key twice before he gets it in.

Nemuri laughs again, though something about it is forced. “I suspect it’s just a bad case of babyface. You look a certain way and everyone seems to think you’re an age you’re not. You get one wrinkle and suddenly the tabloids are adding a year to your name. Quirk side effects exist!” Nemuri says, agitated and bitter, “You can’t take anything at face value these days, it’s rude and quirkist.”


The word “quirkist” being used in such a small and insignificant way makes something twist inside of Izuku. His head lowers to the ground. “Yeah,” he agrees anyways, “You really can’t, and you shouldn't. I mean, people can’t control the way they’re born.” 

The conversation dies again, but this time Izuku gets the idea that everyone feels bad now too. 

“Sorry.” He says.

“No, no, it’s my fault,” Nemuri smiles at him nostalgically. Yamada has stopped struggling with the keys and now the door is open, a little office room on the other side. “I shouldn’t have talked about looks or age.” Now it's her turn to look at the ground. “Sore subject.”

They all file inside. The office has four desks in the middle of the room, built in shelves and computers on each one. A coffee machine rests in one corner, next to a shitty looking printer, and two maybe fake office plants rest in another. There are no windows, but there is a cheesy cat poster and a radio with glitter stickers, which give the room a slight charm.

“No,” Izuku reassures Nemuri, “I shouldn’t have talked about it. It’s just, um, quirkism, you know?”

To his surprise, it’s Aizawa that’s nodding to his statement. “I get it, really. Erasure isn’t exactly a welcome quirk in most spaces.”

Before he can freak out because That's Eraserhead! How did I not see that he was Eraserhead! Izuku shares his own opinion: “An unwelcome quirk is better than no quirk.”


The tension that was gone before is back in full swing, everyone gathered around each other, frozen.


“You’re quirkless?” Yamada says incredulously, and there's the pity he’s so used to.

“No denying it.” Izuku says, “It’s on my file.”

Nemuri’s face is an odd mix of blankness and contriteness. “I’m so sorry.” She says, as Izuku expects, but then: “I thought you had a youth quirk.” She shuffles awkwardly, stands for a few seconds too long, then turns slightly to what he presumes is her desk. He’s still being looked at out of the corner of her eye, and she hasn’t turned away completely , but the absolute dismissal in her body language is throwing him off. 

“Midoriya, how old are you?” Aizawa asks gently. 

“Fourteen, I’ll be fifteen before the year starts though.”

Somehow the room gets even quieter as breaths are held, eyes go wide, and the air itself ices over. Unpleasant feelings start to curdle inside of Izuku, twisting into something shameful despite his lack of wrongdoing- they haven’t been treating him any differently so far? So what changed?


Quirkless, His mind whispers to him, Useless Deku. 

Then Yamada breaks it:

 “Oh my god we’ve been talking to a child.” 

Nemuri looks even more ashamed, with a slight undertone of mortification, Yamada taking up the second descriptor with ease while Aizawa puts his mask of indifference back on.

“I’m sorry,” Aizawa says, “We weren’t under the impression that Nedzu hired someone socially underage.” Then, as if catching onto Izuku’s previous train of thought, adds, “Quirklessness doesn’t discount aptitude in any way, and you won’t be treated any differently because of it.”

Which is good to hear at least? Izuku dwells on it for a second before taking it as the blessing it is, nodding to Aizawa with what he hopes is a grateful expression.

Yamada breaks the air again, “But we are going to treat you differently because of your age! I was under the impression that you were an adult with a mutant type quirk, I apologize.” He bows a full ninety degrees at the waist, hands clasped. “I promise I won’t treat you any differently as a coworker.” He shows a small, slightly mischievous smile, “And speaking of co- working, this is your desk!”

He leans out and does sideways jazz hands at the desk across from the one closest to the cat poster. “That’s Sho’s, if you couldn’t already tell.”

Izuku nods gratefully, ignoring the nickname. Aizawa reaches into the aforementioned desk and pulls out a manilla folder. “So, if introductions are over-” he tosses the folder onto the desk in just the right way, contents spilling out not unlike tarot cards: evenly and beautifully spaced, “I do believe we have all been employed for a reason .”

Everyone takes a seat at their desks, Izuku following soon after. Yamada starts typing on his keyboard almost instantly, but Izuku has no way of seeing what he is doing. Nemuri, who is sitting in the desk beside him, (almost reluctant to do so) pulls out what looks to be a well worn erotica novel, glances his way in alarm, shoves it in a desk, and shoves her head in her arms. Izuku chooses not to comment. 

Aizawa puts five papers on everyone's desk, then hoards the rest of the work to himself. “Alright, we might have months until the school opens, but we only have a few weeks to prepare for the entrance exam. Hizashi?”

Yamada nods like Aizawa asked a full question. “Today is technically a free day, but I say we keep setting up the office. The sooner we get our indoors done, the faster we get to the mecha.”

“The mecha?” Izuku parrots, failing to keep the disinterest out of his voice.

Yamada grins something evil, “Oh, You’re going to love this.”