Aftercast
chapter one

Aizawa Shouta was no stranger to silence.

He did his best work in the dark quiet. Now, though, Shouta slipped into the dingy bar, tucking his clean hands into his pockets. The floorboards barely creaked as he crossed them in quick, furious strides and snared Shigaraki tight.

The villain clawed at the white cloth that had wrapped around him, but Shouta was prepared. Caught in Shouta's gaze, Shigaraki stood no chance.

Shouta's voice was far from quiet when he pulled Shigaraki closer and snarled in his face. "What's this rumor I heard about me at U.A.?"

"Let me go, Aizawa."

Shouta's lip curled. "Not until you tell me what's going on."

The two glared at each other. Shouta held tightly, refusing to back down. He only had a few more seconds before he needed to blink, but a few seconds was long enough.

Shigaraki dropped his hand from where it'd been clutching Shouta's capture weapon, head dipping slightly. Shouta blinked and let him go; Shigaraki took a step back, displeased, but otherwise didn't move.

"Well?"

"Shouta," a voice drawled, "perhaps a proper greeting, first."

"Hello," Shouta snapped, "now tell me what's going on."

A beat. At the bar, Kurogiri continued cleaning a set of glasses as if nothing were happening. Shouta gritted his teeth but eventually bowed his head slightly in the direction of the flickering television in front of him.

"Hello, Sensei."

"Show some respect," Shigaraki snapped.

"When you show me respect, I'll do the same."

He took a deep breath, rubbing at his temples. It'd been yet another long day spent staking out a hero, which meant Shouta had very little patience and even less sleep.

Shigaraki drew his hands together. "There's an open teaching position at U.A."

"Absolutely not."

Behind a pale hand, Shigaraki's eyes flashed. Shouta's hair rose in warning.

"That wasn't a request," Shigaraki said softly, "in fact, your orders are to infiltrate U.A., to pass on valuable information to the League."

Shouta crossed his arms. "No."

Shigaraki bared his teeth. In a flash, he closed the distance between them. Shouta slammed Shigaraki aside, twisting to avoid him. Shigaraki feinted towards Shouta's face; on instinct, Shouta brought his hand up to block, and a set of cold fingers wrapped around his shaking wrist.

"How long before you blink?" Shigaraki asked.

"Let me go."

Shigaraki smiled a wolf's smile, aware the tables had turned. "Just don't forget who you're speaking to," he said, and the grip around Shouta's wrist disappeared.

"Why?"

Shigaraki's gaze flickered up and down his body. "You're invisible."

"That's exactly the point," Shouta pointed out. "I'm meant to steal things, and information, and do your dirty work quietly without leaving a trace. The second I step into U.A., all eyes will be on me."

"No one knows who you are," Shigaraki said. "No one knows your name, where you come from. A young underground hero looking for a steady job. The rest of us are too suspicious, but you're perfect."

Shouta turned his back on Shigaraki. Took a deep, heavy breath and then spun around again.

"Do I get a pay raise?"

"You're getting a teaching job. That is a pay raise."

Shouta closed his eyes.

"I hate kids," he said, voice flat. "Especially teenage brats."

Like you, Shouta added silently, biting down on his lip to keep from continuing. If he said any more, he wouldn't be getting any jobs anytime soon.

"That's perfect. Your interview is tomorrow, at ten. Dress nice."

Shouta resigned himself to his fate, turning away to stalk out of the bar.

"I won't," he tossed over his shoulder, disappearing before Shigaraki could respond. Outside in the cold air of the night, Shouta let himself smile.

The smile dropped a moment later when Shouta realized what he'd gotten himself into. His newest… assignment was like nothing he'd ever done before—and Shouta had done a lot of things, though he wasn't proud of all of them.

"Dammit," Shouta growled. He kicked at a can on the ground then felt suddenly childish, the last thing he needed to be. "A teacher?"

Shouta hardly liked people, much less hormonal, loud teenagers who had stars in their eyes and hopeless little dreams. He'd been like that once, a very, very long time ago—

He gritted his teeth and banished the thought from his mind.

Making his way down the street, Shouta had plenty of time to consider his next moves. The first course of action, Shouta decided, was to head home. He'd take a hot shower and then settle in for a couple of hours' worth of sleep. He could deal with everything else after that.

"U.A.," Shouta mused aloud.

Funny. Back when he'd been one of those bright-eyed brats, he'd applied as a student there. Now he was going to try again, years down the road, this time to teach.

Shouta picked up his pace as he drew closer to his apartment. He took the stairs to the second floor, then paused at the top step, hoping against hope that—

"Yooo, Shouta!"

Shouta briefly considered pretending he hadn't heard his neighbor's very loud voice and walking back down the stairs. The universe, apparently, had decided to test his patience today, and Shouta was running out of it.

"Yamada."

Pro hero Present Mic—or Yamada Hizashi, as Shouta unfortunately knew—grinned at him, a bright flash of a smile in the dark.

"C'mon, Shouta," he called as Shouta picked his way closer. "Call me Hizashi, man! We're on a first-name basis."

Shouta sent him a flat look. "You're on a first-name basis, and it's not exactly willing on my part."

"We're neighbors. I've seen you at your best and your worst—like when you burned your popcorn at four in the morning—"

Shouta sighed. "That was you, Yamada."

"Whatever, whatever. Anyway, we're practically best friends!"

"We are not best friends," Shouta said, stepping around Yamada to get to his own apartment. "We are not friends, period. Goodnight."

"Wait, wait, wait! Wait, please, Shouta, my man, I need your mad skills."

"Let me guess," Shouta said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "you locked—"

"—locked myself out of the apartment again. I know! Crazy, right? It's only the third time this month."

"I literally hate being your neighbor," Shouta said, but he waved Yamada aside, slipping out a few thin lock-picking tools from the depths of his pocket.

"Well, I love being your neighbor."

"Because you're scared of Nakao," Shouta said, feeling the first bolt of the lock slip upwards easily. "The fearless pro hero Present Mic."

Yamada leaned against the wall. "Of course I'm scared of our landlord," he hissed. "I swear, she's a villain-in-disguise."

Shouta's lip quirked up at the corner. If only you knew, he thought. The second bolt gave way under Shouta's touch. Locks like these were easy to pick—a simple mechanism. The right amount of pressure in the right places would gain Shouta access anywhere he liked.

He paused, stopping before the last bolt in the lock and turning to face his neighbor.

"I should let you get yelled at by her for locking yourself out again."

Yamada's face turned pleading. "She'll kill me."

"I can finally sleep in peace," Shouta said, hands still locked in their position.

"I'll buy you coffee for the next week," Yamada said, then said, "no, two weeks. I know you work those late nights."

The lock clicked. Yamada whooped, clapping Shouta's shoulder and pushing the door in.

"I like my coffee black."

Yamada narrowed his eyes. "You're not human, are you?" Shouta smiled lazily in response, and Yamada saluted him with two fingers. "As you wish, Shouta. See you tomorrow morning!"

It was after Yamada shut the door that Shouta was irrevocably reminded that the pro hero Present Mic was not only a pro hero, talk show host, and a bad neighbor. He was also a teacher.

At U.A.

"Fantastic," Shouta said to the closed door.

He walked blindly into his dark apartment and by way of memorization went straight to the couch. Shouta fell onto it, pressing his face to the pillows and then groaning.

There were times Shouta didn't appreciate being a villain. Ninety-percent of that time was during every conversation Shouta had with Shigaraki, but the other ten-percent was reserved for days like this.

"I hate my life," Shouta grumbled. He got up and shuffled to the small bathroom in his apartment, flicking the light on. He winced at the sudden, yellowish light, squinting for a few seconds until his eyes adjusted. Looking into the mirror, Shouta wished he hadn't turned on the lights. Shouta leaned forwards, then pulled his clothes off deftly, hissing.

While he'd spent the entire day on a stake-out, he'd managed to get caught in a small scuffle. It hadn't been anything major, and certainly easy to take care of, but Shouta had taken a few scrapes.

Dark splotches of purple were scattered across his chest. Shouta felt them ache as he twisted, looking for more. A thin cut he'd gotten on his forearm had already scabbed over.

When Shouta lifted his arm, he could see the scar running across the left side of his ribs, stretching upwards in an ugly curve. He ran a careful finger along its length, though the wound was from years ago and no longer hurt.

His shower was quick, scrubbing off dirt and a bit of caked blood. Shouta was grateful for it. He scrubbed a towel through his hair as he stepped out of the bathroom and back into the small apartment he called home.

It wasn't much. There was a bedroom and a bathroom, and in the corner a small kitchenette that Shouta hardly used. But it was enough for him—simple needs for a simple man, and half the time Shouta didn't even sleep in his apartment anyway. There was a couch and a folding bed, a small and outdated television, and a few storage units that were carefully tucked away despite the small space.

Yamada had been over once, curious to see his elusive neighbor's apartment. With nothing to hide, Shouta had humored him. Yamada had been, in a word, horrified.

It'd been strange to see Yamada in his apartment; like his Quirk, Yamada had a presence that took up the space around him. He was loud, too, both in volume and in personality. Yamada had complained about Shouta's general lack of decor, but that was the way Shouta liked it.

Blank walls, empty place. Just the bare bones.

Erasable.

If Shouta ever needed to, he could leave this place and not look back. He wouldn't miss it all, with the exception of the apartment's proximity to the coffeeshop he liked.

Living next to a pro hero wasn't exactly the most ideal location for a villain, but Shouta was hooked on this thread of danger. One tug, and things could unravel as quickly as they were tangled.

And, though he'd never admit it, Yamada was just slightly better company than Shigaraki. Loud, yes. Annoying, yes. Far too interested in making friends, yes. But Shouta didn't want to claw his face off every time they saw each other, which was definitely an improvement.

Sometimes, though, Shouta wished they'd never spoken to each other. That he could live his life alone and unnoticed.

He never regretted it, though. After they'd first met in the middle of a fight, Yamada had never left him alone. He supposed Yamada felt like he owed Shouta something once he realized his neighbor wasn't exactly as he appeared.

Sometimes Shouta wished they'd never spoken to each other, but he never regretted saving Yamada's life.

Shouta crossed his apartment to his folding bed and sank bodily into it. He rolled onto his back and then pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes until he saw stars.

"Teaching," Shouta said to himself.

As a rule of thumb, Shouta never really knew what Shigaraki or Sensei were thinking. It shouldn't have come as any surprise, but Shouta really had no idea what they'd been thinking, telling him to fill a teaching position. And worse, why they thought U.A. of all places would accept him—he'd been rejected his first time around, anyway.

But—

Shouta pressed against his eyes again.

But maybe, a traitorous part of him whispered, you would like being a hero and a teacher.

That was something Shouta didn't like: the unpredictability of it. Teaching wasn't a skill that came easy. There was no careful calculation of entry and exit points, no targets to hit, and no way of maintaining control.

Not to mention that Shouta would be surrounded by heroes. He didn't know many of Yamada's coworkers, but Shouta was willing to bet he knew exactly what they would be like. They were teaching the next generation of heroes, the bright future, the young leaders of peace and hope. They all thought they were good, and right.

Then there was Shouta, who had never been good or right, or if he had been, not good or right enough. So the dark had swallowed him and spit him back out, and the light had rendered him thin as gossamer.

He would do what he had to, Shouta resolved. He would teach, and he would play hero. He would pretend, and it would be no more and no less. Then when the time came, Shouta would erase himself from the history and all of its records.

Sleep came for him softly. Shouta shut his eyes and let it take him.

The next morning, as promised, Shouta opened his door to find Yamada outside waiting for him, holding two steaming cups of coffee.

"I don't know how you do it," Yamada commented, watching Shouta take a long drink. "Black coffee is awful."

"It's the only thing bitter enough for me," Shouta said.

Yamada's gaze flitted over Shouta. "You're dressed nice. Er… nicer. Than usual."

"Job interview."

Yamada raised his eyebrows. Shouta decided it was better to bite the bullet and told him where he was applying.

His future co-worker nearly spat coffee all over him. Shouta sidestepped, though, narrowly avoiding it as Yamada sputtered at him.

"If you'll excuse me," Shouta said, when it appeared Yamada was unable to form words. A nice change for once.

Both Shouta and Yamada lived close enough to U.A. that it was within walking distance, but as he made his way down the street and Yamada followed, he began to regret not driving.

"We're going to be co-workers?"

"It's not a guarantee."

"You're going to teach kids!"

"I'm… looking forward to it."

Shouta pulled Yamada back before he could cross a street at the wrong light. Yamada squinted back at him.

"I didn't know you were a pro hero," he accused, pointing a finger at Shouta's chest. "I've never heard of you. Hey, what's your hero name?"

They crossed the street. Shouta drank the last of his coffee and found a trash can to toss it in.

Shouta reached into his pocket, passing over the license.

"Eraserhead, huh?" Yamada grinned. "Nice name. So why haven't I seen you around?"

Shouta rolled his eyes. "I work 'late nights,' remember?"

"You're an underground hero."

"You're not supposed to know who I am," Shouta said, shrugging uncomfortably at the truth of it.

"Wow," Yamada murmured, studying Shouta's license.

It was fake, of course—it had taken a year of careful work to ease Shouta into the hero system without anyone noticing. The original plan had been for Shouta to pose as a hero, allowing him better access to information. The League of Villains had been careful with their activity, but they had slowly started to show their hand. In response, security had tightened. Skilled as Shouta was, it'd been getting more difficult for him to get what the League needed.

U.A. was as big and ostentatious as Shouta remembered. Four glittering towers rose high above him into the sky. The two of them passed the gates with no issue, and Shouta narrowed his eyes, memorizing the route they were taking.

"Are you nervous?"

"You're more nervous than I am, Yamada."

Yamada stopped in the hallway and looked at Shouta. His voice was softer and more serious than Shouta had ever heard it.

"I think you could find a place here."

Shouta frowned, then nodded slowly. He still wasn't sure why Yamada wanted him here, but it wouldn't hurt to have a tentative ally. Not for him to trust, but good in a fight.

"Nedzu!" Yamada boomed. Shouta winced. His volume was back up again.

Shouta followed Yamada's gaze forwards, then down. He kept his features neutral when he saw the principal of U.A.

"Hello, Mic," Nedzu said cheerily. He glanced at Shouta. "You must be Aizawa Shouta—Eraserhead?"

He nodded.

"Ah, Principal, before you two…" Yamada started. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. "I didn't know he was applying, or else I would have spoken to you earlier. But I can totally vouch for him!"

Shouta froze. He hadn't expected that. Yamada had been nice to him, and certainly friendly. But this… this was another matter entirely.

Yamada was babbling something loudly about how good he thought Shouta's character was. Shouta could only think about how well he'd been fooled.

"He saved my life," Yamada concluded. He took a step back.

Principal Nedzu was nodding. "Thank you for the input, Mic. I will certainly keep that in mind. Now, if you would follow me…?"

Shouta followed Nedzu into the next room, the door shutting behind him. It wasn't an office, like Shouta had been expecting. Instead Shouta saw a set of couches and a coffee table, on which some papers and a pot of tea were waiting.

"Make yourself comfortable," Nedzu said, waving a paw. He climbed onto a couch, tail curling behind him. Shouta slowly followed suit, sitting gingerly on the opposite couch and wondering why things seemed so… casual.

"I wasn't aware you and Present Mic knew each other," Nedzu commented mildly. "He seemed very eager to introduce you."

Shouta grunted, then remembered he was supposed to be making a good impression.

"We're neighbors," he said, "coincidentally."

"Tea?"

Shouta didn't think it was right to refuse, so he accepted. Still, he left the teacup in front of him, steam wafting through the air.

As the interview started, Shouta began to realize that this was not a typical interview. It felt more like an interesting conversation to him—finally, Shouta thought, someone with more than two brain cells.

Nedzu asked him a few questions about teaching with answers Shouta spun out of thin air. Then it turned to discussing Quirks. Nedzu, Shouta found, was incredibly sharp and cunning despite his appearance. They talked about everything and anything: students, Quirk development, Quirks and how well they fit in hero society.

"Your Erasure Quirk," Nedzu said, sipping at his tea, "is fascinating to me, and I'm sure, extremely useful in incapacitating villains. Yet I fear you would not have the chance you needed to fulfill your potential if you had attended U.A."

Shouta jerked, surprised. He cocked his head at Nedzu, finding another piece of the puzzle to fit in place. It was rare to see someone acknowledge the issues Shouta himself had—not to mention, the principal of U.A.

Yet Nedzu had proven himself to be more complex than Shouta had originally thought. Shouta filed away the information: not only was Nedzu abnormal in his approach, but he was willing to scrutinize issues.

Nedzu smiled at him quaintly. "It seems you've realized your own potential, however."

"Thank you," Shouta said quietly, still unsure of how to respond. Even with the discussion, there still had to be a larger plan at play. Every topic they'd discussed had to have been a test—something, perhaps, not all applicants would have realized.

"You seem hesitant."

Shouta cleared his throat. "You're very… candid, Principal."

"Feel free to speak," Nedzu said. In any other situation, Shouta wouldn't have—but Shouta had a feeling Nedzu wanted him to say exactly what he thought.

"There isn't a lot of room for people like me," Shouta said, blinking slowly. "You turn hopeful students away who have Quirks that do not fit the typical 'mold' for heroes—of course, with the number of applying students, it's not possible to accept everyone or accept those who don't have potential."

Nedzu nodded for him to continue. Shouta picked up the teacup and felt an old wound begin to open, an aching, ugly thing he hadn't thought about in a while.

"There are kids who have Quirks that are labelled villainous," Shouta said. He hesitated again. "When we don't offer them guidance, or we don't tell them that they can be heroes, they may end up— taking a different path."

The tea was almost cold when Shouta finally drank, but it felt like it was burning down his throat. That was Shouta's terrible truth—that he hadn't wanted to be a villain, but had ended up one anyway and now found it too late to turn back. That he was bitter and angry and tired of heroes.

"This teaching position at U.A. is for the homeroom teacher of Class 1-A," Nedzu said, "but you could hold quite a bit of influence in the heroics department, as well as the general and supports course."

"So what," Nedzu asked, "will you do to fix this?"

Nedzu tilted his head, eyes glinting as he studied Shouta. This, he realized, was what Nedzu wanted.

There were a lot of answers to the question.

Tear down hero society from the inside was the answer that Shouta had found himself stuck with. Encourage them, teach them, let them grow was another answer.

"Give them a chance they've never had," was the answer Shouta said.

Nedzu held out his teacup silently, and the two cups clinked together. Something had changed, Shouta thought. For the better or for the worse.

Because for the first time, Shouta found himself wanting. For a young boy's distant and forgotten dream to become true.

Give them a chance I never had.

And deep inside of him, some glint of light he'd long thought gone sparked and began to glow.

That, Shouta thought, was going to be a problem.