Disclaimer: I do not own the world of My Hero Academia or its characters

A/N: Thanks for the response to this story! Hope you'll continue to read with me.

Eyes front.

Back straight.

Chin up.

Right foot beveled.

Left hand on hip.

Smile. Not too wide, more enigmatic.

She didn't think she should know that word at six years old.

Michiko kept her eyes forward as the judges analyzed her and the other girls standing on either side of her. This was her fourteenth competition since her Quirk manifested two years ago, her fourth birthday. This was expected to be her fourteenth win. Her mother had gone all out for this one, dressing her in an iridescent leotard and tutu, matching. For her talent, she had done a dance with her quirk, twirling, sparkling. She had put her all into it but there was another girl there with wings and Michiko thought her dance had been a lot prettier than her own.

One of the judges stood, walking over the results to the announcer, who unfolded the paper, smiling at the audience.

"Weren't all our girls just gorgeous today? We thank you all for coming out, for supporting these lovely young ladies. I'm so pleased to announce both our winner and our Ms. Congeniality for Little Miss Hero. Our Ms. Congeniality is . . . Onishi Michiko!"

It took everything in her not to slouch, not to look to the audience where her mother sat. She bowed her head politely as she accepted the crown, smaller than what she was used to. The other girl, the one with the wings, took first and it made sense; she looked like a literal angel.

The curtains closed.

Michiko congratulated the Angel-girl and went to find her mother, who was waiting for her offstage, her pursed clenched in front of her. Her daughter approached her warily, head lowered. "Mother."

"Don't." Michiko flinched, the ice in her mother's voice apparent. "There is nothing you can say. That performance was inexcusable. There is no reason you shouldn't have won."

"She – she was better, than me," Michiko responded, looking up.

Her mother glared down at her, light brown eyes narrowed, her own curly hair drawn back in a severe bun. They had the same tawny, brown skin, the same pointed ears. Her gray hair and almond-shaped gray eyes she had gotten from her father, but Michiko was expected to become as tall, curvy and beautiful as her mother.

She aimed to be a lot kinder than either of her parents.

"It's no excuse," her mother said. "We'll continue your training when –"

"She is very talented." The two of them looked up at the woman who approached them. She was an elderly woman, her ash blond hair slicked back from her forehead, turquoise eyes. She smiled. "You can't win them all."

"In the Onishi family," Michiko's mother responded with a sniff, "we always strive to do our best."

"Understandable," the woman said. She looked down at Michiko, who stepped back towards her mother, even though she knew Onishi Akira would never do anything to protect her daughter. "That's why I think little Michiko here could be doing so much more than beauty contest."

Michiko stood by her desk, letting her fingers drift over the light streaming through the library window, looking around at her hard work. It had taken the first two days of school to get the room organized, stopping occasionally to help a student find a book in the organized piles she had set up around the room. She had even come in on Sunday to get work done while there were no students. There were forty bookshelves of various sizes in the room, so she had shuffled them around, moving them closer to the walls, twenty on each side angled toward the student tables. Those tables, she had set up in six rows of five, three rows on each side of her round desk in the middle. She had even hung labeled signs above each bookshelf so that the students would know where to look for things, organizing the books in each section by grade-level. Today, she had come in before school started to put away the last of the books and she was finally finished.

All in all, a good amount of work, if she did say so herself.

"Looks good."

Michiko jumped and spun, her foot sliding back into a fighting stance. Aizawa Shota didn't move, though she thought his eyebrow cocked a bit. He stood near the entrance to the library, one hand in the pocket of his pants, the other wrapped around a coffee cup. She could barely see the bottom half of his face, wrapped in his scarves as he was. He moved forward as Michiko shook the tension from her body, frowning as she should up straight. "Thank you."

"I'm surprised you're so easily startled," Aizawa said, placing the cup down on her desk.

"Well," Michiko replied, placing her hands on her hips, "I wasn't expecting anyone to come in this early."

His dark, bored eyes took her in. Michiko crossed her arms over her chest. She had come to work casually again, refusing to dig out her Hero Costume. Instead, she had opted for denim overalls cuffed to her ankles with a long-sleeved green shirt, blue tennis shoes and a blue head band holding her bangs back, the rest of her curly gray hair up in a bun on top of her head. She felt a bit judged by that gaze.

Who is he to judge? She thought, taking in his jet-black outfit, slightly baggy as it was, nothing like the other, flashier Heroes. If she didn't know better, she would have thought his outfit was casual wear as well.

She scratched one pointed ear before sticking her hands in her pockets. "Was there something you needed?"

Aizawa gestured to the cup on her desk. "I brought you coffee."

"Oh." Michiko looked to the desk, trying not to make a face. She had never been a fan of coffee, but the gesture was appreciated. Unexpected, but appreciated. "Well, thank you, I –"

"It's a bribe."

"Oh." And she thought she lacked tact.

If Aizawa noticed the deflation in her voice, he didn't comment. "Nezu said you'd be good for more than just a librarian."

"I'm not sure he put it exactly like that, but –"

"On Wednesday, Class 1-A will be heading to the USJ," Aizawa said. Michiko lifted an eyebrow. "The Unforeseen Simulation Joint. The students will be participating in rescue training."

"Didn't you just take them through battle training on Saturday?" Their training is almost as intense as mine was. They were probably exhausted.

Aizawa shrugged. "This is what they signed up for. We have a lot to cover so we put them through their paces."

"Okay. I'm trying to understand what this has to do with you bringing me coffee."

"You'll be coming with us. We'd like a fourth set of eyes," he continued, before Michiko could speak. "A number of our students need extra guidance. It'll be you, me, All-Might and Thirteen."

"Aizawa-san, I don't know if –"

"You said you wanted to be as much assistance as you could be, didn't you?"

Michiko huffed, looking away from the man. Damn her and her want to make a good first impression. "What all would I have to do?"

"I can give you more instructions when we get there," Aizawa told her, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. There was a manic gleam in his eyes and Michiko got a feeling he was enjoying this. "I've already emailed you the files on my class. Go over them and familiarize yourself with their quirks and restrictions."

The asshole already knew she had no choice but to say yes. She pouted, crossing her arms. "I'll get on it. Next time you want to bribe me," she added, meeting his gaze again, "I prefer condensed milk with honey."

The small smirk on Aizawa's face became more amused. "Noted. . . . You seem . . . different."

"Do I?"

"Less eager to please. I think I like this you better." With a nod, he headed towards the library door, waving at her over his shoulder. "See you on Wednesday, Onishi-san."

Michiko sighed heavily as the door closed behind him.

What in the world had she just signed up for?

Rubbing her hands across her eyes, Michiko groaned.

She should have just gone home.

Today, they had had their first false alarm after some idiotic journalist had found their way into the school. The kids had gone into a panic, the ten or so who had been studying in the library flying into a frenzy until Michiko had flashed a light to get their attention, instructing them to hide under the tables till the alarm passed.

Of course, their fear-filled use of their quirks had meant another round of cleaning for her.

"Oh, hey, Michiko. You're here late."

Michiko spun in her chair, the gears in her head clicking as she tried to connect the gaunt, blond haired man in the too big, yellow suit to a name before she started. "Hey, Yagi-san. Feeling well?"

He smiled. "Nice recovery."

"Sorry, I forgot for a moment."

It was still odd to be surrounded by so many Heroes. When she was still in the game, she had worked fairly solo (besides Hawks on occasion) and had only seen the other Heroes a handful of times. Though all of them at the school knew who she was, there were only two others besides the Principal who knew what made her go on sabbatical because they had been there. Though the events were blurry, she remembered being carried by All-Might, glimpsing his trademark smile through swollen eyes. . . .

She had been introduced to this much smaller version of All-Might on their first day and it had made her a little sad to see him. Growing up, while Kiego had admired Endeavor, Michiko had kept her eye on All-Might. Not that she was necessarily a fan, but she couldn't deny that he was the epitome of a Hero, looks and all. Though, in his weakened state, she actually felt more connected to him; she too was hiding something much smaller, weaker behind her bravado as well. But, in general, she liked Yagi. He could be pleasant and was friendly, always had a kind word for her. If anyone had to be in on her story, she was glad it was him.

Yagi chuckled a little, sliding the door closed behind him. "By the way, I think it's high past time you call me Toshinori, don't you?"

Michiko smiled softly. "Habit. And I'm here because I had homework," she told him, turning back to the computer in front of her and propping her chin on her fist. On the screen, the kids from Class 1-A smiled up at her (well, most smiled; that Bakugo kid looked kind of scary), their quirks listed and described under their pictures.

"Ah yes, Aizawa told me," Yagi said, coming to sit in the seat beside her. "You're going to be accompanying us to the USJ."

"Looks like."

"Don't sound too excited."

Michiko looked out the corner of her eye to the older man, who had a faint smile on his face.

"It's been a while since I've done the . . . Hero thing," Michiko responded. She smiled wryly at All-Might. "I'm not even sure if my costume still fits."

"Maybe you can see if the team here can stretch it out for you." Toshinori dodge as Michiko chucked a balled-up paper at him, that wide, toothy smile on his face. "You're going to do great. I'm sure the students will like working with someone close to their age, even if you do have about ten years on most of them. And you had experience so young, learned a great deal. That'll be valuable to them."

"Hmmm." Michiko tapped her finger on the desk. She didn't know much about that, but she supposed if she was going to do this, she should do it right. "Would you mind getting some training in with me tomorrow? If you're up to it? I don't use my quirk as often as I should."

"I'd be honored to help you train, though I'm sure it'll be like riding a bike."

"I never learned how to do that. Also," the younger Hero added as Toshinori rolled his eyes, "is there anything I should know about these kids, before I train them? I feel like I'm at a bit of a disadvantage."

Toshinori pointed at the screen, to a boy with ash blond har and red eyes. "That one's got a bit of a temper -"

"I could tell that much by looking at him."

"—but I'd say he's a good kid. He's got a lot passion."

"Bright-eyed kid," Michiko muttered, as she switched the picture to a green-haired boy. "He seems very happy to be here."

"Young Midoriya is full of potential," Toshinori told her and she couldn't help but notice a fondness in his tone. "He's clever and kind . . . and a bit of a fanboy. I'm sure he'll ask for your autograph once he meets you."

"If he recognizes me. I mean, I may have made it pretty high in the ranks, but I'm not sure if I was exactly what you called 'mainstream'."

The older hero chuckled. "He might surprise you."

"Hmm. Toshinori, I'm not sure how to do this," she continued, leaning back in her seat.

Toshinori blinked. "Well, you don't have to remember all of the students by heart. There are twenty of them, after all."

"Not that," Michiko responded. She reached up, placing her fingers against the scar by her eye. The long, thin, curved puckered line stretched from her hair line, cutting through her eyebrow to just below the corner of her right eye, slicing towards her ear. It was one of many that marred her skin, some hidden by the long sleeves she always wore, the most noticeable. A reminder of why she had left the Hero life in the first place. "I mean . . . I feel like I'm lying to everyone. I barely wanted to be a Hero. What right do I have to stand in front of those kids and teach them?"

"Hmmm." Toshinori scratched the side of his face. "Why did you come and work at UA, Michiko?"

"Principal Nezu invited me," she responded matter-of-factly.

"Besides your Librarian credentials, you have a degree in English Literature, don't you?"

"Yes, but –"

"You could have gone anywhere else, somewhere not connected to Heroes. Why did you come here?"

It would be easy to continue to imply that she had come at Nezu's request, which wouldn't be a total lie. He had gotten in contact with her while she was still in the states, expressed a wish to give her a job at the school. It had all felt a little too convenient, but she would be lying if she said she hadn't missed Japan. Coming back when Nezu had asked felt right. But still . . . "I don't know."

"I think," Toshinori continued, "you're exactly where you should be. Maybe being a hero wasn't your dream but these young students worked hard to get in to this program. It was their choice. So, you being their teacher is helping them to defend that choice, to be Heroes, to chase their dreams. Be to them the person you wish you had when you were their age. Just do your best," he finished, placing a hand on her head.

Michiko stared at Toshinori, eyes wide. She wasn't sure how, but he always seemed to know the right thing to say. She would have to work hard. Normally, she was pretty apathetic, especially since falling out of the Hero limelight, and sarcastic, and she could be a tad rude, but, if being Heroes was what these kids wanted, she would work to encourage them.

Smiling back, she nodded. "Okay. I'll do my best."

Ripping Flesh

The smell of blood

Pain pain pain pain

MAKE IT STOP

This is a mistake.

Michiko felt like she may throw up.

Sitting on a bench in the Teachers' dressing room, she let her head fall between her knees, taking deep soothing breaths.

Her costume did feel too tight, not because she had outgrown it (she was proud of the fact that she kept in shape), but because it just felt uncomfortable being in it again. It brought back memories she thought she had confronted, things she didn't like about her past or herself and it made her feel like an imposter.

Just do your best.

That's all Toshinori had asked from her. She could do that. Yesterday right after school, the two of them had met and he put her to work. He was only able to hold his strengthened form for so long but even after, he ran her through some drills she thought he planned to use on the students.

Torture, she had thought after three hours of training. Even now her body was still a bit sore, muscles she hadn't used screaming in protest as she pulled on her boots. She'd have to shake it off; if Toshinori could appear fit and ready to train those kids all afternoon, so could see.

Checking the clock on her phone, she stood. She was sure Aizawa would kill her if she were late. Quickly, she stopped in front of long mirror on the wall, giving herself the once over. Her costume had been the one thing she had had complete creative control over. Clipped to either side of her head were gold stars, connected by a gold chain across her bangs, white-tinted goggles covering her eyes. Her white top was sleeveless with a round collar, tight around her chest, with four buttons down the front, stopping just above her midriff. White, form fitting tights, cinched tight around her upper thighs, two sets of golden buckled bands wrapped around the middle of her thighs. On her right leg, she wore one knee high, golden sock, her long legs disappearing into white, calf-high boots. Long, golden sleeves started at her biceps, the cuffs falling over her hands with white, fingerless gloves showing off her slender fingers. The whole costume was spattered with white and gold burst, like little fireworks.

It was cute, it was simple, it was functional, and that was all that mattered.

Though, she had forgotten how much of her skin showed. Her fingers trailed across the ugly scar on her right shoulder. It curved around towards her back, disappearing under her sleeve. Another thin line crossed her bare stomach. Another, bigger than the others, marred her right thigh just above the top of her stocking. Something to get used to, she supposed, though she could always get her outfit modified.

Looking back at her reflection, she tried to smile but it felt false, so she stopped. Her fingers reached up, rubbing the scar on her face.

Breathe, Michiko.

Walking back over to the bench, she picked up her metal baton, clipping it to her left leg.

"Here goes nothing," she whispered to the empty room, before making her way out of the room. Aizawa had said he had liked her better when she was just being herself.

She could do that.

The bus was already waiting when Michiko approached. She could see the shadows of the kids and, in the doorway, arms folded, eyes closed, a frown on his face, stood Aizawa. He seemed not mad, but at least irritated. As she got closer, he peeked out one eye, shaking his head as he sighed. "Finally."

"Sorry, sorry," she replied, climbing up the steps onto the bus. "I got a little turned around."

The entire class leaned forward as she faced them, smiling.

A small boy with purple balls on top of his head seemed to pop up, gripping the seat in front of him. Mineta Minoru, she thought to herself. She couldn't remember what all of their quirks were, but she prided herself on being good with names and faces. "Hot teacher alert," he muttered, peering at her.

She didn't know if she should be flattered or creeped out.

Aizawa shot the small student a glare, nodding to the bus driver, who pulled the bus into gear. "Class, if you've been to the library, you might have met our guest teacher. This is —"

"Pro-Hero Lumena!"

Everyone turned towards a boy with green hair and bright green eyes, who had shot out of his seat. "You're the Bright Hero: Lumena! One of the youngest Heroes to reach the top twenty!"

Everyone turned back towards Michiko, who rubbed the back of her neck, chuckling a bit. That must have been Midoriya Izuku. Toshinori had been right. "All-Might said you'd surprise me."

Midoriya went red in the face. "Oh, I, er —"

"Midoriya get's all the girls," the purple headed boy whined, his lisp extremely prominent.

"This is Onishi Michiko," Aizawa interrupted, sending the boys a glare that compelled them back into their seats. "Our librarian and assistant teacher for today. You will show her your respect."

"Yes sir!" Almost immediately after, the students turned to each other, whispering to each other, occasionally sneaking glances in her direction.

Aizawa faced forward, towards the door as the bus drove down the street. Michiko figured she wasn't going to get much conversation from him. Tugging on the bottom of her top, she made her way towards the students, who didn't even notice her approach, invested in their conversation as they were.

A blond hair boy in a black jacket leaned forward, a smirk on his face. "Hey, Midoriya, how old is she? She doesn't look much older than us."

"You don't ask about a woman's age, Kaminari!" Another boy, one with bright red hair, told him. If she could recall correctly, that was Kirishima Ejiro. "That's not manly!"

"I'm twenty-six." The class looked up, various levels of shock and surprise on their faces. Michko smirked at them, meeting Kaminari's eyes. "Nearly twenty-seven. Way too old for you, kiddo."

Kaminari slumped into his seat, eyes dazed, face red. The purple headed kid patted the seat next to him, a weird look on his face. "You can sit here, sensei — Ack!" He cried out when something pink slapped into his face. Watching it retreat, she realized it had been another student's tongue.

"You really don't have to call me sensei, if that's alright," Michiko responded, skirting past the small boy and taking a seat next to a boy with red and white hair evenly split down the middle, who opened his eyes briefly to look at her before closing them again. "You can just call me Onishi or even Michiko. So," she said, ignoring their surprised faces as she patted her thighs, smiling at them, "Tell me about yourselves!"

"Eh—" The students of Class 1-A exchanged glances, as if not sure how to answer.

The boy in the seat in front of her sucked his teeth, glaring out the window. "No one wants a teacher who's pretending to be cool."

Oh ho. The one with the temper. Bakugo Katsuki. A slight smirk came to her face. She knew she probably should behave, but something about guys like him made her want to goad him a bit.

"You're right," Lumena responded, smiling at the wary look that Bakugo gave her. "I'm actually rather awkward. I'm sure I'm nowhere near as cool as you."

A vein popped up in Bakugo's forehead as he turned towards her, rage on his face. "Are you mocking me!"

Michiko waved her hand flippantly. "Wouldn't dream of it!"

"You are! Shut up you old maid!"

The teacher gasped dramatically, placing her hand on her heart. "You wound me! Is he always like this?" she asked the others.

"Yes," the rest of the class said without hesitation.

Bakugo growled. "Shut up, you damn extras!"

Michiko laughed, gaining some more surprised looks from the students. "I think this is going to be more fun than I thought."

Michiko stood back near Aizawa as Thirteen introduced the U.S.J. to the eager students. She tried not to look as amazed as the kids were at this place but it was hard. From where they stood at the entrance, she could see all eight of the zones, though none of them in there entirety.

This place is massive. Michiko bit on the thumbnail on her right hand. How in the world were the four of them supposed to keep track of all the students in a place like this?

"Onishi-sensei, have you never been here either?" a bubbly, pink-skinned girl asked her. Ashido Mina was her name.

Michiko shook her head. "Never. It's crazy right?"

"You probably shouldn't look so surprised, sensei," Uraraka Ochaco said, with a cute smile. "It's not very teacher like."

"Right," Michiko agreed, with a small laugh.

"Onishi-san," Aizawa called, beckoning her over.

Giving the two girls a shrug, she hurried over to the Homeroom teacher, who was frowning, though Michiko didn't think that was something new. Thirteen turned towards her as she approached, waving a hand in greeting. "Nice to meet you, Lumena. I've heard a lot about you! I'm glad you're joining us today."

"Thank you for having me," Michiko said, with a slight bow. "I'm looking forward to it. Isn't All-Might coming to?" she asked, looking to Aizawa, whose frown deepened.

"It'll just be the three of us. All-Might went and wore himself out," he added in a whisper. "Though he may join us near the end."

"Oh." Michiko looked back out at the U.S.J. "Can we manage this, just the three of us?"

"We should be fine," Aizawa responded in that bored voice of his, sticking his hands in his pockets. Turning to Thirteen he said, "Clock's ticking. We should get started."

"Excellent! Before we begin let me just say one thing," Thirteen said. "Well, maybe two things. Possibly three, four or five –"

"We get it," the students interrupted.

Smiling, Michiko turned back to look at the U.S.J. while Thirteen discussed how her quirk could be used to rescue, but also destroy. Michiko looked down at her hand. She had done her fair share of rescuing . . . her share of destroying as well. Looking back to the kids, who were listening respectfully, she was glad they were taking this so seriously. All of them had powerful quirks, quirks that needed to be honed and trained, so that they could continue on this journey they had chosen.

She hoped she could help with that.

"That's all I have to say," Thirteen ended, bowing at the waist. "Thank you so much for listening."

The students cheered and Michiko couldn't blame them; Thirteen was pretty cool.

"Right," Aizawa said, standing up straight from where he had been slouched off to the side. "Now that that's over –"

Suddenly, the lights around the arena began to pop and crackle, turning off. The fountain in the middle of the arena spurted a few times before something purple appeared in the middle of it, swirling into existence.

Michiko took a slight step towards the kids, holding an arm out as Aizawa turned to what was clearly becoming a portal. A hand appeared first, followed by what looked like many hands, but Michiko could see a red eye peering out from between the fingers.

This isn't right.

"Stay together," Aizawa told the kids. "And don't move. Thirteen, protect the students.

"What is that thing?" Kirishima Eijiro called.

The man covered in hands walked fully out of the portal. On either side of him, others started to appear, people in all shapes and sizes, stalking forward.

Behind her, the kids were whispering amongst themselves, confused. Midoriya took a slight step forward.

"Stay back!" Aizawa demanded, pulling up his goggles. "This is real. Those are villians."

They were under attack.

Michiko turned, looking at the students, her students, and the various levels of fear on their faces, even the ones trying not to show it. This is what they had signed up for but there was no way they were ready for this.

"Lumena," Aizawa said, glancing at her out the corner of his eye.

No hesitation.

It may have been a long time, but she trained for this.

Like riding a bike.

"Right," she answered, stepping forward.

She was going to protect these kids.