Disclaimer:
• I do not own BNHA/MHA. All credit for the series and its characters goes to Horikoshi Kohei.
• Absolutely fantastic cover art was done by kairichan!

Shouta Aizawa

Aizawa couldn't help but sigh as he stared down at the arcs of monochromatic graphite lining a sheet of notebook paper that rested on his desk. The identity of the person that the paper belonged to was an anomaly; Aizawa could not recognize the handwriting that taunted him with vicious familiarity. Setting the paper aside, he extracted his lesson plan.

Aizawa had recently been informed that his class would be attempting a new, experimental module in the Hero course, and never in his years of teaching had he imagined such a module being introduced to U.A. So, as he scrutinized his lesson plan, Aizawa took a sip from his beloved juice pouch; a cool, saccharine splash of tanginess invigorated his taste buds in an ephemeral deluge.

Pairing students together to judge their compatibility and see how they develop together… Aizawa thought to himself while skimming over the names of the students that were grouped together. Six groups of three and one group of two. All groups chosen at random. For three months, they'll be living with each other, and our tasks as the instructors are to guide them to adapt positively…and to have them help each other through their own problems. He lifted his head as Midoriya arrived at the 2-A classroom.

"Good morning, Aizawa-sensei!" Midoriya chirped while waving at Aizawa. "How are you?" His beatific smile lifted the mundane fog of the atmosphere.

"Morning, Midoriya. I'm good," Aizawa replied in an unhurried, husky sigh as he slid a stack of papers between his thumb and index finger. "Can you help me pass these out? One per desk."

Midoriya nodded and set his bag beside his desk. "That's good to hear! And of course."

The two proceeded to adorn each desk with a sheet of paper in silence. By the time they finished, the majority of the class had filed into the classroom.

Bakugou and Todoroki avoid each other at all costs, Aizawa began to ruminate. Of course I'm the one assigned to be in charge of them. I'll see to it that a stable relationship between them is restored. Otherwise, their performances will continue to be compromised, and that could be the difference between life and death in a real-life scenario.

Once the bell that marked the beginning of homeroom reverberated through the school, Aizawa pooled together the attention of his students with his voice. "I have an important announcement regarding the paper on your desks. You also need to have a parent or guardian sign this paper. Why?" Aizawa unzipped his favorite sleeping bag and stepped free from it. "Heroes must work together, and they must work around the flaws and strengths of their comrades. Being a Hero is more than rescuing someone from a villain—Heroes help other Heroes, and Heroes help others beyond combat.

"The project that is being assigned to you all revolves around your ability to help your peers. This is a three-month-long project in which you will be living with a few of your classmates under a staff member at U.A." He observed how his students raised their brows. "You will each be required to write an essay on what you learned from your group members, what you taught them or helped them with, what their strengths and weaknesses are, and how you had to adapt to their lifestyles. These answers must be from what you've observed.

"However, all of you will still receive your daily lectures from your instructors, and each of us has been assigned to monitor one of the groups you've been split into. These are your groups, so pay attention: Shouji, Koda, and Hagakure. Tokoyami, Yaoyorozu, and Uraraka. Sero, Aoyama, and Ojirou. Jirou, Kaminari, and Kirishima. Ashido, Mineta, and Satou. Iida, Asui, and Midoriya. Finally, Todoroki and Bakugou." Aizawa noted how Bakugou scowled and Todoroki lowered his head.

The one group I didn't randomize, Aizawa thought while allowing his class to talk amongst themselves. Regardless of what happened between them, they're going to have to work together. They won't always be able to avoid each other. What troublesome kids. But they'll learn, grow, and move on.

Through the convivial chatter buzzing around the room, Aizawa announced, "All right. Read over the paper on your desk if you haven't done so already. Then, meet with your groups, and tell me how you believe you'll all get along." Once his voice had tapered off and his students began to read over their permission forms, Aizawa gradually drank the remainder of his juice pouch.

A familiar wave of drowsiness clung to Aizawa's eyes like bricks, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open. He'd hardly slept the night prior, and although that was never unusual for Aizawa, he was typically able to combat his daily exhaustion with caffeine alone. What he'd recently discovered, however, was that his norms were shifting, and although his body beseeched for adequate sleep, he pressed on with his usual routines; as time had gone on, those routines had taken greater and greater tolls on him.

I've been more tired than ever, Aizawa sighed to himself as his class began to assemble themselves into their groups. I must be getting old. Few things are able to mitigate the damage from my sleeping problems. I'll see a doctor later. He blinked heavily. But what our students might not know…is that we learn from them as well. It's a mutually beneficial learning experience.

"Shouji," Aizawa called out, "how do you and your group think you'll get along?" He internally relished the silence that ensued for Shouji to speak without interruption.

Shouji glanced at his group members. "Well," he replied with a nod.

"Good to hear it," Aizawa replied, and after receiving the rest of the groups' responses that were akin to Shouji's, he advanced to his final group. "Todoroki and Bakugou?"

Todoroki remained silent, and his eyes were fixated on his desk as though he'd been in a trance, but Bakugou rent that silence upon vociferating, "Like shit." Burning venom crackled in his voice. "Oi. What if we don't bring back a signed paper?"

A hefty sigh poured from Aizawa's lips. "Your essay would be longer and due sooner. On top of that, you would lose the opportunity to experience the core objectives of this course. Thus, your learning would not be quite up to par with your classmates because you would be unable to participate."

"Tch," spat Bakugou. "What if—"

"Bakugou, we can discuss this after class." Aizawa nodded and turned his attention to Todoroki. "Todoroki, I want you to be a part of this discussion as well. Both of you, we'll have a discussion once class is over."

Then, I want to check in with them individually. I know all of my students are struggling with something. This poem that was left behind yesterday is proof of it. Out of my twenty students, which one of them wrote this?

Monochrome Crown

I can't remember what day it is today.
All of my plans will just be thrown away.
I've already achieved all I could ever want.
But I'll write a new goal in this plain, gray font.

"One more time," I tell myself again.
The blade, it glides like the tip of this pen.
The seams are torn in this unending gray.
Streams of red must be the only way.

How much blood was shed to make it to the peak?
How much gray did I inject to not be weak?
The summit shines with blinding uncertainty.
I've made it up, but only an abyss is left to see.

This crown I wear ties me to an empty throne.
I did it all, but I'm now all alone.
I'm trapped in this box of never-ending light.
I'm robbed by the dreams that kept me here to fight.

Monochrome, monochrome, everything's in monochrome.
I can't run away, for it's now become my home.
Everything's the same, no matter where I go.
I've conquered it all, yet I'm at my lowest low.

I can't feel a single thing.
For one more I'll once again ring.
That drop of red infects my eyes.
They'll surely notice all these lies.

I can't destroy this monochrome crown.
In this drop of red, I'd rather drown.
How can a crown of hope be my chains?
It's devouring even the color in my veins.

I want to feel something again.
I want to see color again.
I want to have meaning again.

Red, red, it's seeping through.
But the red is now monochrome too.
I try again and fail once more.
I made it to the top, and what for?

Yesterday repeats, and I'm sick of it all being the same.
That tantalizing voice is calling my name.
I look into the abyss that's become the top.
I give in, and to the concrete I drop.