There were few things more nauseating than interviews.

Mornings, perhaps. Meetings, one could suppose.

Shota Aizawa let out a quiet sigh and settled into the uncomfortable conference room chair, wishing too late he'd feigned sickness or even a class to get out of this tedious process.

"Cheer up, Eraser. At least the setting is quieter than the classroom," Ever the optimist, even in the skeletal form he reverted to outside the view of applicants. The rugged pro-hero Eraser Head gave no comment in response. Toshinori Yagi, known to the world as All Might, gave a small chuckle, scratching at his golden mane. "Though I must admit, the string of potential teachers has even me stretched a little thin."

There had been at least three hundred applicants- a list Principal Nezu had whittled down to ten.

The first few were high on the righteous indignation of heroism as a whole (of course, what would you expect from a bunch of liberal arts majors applying for a job designed to show the ethical issues of the field?), one of which having left with a foamy dollop of spittle on the corner of his mouth. Aizawa grimaced at the memory.

The sixth- a sprightly, energetic man- clearly had an ulterior motive of picking up a few tips to become a hero himself, as nearly all of his questions were directed to All Might and his experience outside of the classroom.

The seventh- a middle-aged woman with a fire quirk that scorched the chair- had been so dumbfounded by All Might's presence she had uttered maybe one full sentence throughout the entire 30-minute interview.

Candidate number eight had a relatively unbiased opinion on heroism, all things considered, and a crisp manner; perfect for teaching. He hadn't even flinched when shaking each pros' hand, keeping direct eye contact with each and every one of them. Aizawa had a rising suspicion he was either clairvoyant or telepathic, judging by his attitude of solemn affirmation. Certainly, he was the first candidate the unanimous vote was leaning towards.
Hands stitching together behind his head, Aizawa stretched. This thing was practically in the final lap- they'd breeze through the last two interviews and he'd be off to prep hour where a sweet, sweet sleeping bag was calling his name.

"Right, well, that went rather well I'd say," Principal Nezu commented, straightening the thick pile of resumes before him. "Next up is Chiyo Tsutomi-"

A rush of noise filtered through the door, moving quickly up the hallway. Aizawa rose, instantly alert.
An attack? Right here inside the academy?

The door exploded and every pro hero stood in defensive stances, ready for impact.

A startled, wide-eyed woman stood before them.

Surrounded by a quarter of Class 1-A.