The Class Comes Back

Training log updated.

Take a breath. The next test is already starting.

✦

The first day back looked normal until everyone started counting chairs.

Nobody said they were doing it.

That made it louder.

Twenty desks. Twenty students. One teacher missing from the room for the first five minutes. The empty space at the front did more work than an announcement.

Kaminari tried to break it.

"So, uh, anyone else feel like the U.S.J. was yesterday?"

"Four days ago," Jiro said.

"That is worse."

Sero leaned back in his chair, one elbow wrapped and his smile not quite attached.

"My tape dispenser is cracked. Do I get emotional compensation?"

"You get a repair form," Momo said.

"That is the least comforting sentence anyone has ever said."

Mina laughed.

Then she stopped too quickly.

The sound had reminded her that laughing was allowed and still strange.

Tsuyu sat with both hands folded on her desk, eyes half-lidded.

"Everyone is making noise around the thing, ribbit."

The class turned toward her.

She did not blink.

"The U.S.J. was scary. Sensei almost died. Thirteen almost died. We almost died. It is strange to pretend the only problem is awkwardness."

Mineta made a small wounded sound.

"I was going to tell people I saved a teacher."

"You helped," Tsuyu said.

He sat up a little.

"Really?"

"Yes. Bragging about it badly will make people regret noticing."

He deflated.

Jiro nodded. "Almost generous."

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck hard enough to redden the skin.

"I keep thinking I should have hit harder."

"Against Nomu?" Sero asked.

"Yeah."

"Pretty sure harder was not the missing ingredient."

Kirishima looked like he knew that and hated it anyway.

Across the room, Bakugo had not spoken.

The quiet was becoming a theme I disliked.

He sat with arms crossed, gaze pointed at nothing, jaw tight enough to grind stone. The quiet on him did not feel peaceful. It felt like a grenade refusing to tick because it wanted the explosion to be a surprise.

Iida stood at the front with a notebook.

"As class representative, I prepared a wellness check format."

Several people groaned.

He raised his voice.

"It has only three required fields."

"That is not helping," Kaminari said.

"Physical injury status, emotional condition, and whether you require academic accommodation."

Momo lifted a hand.

"That is reasonable."

"Thank you, Yaoyorozu."

"Still sounds like homework for trauma," Mina said.

Iida flinched.

Not dramatically.

Enough.

"I apologize," he said. "I am attempting to make sure no one is overlooked."

The room softened around him.

One of Iida's gifts was turning too much into evidence that he cared too much, and somehow the math worked.

Momo raised her hand before the moment could collapse under its own sincerity.

"Perhaps we can make it voluntary but visible. Students who wish to report can sign privately, and those who do not can still request support through me or Iida."

"That sounds less like homework," Mina said.

"It is still a structure," Iida said.

"Structures are allowed if they have snacks."

Sato lifted a hand from the back.

"I can bake tonight."

Half the room turned.

The mood changed so fast it almost made me dizzy.

"Wait," Kaminari said. "Trauma cookies?"

"Comfort cookies," Sato corrected.

"Objectively better."

Shoji's voice came from behind his mask, calm and low.

"Food helps people gather without making them explain why."

The room went quiet again.

Different quiet.

Useful quiet.

I reached for my notebook before thinking.

Bakugo's eyes flicked to my hand.

I closed the notebook.

Too late.

Uraraka arrived last, hair still damp from a rushed shower, wrist wrapped and expression bright in a way that had effort behind it.

Her eyes found me.

You alive? her face asked.

I gave her a small nod.

Barely, mine answered.

She rolled her eyes and took her seat.

Bakugo noticed that too.

Of course he did.

"Cozy," he said.

Uraraka turned in her chair.

"Don't."

One word.

He smiled without humor.

"Did not say anything."

"Exactly. Keep practicing."

The room went still in a different way.

Bakugo's eyes narrowed.

"You got mouthy after one villain attack."

"I got tired before it."

Mina whispered, "Oh, I love her."

I looked at my desk.

This was not the time to smile.

I failed a little.

Bakugo saw that too.

His attention snapped to me.

"Something funny, Deku?"

"Several things. None of them helpful."

"You think this is a joke?"

The air around his palm popped.

"No."

The answer came out flat enough that even he paused.

"I think the League pointed at me in front of the class, and you want to turn that into our old argument because it feels easier than admitting villains had a reason."

Kaminari whispered, "Dude."

Bakugo stood.

His chair scraped back.

"You do not get to talk like you know what I feel."

"You are right."

That stopped him for half a second.

"I do not."

The hard part was keeping my voice level.

"I know what you do when you hate not having the answer."

His hand sparked again.

Uraraka shifted, ready to stand.

Iida opened his mouth.

The classroom door slid open.

"Sit down," Aizawa said.

Everyone obeyed so fast it was embarrassing.

He walked in covered in bandages, one arm braced, face mostly hidden, yellow sleeping bag dragging behind him like a threat with a zipper.

The room stared.

He looked at us.

"What?"

Mina's eyes shone.

"Sensei, you look awful."

"You look loud."

She sniffed once and laughed.

Aizawa reached the podium with the careful steps of a man refusing to admit movement was expensive.

I hated seeing him upright.

I was also so relieved I nearly shook.

He dropped a stack of papers on the desk.

"If you are waiting for a sentimental speech, lower your expectations until they reach the floor."

Kaminari whispered, "He is alive."

"I heard that."

"Sorry."

"Be accurate. I am annoyed."

The class laughed.

It broke something open.

Not all the way.

Enough.

Aizawa let the sound fade before he continued.

"You will receive counseling appointment windows. Attendance is strongly encouraged."

Kaminari raised a hand with unusual caution.

"Is encouraged a teacher word for required?"

"It is a professional word for I know some of you will lie if I make it mandatory."

Nobody laughed that time.

Aizawa's gaze moved across the room.

"Heroes who cannot admit fear become liabilities. Heroes who build their identity around never needing help become corpses or paperwork. Pick a better path early."

Kirishima looked down at his desk.

Bakugo stared at the window.

Iida wrote the sentence so hard his pencil nearly tore the page.

I did not write it down.

I heard it anyway.

"If you want privacy, use Hound Dog, Recovery Girl, or me. If you want to pretend none of this happened, do it on your own time and expect me to notice."

Probably comfort in Aizawa's native language.

Aizawa let it run for exactly three seconds.

"U.S.J. debriefs will continue individually. Counseling is available and recommended. Any student who treats that as weakness will write a report on professional burnout until I get bored."

No one argued.

"The school is increasing security. Your schedules will include modified movement protocols. You will follow them."

Iida nodded so hard his glasses flashed.

"Yes, sensei."

"Try not to salute."

His hand froze halfway up.

"Yes, sensei."

Aizawa's visible eye moved to Bakugo.

"Exploding classmates during recovery week counts as stupid."

Bakugo clicked his tongue.

"Did not explode anyone."

"Aim to keep that streak alive."

Then the eye found me.

"Midoriya."

"Sir."

"You are on limited practical output until Recovery Girl clears you."

"Yes, sir."

"That did not sound like a negotiation opening."

"I did not think it was."

"Your face did."

Traitor face.

Again.

Aizawa pulled himself into his chair with a tiny hitch he failed to hide.

"Now. Hero schools do not stop because villains want them to. They adapt. They document. They continue."

The room quieted.

"Your next major public event is under review."

Everyone knew what he meant.

Sports Festival.

The words moved through the class without being spoken.

Ambition returned first.

Then fear.

Then the complicated mix that made U.A. dangerous.

Aizawa watched all of it.

"Under review means exactly that. You are not preparing a victory speech, a strategy board, or a funeral."

Several people shifted.

"Whether it proceeds or not, you will train. Lightly, for some of you. Intelligently, for all of you. The attack did not make you heroes."

His gaze swept the room.

"It did show who you become under pressure. Some of that was useful. Some was garbage. We will sort it out."

Closest thing to encouragement we were getting.

It worked anyway.

Lunch was stranger than homeroom.

The cafeteria had repaired the visible damage from the press panic, but everyone who had been there still walked around the center aisle like memory had left a wet floor sign.

Iida noticed and rerouted our table choice without making a speech.

Momo noticed him noticing and pretended not to.

I sat with Uraraka, Tsuyu, Iida, and Kirishima.

Mineta hovered near the edge until Tsuyu pointed at a chair.

"Sit if you are going to stand there being weird."

"I was not hovering."

"You were lurking."

"That is worse."

"Yes."

He sat.

For a few minutes, conversation managed to become normal by accident.

Training food.

Festival rumors that stopped whenever someone said the word too brightly.

Whether Present Mic could physically whisper.

Then Mineta looked at his tray.

"I keep hearing the hit."

Nobody asked which one.

At U.S.J., there had been too many options.

Kirishima set down his chopsticks.

"Yeah."

Uraraka looked at her wrapped wrist.

"Me too."

Iida's shoulders stiffened, ready to organize pain into categories.

Then he stopped himself.

"Thank you for saying it," he said instead.

Better than a form.

Maybe he knew that.

Uraraka nudged her cup with two fingers.

"The form is not bad, Iida."

"You hated it."

"I hated how fast it made feelings look like boxes."

He absorbed that like a correction to a stance.

"Then I will revise the format."

"Maybe do not start with format."

Iida blinked.

Tsuyu's tongue touched the corner of her mouth.

"Start with asking, ribbit."

"As class representative?" Iida asked.

"As Iida," Uraraka said.

He looked down at his notebook.

Then he closed it.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

The table went quiet.

Uraraka's smile wobbled once before she let it go.

"Not really."

"Thank you for answering."

She looked embarrassed.

I looked at my tray because watching felt too close to stealing.

Kirishima exhaled.

"Same."

"Same," Mineta muttered.

Tsuyu nodded.

The table stayed messy.

Nobody fixed it.

After lunch, Aizawa made us do the least dramatic team drill possible.

We stood in a circle and practiced calling positions.

No Quirks.

No villains.

No music.

Just twenty adults in training naming where they were, who they could see, and what route was clear.

It was boring for almost forty seconds.

Then Bakugo snapped, "Left clear," before I could say it, and the room realized the drill was harder than pride.

Momo caught a blind spot near the windows.

Shoji identified two people blocked by desks without turning his head.

Tokoyami named the door shadow as obstructed, which was both accurate and unnecessarily ominous.

Kaminari forgot the word for aisle and called it floor river.

No one let him forget it.

Uraraka called my position when I got too focused on Aizawa's side of the room.

"Midoriya, center-left, distracted," she said.

"Distracted is not a position."

"It is for you."

Aizawa pointed at her.

"Accepted."

Iida wrote it into the drill sheet.

"Please do not make that official," I said.

"Accuracy improves future performance."

"That is betrayal with punctuation."

The class laughed again, and this time the sound did not break as quickly.

Bakugo heard it and did not join.

He also did not explode.

Progress, probably.

When the drill ended, Aizawa stayed seated for a second too long before standing.

Nobody commented.

That restraint felt like respect and fear sharing a desk.

Class came back in pieces.

A normal joke here.

A delayed answer there.

Someone avoiding the seat nearest the door without admitting why.

Tsuyu checking the window before she checked the board.

Iida counting people and then choosing to ask instead.

Uraraka smiling at me, seeing the bandages, and rebuilding the smile by hand.

Bakugo watching the room like he could force it to confess what had changed if he stared hard enough.

I wanted to mark survival as a win and move forward.

The room reminded me that survival had leftovers.

Nothing sorted those leftovers into neat categories.

No calm answer appeared in the corner of my vision.

School continued.

Not like before.

It was either mercy or threat.

At U.A., most things were both.

✦

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