Chapter Text
The world of heroism is not a world of smiles and enthusiastic cheers. It certainly isn't a world filled with cheerful laughter nor idealistic dreams. No. The path of a hero is undoubtedly a rigorous one – physically and mentally – and Aizawa Shouta knows these facts very well.
As an underground pro-hero, Eraserhead has seen through the illusion of the so-called "era of peace." Shouta won't lie that he dislikes how the world sees heroes today – how limelight heroes need to maintain a facade of strength and happiness when they have more days waking up (if they even slept) with a sense of dread, fear, and worry. Still, heroes need to maintain a brave front – an optimistic one – in a job where a single reversal of fortune could cause cataclysmic catastrophes.
As a teacher in the country's most prestigious hero school, the illusion crumbles even further. With his very own eyes, Shouta has witnessed the humble and nervous beginnings of numerous heroes who proudly decorate the limelight today. Yet, he had also witnessed how the world of heroism had broken said pride and extinguished the sparkle of life from them when those students stepped into the harsh cruelties of reality – figuratively and literally.
Thus, when he accepted Nedzu's offer to teach in UA, Shouta pledged to himself: never, in any circumstance, would he ever teach students only to send those youths into an early grave. Rather than being the cause of lost lives, he would rather be the cause of lost dreams. He would rather break the illusion of heroic ideals early on before it causes any of those children to be buried six feet under.
The pledge is difficult. While it may not seem like it, Shouta has always had a bleeding heart. He can't deny the fact that it hurts to watch the innocent glimmer of hopeful hero students dim as the bitter truths of life slaps them in the face. It hurts to watch them break down in tears of frustration and anguish while knowing very well he is the cause of said tears. It definitely hurts to watch them dejectedly walk out of the UA gates with an expulsion letter and head hung low – even if Shouta knows that there's more to their life rather than being wasted away into an epitaph on a tombstone.
So, as a reminder of this pledge and why he's doing all of this in the first place, Shouta set up a tradition: on the day before the first day of the new school year, he would visit the grave of Shirakumo Oboro and pay his respects.
"Ah. Yer' here again, young'un," greeted the familiar face of the cemetery's elderly gatekeeper. Shouta grunted in response as he lifted his right hand to hand him the same gift he has him given every year.
"Hope you still like it," Shouta said as he gave the elder the plain colored gift bag of the same coffee beans.
"Psh. Of course!" the gatekeeper chuckled, "need ta' keep these wrinkly ol' eyelids awake when the sun's out, you know?"
"You shouldn't be the only one gatekeeping," Shouta shook his head, "They should've hired someone to take over night shifts."
"And I'll tell ya' the same thing every year, sprout. Youngsters these days won't work these kinds of jobs," the gatekeeper placed down his drink – probably the same coffee – from his shaky hands and gave a bark of laughter, "Why am I here, you might ask? 'Cause this old geezer gets to have free space when I kick the bucket!"
Shouta simply sighed in response as the latter proceeded to make shooing motions towards his intended location past the opened gate.
"Now, hurry along. Yer' here for a visit; not a storytime with this old-timer. Off you go!"
Oboro's gravesite is a few minutes of walking distance away from the cemetery's entrance, and the willow tree next to it makes it easy to locate – blanketing the tombstone gently using the shadows of its deciduous branches. After placing the bouquet of flowers he had been carrying, Shouta simply sat in silence as he stared into the tombstone – taking in the familiar inscription of Gone but Never Forgotten under Oboro's name. As always, Shouta spent quite some time basking in the tranquil stillness that the place always has before he began to recount specific details of his life for Oboro to catch up on.
"... It's a new school year," he started, "tomorrow."
Nearby, a flock of birds chirp as the leaves rustle in the wind.
"This year...," a small chuckle left his lips, "Zashi's betting 5 of his prized leather jackets that I'll expel only one kid."
He paused as memories of the entrance exam flashed in his head. Light beams, electric sparks, explosions, and anti-gravity.
"Well, they seem like a colorful bunch. Zashi told me he has a favorite already."
He remembers the green lightning, a scream, and a reckless green-haired child with a self-destructive quirk.
"His favorite is very...self-sacrificial.”
Like you were, he wanted to say out loud. That child in the entrance exam reminded him so much of his late friend (and of everything Shouta himself was, too) before he had to stare back at a bloodied corpse of his close friend.
"Anyway…"
Shouta chose to take his thoughts away from that matter before he ponders too long that it becomes his problem – something that he has to fix alone because he can't fault his bleeding heart to others. So instead, he went on about other things: how a new cat cafe opened near his workplace, how he expelled a whole class last year and why, how the UA teaching staff is welcoming All Might this year, and many, many others. To a passerby, it may seem like Shouta is simply giving a yearly report to a tombstone, but – oh well – isn't that how Shouta's mind works anyway?
"...This year," he concluded as the sky turned into a scattering vermillion from its initial azure gradients, "this year seems... difficult. I'm not sure if I can manage– don't… don’t know if I'm strong enough to–"
His breath hitches ever so slightly for a moment, and he traces his hand across the smooth surface of the tombstone while closing his eyes.
"So, I'll leave it to you once again, friend," he breathed out his pledge – precisely the same way he did last year and the year before, "As always, Plus Ultra, and thank you, Oboro."
He dusted himself and stood up – locking away his bleeding heart and all his care and worries that he harbors for his future students (that he hasn't even met, for goodness sake). Then, entrusting it to Oboro, he buried those emotions six feet under and left the gravesite as the merciless, heartless teacher that the whole UA faculty knows.
This is Aizawa Shouta's tradition – the same one he does every year. However, the events in store this year might make his future visits diverge from said tradition.
Oh, it may or may not involve a certain green-haired teenager who walked out of the same gravesite a couple of hours after Shouta left. Well, only time would tell, wouldn’t it?