Chapter Text
The dim glow of Mori’s office lamp cast long, shifting shadows across the polished mahogany desk, their silhouettes stretching like dark specters against the walls. The scent of aged wood and expensive cologne hung in the air, an almost suffocating reminder of the authority that loomed over them. Across from the elegant desk, two figures sat in the leather chairs, their presence as starkly different as night and day.
Dazai Osamu leaned back with an air of practiced nonchalance, fingers laced behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if utterly uninterested in the conversation about to unfold. Beside him, Nakahara Chuuya sat rigidly, arms crossed over his chest, every muscle wound tight beneath his tailored coat. Though his face remained carefully neutral, the slight twitch of his gloved fingers betrayed his unease. Mori never summoned them without reason. And when he did, it was never for anything simple.
Mori Ougai, ever composed, watched them from behind the desk, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. A surgeon both in profession and in manipulation, he knew precisely how to dissect a situation to his advantage. Finally, he broke the silence with a measured, almost conversational tone.
“U.A. High School.”
Chuuya’s fingers tightened against his gloves. He didn’t need to glance at Dazai to know that beneath his mask of indifference, his former partner was already analyzing every possible angle of this mission. Mori continued, his voice smooth and deliberate.
“You two will infiltrate and uncover the traitor"
Silence pressed down on the room like a weighted shroud. Chuuya’s jaw clenched. He wanted to protest, to demand why they—of all people—were being assigned to something so absurd. Babysitting a bunch of high school brats? Ridiculous. But years of serving under Mori had taught him restraint. Arguments only led to wasted breath. Instead, he forced himself to remain still, locking eyes with the boss rather than risk giving Dazai any indication of his irritation.
Dazai, on the other hand, let out a theatrical sigh, tilting his head lazily.
“Ah, Boss, how cruel.” His voice carried that infuriating lilt, half amusement, half complaint. “Sending us to a school, of all places? Surely there are better ways to punish us.”
Chuuya barely resisted the urge to flinch at the sudden sound of Dazai’s voice. Even after all these years, the way Dazai interacted with Mori baffled him. There was an ease in his tone, a reckless familiarity that should have gotten him killed long ago. And yet, Mori never seemed to mind. If anything, there were moments—like now—when Chuuya swore the boss enjoyed it. That alone sent an unsettling chill down his spine.
Mori’s smile widened, his fingers steepled together in front of him. “Not a punishment at all, Dazai-kun. But,” he added lightly, a glint of amusement flickering in his sharp eyes, “if you fail to achieve top marks, I might have to reconsider your usefulness.”
The words hung in the air, deceptively gentle, but the threat beneath them was as sharp as a scalpel.
Chuuya’s hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his gloves. The urge to snap back, to call Mori out on his bullshit, burned at the back of his throat. But he swallowed it down. They didn’t have a choice. They never did.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and measured. “And why us?”
Mori’s answer came without hesitation. “Because you are the best at what you do.” He leaned forward slightly, gaze dark and unreadable. “And I expect nothing less from Soukoku.”
Dazai hummed, expression unreadable. “And if we refuse?”
Mori’s smile didn’t falter. If anything, it deepened. “You won’t.”
The room fell into silence once more, but this time, there was no need for words.
Later that night, in the quiet of Chuuya’s apartment, he paced restlessly, boots clicking against the wooden floor. His frustration filled the room like a storm cloud, but the only reaction he got was from Dazai, who was sprawled lazily across the couch, watching him with mild amusement. The former executive absently twirled the loose end of a bandage between his fingers, looking as unbothered as ever.
“This mission is a joke,” Chuuya muttered, running a hand through his hair. “We’re not some wannabe heroes. We don’t belong in a damn school.”
Dazai let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Well, technically, you’re not that different from them. You’re short, temperamental, and have a dangerous tendency to throw tantrums.” He shifted slightly, resting his head on his arm. “Actually, you might fit right in with the first-years.”
Chuuya snapped his head toward him, eyes blazing. “Oh, screw you, Dazai.”
Dazai hummed in mock thought. “I’d rather not. I don’t think I could handle dealing with you that intimately.”
Chuuya’s eye twitched. He grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at Dazai’s head. “Stop screwing around! This whole thing is a waste of our time.”
Dazai caught the pillow effortlessly, setting it beside him like he’d been expecting it. “Maa, maa, Chuuya~ Don’t take your anger out on me just because you’re mad at Mori.”
Chuuya gritted his teeth. “I’m not—” He cut himself off, inhaling sharply before exhaling through his nose. “We should be handling more important things. Not playing undercover in some hero school.”
Dazai tilted his head. “Oh? So you’d rather be doing Mori’s dirty work in Yokohama instead? Dealing with betrayals, negotiations, and all the lovely bloodshed that comes with it?” His voice dripped with mock curiosity. “How unexpected, Chuuya. I thought you’d appreciate the change of scenery.”
Chuuya scoffed. “I’d appreciate a mission that actually made sense.” He turned on his heel, pacing again. “There’s no way he actually expects us to blend in. We’re not heroes, and we’re sure as hell not students.”
Then, a horrifying thought crossed his mind. He stopped dead in his tracks, a slow, dawning horror settling onto his face.
“…Wait. If I have to share a room with you, I swear to god, I will quit.”
Dazai perked up immediately, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh? How cruel, Chuuya. You’d leave me all alone in this scary new world? After everything we’ve been through?”
Chuuya shot him a glare. “I’d rather be homeless than be stuck in a dorm with you.”
Dazai let out a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I could request a single room… but then who would make sure you don’t get lost in the hallways?”
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“Shut up.”
Dazai just chuckled, shifting his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh, Chuuya, you make it sound like we belong anywhere.”
Chuuya halted mid-step, his jaw clenching as he turned to glare at him. “Don’t start with that depressing crap.”
Dazai tilted his head to meet Chuuya’s eyes, his smirk softer now. “But it’s true, isn’t it? We’re just chess pieces on Mori’s board.”
A heavy silence settled between them. Chuuya hated when Dazai talked like this—like everything was predetermined, like he had no fight left in him.
“We’ll do the job and get out,” Chuuya muttered finally. “That’s all.”
Dazai smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course, partner.”
When they arrived at U.A., the massive gates towered over them, standing as a silent reminder of the world they were stepping into. Students buzzed around the courtyard, chattering excitedly.
Dazai looked around, taking in his surroundings. This place was nothing like Yokohama—obviously—but still, the contrast was jarring. He had never been this far from home before; Mori always kept him close, like a well-guarded chess piece.
His neck started to ache after a while, but he couldn’t help staring up at the massive structure before him—U.A. High. It was absurdly large, almost too polished, too grand, like something out of a hero’s delusion. The towering glass windows reflected the sky, standing tall as if mocking the very idea of imperfection. It felt artificial, pristine in a way that made his fingers itch, like an untarnished canvas just waiting for a stain.
Dazai smirked to himself. How amusing. A place built to mold heroes, so full of ideals and structure it was almost laughable.
“Ahhh~ Now I know how Chibi must feel—always having to look up just to meet my gaze!” Dazai mused, lazily scratching the back of his neck, not even bothering to glance at Chuuya.
Beside him, Chuuya let out a low growl. Dazai could already feel the weight of his fist pressing against his arm, the tension coiled tight—just waiting to snap. But, to his disappointment, his little dog managed to restrain himself at the last second.
Tsk. No fun.
"Tch. This place looks like a damn fortress," Chuuya muttered, adjusting his hat annoyingly.
Dazai chuckled. "That’s because it is. A prison for aspiring heroes. How poetic."
Chuuya snorted. “Oh, give me a break. At least they’re not stuck babysitting a suicidal idiot with too much free time.” He shot Dazai a sideways glance, lips curling into a smirk. “If anything, I’d say you know more about prisons than they do.”
Before Dazai could fire back, a sudden commotion near the entrance stole his attention. A crowd had begun to gather, excitement buzzing through the air like static. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why, All Might.
Before coming here, Dazai had skimmed through a few files, just enough to get a feel for the place. And from what he gathered, this world was strictly black and white. Heroes, villains, and nothing in between. No grey areas. No room for anything else.
Quirkless kids were as rare here as Ability users were in Yokohama, yet their suicide rates seemed just as high as those born with Abilities. The contrast was almost ironic. In Yokohama, abilities were feared, resented something to be hidden or exploited. Here, quirks were the norm, woven into their very DNA, a fact that had, of course, caught Mori’s interest.
And then there was him, All Might. The number one hero. Their shining beacon of hope. A man who embodied everything this society stood for.
Dazai scoffed to himself. Extraordinary? Sure. But far too predictable for my taste.
The towering hero stood at the center of the swarm, his larger-than-life presence drawing in students and civilians alike. Dazai could practically feel the weight of their admiration, their hopeful gazes locked onto the man who symbolized peace.
His smirk faltered, just slightly. Too many people. Too many eyes. Even tho those people do not look at him, it still feels too crowded for his liking. The energy in the air was suffocating, pressing down on him like an invisible hand. His fingers twitched at his sides—the familiar urge to slip away creeping up his spine.
How irritating.
Chuuya must have noticed the shift in Dazai’s demeanor because, without looking at him, he muttered, “Don’t tell me you’re getting nervous, Dazai.”
Dazai let out a breathy chuckle, forcing his smirk back into place. “Nervous? Me? Chuuya, please. I just don’t enjoy standing around like some mindless fangirl.” His gaze flickered back to the scene unfolding before them, where students chattered excitedly, their eyes practically sparkling as All Might spoke.
Dazai had to admit, the man had a presence. It wasn’t just his towering frame or exaggerated gestures—it was the way people believed in him. The way his very existence seemed to push back the darkness, like he alone could hold the world together.
It was ridiculous. Foolish, even.
No one man could bear that kind of weight. No one could uphold peace without cracks forming beneath their feet. Dazai had seen it before—leaders who shined too brightly never noticed the shadows growing right behind them.
"He's really something, huh?" Chuuya said, crossing his arms. His tone wasn’t mocking or impressed—just observant.
Dazai hummed. “Oh yes, truly a marvel. A man who carries an entire world’s expectations on his shoulders, yet still has time to smile for the cameras. How inspiring.”
Chuuya shot him a side glance. "You sound like you're about to write a tragic poem about him."
Dazai grinned. “Ah, but wouldn’t that be fitting? All great heroes have tragic downfalls, after all.” His fingers twitched again, that familiar itch creeping up his spine. To see how far this world could bend before it broke.
Chuuya groaned. “Don’t start. We’re here to blend in, not cause a damn disaster.”
Dazai sighed dramatically, raising his arms in surrender. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. For now.”
Chuuya didn’t look convinced, but he turned his attention back to the crowd.
Dazai, however, kept his eyes on All Might. He wondered how long a symbol like that could last before the weight became unbearable.
And for some reason, he found himself almost looking forward to the answer.
Dazai remained fixated on All Might, lost in thought.
Then—
Thud.
A sharp jolt knocked him slightly off balance as someone stumbled straight into him.
“Oh! My apologies!” a rushed voice squeaked out.
Dazai barely took a step back, but the person who had crashed into him—an eager-looking woman clutching a notepad and microphone—was already scrambling to steady herself. She had the frantic energy of someone who had just spotted a golden opportunity and refused to let it slip away.
“Excuse me!” she blurted, adjusting her glasses as she looked up at him. “You’re not a student, are you? Or—wait, could you be a new teacher? You certainly have the look of someone interesting!”
Dazai barely held back a smirk. “Oh? And what kind of ‘look’ would that be?”
The reporter’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Mysterious! Experienced! And—oh, the bandages! A tragic past, perhaps? A hero rising from the ashes?”
Chuuya snorted from beside him, crossing his arms. “Yeah, right. More like an idiot who trips over himself and wastes medical supplies.”
Dazai placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Chuuya, you wound me! And here I thought you’d vouch for my noble and heroic nature.”
The reporter suddenly gasped, eyes widening in realization. She leaned in closer, studying Dazai’s face like she was trying to solve a puzzle. Then—
“Wait a second… You—! You look just like Eraserhead!”
Chuuya froze mid-step, his grip on Dazai’s sleeve tightening as he tried very hard not to laugh. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered under his breath.
Dazai blinked, then tilted his head slightly, clearly amused. “Eraserhead? That’s quite the name.”
The reporter nodded excitedly, flipping through her notes. “Aizawa Shouta! He’s one of U.A.’s most well-known teachers—grumpy, mysterious, always wrapped in a scarf, and looking like he hasn’t slept in days.” She squinted at Dazai. “Well… you’re missing the scarf, but the messy hair, bandages, and general air of exhaustion? Uncanny resemblance!”
Chuuya let out a loud snort. “Pfft—Dazai, you’d be a perfect match. You already look like a homeless guy half the time.”
Dazai sighed dramatically. “Ah, I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone realized my true calling… Perhaps I should embrace my new identity and start teaching.” He clasped his hands together, eyes shining with fake inspiration. “Picture it—Sensei Dazai, shaping the minds of the next generation.”
Chuuya’s expression twisted into something between horror and pure amusement. “Absolutely not.”
But the reporter wasn’t letting go of the idea. “Are you sure you’re not a new teacher? Maybe a foreign hire? You have the look and the attitude.” She scribbled furiously in her notebook before gasping again. “Wait! If you are a teacher, then what’s your quirk?”
That made Chuuya pause.
Dazai’s smirk twitched slightly, but he recovered quickly. “Ah, my quirk?” He tapped his chin as if considering his options.
Chuuya crossed his arms, watching him carefully.
The reporter grinned expectantly, pen poised over her notepad.
Dazai finally let out a soft chuckle. “Now, now, miss reporter, that would be spoiling the mystery, wouldn’t it?”
Chuuya, knowing Dazai far too well, immediately jumped in before the idiot could dig them into an even deeper hole. “It’s none of your business,” he grumbled. “We’re not here to be interviewed.”
The reporter pouted but clearly wasn’t giving up. “Alright, alright… But if you are a new teacher, I will find out sooner or later!” She adjusted her glasses, then pointed her pen at Chuuya. “What about you? You have the look of a pro hero sidekick!”
Chuuya’s eye twitched. “Sidekick?”
Dazai immediately burst into laughter.
Before Chuuya could actually commit a crime, the reporter’s attention was stolen by the crowd’s cheers as All Might raised his voice again, effectively giving them a chance to slip away.
Chuuya wasted no time in dragging Dazai further down the path.
“She thought you were Eraserhead,” he wheezed, barely holding in his laughter. “I can’t believe it—oh my god—”
Dazai sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I do like the sound of being a teacher. Maybe I should stick around and inspire young minds.”
Chuuya groaned. “Yeah? If we have to stay, I hope they shove you in a dorm full of first-years so you suffer.”
Dazai grinned. “That sounds exhausting.”
“Exactly.”
Chuuya rolled his eyes, but Dazai barely heard him, his mind still lingering on the name. Aizawa Shouta. He had skimmed over the name in the files before coming here—teacher at U.A., pro hero, quirk: Erasure. The ability to nullify quirks with just a look.
A useful power.
But oddly enough, there hadn’t been a picture attached to the report.
So this Eraserhead… looks like me, huh?
Dazai’s smirk returned, curiosity sparking in his eyes.
“Well,” he mused to himself, “this might be interesting after all.”
Chuuya clicked his tongue and kept walking.
“Yo! Shithead, move your long-ass legs already, we gotta go through the crowd.” He didn’t even bother looking back.
Dazai trailed behind him, hands in his coat pockets, his expression unreadable. He ignored the slight sting creeping up his arms, the restless itch under his skin. The closer he moved toward the crowd, the more suffocating it felt. But his face remained perfectly calm.
This was going to be annoying.
But interesting.
Moment before All mights arrival infront of the UA:
Inside the faculty room, Principal Nezu addressed the staff with his usual cheerful demeanor. "Two new students will be joining us, despite the enrollment deadline."
Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. "You’re kidding."
"Their records are… sparse." Nezu slid two files forward. "Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya. Quirks: ‘No Longer Human’ and ‘For the Tainted Sorrow.’ No further details."
"That’s suspicious as hell," Present Mic muttered, peering over Aizawa’s shoulder. "No backstory, no origins?"
"Exactly," Aizawa grumbled. "And I’m supposed to have them in my class?"
"If they pass the entrance exam," Nezu corrected, smiling. "But I have a feeling they will."
Aizawa exhaled sharply, already feeling the headache forming. He flipped open one of the files, scanning the limited information inside. Nothing concrete—just names, quirks, and a few redacted notes that screamed classified.
“This isn’t just suspicious,” he muttered. “It’s a security risk.”
Nezu chuckled, his beady eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Oh, I’m quite aware. That’s why I’ll be keeping a close watch on them. But I believe in giving people a chance.”
Aizawa shot him a deadpan look. “You also think chaos is entertaining.”
The principal only hummed, tail flicking behind him.
Hizashi leaned in, nudging Aizawa’s shoulder. “Come on, Eraser! Maybe they’re just mysterious prodigies with tragic pasts.” He waggled his fingers dramatically. “Ooooh~”
Aizawa swatted his hand away. “Or government plants. Or problem children waiting to blow up half the school.”
“Well, if they’re that bad, you can expel them, right?” Midnight teased, arms crossed.
He sighed, rubbing his temples. “We’ll see if they even pass the entrance exam first.”
But something about this already felt off. Two students appearing out of nowhere, with no real records, right before the school year officially started? Nezu was too excited, which meant he knew something and wasn’t telling them.
Before Aizawa could voice his suspicions further, the distant sound of cheers and commotion pulled his attention. From their vantage point, he could see the crowd gathering at the U.A. entrance.
“All Might’s making a scene again,” Midnight mused, glancing out the window.
Sure enough, at the center of the ever-growing swarm was him. Larger than life, all smiles, embodying the very essence of a hero. Students and civilians alike hung onto his every word, their admiration radiating off them like heat from the pavement.
Aizawa scoffed. So flashy.
But then, his sharp eyes caught something—two figures standing apart from the excitement, lingering in the shadows just beyond the crowd.
One tall, wrapped in a long coat and bandages. The other shorter, arms crossed, clearly irritated by something.
Aizawa frowned.
“Two students hanging back?” Hizashi followed his gaze, but Aizawa was already narrowing his eyes.
No. Not students.
They didn’t have the energy of nervous teenagers in awe of All Might. If anything, they looked more like observers. Watching. Calculating.
He turned back to the files still resting on the table.
Dazai Osamu. Nakahara Chuuya.
His frown deepened.
Something told him these two were going to be a massive pain.
Midnight leaned casually against the window frame, watching the scene below with mild interest. “Oh? Looks like someone just bumped into those two.”
Aizawa’s gaze sharpened. Down near the edge of the crowd, a frantic-looking woman, clearly a reporter, had collided straight into the taller of the two strangers. Even from a distance, they could see the way she immediately sprang into action, notepad in hand, her excitement practically radiating.
The two men barely reacted, but the taller one—Dazai, most likely—tilted his head, amused by whatever the woman was saying. His shorter companion, however, was visibly irritated, arms crossed as if regretting every life choice that led to this moment.
“Ohhh, this is getting interesting.” Midnight smirked.
the teachers continued watching the scene unfold below.
“They’re already drawing attention,” Aizawa muttered, eyes narrowing as he observed the two figures. “And they haven’t even set foot inside the school yet.”
“They don’t look like normal students,” Midnight noted, tilting her head. “That one—” she pointed to Dazai, still wrapped in his long coat and bandages “—looks more like a shady informant than a kid looking to be a hero.”
“I dunno,” Hizashi chimed in with a grin. “He’s got that worn-out teacher vibe."
Aizawa huffed.
Midnight turned her gaze to the other one, Chuuya. His posture screamed irritation, arms crossed, his body tense. His clothes, though stylish, had an edge that didn’t quite fit the usual student aesthetic. “And the short one?” she mused. “He looks like he’s two seconds from throwing a punch.”
“Fiery attitude,” Hizashi added. “Maybe he’s a problem child? We already have enough of those.”
Aizawa remained quiet, his eyes flicking back to the files on the table. Dazai Osamu. Nakahara Chuuya. Their quirks were listed, but there was no real explanation of what they did. Just names. No history. No family. Nothing.
His eyes returned to the scene outside just in time to see Chuuya grab Dazai’s sleeve, dragging him forcefully away from the conversation.
Aizawa’s brow furrowed.
“They aren’t nervous,” he muttered.
Midnight glanced at him. “Hm?”
“The way they move. How they handle attention. They aren’t acting like people stepping into an unfamiliar world.” His tone was measured, eyes sharp. “They’re comfortable. Too comfortable.”
A moment of silence passed between them.
Then Hizashi whistled lowly. “So, Eraser, you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Aizawa exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples.
“This is going to be a massive headache.”
Aizawa stood up from his seat, rolling his shoulders. Watching from a distance was one thing, but if these two were about to be thrown into his class, he wanted to get a proper read on them himself.
"Where are you going?" Midnight asked, eyebrow raised.
"To see them up close," Aizawa replied simply. "Might as well lead them to the battlefield for the entrance exam."
"Straight to business, huh?" Hizashi grinned. "No welcome speech?"
Aizawa gave him a flat look. "Do I look like the type for that?"
Hizashi chuckled. "Fair point, fair point."
Without another word, Aizawa made his way out of the office, his steps slow but deliberate as he headed toward the front entrance.
Outside, the crowd was still buzzing from All Might’s appearance, students and civilians alike chatting excitedly. Aizawa ignored the noise, his focus narrowing in on the two figures who had just pulled away from the attention of the reporter.
The taller one—Dazai—moved with an easy, almost lazy stride, hands tucked into his coat pockets, his expression unreadable. The shorter one—Chuuya—walked ahead with sharp, impatient steps, clearly eager to get this over with.
Aizawa observed the way they navigated through the crowd. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Not like people stepping into unknown territory, but like people who had been through much worse before.
Its worrysome.
As he reached the front doors, he leaned against the frame, arms crossed. He'd wait until they got closer. Then, he'd see just what kind of people these two really were.
Dazai trailed behind Chuuya, letting himself be nudged and jostled by the crowd rather than resisting it. The energy around them was electric—excitement buzzing in the air, voices overlapping, bodies pressed too close. He felt the occasional elbow graze his side, a shoulder knocking against his arm, but he didn’t react. His steps remained slow, unhurried, as if he were merely drifting along.
He could feel the eyes on them. Some people in the crowd had already taken notice. It wasn’t surprising. Chuuya blended in a little better, his outfit stylish enough to pass for something a particularly edgy student might wear. Dazai, on the other hand—well, a long coat, black clothes, and bandages wrapped around his arms and neck didn’t exactly scream “aspiring hero.”
Whispers trickled through the air.
"Who are they?"
"Are they new students?"
"That guy in the coat looks kinda… ominous."
"What’s up with the bandages?"
Dazai barely paid attention, but he was keenly aware of it all. He had felt someone watching them even before stepping into this crowd—not just the occasional glance from curious students, but something more calculated. More intentional.
And now that feeling had only sharpened.
Someone was waiting for them.
"Oi, lazy bastard," Chuuya called out impatiently, glancing over his shoulder. "If you keep dragging your feet, I swear I’m leaving you behind."
Dazai let out a soft hum, a ghost of a smile curling at his lips. "But Chuuya, wouldn’t you miss me?"
Chuuya scoffed. "The only thing I’ll miss is the chance to throw you into a wall if you don’t hurry up."
How endearing.
But Dazai’s attention was elsewhere. His gaze flicked up—just for a second—toward the front entrance of the school.
There, leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed, stood a man watching them with sharp, assessing eyes. His posture was relaxed, but the way he observed them was anything but. Unruly black hair framed a face marked by exhaustion, but there was something about him that reminded Dazai of a predator lying in wait.
Ah.
So, this was Aizawa Shouta.
Dazai felt the familiar itch of curiosity.
Now, this could be fun.
As soon as Dazai and Chuuya stepped closer to the entrance, the man who had been watching them finally moved.
Aizawa exhaled sharply through his nose as he stepped toward them, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. His usual slouch was in place, but there was an unmistakable weight behind his stare as he looked them over. “You two,” he muttered, voice already laced with irritation. “I’m Aizawa. One of the teachers here.”
Chuuya blinked before a slow grin stretched across his face. “Oh, shit.” He turned to Dazai, jabbing a thumb toward Aizawa. “Isn’t this the guy people kept comparing you to?”
Dazai’s lips curled into something amused as he eyed the tired-looking man in front of him. “Ah, you’re right, Chuuya~ Now that I see him up close… Hmm.” He squinted dramatically. “Disheveled, constantly looks like he hasn’t slept in days, bad attitude—”
Aizawa’s brow twitched.
“—But I’d argue I pull it off better,” Dazai finished with a teasing lilt.
Aizawa let out a slow, suffering sigh, rubbing his temple. “Great. Another one.”
Chuuya cackled. “Damn, that reaction alone makes it even funnier.”
“I don’t see what’s so funny,” Aizawa muttered. “And you should watch your mouth, the way you talk is inappropriate” He turned on his heel with the air of a man who was already done with their nonsense. “Come on. I’m supposed to take you to the entrance exam.”
Dazai fell into step beside Chuuya, grinning to himself. “My, my. He’s grumpier than you are.”
Chuuya clicked his tongue. “Shut up before I throw you into the damn school gates.”
As Aizawa led them forward, he already knew this was going to be a long day.
Aizawa didn’t bother looking back as he led them through the entrance, weaving past lingering students and a few reporters still hoping to get a glimpse of All Might. He could already feel the headache forming, and class hadn’t even started yet.
Behind him, Dazai and Chuuya followed at a steady pace, though the redhead looked ready to deck the next person who got too close.
“Oi, move it,” Chuuya snapped as someone brushed against him for the third time. “I swear, this place is crawling with extras.”
Dazai, on the other hand, looked as if he was simply drifting through, hands in his pockets, letting the flow of the crowd barely graze him. However, Aizawa didn’t miss the way his sharp eyes scanned everything—taking in the students, the structure of the school, and most importantly, the people watching them.
Because of course, people were staring.
Even in a school filled with eccentric-looking individuals, Dazai stood out. The bandages, the dark clothing, the perpetual air of someone who shouldn’t be here—it was enough to make a few students murmur amongst themselves.
“Hey… who are they?”
“New students? But the deadline passed—”
“They look kinda sketchy…”
“Dude, that one looks like Eraserhead’s long-lost brother.”
Aizawa groaned under his breath at that last one. I am not dealing with this.
Chuuya snorted as he caught on to the whispers. “Guess you’re not the only one hearing that comparison, huh?”
Dazai smirked. “I suppose I should feel honored.”
Aizawa ignored them, leading them through the hallways until they reached a quieter area near the testing grounds. He finally stopped, turning to face them with his usual deadpan stare.
“This is where you’ll be taking the entrance exam,” he stated flatly. “Don’t ask questions, don’t cause problems. Just get through it.”
Chuuya scoffed. “Tch. As if we’d fail some dumb test.”
Dazai tilted his head. “Oh? And what exactly does this test involve, sensei?” His voice was playful, but there was something calculating in his gaze, like he was already piecing things together.
Aizawa sighed. “You’ll see soon enough.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “Just try not to make my life more difficult than it already is.”
Dazai chuckled. “No promises.”
Aizawa ran a hand down his face. This is going to be a nightmare.
Aizawa crossed his arms, already feeling his patience thinning. “Before you do anything, listen up. There are rules to this exam, and if you break them, you’re out. Got it?”
Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it.”
Aizawa shot him a look but continued. “You’ll be participating in a practical combat exam. The goal is to take down as many training bots as possible within the time limit. The bots are worth different points depending on their difficulty.” He paused before adding, “You’ll need a minimum of 300 points to pass.”
Chuuya raised an eyebrow. “That’s a high damn bar.”
Dazai, on the other hand, merely hummed. “Sounds fun~”
Aizawa gave them both a hard stare. “There are also rules. No attacking other participants. No unnecessary destruction of school property. No running off from the testing area. And definitely no outside interference.” His gaze lingered on Dazai for a moment longer. “That includes messing with the systems.”
Dazai placed a hand over his heart, feigning innocence. “Sensei, I’m offended! Do I look like someone who would cheat?”
“Yes,” Aizawa deadpanned.
Chuuya snorted. “You kinda do.”
Dazai pouted dramatically. “So cruel, Chuuya.”
Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just don’t make this more of a headache than it needs to be.” He jerked his thumb toward the testing grounds. “You’re up next. Try not to embarrass yourselves.”
Chuuya cracked his knuckles. “Hah? I’ll ace this.”
Dazai simply smirked, eyes glinting with amusement. “Well then, let’s give them a show, shall we?”
Aizawa sighed as he left the two behind, making his way toward the monitoring room. He already had a bad feeling about this.