"Okay… uhm. Welcome back to my class?" Shinji started, voice carrying just enough to reach the back rows. His left hand fidgeted automatically, fingers hooking around his limp right arm like he needed the reminder that it was still there, still attached. "I'm sure you're all aware of… recent events." A few students shifted. Some avoided looking at him. Others very much did not. "And uhm," he continued, clearing his throat, "Recovery Girl was very, very clear that any extra stress would result in me being banned from the Sports Festival. As well as her personal form of training." He paused, then added dryly, "Which I am told is significantly worse." That got a couple of quiet snorts.
"So," Shinji went on, left shoulder lifting in a half shrug, "in fear for my life, this class is going to be… more or less the same as last class. Theory-focused and low intensity, so no surprise drills or explosions." His eyes flicked briefly toward a certain corner of the room. "You know who you are." Bakugo clicked his tongue but did not argue. That alone said a lot.
"I'll be honest," Shinji admitted, rubbing the back of his neck now, "I haven't figured out how to do live training yet without violating at least six medical orders and probably a dozen laws. So until I do, we're sticking to analysis, scenario breakdowns, coordination planning, and controlled simulations." He took a breath and finally really looked at them. Class 1A. Class 1B. Some faces familiar. Some were still fuzzy at the edges, like his brain was refusing to fully load them yet. It made his chest tighten, but he pushed through it. "Any questions before we start?" Shinji asked.
There were a few murmurs. Chairs shifted. Someone coughed. He nodded, about to turn back to the board, when a hand went up. He paused. "…Kendo, right?" he asked after a second. When she nodded, he gestured lightly. "Go ahead."
She hesitated just a fraction of a second, enough that he knew whatever was coming wasn't easy to say. "Sorry if this sounds rude," Kendo started, voice steady but careful, "but can I ask why you're the one teaching this? No offense," she added quickly, "and the first class did help me a lot. Especially since I use martial arts and close combat. But we've all heard things. And we've seen it. You're… not exactly the most stable person."
Shinji froze. He could see it immediately. The curiosity in some eyes. The tension in others. The way a few students stiffened, anger flashing sharp and protective. Momo's head snapped toward Kendo, her mouth already opening.
Shinji spoke before she could. "That's a fair question," he said. His voice didn't rise. It came out even, grounded, like he'd already answered it a dozen times in his own head. "And it's one I asked myself when Nezu brought it up," he continued. "I'm not upset. And you shouldn't be either."
The tension eased, just a little. Momo closed her mouth, eyes flicking back to Shinji. He met her gaze and gave a small nod. She held it for a second, then nodded back.
Shinji shifted his weight, fingers briefly tightening around his own arm before he let them go. "Yeah," he went on, a little slower now. "I've got problems. A lot of them. And yeah, they've resulted in… episodes. So why put me in a position where I'm facing the worst of those problems on a regular basis?" he asked, echoing the question back to the room. He exhaled softly. "Well.
For one thing, I'm technically not your teacher." A few brows furrowed. "I don't have a license. I'm pretty sure there are at least a dozen psychological evaluations I would absolutely fail." That earned a couple of quiet, uneasy laughs.
"The actual teachers here are Aizawa and Vlad," Shinji continued. "They're the ones with authority. There's just no rule saying I can't put my knowledge forward if they allow it. It's also why I don't teach the second- and third-year students." He paused, eyes dropping briefly to the floor before lifting again. "And yeah. I've had a few episodes since starting this. Aizawa had to step in more than once when I was setting up the holograms last class." His jaw tightened slightly. "Especially the kaiju. But according to Nezu," Shinji said, voice flattening into something more thoughtful, "this is supposed to help. Facing my fears, but not alone. Having all of you as anchors. Having actual teachers ready to intervene if things go bad."
He shrugged his good shoulder. "He also said it helps me experience more… normal things. Stuff I missed. Replacing the worst memories with ones that don't involve dying or pain. Taking what messed me up and turning it into something less dangerous. Something useful." His gaze swept the room again, lingering on no one in particular. "There were parts of that I didn't really understand," he admitted. "Still don't, honestly. But… I wanted to try."
A beat of silence followed. Then Shinji added, quieter but firm, "I'm not here because I'm perfect, or even stable. Or some example you're supposed to copy. I'm here because I've survived things that a lot of heroes never even see. And if I can pass on how not to break under that pressure, even a little, then it's worth it." He looked back at Kendo specifically. "You weren't wrong to ask," he said. "And if at any point you think this isn't helping, you say so. I'm not above being shut down." The room stayed quiet, but it was different now. Less sharp, and more attentive. Shinji nodded once to himself, then turned back toward the board. "Alright," he said. "Now that the existential crisis portion of the class is over… let's actually get to work."
"As you've all hopefully noticed, we're in the classroom this time," Shinji said, reaching up and pulling down the foldable TV mounted above the teacher's stand. The screen clicked into place with a hollow sound that echoed just a little too loudly in the quiet room. "That's because we're watching the news today," he continued, adjusting the angle until the glare from the windows wasn't washing it out. "Specifically, the clip of me from the other day."
A few students shifted in their seats. Some leaned forward immediately. Others went still. "Why?" Shinji glanced back at them. "Because I want you to see it from the outside." He grabbed the remote from the desk, his thumb hovering over the button for half a second longer than necessary before pressing it. The screen flickered to life, paused on a still frame of Titan Redeemer mid-motion, city skyline fractured behind it. "I want you to understand my logic. My actions. The mistakes I made." He didn't look away from the frozen image. "And if you feel up to it, critique." Some students murmured, and a few exchanged looks. One or two students blinked like they weren't sure they'd heard him correctly. "Yes," Shinji added flatly. "Critique."
He finally turned back to face them fully, "This ties back to last class. Pay attention to the kaiju. And to me. I want you thinking about why I chose Titan Redeemer instead of any other available platform." His eyes flicked toward Midoriya automatically before moving on. "And I want you to analyze the kaiju's behavior. Let's call it a fighting style."
He clicked play. The footage rolled. Sirens. Screaming. Titan Redeemer dropping into the frame with enough force to crater the asphalt. Shinji didn't flinch, but his shoulders did tighten almost imperceptibly.
"Pause," he said after the first thirty seconds. The image froze on the Titan Redeemer lunging. "First impressions," Shinji said.
Silence held for a second before Todoroki raised a hand slightly. "You matched weight class."
"Explain."
"Todoroki Shouto," he added automatically, for the ones in class 1B, then continued. "Redeemer is heavy. Reinforced frame. High stability. That kaiju wasn't built for speed dominance. It was built to overpower through impact."
Shinji nodded once. "Good. What else?"
"The hand, the wrecking ball, it looks heavy, and serrated, designed to break armour. And rip the soft spots underneath apart, right?"
"Right," Shinji said. "Which tells you something about doctrine, not just hardware. My quirk built Redeemer, assuming the fight wouldn't end cleanly. No one straps a meat grinder to a Jaeger's arm if they're expecting one good hit to finish it." He gestured at the paused frame. "Anyone else?"
Kirishima's hand went up, a little too eager. "The kaiju's stance. Low center of gravity, all four limbs ready to plant. That's not an attack posture, that's a brace." He paused. "Like it knew it was gonna get hit hard and wanted to eat the impact instead of dodging it."
"Yes." Shinji pointed at him. "Exactly that. Some kaiju don't dodge. They tank because they're built to" He clicked forward a few frames. The kaiju's head dipped lower, shoulders bunching. "Watch the timing here. Right before I throw the first hit."
The footage rolled forward in slow increments. The kaiju shifted its weight a half-second before Redeemer's wrecking ball connected.
"It adjusted," Yaoyorozu said slowly, leaning forward, eyes narrowed at the screen like she was already building a hypothesis. "Before contact. That's not reflex, reflex doesn't anticipate that early. It read the wind-up."
Shinji's mouth quirked, something that wasn't quite a smile but wanted to be one. "Now you're getting somewhere uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable how?" Sero asked.
"Because if it's reading wind-up that early." Shinji let that sit for a second, watching it land. "Kaiju aren't supposed to think tactically. Most field reports treat them like weather. Forces of nature. Big, dumb, dangerous." He nodded at the screen. "This one watched my arm and made a decision before the swing finished."
"So was it actually smart," Uraraka asked carefully, "or did it just have good instincts bred into it?"
"Good question," Shinji said. "Which lets me explain something else. Don't engage a kaiju assuming it's stupid. Some are, don't get me wrong, but like I said last class, most of you should never be facing kaiju, and if for some reason you are, then it's likely a cat 4 or above. And if that's the case, assume you're fighting something with near human-like intelligence." That got a few uneasy looks passed around the room. "That's not me being dramatic," he added, catching the reaction. "Trust me, the higher the category, the bigger, and stronger, but also more intelligent, Cat 5's like this one, ive personally had…." he shook his head "trust me, im not going to exaggerate to scare you guys." He tapped the remote against the screen before he continued, "And here's the part that should actually worry you. Human-like doesn't mean human-limited. It's not thinking like you do, with fear of dying, or attachment to anything, or doubt. It's just smart enough to use everything it has without any of the things that usually slow a person down mid-fight." His eyes flicked briefly toward the frozen image of the kaiju, jaw bunched, claws planted. "No hesitation, or second-guessing. That combination is worse than either trait alone. It doesnt wonder if made the right move, nor does it care about the structures, civilians, or anything other than its opponent."
Kendo's hand went up slightly, not fully raised. "So if it's that capable, why didn't it use the tail immediately? Why wait until you were already locked in close?"
Shinji hummed for a second, looking back to the screen, his hand unconsciously going to his stomach, where the beast's tail had kebabbed him. "Well, it could have been instinct, intelligence, or even just how it is. If that makes sense." He paused, eyes narrowing slightly at the frame. "In my opinion, its tail is used more for defence than offence." He pointed at the thing's shell. "It had wings, that it tucked under these armoured growths, or, just simply were armoured. And the tail slots the gap between the wings, and I'm assuming helped lock them in place, so large movement didn't break its defence."
He clicked back a few frames, then forward again, slower this time, until the kaiju's profile turned just enough to show the ridged plating along its back.
"See here." He traced a rough line along the screen with his finger. "Wings folded flush. No gap, you could exploit from range. The tail's resting position runs straight up the spine, right through where the wing joints would be exposed otherwise." He shrugged. "So either it evolved that way because something used to go for the joints, or it was bred for it. Either way, it tells you the tail's first job isn't killing me. It's making sure nothing kills it while it's grounded."
"Then why use it offensively at all?" Yaoyorozu asked, brow furrowed like she was already cataloguing this for later. "If it's primarily defensive."
"Because I gave it a reason to," Shinji said simply. "I closed the distance and locked it into a grapple. At that range, the tail's not protecting anything anymore; there's nothing to defend against when something's already inside your guard. So it repurposed it. Same tool, different job, because the situation changed faster than the first plan accounted for. That's actually the real lesson buried in this one. Don't assume a kaiju's weapon only has one use. If you corner something smart enough to adapt, every piece of its body is a contingency, not just a tool. The tail wasn't a surprise attack. It was a backup plan I forced it into using."
Bakugo's eyes had narrowed at the screen, calculating. "So if you'd kept your distance instead of grappling—"
"It probably never uses the tail on me at all," Shinji finished. "Which means the engagement I chose is part of why I ended up gutted." He said it without flinching, flat and matter-of-fact, the same tone he'd use to point out someone's footwork was off. "Worth remembering. Sometimes the wound isn't the kaiju's fault. It's the shape of the fight you picked. Though I will say, this kaiju is heavily armoured, not a lot of firepower I know of at range will break its shell, so it was made to force enemies into close combat." He straightened, glancing back at the room. "Alright. Knowing all of that, weight-matched, brace-and-absorb, predictive tracking, patience, hidden tail, wing-locking defence. First thing you change if you're redesigning the counter from scratch. Go."
The classroom emptied out in waves, voices spilling into the hall, sneakers squeaking against linoleum. Shinji stayed behind a beat longer than the rest, erasing the board even though nobody had asked him to, mostly just to let the noise outside thin out before he had to walk through it.
By the time he made it to the courtyard, most of the good shade was already gone. He spotted Yu near the far end of the lunch tables, already seated, already pretending she hadn't been watching the doorway for the last two minutes.
"Hey," he said, dropping into the seat across from her with more effort than the motion should've taken.
"Hey yourself." Yu didn't look up right away, busy unwrapping something from her bag, movements easy, unhurried. "How was scaring the next generation of heroes today?"
"Constructive trauma bonding, actually." He reached for his own lunch, then paused, registering the way she'd angled her chair, just slightly, just enough to keep him in her peripheral without making it obvious she was doing it. He decided not to mention it. "Kendo asked why I'm allowed near children with a lesson plan."
"Smart kid."
"That's what I said."
She finally looked at him properly, scanning, quick and practiced, the kind of glance that probably looked like nothing to anyone who didn't know what she was checking for. Color in his face. Steadiness in his hand. Whether he was favoring his side, he let her look without making a thing of it. "You eating, or just holding the box hostage?" she asked, nodding at his untouched lunch.
"Working up to it." He cracked it open and picked at the rice. "You didn't have to come find me, you know. I'm capable of locating food on my own."
"I wasn't looking for you." Yu took a pointed bite of her own food. "I just happen to also need lunch. At the same time. In the same courtyard. Sitting across from you."
"At my school?"
"Coincidence."
"Sure," he said, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, the first real one all day. It didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was close enough that she let it go.
For a few minutes, they just ate, the kind of quiet that wasn't actually quiet, full of distant shouting from kids playing too rough near the vending machines, someone's laughter cutting sharp through the noise. Yu kept the conversation light and easy, asking about nothing important. Whether Vlad had stopped giving him weird looks during lesson planning. Whether the cafeteria had brought back the good curry. Whether he'd slept. That last one she asked too casually, the way you ask something you actually want a real answer to but don't want to make a big deal out of asking.
"I slept," Shinji said.
"How much?"
"Yu."
"It's a yes or no question with a number attached."
He sighed, but there wasn't any real heat in it. "Enough."
She didn't push further, just filed it away the way she filed everything away these days, quietly, without comment, building a private ledger of small data points she'd never admit to keeping. He noticed. He always noticed. He just let her have it, because making her stop would mean making her worry about it instead, and that trade was never worth it.
"Kirishima asked a good question today," he said instead, steering them somewhere safer. "About the tail."
"Oh?" Yu raised an eyebrow, grateful for the redirect even if she'd never say so. "Educate me, professor."
"Don't call me that."
"Professor Shinji. Doctor of Getting Impaled Studies."
"I will throw this rice at you."
"You won't. You like me too much."
But you're never there for me when I need you.
The thought didn't arrive so much as it intruded, slipping in sideways, in a voice that was his but wasn't, flat and cold and certain in a way nothing in his own head ever felt certain. It wasn't even really about Yu. It just used her, because she was close, because she was warm, because something in him apparently needed to corrode the one good thing in front of it. e didn't answer that. Just shook his head, sharp, almost imperceptible, like he could physically dislodge it if he moved fast enough.
Yu caught it anyway. "Hey." Her voice dropped, the teasing gone instantly, replaced by something quieter, steadier. Not alarmed. Just present. "Where'd you go just now?"
"Nowhere." He forced his hand to unclench from around his chopsticks, only realizing then how tight his grip had gotten. "It's nothing."
"Shinji."
"It's nothing, Yu. Just—" He exhaled, slow, the way Recovery Girl had drilled into him, the way that was supposed to put air between him and whatever had just tried to climb up his throat. "Just static. It happens."
She didn't push, not directly, but she also didn't look away, watching him with the same quiet, careful attention she always tried to disguise as nothing. "Static that makes you go quiet like that isn't nothing."
"It's not about you," he said, and meant it, even though the words still tasted wrong on the way out, like he was defending himself against something she hadn't even accused him of. "I promise. It's not about you."
"I didn't think it was," she said gently. "I just want to know if you're okay."
He managed an almost steady breath. "I'm okay."
"Liar."
"Functional?" he amended. "I'm functional."
That got the smallest huff of something that wasn't quite a laugh out of her, more relief than humor, like she'd needed him to push back at least a little to believe he was actually still in the room with her. "Functional. Great. I'll put that in your file."
"It…sometimes it's still hard to…believe, I guess?" he said, eyes fixed on the condensation beading down the side of the can rather than on her. "That this is real. That I'm not going to wake up back in that hell."
Yu didn't flinch at it, didn't go still the way she might have the first time he'd said something like this. She'd had practice too, by now. "I know," she said simply.
"I hate that I still think it." His grip on the can tightened, just slightly. "It's been months. I know where I am. I know who you are. I know this is real. And some part of my brain still treats all of it like it's borrowed time."
"That part of your brain isn't going to get the memo just because the rest of you wants it to," Yu said. "You know that already, though. You've said as much yourself."
"Doesn't make it less annoying."
"No," she agreed. "Probably doesn't."
He finally looked up at her, and there was something tired in it. "Does it ever stop? Feeling like that?"
"I don't know," Yu admitted, and she didn't dress it up or soften it more than that. "I'm not the one who lived it. I can't tell you it stops, because I'd be lying, and you'd know I was lying." She tilted her head slightly. "What I can tell you is that it's gotten quieter. Even if you can't always feel it happening. You're not waking up screaming the way you were in spring."
"That's a low bar."
"It's still a bar." She shrugged. "You don't have to feel like it's real every second of every day for it to actually be real. You just have to keep showing up to it. The believing part can catch up whenever it wants."
He let out something that was almost a laugh, more breath than sound. "That's surprisingly functional advice from you."
"I have my moments." She bumped her knee lightly against his under the table, an old habit from before either of them had needed it to mean this much. "And for what it's worth, I'm real. This table's real. This terrible cafeteria curry is unfortunately also real."
"Lunch rush makes great food; you're just defective," Shinji said immediately.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me." He nudged a piece of curry-soaked rice around his tray with his chopsticks, deadpan. "Defective taste buds. Tragic, really. I'd feel sorry for you if I had the energy."
"I have excellent taste buds." Yu narrowed her eyes at him, though the corner of her mouth was already betraying her. "I'll have you know I'm a very sophisticated eater."
The bell rang again, signaling the end of lunch. Had it really been half an hour already? It didn't feel like it. "Looks like time's up," Yu said, already gathering her things. "I gotta get back to patrol, or the Hero Association will throw a fit."
She stood, brushing off her uniform, and before Shinji could get a word out, she leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head, light, automatic, the kind of gesture that had probably outlived whatever moment first made it a habit between them.
"Eat something other than rice tonight," she added, straightening back up. "And good luck with training. Don't push yourself too hard."
"No promises," he said, but there wasn't any real defiance in it.
"Shinji."
"Fine. I'll try."
"Better." She threw a wave over her shoulder as she headed off toward the main gate, already pulling her phone out, already half back into Mt. Lady mode by the time she rounded the corner.
Shinji sat there a moment longer, watching the space where she'd been, before gathering up his own trash and heading back across the courtyard toward the training fields. The afternoon air had warmed up since morning, the kind of warmth that made the grass smell sharp and green, and by the time he reached the field, most of 1A was already scattered across it in loose clusters, stretching, talking, a few already running warm-up laps.
"Hey," Kirishima called out, spotting him first, raising a hand. "Thought you had class stuff to deal with."
"Nah, that's done for the day." Shinji jogged the last stretch to catch up, falling into step beside him easily enough. "I'm just one of you for the rest of the afternoon."
"Right, right. Forgot you're actually a student and not just, like, a war criminal with a clipboard."
"Wow. Rude. But accurate."
A few of the others drifted closer as he approached, Midoriya giving him a small nod, Uraraka waving him over toward where she and Tsuyu were running through stretches. Bakugo, predictably, didn't acknowledge him directly, just shifted slightly to make room in the loose circle they'd formed, which from him was practically a warm welcome.
"Alright," Shinji said, his good hand fidgeting with his bad arm, settling into the rhythm of the group instead of standing apart from it for once. "Sports Festival's coming up fast. What's the plan?"
"We were thinking obstacle work first," Yaoyorozu said, "then move into one-on-ones once everyone's warmed up."
"Works for me." he said as he stretched the best he could, he had developed a bad habit of stretching, he never liked being stiff, or still for too long.