Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The night in Yokohama that felt unusually quiet always carried an air of danger, a subtle tension that hung in the air like an unspoken warning.

Beneath a sky adorned with faint stars and the flickering lights of the harbor, Osamu Dazai leaned against the railing of an empty bridge, his coat fluttering in the evening breeze like a thought left unfinished. He sensed the footsteps approaching before he even turned—sharp, impatient, unmistakable.

“Still trying to drown yourself in boredom?” Chuuya Nakahara snapped, though there was a softness lurking beneath his words.

Dazai flashed that infuriating, knowing smile of his. “I was only waiting for you, Chuuya.”

Their exchanges had always been like weapons—quick, precise, designed to wound. But that night, something shifted in the air. The space between them closed not with another jab, but with a silence heavy with years of rivalry, tension… and something neither had dared to name until now.

When Chuuya grabbed Dazai’s collar, it wasn’t with the intent to toss him into the river.

It was to pull him closer.

The kiss came suddenly, fiercely—like two storms colliding. There was no hesitation, no careful steps. Just an overwhelming force, as if they had been drifting toward this moment for years.

Later, in the quiet aftermath, the city continued to breathe outside their walls, and Chuuya lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.

Dazai merely hummed in response. “And yet, here I am.”

Chuuya chose not to argue.

---

Weeks turned into months.

The change crept in quietly, almost imperceptibly at first. A missed routine. A lingering fatigue. Chuuya, who trusted no one, began to trust his instincts—and they whispered something impossible.

When he finally told Dazai, it was devoid of drama.

“I’m pregnant.”

Dazai didn’t laugh.

For once, he didn’t deflect with humor; his expression stilled—not with fear, but with something far rarer for him.

Clarity.

“…Then we’ll figure it out,” he said simply.

Chuuya frowned. “That’s it?”

Dazai reached for him, gentler than Chuuya had ever known him to be. “You think I’d run?”

A pause lingered in the air.

“…You always do,” Chuuya said quietly.

Dazai’s grip tightened just a fraction. “Not this time.”

---

The decision was not an easy one, but it became inevitable.

The Port Mafia. The Agency. Yokohama itself—none of it was a place for something as fragile as new life.

So they chose differently.

They chose the child.

They chose each other.

---

On the day their baby was born, the world outside didn’t change.

But theirs did.

Wrapped snugly in soft cloth, impossibly small and warm, the child slept between them. Chuuya cradled the baby as if it were something sacred, while Dazai watched, as if he were discovering meaning for the very first time.

“We can’t stay,” Chuuya said, concern etched on his features.

“I know.”

Beyond the borders of Yokohama, whispers of a different world floated through the air—one filled with heroes, with quirks, with people who might understand power without demanding blood in return.

A world where their child might have a chance.

---

So they left.

No grand farewells. No looking back.

Just a long road stretching beyond the city limits, dust rising beneath their steps.

Dazai walked alongside Chuuya, hands tucked into his pockets, unusually quiet. Chuuya carried the baby, his usual sharp edges softened into something resolute.

“Hey,” Dazai broke the silence after a while.

“What?” Chuuya replied, glancing sideways.

“…We’re probably going to be terrible at this.”

Chuuya snorted. “You definitely will.”

Dazai smiled. “Good thing you’re here, then.”

Chuuya didn’t respond, but he shifted just a bit closer.

Ahead of them, the road curved toward the unknown.

Behind them, Yokohama faded into memory.

And between them, held carefully, was a future neither of them had ever anticipated—

—but one they were determined to embrace.

Together.

The borderlands beyond Yokohama were never truly quiet—but they were vigilant.

Perched atop a low structure of rusted steel and concrete, Shota Aizawa scanned the horizon with half-lidded eyes that missed nothing. Patrols like this were routine—prevent overflow, monitor movements, and keep threats from slipping into hero territory.

But what he saw was anything but routine.

Two figures. Young.

Too young.

And between them… a bundle.

Aizawa narrowed his gaze as they approached. Teenagers, both no older than sixteen, perhaps even younger. Their steps were uneven, exhaustion evident in every movement. One carried the baby with a stubborn determination, while the other—bandages loosely wrapped around his neck and arms—walked beside him, his posture relaxed in a way that felt… deliberate.

Wrong.

As they crossed the invisible threshold out of Yokohama, Aizawa dropped silently behind them.

“Stop.”

The word sliced through the air with precision.

Both teens froze.

Slowly, Chuuya Nakahara turned first, tightening his grip on the baby. His eyes were sharp, protective in a way that shifted his stance, ready to fight if necessary.

Beside him, Osamu Dazai lifted his head, dark eyes locking onto Aizawa with quiet calculation.

“Ah,” Dazai said lightly, though the playfulness was absent from his tone. “A hero.”

Aizawa’s gaze flicked over them, cataloging details in mere seconds.

Malnourished. Dehydrated.

Bandages—poorly maintained.

And then—

The nape of the shorter one’s neck.

A barcode.

His eyes sharpened.

“…You two,” Aizawa said, his tone flat and firm. “Where did you come from?”

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “Is that really your business?”

Aizawa stepped closer, his voice steady. “It became my business the moment you crossed that line carrying an infant.”

Silence stretched between them.

The baby stirred slightly, letting out a faint, tired sound. Instantly, Chuuya’s attention shifted, his grip softening as he murmured something gentle—an almost tender contrast to the tension coiling in his body.

Aizawa noticed that.

That mattered.

Dazai exhaled quietly. “We’re not here to cause trouble.”

“You’re in no condition to cause trouble,” Aizawa replied bluntly. “That’s part of the problem.”

Dazai offered a faint smile—tired, yet genuine.

“…Fair.”

Aizawa’s capture weapon loosened slightly from his shoulders, not quite a threat, but not relaxed either.

“You’re coming with me,” he stated. “All of you.”

Chuuya’s head snapped up. “Like hell—”

“You don’t have a choice,” Aizawa interjected, his voice calm yet firm. “You’re exhausted, underfed, and carrying a newborn across a border known for conflict zones. Whatever you think you’re doing, you’re not equipped to survive it.”

A pause hung in the air.

“…And,” he added quietly, “if I leave you out here, you won’t.”

That struck a chord.

Chuuya’s jaw tightened. His grip on the baby shifted—not defensive now, but uncertain.

Dazai glanced at him, an unspoken understanding passing between them.

“…Chuuya,” he said softly.

“…Tch.”

Chuuya looked away, irritation flaring—but he didn’t argue again.

Aizawa observed that exchange closely.

Then he turned.

“Follow me.”

---

U.A. High wasn’t expecting guests.

Especially not like this.

As the doors opened under Aizawa’s clearance, they found themselves in a space that felt worlds apart—clean floors, bright lights, a stark contrast to the shadows of Yokohama.

At the center of it all stood Nezu, small yet composed, watching them with sharp intelligence.

“My, my,” Nezu said, his voice pleasant, though his eyes were anything but. “Eraser Head, you’ve brought something… unusual.”

Aizawa crossed his arms. “Found them at the border. Two minors. One infant. Signs of neglect.

Nezu’s gaze flicked instantly to the barcode.

Then to the bandages.

Then to the baby.

“…I see.”

Aizawa’s eyes flicked back to him.

“…Names,” he said, breaking the silence.

A beat passed.

Then—

“Chuuya.”

“…Dazai.”

Nezu smiled faintly. “And the child?”

Chuuya hesitated, uncertainty flickering across his features.

For the first time, he looked unsure.

Dazai glanced at the baby, his expression softening just a bit.

"Shuji"

Aizawa exhaled through his nose, the tension easing just slightly.

They weren’t safe yet.

Not really.

But for the first time since crossing that border—

they weren’t alone anymore.

The atmosphere in the room shifted after the introductions, a heavy silence settling in as if the very air was holding its breath, waiting for what would come next.

Nezu tilted his head slightly, his keen gaze landing on Chuuya Nakahara’s neck, where a marking caught his attention.

“That marking,” he began softly, though his eyes glinted with sharp insight. “Could you share its meaning with us?”

Chuuya's body tensed, a subtle shift that most would overlook, but not Shota Aizawa. He noticed the tension in Chuuya’s shoulders and how his fingers instinctively curled protectively around the baby he held, grounding himself even as he shielded the child.

“It’s nothing,” Chuuya muttered at first, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dazai, ever the observer, chose to remain silent this time.

“I find that hard to believe,” Nezu stated calmly, his tone unwavering.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them.

Irritation flickered in Chuuya's eyes, but it lacked its usual edge. “…It’s just a label,” he finally admitted. “That’s all it is.”

Nezu didn’t waver. “A label suggests ownership.”

The weight of that statement hung heavily in the air.

Chuuya’s expression darkened, a flicker of something ancient and sharp surfacing in his gaze. “…Yeah,” he replied quietly. “Something like that.”

Aizawa shifted slightly, not pushing for answers but remaining a steady presence.

Chuuya let out a breath through his nose, weighing the decision of whether to voice his truth. “…I wasn’t born normal,” he began. “Not really.”

Dazai’s eyes darted toward him, yet he said nothing.

“They made me,” Chuuya continued, his voice flat, as though he were recounting a tale long learned to be told without feeling. “Sure, I have human DNA. But that wasn’t the point.”

Nezu’s ears perked up, curiosity piqued. “Please, go on.”

Chuuya’s grip tightened around the baby’s blanket. “…I’m a container,” he confessed. “A singularity. They forced power into me that was never meant to exist in a human body. Built me to hold it.”

The weight of his words settled like a stone in the room.

Aizawa’s expression remained impassive, but his focus sharpened.

“Artificial human,” Chuuya added. “Singularity hybrid. That’s what they called me.”

Nezu’s gaze flicked again to the barcode on Chuuya’s skin. “Identification,” he murmured. “Even inventory.”

Chuuya offered a humorless smirk. “Yeah, makes it easier to catalog your experiments.”

A heavy pause followed, then, in a quieter tone—

“They pushed it too far.”

The room fell silent, tension thickening the air.

“…Define ‘too far,’” Aizawa asked, his voice steady.

Chuuya didn’t meet his eyes. “…Torture,” he said bluntly. “Stress tests. Limits. Over and over until something broke.”

His voice didn’t waver, and that made it all the more painful.

“The only reason I’m still here,” he continued, “is because I wasn’t fully human to begin with. A normal person would’ve died long before that.”

Dazai shifted slightly, his hand close but not touching, a silent gesture of support.

Nezu’s expression shifted, losing its lightness entirely. “…I see,” he said softly.

For a moment, silence enveloped them.

The baby stirred, a fragile sound breaking through the weight of the conversation.

Chuuya’s attention snapped down, his entire demeanor softening as he adjusted the blanket, his thumb brushing gently against the child’s cheek.

Aizawa noticed that change.

Not a weapon. Not a threat. A survivor.

Nezu folded his paws together, contemplative. “You’ve endured things no one should have to face,” he said. “And yet, you chose to leave that environment while protecting a child.”

Chuuya didn’t respond, but he didn’t deny it either.

Dazai finally spoke, his tone quieter than before. “We’re not going back.”

Aizawa glanced at him. “No one said you were.”

Nezu nodded once. “For now, you’re safe here.”

A simple statement, yet in the silence that followed, it felt like a lifeline.

Just then, Nezu broke the stillness again, his voice calm but more focused. “You mentioned that human DNA was utilized in your creation,” he said, eyes gently fixed on Chuuya. “Do you know whose?”

Chuuya hesitated, his gaze drifting, not to the floor but to a distant place, as if peering into a past tinged with cold memories. “…Yeah,” he finally replied.

Aizawa shifted slightly, attentive.

“They told me it was from a dead guy,” Chuuya explained. “French.”

Nezu’s ears perked up. “A specific individual?”

Chuuya shrugged one shoulder. “Didn’t get a name. Just that he was… useful.”

The bitterness in that word lingered in the air.

“Guess they thought if they were going to build something like me, they might as well start with something they could control.”

A brief silence followed before Chuuya added, quieter, “I grew up in the lab. That’s all I knew.”

Dazai’s gaze shifted toward him once more.

“No sunlight. No outside,” Chuuya continued, his voice steady. “Just white walls, restraints, and people who only spoke to me when they needed something.”

Nezu’s expression remained composed, but the edge of his focus sharpened. “And the language?” he inquired.

Chuuya huffed faintly. “French. That’s what they used around me. Orders, reports… everything.”

He paused, memories flickering like shadows. “It was the first thing I learned.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow slightly. “Not Japanese?”

Chuuya shook his head. “Picked that up later. After I got out.”

Dazai smirked faintly. “His accent was worse back then.”

Chuuya shot him a glare, though it lacked heat. “Shut up.”

Nezu tapped his paw lightly against the floor, thoughtful. “So, your base genetic template was derived from a deceased French individual, and your early development occurred entirely within a controlled experimental environment, where French was the primary language.”

Chuuya nodded shortly. “Yeah. That sums it up.”

The baby shifted again, letting out a soft sound, and Chuuya instinctively adjusted his hold, his expression softening in contrast to the weight of his earlier words.

Aizawa observed that subtle shift. “…And now you’re here,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of understanding.

Dazai glanced at him, then at Chuuya, then back at the child. “…Yeah,” he replied quietly.

“For the first time,” Chuuya muttered, “somewhere that isn’t a cage.”

Nezu regarded them both for a long moment before gently stating, “Let’s ensure it stays that way.”

The conversation didn’t ease; it merely shifted. Shota Aizawa leaned slightly against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes half-lidded yet sharp as ever.

“Where did you two grow up?” he asked, his tone deceptively simple.

But it was anything but.

For a moment, neither Chuuya nor Dazai responded.

Then Chuuya, breaking the silence, spoke first. “…Suribachi City,” he said.

Aizawa’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Never heard of it.”

Chuuya offered a dry huff. “Most people haven’t. It’s not exactly the kind of place that makes it onto maps.”

Nezu watched quietly as Chuuya continued. “Slums,” he stated bluntly. “Nothing but abandoned buildings and busted streets… and kids.”

“Kids?” Aizawa echoed, curiosity piqued.

“Yeah,” Chuuya affirmed. “No adults worth mentioning. Just gangs of teenagers trying to survive however they could. Territory fights, scraps over food, you name it.”

His tone was matter-of-fact, yet a heaviness lingered beneath the surface.

“I grew up there,” he added. “That was normal.”

Shuji shifted gently in Chuuya’s arms, prompting him to adjust the blanket, his thumb brushing tenderly over the small bundle.

Aizawa noticed how quickly Chuuya softened in his presence, and then his attention shifted.

“And you?” he asked, turning to Osamu Dazai.

Dazai tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “…I didn’t really ‘grow up’ anywhere normal either,” he replied. “Joined the mafia at fourteen.”

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change, but the weight of Dazai’s words hung in the air.

“The Port Mafia?” Nezu inquired, intrigued.

Dazai smiled faintly. “The very same.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “He makes it sound more glamorous than it is.”

“It *was* glamorous,” Dazai countered lightly. “Explosions, betrayal, existential dread—very aesthetic.”

“Idiot.”

Despite the insult, a familiarity lingered between them.

Aizawa cut through the banter. “You met there?”

Dazai shook his head slightly. “No. Earlier.”

He glanced at Chuuya. “…I was fifteen,” he said. “Sent on a job that took me into the slums.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “You mean snooping around where you didn’t belong.”

“Same thing,” Dazai replied, then, quieter, added, “That’s where I found him.”

Chuuya didn’t look at him, but he didn’t deny it either.

“He was causing trouble,” Dazai continued, a hint of admiration creeping into his voice. “More than usual for that place. Strong. Uncontrolled. Interesting.”

“Annoying,” Chuuya muttered.

Dazai smiled slightly. “Naturally, I recruited him.”

“Kidnapped me, more like.”

“Semantics.”

A brief pause followed, and then Aizawa asked, “And you stayed?”

“For about a year,” Dazai replied. “Missions, operations. The usual underworld routine.”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened slightly. “We handled the worst of it.”

Another quiet stretch passed between them.

“And you left,” Aizawa stated, his voice steady.

This time, both Dazai and Chuuya went still.

Dazai’s gaze shifted—away from Aizawa and toward the baby. “…Yeah,” he said finally.

Chuuya adjusted his hold on Shuji, his expression softening yet resolute. “We weren’t raising him there,” he said, his voice firm.

No hesitation. No doubt.

Aizawa studied them—really studied them this time. Two teenagers, shaped by their pasts—one raised in a lab, the other molded by violence. And yet, they chose to leave it all behind.

For the child.

Nezu’s voice broke the silence gently. “You chose to break away from everything you knew,” he said. “Not for yourselves, but for him.”

Chuuya remained silent, but Dazai spoke quietly. “…We didn’t have much worth keeping.”

Aizawa’s gaze flicked once more to the baby. “…Looks like you found something,” he remarked.

Neither of them argued with that truth.

Chapter Text

The room fell into a serene hush, the echoes of their shared stories hanging in the air like a gentle mist.

Nezu shifted slightly, his thoughtful gaze flitting between the two young men before him.

“May I ask,” he inquired softly, “what level of education you both have completed?”

It was a different kind of question, yet it held equal weight.

Chuuya Nakahara didn’t waver this time.

“None,” he stated plainly.

It was direct, unembellished.

Aizawa’s eyes turned toward him, curiosity piqued.

Chuuya shrugged one shoulder, as if it were of little consequence.

“I never went to school. Didn’t have the opportunity,” he continued. “I can’t read, can’t write. Math? Not a chance.”

His tone was devoid of shame—just a stark declaration of reality.

Yet the lack of embarrassment spoke volumes.

The lab hadn’t imparted knowledge.

The slums had offered no lessons either.

Only survival had been his teacher.

Nezu’s expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing across his features.

“I understand.”

There was no trace of judgment in his voice.

Then he turned his attention to the other young man.

“And you?” he asked.

Osamu Dazai tilted his head, his hands resting casually in his pockets.

“My situation is quite the opposite,” he replied.

Chuuya snorted softly. “Show-off.”

Dazai brushed off the remark.

“I received a standard education,” he elaborated, “but I moved through it… swiftly.”

Aizawa raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

“How swiftly?”

Dazai let a faint smile grace his lips. “Let’s just say I was functioning at a high school level long before I officially reached it.”

Nezu’s eyes gleamed with interest.

“Accelerated learning,” he mused.

“Something along those lines,” Dazai acknowledged. “The mafia had… uses for it.”

That much was evident.

Chuuya clicked his tongue. “Meanwhile, I was just trying to survive.”

Dazai glanced at him, a glimmer of empathy in his eyes.

“…You did more than just survive.”

Chuuya remained silent, his grip on the baby tightening as he sought to ground himself.

Nezu folded his paws together, his demeanor steady yet gentle.

“So,” he summarized, “one of you has had no formal education, while the other has excelled beyond standard expectations.”

Aizawa exhaled lightly, a hint of concern in his tone.

“…That’s going to complicate things,” he acknowledged.

“Not necessarily,” Nezu countered, a thoughtful note weaving through his words. “It simply means we’ll need to tailor our approach.”

His gaze returned to them, steady and assessing, yet warm.

“Education can be taught,” he declared. “What truly matters is your willingness to learn.”

Chuuya frowned slightly. “Are you planning to throw us into a classroom?”

Before Nezu could respond, Aizawa interjected.

“If you choose to stay,” he said, “you’ll need to grasp the basics, at the very least.”

Dazai’s curiosity piqued. “And if we don’t?”

Aizawa met his gaze with unwavering resolve.

“You came here seeking a better life for that child,” he gestured toward the baby. “That means establishing stability, which requires understanding the world around you.”

A hush fell over the room.

Then—

“…Tch,” Chuuya muttered, a resigned tone in his voice. “Figures.”

Yet he didn’t protest.

Dazai exchanged a glance with him, then returned his focus to Aizawa.

“…We’ll manage,” he asserted.

Nezu smiled gently.

“I have faith that you will.”

And for the first time since that pivotal question had been posed—

the prospect of a future felt less daunting.

The atmosphere had begun to take shape—plans, structure, the faint contours of a hopeful tomorrow.

Then Chuuya Nakahara exhaled sharply, adjusting the baby in his arms.

“…Putain,” he muttered under his breath.

But that was just the beginning.

Words spilled forth, rapid and unrestrained—

“Ça va être des années interminables… sérieux, j’aurais préféré que la lecture et l’écriture n’existent jamais.”

His tone conveyed everything, even if the meaning was lost in translation.

Frustration. Exhaustion. A palpable dread.

Across the room, Shota Aizawa blinked slowly, processing.

“…Was that French?” he asked, curiosity piqued.

Nezu’s ears perked up, his eyes shimmering with interest.

“Fluent,” he noted. “Not just memorized phrases—there’s a natural cadence, a depth of emotion… quite remarkable.”

Chuuya halted mid-adjustment of the baby’s blanket.

“…What?”

Dazai, ever the instigator, looked thoroughly entertained.

“He’s been like this,” Osamu Dazai said, amusement dancing in his voice. “You should’ve heard him when he was angry. Very poetic.”

“Shut up,” Chuuya snapped, this time in Japanese.

Aizawa tilted his head slightly. “What did you say?”

Chuuya hesitated, weighing his words.

“…Nothing important.”

Dazai grinned. “He mentioned that this is going to be a long few years and that he wishes reading and writing never existed.”

Nezu hummed thoughtfully.

“I see.”

Chuuya shot Dazai a glare. “You didn’t have to translate that.”

“Oh, I absolutely did.”

Aizawa’s gaze returned to Chuuya, more focused now—but not menacing.

“You learned all that in the lab?” he asked.

Chuuya clicked his tongue, irritation flickering across his features, yet he answered.

“Yeah. That’s what they spoke around me. I guess it stuck.”

Nezu nodded slowly, deep in contemplation.

“Language acquisition at that level, especially under those circumstances, is quite unusual,” he murmured. “You may lack formal literacy, but your cognitive adaptability is impressive.”

Chuuya frowned. “You just called me smart, didn’t you?”

“In essence,” Nezu replied, calm as ever.

“…Tch.”

But he didn’t argue.

Dazai’s smile softened, a flicker of warmth in his gaze as he watched Chuuya.

Aizawa pushed off the wall slightly, his tone returning to its usual straightforwardness.

“Good,” he said. “That means you won’t struggle as much as you think.”

Chuuya groaned softly. “I’m still going to hate it.”

“Probably,” Aizawa agreed.

A brief pause followed.

Then Nezu added, almost playfully—

“But perhaps not as much as you expect.”

Chuuya didn’t seem convinced.

Still—

he refrained from cursing again.

And in its own way, that felt like progress.

Nezu tapped his paws together, his expression brightening with a calm decisiveness that suggested he had already made up his mind long ago.

“Well, anyway,” he said, his voice warm yet firm, “I believe I’ve decided what to do with the two of you.”

This caught the immediate attention of both young men.

Chuuya Nakahara narrowed his eyes. “That sounds dangerous.”

Osamu Dazai, ever curious, smiled faintly. “I’m intrigued.”

Nezu continued, undeterred by their reactions.

“I’m placing both of you in U.A. High School’s Class 1-A under Shota Aizawa.”

The room fell silent.

Then—

“You’re what?” Chuuya exclaimed.

Dazai, in contrast, tilted his head with mild curiosity.

Nezu nodded, unfazed.

“Based on what you’ve shared, the academic level should be quite manageable for you, Dazai. In fact,” he added, a hint of mischief in his eyes, “I suspect you might find it rather easy.”

Dazai placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Principal Nezu, I’m truly touched by your unwavering faith in my brilliance.”

Aizawa looked already exhausted.

“Don’t make me regret this before the first day,” he replied flatly.

Dazai’s smile widened. “No promises.”

Nezu then turned his attention to Chuuya.

“For you,” he said gently, “your situation requires a different approach.”

Chuuya’s shoulders tensed, sensing the shift.

Aizawa noticed instantly.

Nezu’s tone remained calm and matter-of-fact.

“You’ll attend Class 1-A with Aizawa to acclimate to the environment, socialize with your peers, and begin learning alongside Dazai.”

Chuuya stared, the word “peers” feeling foreign on his tongue.

“But after class,” Nezu continued, “you’ll have dedicated lessons in reading, writing, and mathematics.”

Chuuya groaned immediately.

“Oh, come on—”

“With Hizashi Yamada,” Nezu concluded.

A beat passed.

Then Chuuya blinked, confusion crossing his features.

“Who?”

Aizawa sighed through his nose.

“Another pro hero,” he explained. “Hero name: Present Mic.”

Dazai’s expression brightened with mischievous interest.

“Present Mic?” he echoed. “That sounds loud.”

Aizawa gave him a flat look. “He is.”

Nezu smiled. “Hizashi has a unique talent for teaching foundational concepts in an engaging manner. I believe he’ll be an excellent fit.”

Chuuya muttered something in French that sounded distinctly unflattering.

Dazai, of course, translated.

“He says he’d rather fight the mafia again.”

“DAZAI.”

Aizawa pinched the bridge of his nose.

“No fighting. No disappearing. No causing incidents in class.”

Dazai feigned offense. “You wound me, Aizawa-sensei.”

“You haven’t even started yet, and I’m already exhausted.”

That earned Chuuya the faintest snort, the first hint of levity breaking the tension.

Nezu’s gaze drifted to the sleeping baby in Chuuya’s arms.

“And while you attend classes,” he said softly, “we’ll arrange safe childcare for Shuji.”

Chuuya’s expression shifted from annoyance to guarded concern.

“With who?” he asked sharply.

Nezu met his gaze with unwavering steadiness.

“Someone trustworthy. You’ll have the ability to check on him whenever you need.”

Aizawa nodded in agreement. “No one’s taking him from you.”

That seemed to ease a weight from Chuuya’s shoulders.

A lengthy silence followed.

Then Dazai’s smile returned, and he cast a sideways glance at Chuuya.

“Well,” he murmured, “looks like we’re students now.”

Chuuya groaned again, looking utterly defeated.

“…This is going to be the longest few years of my life.”

Dazai’s smile softened with genuine warmth.

“Maybe,” he replied thoughtfully.

Then his gaze shifted to the baby.

“But probably the best ones, too.”

This time, Chuuya didn’t argue.

Nezu allowed the room to breathe after outlining their new direction, then turned his gaze back to Chuuya Nakahara, this time with a gentler demeanor.

“There’s one more matter to discuss,” he began. “Childcare.”

Chuuya instinctively tightened his hold on Shuji.

Nezu continued, “Would you like to meet the person who will be looking after Shuji while you’re in class?”

There was no hesitation in Chuuya’s response.

“…Yeah,” he replied promptly. “I want to see them.”

Aizawa observed closely but remained silent.

Nezu offered a faint smile. “Of course.”

He then pressed a small button on his desk.

“I believe our guest is already nearby. Please come in.”

A brief moment of stillness passed—

Then the door swung open.

A gentle rush of air followed, soft yet palpable—as if something had slipped in faster than anticipated.

“Yo,” came a relaxed voice. “You called, Principal?”

A tall figure stepped into the room, wings folding gracefully behind him as he entered with an air of casual confidence.

Hawks.

Aizawa showed no sign of surprise.

However, Dazai perked up immediately. “Oh, this just got interesting.”

Chuuya remained unfazed by the fame surrounding Hawks.

Instead, his focus shifted to the *unknown*.

His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Hawks, a protective instinct igniting within him.

“…You’re the one?” he asked bluntly.

Hawks glanced at him, then at the baby, and back again—his sharp gaze absorbing every detail in an instant.

“Yeah,” he replied simply. “Guess that’s me.”

Nezu clasped his paws together.

“Hawks has graciously agreed to assist,” he explained. “He’s exceptionally skilled with children and well-liked across all age groups.”

Hawks shrugged lightly. “Kids are easy. Way easier than adults.”

Dazai chuckled. “I feel mildly insulted.”

“You should,” Hawks replied with a playful smirk.

Chuuya didn’t smile in return.

Instead, he stepped forward slightly, still holding Shuji close.

“…You got experience?” he asked, his voice low—not hostile, but cautious.

Hawks didn’t seem fazed.

“Plenty,” he said. “Rescue ops, evacuations… keeping kids calm when everything’s going to hell.”

His tone remained casual, yet there was a solid reliability beneath it.

Chuuya scrutinized him for a long moment.

“…You drop him, I’ll kill you,” he stated flatly.

Aizawa shut his eyes briefly. “Chuuya.”

Yet Hawks only smirked.

“Fair enough,” he said. “I won’t.”

That was it.

No offense taken. No pushback.

Just certainty.

The baby stirred again, emitting a small sound.

Hawks’ gaze softened as he stepped a little closer—though not too close.

“…Hey there, little guy,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

Chuuya noticed that shift.

It mattered.

Dazai tilted his head, watching with interest.

“Well,” he said lightly, “if nothing else, he hasn’t run away screaming.”

“Give it time,” Aizawa muttered.

Nezu smiled warmly.

“I believe this arrangement will work quite well.”

Chuuya didn’t fully relax.

But—

after a moment—

he didn’t pull away either.

And that, for him—

was as close to trust as anyone could hope for.

Nezu offered a small, satisfied nod as the introductions settled, clearly pleased with how things were unfolding.

“Now then,” he said, “there’s one final arrangement to discuss.”

Chuuya Nakahara shifted slightly, still holding Shuji close, while Osamu Dazai leaned back just enough to look mildly entertained.

Nezu continued,

“I will be assigning the two of you to a family dorm—one that is attached to the Class 1-A dormitories at U.A. High School.”

A brief pause hung in the air.

“…A *family* dorm?” Chuuya echoed, intrigued.

“Yes,” Nezu replied simply. “A private space suitable for both of you—and Shuji.”

Chuuya blinked in surprise.

That… clearly wasn’t what he had anticipated.

Aizawa spoke up, arms still crossed. “You won’t be sharing with the rest of the class. You’ll have your own unit, but it’s connected. Easier for supervision.”

“‘Supervision,’” Dazai echoed, amusement lacing his tone. “How comforting.”

“It’s not optional,” Aizawa countered.

Dazai grinned. “Even better.”

Nezu pressed on, unfazed.

“During school hours,” he said, turning slightly toward Hawks, “Hawks will be stationed at the dorm to care for Shuji.”

Hawks offered a casual two-finger salute. “Got it covered.”

Chuuya’s gaze flicked back to him—still cautious, still protective.

“And when classes end,” Nezu added, “Shuji will be returned to your care immediately.”

A beat of silence followed.

“…So he’s close the whole time?” Chuuya inquired.

“Yes,” Nezu confirmed.

Aizawa nodded slightly. “Same building. You’ll be able to check in if needed.”

That seemed to matter a great deal.

Chuuya exhaled quietly, tension easing just a fraction.

“…Alright,” he muttered.

Dazai glanced at him, then smiled faintly.

“Look at that,” he remarked. “We’ve been upgraded from fugitives to domestic life.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I fully intend to,” Dazai replied with a lighthearted grin.

Hawks smirked. “You two are gonna be fun.”

Aizawa looked as if he already regretted everything.

Nezu, however, radiated satisfaction.

“Then it’s settled,” he declared warmly. “A new environment, structured education, and proper care for Shuji.”

His gaze softened slightly as it moved between them.

“A beginning.”

For once—

no one argued with that.

The shift was so sudden it barely registered.

Chuuya Nakahara’s fingers tightened slightly around Shuji, and under his breath—

“…Dazai…”

It wasn’t sharp.

It wasn’t angry.

It was weak.

Then his body wavered.

Osamu Dazai reacted instantly.

“Chuuya—”

In one fluid motion, he took Shuji from Chuuya’s arms before the baby could slip, turning and placing him carefully—but quickly—into Hawks’s hold.

“Hold him,” Dazai instructed, his voice stripped of humor.

Hawks didn’t hesitate. He adjusted immediately, cradling the baby securely.

At the same time—

Chuuya collapsed.

Dazai caught him before he hit the ground, lowering with him instead, one arm supporting his back as they sank to the floor.

“Hey—stay with me,” Dazai urged, his tone sharper now, a sense of urgency creeping in.

Chuuya's breathing was off.

Too rapid.

Too shallow.

His chest rose and fell in a frantic rhythm, as if the air was slipping through his grasp, beads of sweat forming on his skin at an alarming rate.

“Chuuya—look at me.”

But Chuuya didn’t respond in the way Dazai hoped.

His eyes were unfocused, a distant gaze that betrayed his struggle.

His body was tense, but the strength was fading.

Across the room, Shota Aizawa immediately straightened, fatigue vanishing as he sensed the shift in the atmosphere.

“…What’s wrong with him?” he demanded, already moving closer, concern etched on his face.

Nezu followed closely, his expression sharpened with worry.

Hawks, who still held Shuji, had transformed into a serious figure, the playful demeanor evaporating.

Dazai kept his gaze fixed on Chuuya, refusing to look up.

“…It’s his body,” he murmured, his voice low yet controlled—perhaps too controlled.

Chuuya’s hand twitched weakly against Dazai’s coat, his breath hitching.

“Dammit…” Dazai muttered, frustration and helplessness mingling.

Aizawa dropped to one knee beside them, urgency in his voice. “Is this an injury? A quirk backlash? What is it?”

Dazai’s jaw tightened, his worry palpable. “…Aftereffects,” he said. “From what they did to him.”

Chuuya’s breathing spiked again—almost a gasp, as if his lungs were at war with each other.

“He pushes too far, or sometimes…” Dazai hesitated, the weight of his words heavy, “…sometimes it just happens.”

Nezu interjected, calm yet urgent. “We need Recovery Girl.”

Aizawa nodded immediately, determination in his eyes. “Now.”

Hawks shifted slightly, his focus on Shuji, ensuring the baby remained calm despite the rising tension.

“…He’s burning up,” Aizawa noted, glancing back at Chuuya’s condition, concern deepening.

Dazai adjusted his grip, cradling Chuuya more securely. “Chuuya,” he said softly, a quiet firmness lacing his voice. “Stay awake.”

For once, there was no teasing.

No sarcasm.

Just a deep-seated fear, hidden beneath layers of control.

Chuuya’s fingers curled weakly against Dazai, barely responding to the world around him.

The room, which had just begun to feel like a safe haven, suddenly felt precarious.

Dazai didn’t look away from Chuuya as he spoke—his focus unwavering. “…It usually lasts about an hour,” he said quietly. “Then it settles.”

Shota Aizawa frowned, processing the information. “That long?”

Dazai nodded, tight-lipped. “He’s not just… reacting physically,” he added. “When it happens, he relives it.”

A beat of silence hung in the air.

Nezu’s gaze sharpened, intrigued. “Relives?”

Dazai’s expression darkened, a coldness piercing through his usual calm demeanor. “…The experiments,” he said quietly. “What they did to him. The tests. The restraints.”

His voice lowered further, as if sharing a secret. “…Him.”

Aizawa caught the weight of that word immediately. “Who?”

Dazai hesitated, just a fraction of a moment. “…The main researcher,” he finally said. “He only ever referred to him as ‘N.’”

The name lingered in the air, heavy and unresolved.

On the floor, Chuuya’s breathing faltered again—fast and uneven. His body tensed as if battling an unseen foe.

Then—

a whisper escaped his lips.

“…pardon…”

It was soft.

Barely audible.

Hawks tilted his head slightly, still cradling Shuji against his chest. “He’s saying something,” he murmured, the tension thickening.

Chuuya’s lips moved again, the words spilling out between strained breaths. “…pardon… pardon… je suis désolé… je suis désolé…”

The repetition was raw, desperate.

Apologizing.

Again.

And again.

Nezu's ears lowered slightly, his expression tightening. “…He’s apologizing,” he said softly, the weight of understanding dawning.

Aizawa’s jaw set, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “For what?” he muttered, searching for answers.

Dazai took a moment before responding, adjusting his hold slightly, one hand steadying Chuuya’s shoulder—not restraining, merely grounding him. “…For things that weren’t his fault,” he said finally, his voice heavy with empathy.

Chuuya’s voice cracked weakly as the words continued to flow. “Je suis désolé… je suis désolé…”

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Hawks’ usual ease was completely absent now, his grip on Shuji careful but firm, shielding the baby from the escalating tension. “…Kid shouldn’t be saying that in his sleep,” he muttered under his breath, concern threading through his words.

Aizawa exhaled slowly, controlled but edged with an unspoken pain. “…No,” he said. “He shouldn’t.”

Dazai’s eyes remained locked on Chuuya, revealing a vulnerability rarely seen.

For once, there was no mask.

No deflection.

Just something quiet—and heavy.

“…He learned to say it so they’d stop,” he said, the room falling into a profound silence.

Chuuya’s voice kept repeating the words, softer now but no less heart-wrenching.

And for the first time since their arrival, everyone in that room grasped the depth of his suffering.

The door slid open with a sense of urgency, a small figure stepping in and quickly assessing the scene.

Recovery Girl.

“Well now,” she said, her voice calm yet firm, “what have we got here?”

Shota Aizawa stood slightly to give her space. “Teenager. Sudden collapse. Rapid breathing, high temperature. Not quirk overuse—something else.”

Recovery Girl was already in motion, kneeling beside Chuuya Nakahara. “Mm,” she hummed, focused and determined. “Let me see.”

Dazai didn’t pull away, but he shifted just enough to allow her to work, still supporting Chuuya’s upper body.

“He’s conscious?” she asked, her tone gentle yet probing.

“Barely,” Osamu Dazai replied quietly, his concern palpable.

As if to confirm, Chuuya’s lips moved once more. “…je suis désolé…”

Recovery Girl paused for a fleeting moment, recognizing the gravity of the situation. “…Ah,” she murmured. “One of *those* cases.”

Nezu’s gaze sharpened, curiosity piqued. “You recognize this?”

Recovery Girl nodded slightly, already placing a hand near Chuuya’s face—not activating her quirk yet, just assessing. “Severe stress response layered with trauma recall,” she explained. “Both body and mind are reacting simultaneously.”

Aizawa folded his arms, though his attention remained unwavering. “Can you fix it?”

She shot him a look, a mixture of understanding and reality. “I can *help*,” she corrected, “but this isn’t a broken bone you can just heal and send back out.”

Her eyes returned to Chuuya, studying him intently—pulse, breathing, tension.

“…His system’s overloaded,” she continued. “If I use my quirk too aggressively, I’ll just exhaust him further.”

Dazai’s grip tightened slightly, determination flickering in his gaze. “Then what do you do?”

Recovery Girl’s expression softened, a hint of compassion shining through. “We stabilize first,” she said. “Slow the body down. Bring him out of the worst of it.”

She reached into her coat, pulling out a small cloth and gently dabbing at the sweat along Chuuya’s temple. “Talk to him,” she added, glancing at Dazai. “He may not fully respond, but grounding helps.”

Dazai didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Chuuya,” he said quietly, leaning in just a bit closer. “You’re not there.”

Chuuya’s breathing hitched again, but it didn’t steady just yet.

Recovery Girl placed two fingers lightly against his forehead, activating her quirk with a controlled, gentle pulse. “Easy now,” she murmured. “No rushing.”

Across the room, Hawks adjusted his hold on Shuji, ensuring the baby remained calm, one wing shifting slightly to muffle the tension. “…He’s still saying it,” Hawks observed quietly, a hint of sorrow hanging in his voice.

Chuuya’s voice, faint and strained, echoed softly: “Je suis désolé…”

Over and over.

Aizawa’s expression hardened, though his voice remained steady. “…That’s going to take more than physical recovery.”

Nezu nodded solemnly, understanding the weight of the situation. “Yes,” he said. “It will.”

Recovery Girl glanced up briefly, her eyes reflecting resolve. “He’s strong,” she said. “Stronger than he should have to be.”

Then she returned her focus to Chuuya, her determination unwavering. “Let’s make sure he doesn’t have to fight this battle alone anymore.”

And slowly—very slowly—Chuuya’s breathing began to ease, a flicker of hope igniting in the hearts of those who witnessed his struggle.

Chapter Text

Shota Aizawa wasted no time once Recovery Girl confirmed that Chuuya was stable enough to be moved.

“We’re taking him to the dorms,” he stated, already heading toward the door. “He needs a quiet place to rest.”

Osamu Dazai nodded briefly, understanding the urgency.

With surprising gentleness—more than anyone in the room might have anticipated—he adjusted his hold and lifted Chuuya Nakahara into his arms, cradling him as if he were something precious.

Chuuya remained still, his head resting lightly against Dazai’s shoulder, his breathing finally steadier but still uneven from exhaustion. The earlier tension had ebbed away, leaving him looking smaller—fragile in a way he rarely allowed himself to appear.

Dazai instinctively adjusted his grip, ensuring Chuuya was secure.

“...Lead the way,” he said softly.

Aizawa nodded and stepped into the hallway.

Behind them, Hawks followed, carrying Shuji with surprising ease. One of his wings shifted slightly, creating a shield against the harsh hallway lights.

“Kid’s out cold,” Hawks murmured, glancing between the two teens.

“Yeah,” Dazai replied, his voice low. “He’ll be for a while.”

They moved through U.A.’s halls in a quiet procession.

The students were scarce at this hour, and those who did pass by slowed their pace, staring at the unusual sight:

A pro hero leading the way.

Another following closely with a baby.

And between them—

a bandaged teen cradling someone as if they were irreplaceable.

Aizawa stopped in front of a separate entrance just off the main dorm building.

“This is it,” he announced, opening the door.

Inside was a world apart from the rest of the school—smaller, quieter. A cozy living space, furnished simply yet comfortably. A couch, a small kitchen area, a bedroom further inside.

Not a classroom.

Not a holding room.

A home.

Dazai stepped inside first, moving without hesitation. He walked straight to the bedroom, lowering Chuuya onto the bed with careful precision, as if he had done this many times before. He adjusted the pillow slightly, ensuring Chuuya’s head was supported, then gently pulled the blanket over him.

Chuuya shifted faintly but didn’t wake.

For a moment—

Dazai simply stood there, gazing at him.

Then, quieter than before—

“…You’re okay,” he murmured.

Behind him, Hawks stepped into the room, gently rocking Shuji as the baby stirred.

“Where do you want him?” he asked.

Dazai glanced back, his softness giving way to a more composed demeanor—but not completely vanishing.

“…Here,” he said, nodding toward the main room. “He’ll stay close.”

Aizawa leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, observing everything with that same steady, assessing gaze.

“…He’ll need monitoring,” he cautioned. “If anything happens again, call immediately.”

Dazai gave a small nod. “I will.”

Hawks adjusted his hold slightly, looking down at Shuji. “…Kid’s been through a lot already,” he said quietly.

Dazai’s gaze flicked briefly toward the bedroom. “…So has his parent.”

Silence settled into the space.

Not tense.

Not heavy like before.

Just… quiet.

Aizawa straightened. “Get some rest,” he suggested. “Classes start tomorrow.”

Dazai let out a faint breath—something between a sigh and a laugh. “…Of course they do.”

Hawks smirked slightly. “Welcome to U.A.”

As the door closed behind Aizawa—

for the first time since everything had begun—

they had a place to stay.

The dorm fell into a serene quiet.

Not the heavy silence from before—but something softer, more restful. In the bedroom, Chuuya Nakahara slept soundly, his breathing now even, the tension finally released by sheer exhaustion.

In the main room, Hawks lingered near the couch, gently rocking Shuji to keep him calm.

Meanwhile—

Osamu Dazai stood in the second bedroom, staring down at a small, neatly packed box.

“…A cot,” he murmured.

He crouched down and opened it, pulling out the pieces with a quiet focus—uncharacteristically serious. No jokes. No commentary. Just… careful attention.

Hawks leaned casually against the doorway, watching.

“…You know how to build one of those?” he inquired.

Dazai didn’t look up. “…I can figure it out.”

That sounded less like guesswork and more like certainty coming from him.

Piece by piece, he assembled the cot.

Frame first.

Then the supports.

Then the fabric stretched across, tightened just enough.

His movements were precise—not rushed, not careless. Controlled.

Hawks raised an eyebrow slightly. “…You’ve done this before.”

Dazai paused for just a moment.

Then continued. “…No,” he said. “But I’ve managed worse with less.”

That response conveyed more than it should have.

A few more adjustments—

And the cot was complete.

Simple.

Sturdy.

Safe.

Dazai pressed lightly against it, testing its strength, ensuring it held.

Only then did he stand. “…That should work.”

Hawks pushed off the doorway and stepped in, carefully handing Shuji over. “Your turn,” he said.

Dazai took the baby with surprising ease. “…Hey,” he murmured quietly, looking down at him.

Shuji stirred slightly but didn’t wake fully.

Dazai turned and gently placed him into the cot, adjusting the small blanket to rest just right—not too tight, not too loose.

He lingered for a moment, watching, ensuring everything was just as it should be.

Then he stepped back.

Hawks folded his wings slightly, observing. “…You’re not as reckless as you look,” he remarked.

Dazai offered a faint, tired smile. “Don’t ruin my reputation.”

Hawks smirked. “Too late.”

A quiet settled between them.

Then Dazai glanced toward the other room—where Chuuya lay sleeping. “…He’ll wake up disoriented,” he noted.

“Yeah,” Hawks replied. “Figured.”

Dazai’s expression softened slightly. “…He’ll need to see him first,” he added, nodding toward Shuji.

Hawks studied him for a moment. “…And you?”

Dazai looked back at the cot. At the baby. At something steady for once. “…I’ll be here.”

No theatrics.

No deflection.

Just a simple truth.

Hawks didn’t joke this time. “…Good,” he said.

And for once—

the room felt like something close to peaceful.

Hawks lingered by the doorway for a moment longer, golden eyes flicking between the cot and the other room. “…You’ve got it from here,” he said quietly.

Osamu Dazai gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

With that, Hawks slipped out, the door closing softly behind him. The faint rustle of feathers faded down the hall, leaving the dorm enveloped in stillness.

For the first time since everything began—

it was just them.

Dazai stood there for a moment, listening.

The quiet breathing from the bedroom.

The soft, steady presence of Shuji in the next room.

Nothing urgent.

Nothing pursuing them.

He exhaled slowly.

Then moved.

---

The bedroom was dim, illuminated only by soft ambient light spilling in from the hallway.

Chuuya Nakahara hadn’t moved much—still asleep, still recovering. His breathing had evened out, though faint traces of exhaustion lingered.

Dazai stepped quietly to the side, grabbing the neatly folded clothes U.A. had provided. Simple. Comfortable.

He changed without much thought, his movements slow with fatigue now that the chaos had settled.

Then he slipped into bed beside Chuuya.

Carefully.

Not wanting to wake him.

For a moment, he just lay there—staring at the ceiling, soaking in the quiet.

Then, almost instinctively—

he shifted closer.

One arm slid gently around Chuuya’s waist, pulling him just slightly nearer—not tight, not constricting. Just… there.

Grounding.

Dazai turned his head, dark eyes settling on Chuuya’s sleeping face.

All the tension.

All the sharp edges.

Gone, for now.

“…You made it,” he murmured under his breath.

Leaning in, he pressed a soft kiss to Chuuya’s forehead.

It was brief.

Gentle.

But real.

Chuuya stirred faintly at the contact—not waking, but responding. His expression softened, the faintest hint of a smile touching his lips as he settled deeper into the warmth beside him.

Dazai paused.

Just for a second.

Then a quiet breath escaped him—something lighter than anything he’d felt in a long time.

“…Yeah,” he whispered.

Finally—

he closed his eyes.

The exhaustion caught up quickly.

And within moments—

Osamu Dazai drifted off to sleep, still holding Chuuya Nakahara close.

In the next room, Shuji slept peacefully.

Outside, U.A. stood quiet.

And for the first time in a long time—

they were safe enough to rest.
Morning arrived with a gentle hush.

No alarms blaring, no chaos to disrupt the peace. Just the soft light filtering through the curtains and the rhythmic sound of breathing in a room that, for a rare moment, felt cocooned in safety.

Osamu Dazai was the first to awaken.

Not with a jolt—rather, he stirred slowly, as if his body was savoring the sensation of rest for the first time in ages.

For a brief moment, he remained still.

And then he felt it.

A weight.

A warmth.

Something—or someone—clinging to him.

His gaze drifted downward, and there, nestled against him, was Chuuya Nakahara. In the quiet of the night, he had instinctively moved closer, one hand softly grasping the fabric of Dazai’s shirt, the other resting gently against his chest. His head nestled just beneath Dazai’s chin, his breathing slow and steady.

Clinging.

Not out of fear.

Not tense or guarded.

Just… holding on.

Dazai blinked, taking a moment to absorb the scene.

“…Well,” he murmured softly to himself.

He didn’t pull away.

There was no teasing, no quips on his lips.

Instead, his arm, still draped around Chuuya, shifted slightly, finding a more comfortable position.

Chuuya let out a small sound in his sleep, instinctively moving closer, as if he had discovered exactly what he needed.

Dazai paused, savoring the warmth that enveloped them.

And then, ever so faintly—

he smiled.

It wasn’t a sharp grin.

It wasn’t mocking.

Just… soft.

“…You’re quite clingy when you’re unconscious,” he whispered.

No response came.

Chuuya remained lost in his dreams, blissfully unaware.

For a fleeting moment, Dazai allowed himself to lean back against the pillow, his gaze wandering to the ceiling, then back down to Chuuya’s peaceful form.

With utmost care, he brushed a stray strand of hair from Chuuya’s face.

There was no resistance.

No tension.

Just an unspoken trust.

“…Didn’t think you had this in you,” he mused quietly.

The room held its breath.

From the other room, a faint rustle—Shuji stirring in his cot, but still cradled in sleep.

Dazai’s eyes flicked momentarily toward the doorway.

But he didn’t move.

Not yet.

Instead—

he remained right where he was, allowing Chuuya to continue his slumber.

Letting the moment linger just a little longer.

Because, for once—

there was no need to hurry.

About an hour later, the tranquility shifted.

Chuuya Nakahara was the first to stir.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

As if his body was still processing the remnants of the night before.

His eyes fluttered open, momentarily blinded by the soft morning light. For a heartbeat, he remained still—just breathing, grounding himself in the moment.

And then—

the memories rushed back.

“…Tch,” he muttered under his breath.

Being careful not to disturb Osamu Dazai, Chuuya slid out of bed. His movements were quieter than usual, a touch slower—but steady nonetheless.

He rolled his shoulder once.

A faint wince followed.

“…Still sucks,” he grumbled.

From the other room, a small sound emerged.

Shuji was awake.

And that was all it took.

Chuuya sprang into action.

---

A few minutes later, the dorm hummed with life—soft, gentle, yet undeniably real.

Shuji had been fed, changed, and settled, the small noises of a baby filling the air as Chuuya moved with surprising ease for someone who had claimed to lack experience.

Now—

he was getting dressed.

With his shirt half on, his back turned slightly toward the bed, muscles shifting as he pulled the fabric into place—

And beneath it all—

scars.

Not just one or two.

Dozens.

Thin lines. Faded marks. Some deeper than others. A roadmap of everything he had endured, etched into his skin.

Behind him—

Dazai had woken.

He hadn’t said a word at first.

Just observed.

Quietly.

Not with mockery.

Not with curiosity.

But with something far more profound.

His gaze traced those scars—not counting, not judging.

Just… seeing.

“…They really did a number on you,” he said softly.

Chuuya paused.

Just for a heartbeat.

Then—

he felt it.

The weight of Dazai’s gaze.

He turned sharply—

—and caught Osamu Dazai staring.

“…What the hell are you looking at?” Chuuya snapped, irritation sparking.

Dazai didn’t flinch.

“You.”

A beat passed.

That didn’t help.

Chuuya grabbed the nearest pillow and *launched* it straight at Dazai’s face.

“Stop staring, you creep!”

*Thump.*

Dazai caught it—barely—still half-reclined in bed.

“I was appreciating the view,” he replied calmly.

“Appreciate it somewhere else!”

Dazai lowered the pillow, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

“They suit you.”

Chuuya froze.

“…What?”

“The scars,” Dazai said, his tone softening. “They suit you.”

No teasing.

No sharp edge to his words.

Just… honesty.

Chuuya stared at him, caught between the urge to punch him and the desire to ignore him.

“…You’re weird,” he muttered, turning away again—but this time, slower.

There was no comeback.

No cutting retort.

Just a subtle tension in his shoulders that felt less like anger and more like something unspoken.

Dazai finally sat up, stretching slightly.

“…We should probably tell them,” he suggested after a moment.

Chuuya smoothed his shirt down into place.

“Yeah,” he replied, a hint of resignation in his voice. “About our abilities.”

A pause hung in the air.

“…That’ll go well,” Chuuya added dryly.

Dazai chuckled softly.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be very entertaining.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes.

But this time—

there was a little less weight behind it.

And in the next room, Shuji made a small, content sound—

completely unaware that his parents were about to introduce an entirely new kind of chaos to U.A.

Morning settled into a rhythm that felt almost… normal.

In the small kitchen, Chuuya Nakahara opened the refrigerator—and paused.

“…Whoa.”

It was full.

Actually full.

Fresh ingredients, basic staples, even items that required a bit of effort to prepare. Not scraps. Not leftovers.

Real food.

For a moment, he just stood there, astonished.

“…They really stocked this place,” he murmured, disbelief lacing his voice.

Then, quieter—

“…Good.”

With renewed determination, he got to work.

---

The kitchen slowly filled with the soft sounds of cooking—pans heating, bacon sizzling, and the faint crack of eggs against the counter.

Chuuya moved with quiet focus, more confident than he had anticipated. Avocado sliced cleanly. Bread toasted to perfection. A sunny-side-up egg cooked with careful attention.

It wasn’t gourmet.

But it was intentional.

Something crafted—not out of necessity—

but by choice.

---

Meanwhile, in the other room, Osamu Dazai had dressed, the enticing aroma of breakfast drawing him out.

He paused briefly at the cot, lifting Shuji with practiced ease.

“…Good morning,” he murmured softly.

The baby stirred, making a small sound as Dazai carried him into the kitchen.

He settled Shuji gently into the highchair at the counter, adjusting the straps without fuss.

“Front row seat,” Dazai added playfully.

Shuji blinked up at him, calm and curious.

Dazai’s gaze drifted to the stove.

And stopped.

Chuuya, focused intently on the pan, remained blissfully unaware of his approach.

He didn’t notice the way Dazai watched him for just a moment longer than necessary—

taking in the quiet domesticity of the scene as if it were something rare.

Then—

Dazai moved.

Stepping in close, one hand catching Chuuya lightly by the wrist, the other settling at his side—

he pulled him back just enough to turn him.

Chuuya barely had time to react before—

Dazai kissed him.

Not teasingly.

Not hastily.

Something deeper—held, intentional, as if he truly meant it.

For a heartbeat, Chuuya tensed—

then melted into it just as quickly.

His hand instinctively gripped the front of Dazai’s shirt as he kissed him back, just as fiercely.

The world narrowed.

No past.

No lab.

No mafia.

Just heat, breath, and the soft clatter of a pan still sizzling behind them.

After a moment, Chuuya pulled back just enough to breathe, glaring—though the fire behind it had dimmed.

“…You trying to burn the food, idiot?”

Dazai smiled faintly, still close.

“Worth the risk.”

Chuuya scoffed—but didn’t pull away immediately.

“…Dumbass.”

Still—

his grip lingered for half a second longer before he turned back to the stove.

Dazai let him go, but remained nearby, leaning casually against the counter.

Shuji made a small, inquisitive noise from the highchair.

Dazai glanced at him.

“…You didn’t see anything,” he said, a hint of mischief in his voice.

Chuuya snorted.

“Yeah, because he totally understands you.”

“Brilliant child,” Dazai replied with a smirk.

“Shut up and grab plates.”

Dazai pushed off the counter with a soft chuckle, doing just that.

And just like that—

the kitchen filled with something unfamiliar to both of them.

Not tension.

Not survival.

Just—

morning.

Chapter Text

In the cozy little kitchen, a peaceful silence settled in after breakfast. The plates had been scraped clean, and the lingering aroma of bacon danced in the air, a reminder of the meal just shared.

At the sink, Chuuya Nakahara rinsed the dishes with a quiet efficiency, his sleeves rolled up slightly as he worked. There was no rush in his movements—just a rhythm born from habit, or perhaps something new he hadn’t yet recognized.

Behind him, Osamu Dazai was carefully lifting Shuji out of his highchair, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “Alright,” he said softly, adjusting his hold, “freedom restored.” Shuji responded with a soft coo, calm and content in Dazai’s arms.

Then came a *knock knock* at the door, interrupting their moment. Both paused, Chuuya casting a glance over his shoulder. “Expecting someone?” he asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

Dazai tilted his head, a playful glint in his gaze. “I rarely expect anything.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.”

The knock echoed again, prompting Dazai to shift Shuji slightly before making his way to the door, one hand reaching out to open it.

When he swung the door open, he was met with familiar faces: Shota Aizawa, looking as weary as ever yet fully alert; Nezu, composed and observant; and Hawks, leaning casually as if he hadn’t just barged in unannounced.

“Well,” Dazai remarked lightly, “what a distinguished morning lineup.”

Hawks grinned, his charm infectious. “Miss me already?”

“Terribly,” Dazai replied with a smirk.

Aizawa’s gaze swept past Dazai, taking in the room. “Everything stable?” he inquired, his tone serious and focused.

Dazai nodded. “He’s up. Functional. Mildly aggressive, as usual.”

From the sink, Chuuya’s voice cut in. “I can hear you!”

Nezu stepped forward, a faint smile gracing his lips. “We thought it best to check in,” he said, his eyes darting meaningfully between them. “And to discuss the matter you mentioned yesterday.”

Chuuya turned off the water and grabbed a towel, stepping closer. “...Our abilities,” he said, the weight of the conversation settling in.

Aizawa nodded, his expression serious. “Before classes start.”

Hawks glanced down at Shuji, then back up. “Kid looks good,” he observed casually.

Dazai adjusted his hold on Shuji. “He is.”

Chuuya crossed his arms, the air thick with anticipation. “...So,” he exhaled lightly, “you want the full explanation?”

Nezu’s expression sharpened, his interest piqued. “If you’re willing to provide it.”

A brief pause hung in the air as Dazai exchanged a glance with Chuuya. Something unspoken passed between them before Chuuya finally relented. “...Yeah.”

Dazai’s smile was faint but warm. “Let’s make this interesting.”

And just like that, the next chapter of their story was about to unfold. Chuuya led them further inside, the living room modest yet imbued with a sense of warmth. A small couch, a low table, and the remnants of the morning still lingered in the air.

“Sit,” Chuuya instructed, his tone short but not unkind.

They complied, settling into the space. Aizawa took the arm of the couch, his posture relaxed yet alert. Nezu found a spot nearby, and Hawks leaned back, exuding a casual confidence.

Dazai stepped forward, gently handing Shuji to Chuuya before taking a seat beside him. For once, the atmosphere was devoid of jokes.

Chuuya adjusted Shuji in his arms, finding his footing before speaking. “...My ability is called *Upon the Tainted Sorrow*.”

The room stilled, every eye on him. Aizawa’s gaze sharpened, his focus unwavering.

“I control gravity,” Chuuya continued, his voice steady yet blunt. “Not just increasing or decreasing—it’s full manipulation. Anything within a certain range of me… or in my line of sight.”

Hawks raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “...That’s not small-scale.”

“No,” Chuuya replied flatly. “It’s not.”

He shifted slightly, one hand resting against Shuji’s back, a protective gesture. “I can compress it, bend it, crush things with it,” he elaborated. “Even affect myself—movement, speed, weight.”

Nezu leaned in, clearly engaged. “And the limits?” he asked, his interest palpable.

Chuuya’s expression darkened. “...That’s where it gets messy.”

A brief silence hung in the air before he continued, his voice lowering. “There’s something called *Corruption*.”

Even Dazai remained silent, his attention fully on Chuuya.

“It’s when I stop holding it back,” Chuuya explained. “I push the ability past normal limits—start controlling gravitons themselves.”

Aizawa’s posture shifted, becoming more alert. “...Gravitons?” he echoed, a hint of concern in his voice.

Chuuya nodded. “I can condense them. Create singularities—miniature black holes, basically.”

The weight of his words landed heavily, and Hawks let out a low whistle. “That’s… not something we deal with every day.”

Chuuya remained stoic. “The problem is, I lose control.”

Silence enveloped them. “I don’t think. I don’t stop,” he said, his grip on Shuji tightening just a fraction. “If I’m left like that, I’ll destroy everything around me.”

The room held its breath. “...Until I die.”

No one dared to speak.

Then Chuuya added, glancing sideways, “The only one who can stop it is him.”

All eyes shifted to Osamu Dazai, who appeared entirely unfazed.

He tilted his head slightly. “My ability,” he said calmly, “is called *No Longer Human*.”

Nezu’s gaze sharpened once more. “And what does it do?”

Dazai smiled faintly. “I cancel abilities,” he said. “Completely. Any ability—gone on contact.”

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed. “...Erasure through touch,” he muttered, realization dawning.

“Exactly,” Dazai replied, lifting a hand and flexing his fingers. “And unlike most abilities, it’s always active.”

A pause settled in. “There’s no off switch.”

That revelation sank deep into the room. Hawks crossed his arms, an amused smirk on his face. “So you’re basically a walking shutdown button.”

“Among other things,” Dazai said lightly.

Nezu looked between the two, his expression no longer light. “A gravity manipulator capable of singularity-level output paired with a constant nullification ability,” he mused thoughtfully.

Aizawa exhaled slowly, the weight of their abilities settling in. “...And the nullifier is the only failsafe.”

Dazai didn’t deny it. Neither did Chuuya.

This time, the silence was not filled with uncertainty, but understanding.

Hawks finally broke it. “...Well,” he said, glancing between them, “that’s one way to make an entrance.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes slightly. “Yeah, yeah.”

Yet, his arms remained firmly around Shuji, unwavering. Because for all the destruction he was capable of—this was what he held onto.

The weight of their abilities lingered in the air when Chuuya spoke again. “...There’s more,” he said, drawing their attention.

Shota Aizawa lifted his gaze, intrigued. “Go on.”

Chuuya adjusted Shuji in his arms before continuing. “My gloves… and my hat,” he gestured faintly, “they help keep it in check.”

Nezu tilted his head, curiosity piqued. “Your ability?”

Chuuya hesitated for just a moment. “...Arahabaki,” he revealed, the name carrying a heavy significance.

“Corruption—it’s tied to that,” he added. “Those things help suppress it, keeping me from slipping too far unless I choose to.”

Aizawa’s expression sharpened again. “So they’re limiters.”

“Yeah,” Chuuya confirmed simply.

Nezu’s eyes gleamed with a calculating interest. “In that case, our support department at U.A. High School may be able to assist you.”

Chuuya blinked, surprised. “Assist?”

“Enhance,” Nezu clarified. “Reinforce the suppression. Make it more stable—more reliable.”

A pause filled the space as Chuuya considered the offer. “...That’d be useful,” he admitted, his honesty a breath of fresh air.

A brief silence followed before Chuuya shifted, freeing one hand to reach into his pocket. “...Then,” he said, pulling something out, “can you fix this too?”

He held up a torn choker, worn and damaged but evidently important.

Nezu’s gaze softened as he examined it. “Yes,” he said gently. “That should be quite simple to repair.”

Then, with a touch of empathy, he added, “But may I ask why it’s necessary?”

Chuuya stilled for a moment before brushing the back of his neck. “...It hides something,” he admitted, his voice dropping.

Aizawa’s eyes flicked to the barcode there, understanding dawning.

“I don’t need people seeing that,” Chuuya continued, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. “Or asking questions I don’t feel like answering.”

The room fell quiet again, not tense but filled with understanding.

Nezu nodded once, his demeanor softening. “I see,” he said gently. “Then we will ensure it is repaired—and improved, if you wish.”

Chuuya offered a small nod. “...Yeah.”

Dazai, who had been quietly observing, glanced at the choker and then back at Chuuya. “...It suits you anyway,” he added lightly.

Chuuya shot him a look. “Not the point.”

“Still true,” Dazai replied, a playful glimmer in his eyes.

Aizawa exhaled through his nose, though the edge in his tone had softened. “...We’ll coordinate with support,” he assured. “You’ll get what you need.”

Hawks smirked, a hint of mischief in his gaze. “Custom gear already. You’re moving up fast.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Because for the first time, his power wasn’t viewed as something to fear. It was something they were helping him control.

And that—was a new beginning.

Chapter Text

The room had finally started to calm down when Osamu Dazai's voice broke through, softer than usual.

“…There’s something we need to discuss.”

His tone was different, and that subtle shift caught Shota Aizawa’s attention immediately.

“…Go on,” Aizawa prompted, curious.

Dazai cast a quick glance at Chuuya Nakahara. Chuuya remained silent, offering no objections, so Dazai pressed on.

“…Why do quirks here… change people?” he inquired. “Physically.”

A moment of silence hung in the air.

“In Yokohama,” he added, “abilities don’t do that.”

His words resonated in the room. Hawks tilted his head, intrigued, while Nezu's gaze sharpened, reflecting a mix of thoughtfulness and understanding.

Aizawa was the first to respond.

“…Because quirks aren’t external,” he explained. “They’re part of the body.”

Dazai’s eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. “Define ‘part.’”

Nezu interjected, his voice steady and precise.

“In our world, quirks are genetic,” he clarified. “They’re inherited, biologically expressed—woven into a person’s physiology from birth.”

Chuuya frowned, a hint of confusion in his expression. “So… it’s not something separate from them?”

“Correct,” Nezu affirmed. “A quirk is not an *addition* to the body—it is, in essence, the body itself.”

Hawks nodded, adding with a casual air, “That’s why you see physical traits—wings, extra limbs, unique eyes—whatever matches the ability.”

He shrugged lightly, his own wings shifting behind him. “It’s all interconnected.”

Dazai absorbed this, his expression inscrutable.

“…So the mutation is a result of the quirk itself?”

“More accurately,” Nezu corrected, “the quirk is the result of the mutation.”

That flipped their understanding upside down.

Chuuya’s gaze sharpened. “So people are born like that?”

“Yes,” Nezu confirmed.

Aizawa crossed his arms, contemplating. “Not all quirks are visible,” he added. “Some are internal, some subtle. But they’re still tied to biology.”

Dazai glanced down at his own hand, a flicker of realization crossing his face.

“…Ours aren’t like that,” he said. “Abilities in Yokohama don’t alter the body.”

Nezu nodded thoughtfully. “Which suggests a fundamentally different origin,” he mused. “Your abilities may not be genetic in the same way, or may operate through an external or metaphysical mechanism rather than biological mutation.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Great. So we’re the odd ones here.”

Hawks smirked, leaning back with an air of amusement. “You say that like we didn’t already notice.”

“Shut up.”

Aizawa chose to focus on the more pressing matter at hand. “…It also means your abilities may not follow the same rules,” he said. “Which makes them harder to predict.”

Dazai offered a faint smile. “That’s usually how we operate.”

Nezu’s gaze lingered on both of them, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “Different systems,” he said softly, “but not incompatible.”

Chuuya adjusted his hold on Shuji, the baby nestled in his arms. “…As long as it doesn’t affect him,” he muttered.

Aizawa glanced at the baby, then back at them. “…We’ll make sure it doesn’t,” he assured.

Dazai didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t argue either. For the first time, they weren’t just learning about this world; they were beginning to understand where they fit within it.

The conversation settled into a quiet understanding. After a moment, Nezu hopped lightly down from his spot. Aizawa followed suit, straightening from where he had been leaning.

“Well,” Aizawa said, his tone returning to its usual calm bluntness, “that covers what we needed.”

His gaze flicked between Osamu Dazai and Chuuya Nakahara. “I’ll meet you in class.”

Chuuya nodded, a small acknowledgment. “…Yeah.”

Aizawa then turned his attention to Shuji, still securely in Chuuya’s arms. “Hawks will be here while you’re in school,” he added. “So don’t worry about your kid.”

Hawks flashed an easy grin, leaning back as though he owned the space. “Full-time babysitter,” he declared. “I’ve got it handled.”

Chuuya narrowed his eyes slightly. “…I’m holding you to that.”

“Fair enough.”

Dazai exchanged glances between them, a hint of amusement returning. “…Try not to teach him anything questionable,” he cautioned.

Hawks smirked. “No promises.”

Aizawa sighed quietly, shaking his head. “Ignore him.”

Nezu offered a small, warm smile. “If anything arises, don’t hesitate to contact us,” he said. “You’re not alone in this.”

That sentiment lingered in the air. Chuuya didn’t say anything, but his grip on Shuji relaxed a fraction. Dazai nodded once. “…Got it.”

Aizawa turned toward the door. “Be ready,” he added over his shoulder. “Class doesn’t wait.”

With that, he stepped out, Nezu following closely behind. The door closed softly behind them, and silence returned—but it didn’t feel empty.

Hawks stretched slightly, his wings shifting behind him as he turned back to them. “Well,” he said, “guess it’s just us now.”

Dazai exhaled faintly. “…Looks like it.”

Chuuya glanced down at Shuji, then back up. “…Let’s get ready.”

Because soon enough, they wouldn’t just be survivors anymore; they’d be students.

Preparing for class turned out to be… stranger than either of them had anticipated. Not due to danger. Not because of uncertainty. But for something far simpler.

Clothes.

---

Chuuya Nakahara stood before the mirror, staring at his reflection, feeling an odd disconnect.

“…This feels wrong,” he muttered to himself.

He tugged at the sleeve of his black-and-grey shirt, the fabric looser than what he was accustomed to. The cross design across his chest felt foreign, yet not entirely unpleasant. The long sleeves hung differently, a stark contrast to his usual fitted attire.

He wore black ripped jeans, a chain hanging at his side, and combat boots. It wasn’t bad, just… not him. At least, not the version of himself he recognized.

“…Tch.”

---

Across the room, Osamu Dazai appeared significantly less perturbed, though still out of place in his own right.

He wore a white shirt layered under a soft grey sweater, paired with tan pants and black-and-white sneakers. He glanced down at himself, tilting his head slightly.

“…I look domesticated,” he murmured, a hint of irony in his tone.

Chuuya snorted. “You look normal.”

“That’s worse.”

“Cry about it.”

Dazai offered a faint smile, adjusting his sleeve. “…I suppose it’s a change of pace.”

---

From the main room, Hawks peeked in, taking in the sight of both of them.

There was a brief pause.

Then—

“…Wow.”

Chuuya frowned. “What?”

Hawks grinned. “Didn’t expect you two to clean up this well.”

“Shut up.”

Dazai placed a hand lightly over his chest. “We aim to impress.”

“Mission accomplished,” Hawks replied dryly.

Chuuya rolled his eyes but grabbed his jacket anyway. “…Let’s just go before I change my mind.”

Dazai chuckled softly. “Too late. You’re already part of society now.”

“Don’t remind me.”

---

In the background, Shuji made a small, content sound, observing the activity around him. Chuuya’s attention flicked to him, his expression softening just a fraction.

“…We’ll be back soon,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Dazai noticed but chose not to comment. Instead, he stepped toward the door, glancing back once. “…Ready?”

Chuuya took a deep breath. Then he nodded. “…Yeah.”

And just like that—dressed in clothes that didn’t quite feel like theirs yet—they stepped out to face something entirely new.

The hallway outside Class 1-A buzzed with energy, louder than anything they had experienced since their arrival.

Voices, laughter, movement.

Normal.

Chuuya stood before the door for a moment, hand hovering before finally knocking.

A beat passed.

From inside—

“Come in.”

It was Shota Aizawa.

Chuuya glanced at Osamu Dazai, who offered a faint, encouraging smile. “After you.”

“…Tch.”

Chuuya pushed the door open.

---

The classroom stilled almost instantly, dozens of eyes turning toward them.

Students.

Some looked completely ordinary.

Others—

Not.

Horns, tails, unusual eyes, skin tones that defied anything Chuuya had seen before. Physical traits that were clearly a part of them, not mere accessories.

Mutation quirks.

Chuuya’s gaze swept across the room, taking everything in rapidly.

He didn’t stare, but he noticed.

And yes— it felt strange. Not wrong, just… unfamiliar.

Back in Yokohama, abilities didn’t *change* you like that.

For a fleeting moment, something tightened in his chest—

Then his eyes landed on a few students who looked entirely human.

And just like that—the tension eased slightly.

“…Okay,” he muttered under his breath.

Dazai, standing beside him, seemed far less fazed—if anything, mildly intrigued.

“Well,” he murmured, “this is lively.”

---

At the front of the room, Aizawa straightened slightly from his usual slouched position.

“You’re late,” he said flatly.

“Fashionably,” Dazai replied with a hint of mischief.

“Don’t start.”

Aizawa’s gaze moved between them, then toward the class.

“These are the two new students I mentioned.”

A low murmur spread through the room—curiosity, whispers.

Aizawa didn’t allow it to build.

“Introduce yourselves,” he instructed. “Names. Abilities. Full explanation.”

That snapped Chuuya fully out of his thoughts.

“…Right.”

He stepped forward slightly, one hand sliding into his pocket.

The room quieted once more, all eyes on him.

Chuuya exhaled once, steadying himself.

Then—

“Chuuya Nakahara,” but please call me Chuuya I don't like my last name. he announced, without hesitation.

“My ability is called *Upon the Tainted Sorrow*.”

A few students leaned forward, captivated.

“I control gravity,” he continued bluntly. “Anything within my range or line of sight—I can manipulate it. Increase it, decrease it, crush things with it, move myself—whatever.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

That wasn’t a small ability.

Chuuya didn’t sugarcoat it.

“There’s also a state called *Corruption*,” he added, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “It boosts my power way past normal. I can create gravitational singularities—basically miniature black holes.”

A few audible reactions filled the room this time, a mix of awe and alarm.

“…But,” he continued, his tone firm, “I lose control. Completely. If I go into it, I don’t stop until someone stops me—or I die.”

Silence enveloped them, heavy and palpable.

Chuuya gestured slightly toward Dazai. “He’s the only one who can shut it down.”

Attention shifted instantly to Osamu Dazai.

Dazai stepped forward, his demeanor relaxed.

“Osamu Dazai,” he introduced himself smoothly, a faint smile gracing his lips.

“My ability is called *No Longer Human*.”

He raised a hand just enough to catch everyone’s attention. “When I make contact, I can nullify abilities. Completely.” There was a brief pause before he continued, “And the thing is, it’s always active. There’s no off switch.”

The atmosphere in the room shifted, plunging into a profound silence.

Aizawa observed his class with keen eyes, taking in their varied reactions.

Shock flickered across some faces.

Interest sparked in others.

Caution settled in like an uninvited guest.

Dazai casually tucked his hands into his pockets, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. “Just a heads up—try not to lean too heavily on your quirks around me. You might find it a bit disappointing.” His lighthearted remark eased the tension, if only slightly.

Aizawa let out a slow breath. “Alright,” he said, his voice steady. “Please take your seats.” Chuuya scanned the room once more, still acutely aware of the differences and adjusting to them,

but the tightness in his shoulders had eased. Dazai strode forward with an air of confidence, as if he had always belonged there. In that moment, they seamlessly transitioned into being part of Class 1-A.

The hush that enveloped the room following their introductions was short-lived.

Almost instantly, a hand shot up.

With messy green hair and wide, analytical eyes, Izuku Midoriya leaned forward, clearly grappling with the flood of information.

“Um—Aizawa-sensei?” he began, his voice a mix of curiosity and concern. “Shouldn’t we refer to them as *quirks*? And what’s with the term *abilities*? Why are they using different names?”

A few classmates nodded in agreement, murmuring their own questions.

Suddenly, a sharp voice sliced through the air.

“Tch. Who cares?”

Katsuki Bakugo reclined in his seat, a scowl etched on his face.

“If they’re strong, that’s all that matters,” he declared, his gaze challenging as it flicked toward Chuuya and Dazai. “The name doesn’t change anything.”

Aizawa appeared unfazed by the interruption.

“Bakugo,” Shota Aizawa stated flatly, “please sit down and refrain from disrupting the class.”

“Tch.”

Bakugo relented, though his irritation lingered.

Aizawa turned his attention back to Midoriya.

“It’s a valid question,” he acknowledged, inviting the class to listen closely.

As the classroom quieted again, Aizawa explained, “Their terminology differs because they come from a different system. From where they are from, powers are called *abilities*, not quirks.”

Midoriya’s eyes sparkled with excitement, his mind racing ahead.

“So their powers aren’t genetic?” he asked eagerly.

“Unknown,” Aizawa replied. “However, according to what we know, they don’t function like quirks do.”

A brief pause hung in the air.

“They don’t cause physical mutations,” he elaborated, scanning the room to ensure everyone was following. “And they seem to operate under different rules.”

The class buzzed with contemplation.

Midoriya muttered to himself, clearly deep in thought.

“Different origins… different limitations… maybe external vs. internal activation…”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, exasperated. “There he goes again.”

Nearby, Dazai tilted his head, amusement flickering in his expression.

“…He’s interesting,” he remarked quietly.

Chuuya shrugged slightly. “He’s loud in a different way,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Aizawa continued, his tone steady. “For now, you’ll approach their abilities as you do with quirks—in terms of training and control. But remember, what applies to you may not apply to them.”

That seemed to settle the matter.

Mostly.

Bakugo still appeared unimpressed, though a spark of interest shone in his eyes now.

Midoriya, on the other hand, looked like he had a hundred questions dancing on the tip of his tongue.

And the rest of the class?

Curiosity filled the air.

Aizawa glanced back at Chuuya and Dazai.

“Please take your seats,” he reiterated.

This time—

there were no interruptions.

Yet the attention on them?

That was far from fading.

Aizawa surveyed the room, ensuring everyone was settled.

“Since we have new students,” Shota Aizawa announced, “today’s lesson will be different.”

A few students perked up, intrigued.

“We’ll be delving into the *Tripartite Framework* in Yokohama.”

That revelation sparked immediate reactions—confusion, curiosity, and interest rippled through the room.

Aizawa’s gaze swept across the class.

“What do you know about Yokohama?”

Before he could finish, two hands shot up.

Quickly.

Izuku Midoriya.

And Shoto Todoroki.

Aizawa pointed at Midoriya.

“Midoriya.”

Midoriya straightened, his mind racing.

“Yokohama is known as a high-risk zone with a concentration of normal people,” he explained, speaking rapidly but clearly. “There’s limited official hero presence compared to other regions, and a lot of underground activity—crime organizations, independent groups…and this is my guess but since Chuuya and Dazai are here they must be from Yokohama meaning that some percentage of people there have abilities like them”

He paused, searching for the right words.

“…It’s not governed like most areas of hero society.”

Aizawa nodded approvingly. “Good.”

Then he turned to Todoroki.

“Todoroki.”

Shoto spoke calmly, weighing his words.

“It’s unstable,” he stated. “Power isn’t centralized. Multiple factions operate there instead of a single authority.”

His eyes flicked momentarily toward Chuuya and Dazai.

“…Which creates conflict.”

Aizawa acknowledged his insight with another nod.

“Correct.”

He shifted slightly, addressing the entire class now.

“Yokohama operates under what’s known as a *Tripartite Framework*,” he clarified. “Three major forces maintain a balance of power.”

Chuuya, leaning back in his seat, muttered under his breath, “Maintain is a strong word.”

Dazai smirked at that, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Aizawa continued, undeterred.

“First,” he began, “law enforcement.”

“Second, organized underground groups.”

A few students exchanged glances, their minds racing with implications.

“Third, independent ability organizations.”

Midoriya was already scribbling notes at a rapid pace.

“So instead of a hero-dominated structure,” Aizawa added, “it’s a balance between opposing forces.”

Bakugo scoffed lightly. “Sounds messy.”

“It is,” Aizawa replied, his tone serious.

Todoroki spoke again, his voice thoughtful.

“What happens if one side collapses?”

Aizawa didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering briefly to Chuuya and then to Dazai.

“…Then the balance breaks,” he finally said.

An uneasy silence followed.

Because suddenly—

this wasn’t just a theory anymore.

It was *their* world.

And everyone in that room felt the weight of that realization.

Aizawa stepped closer to the board, ensuring he had the class’s full attention.

“…Listen carefully,” Shota Aizawa instructed. “This isn’t like our system.”

He picked up a marker and wrote three words across the board:

**Day — Twilight — Night**

“This represents the *Tripartite Framework*,” he elaborated. “A three-part balance of power that governs Yokohama.”

A few students leaned forward, intrigued.

“It was designed by Sōseki Natsume,” Aizawa added, “to prevent the city from collapsing under the weight of ability users and conflict.”

Midoriya’s pen flew across his notebook, capturing every detail.

Aizawa pointed to the first word.

---

**“Daytime.”**

“The Special Division for Unusual Powers,” he explained.

“Government-run. They handle legal affairs, administration, and ability-related incidents during the day.”

He paused briefly to let the information sink in.

“Led by Santōka Taneda.”

Todoroki nodded slightly, processing the information. “So they function like law enforcement and regulatory control,” he summarized.

“Correct,” Aizawa affirmed.

---

He tapped the second word.

**“Twilight.”**

“The Armed Detective Agency.”

A few students exchanged intrigued glances.

“They tackle cases too dangerous for standard authorities,” Aizawa clarified. “But unlike underground groups, they operate with a moral code.”

“Led by Yukichi Fukuzawa.”

Midoriya looked up, his curiosity piqued. “So… a middle ground between heroes and vigilantes?”

“Something like that,” Aizawa confirmed.

---

Then—

he pointed to the final word.

**“Night.”**

“The Port Mafia.”

The room shifted slightly at the mere mention of the name.

“Controls the underworld,” Aizawa stated bluntly. “Logistics, illegal operations, black market activity—everything that happens in the shadows.”

A moment of silence followed.

“Led by Ōgai Mori.”

Bakugo scoffed lightly, skepticism lacing his tone. “So you’re saying criminals are part of the system?”

“Yes,” Aizawa replied flatly, silencing him.

---

Aizawa stepped back, allowing the three sections to linger in the air.

“These three groups maintain a balance,” he reiterated. “Not cooperation—*balance*.”

Chuuya leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “...‘Strained’ is putting it lightly.”

Dazai added with a faint smirk, “Functional chaos.”

Aizawa didn’t argue.

“Each controls a part of the day,” he continued. “Daytime, twilight, and nighttime operations.”

Neatly divided.

But fragile.

Todoroki spoke again, his tone serious.

“And if one side breaks the agreement?”

Aizawa’s gaze hardened slightly, the weight of his words heavy in the air.

“…Then the system collapses,” he stated.

Midoriya swallowed hard, connecting the dots in his mind.

“That would mean… constant conflict.”

“Exactly,” Aizawa affirmed, his eyes flicking briefly toward Chuuya and Dazai.

“…This system isn’t about peace,” he added. “It’s about preventing total destruction.”

Silence enveloped the room.

Because suddenly—

Yokohama didn’t just seem like a city.

It felt like a place perpetually on the brink.

And sitting in that classroom—

were two individuals who had navigated the delicate balance of that world.

Chapter Text

Aizawa allowed the weight of his words to settle in the room, creating a palpable silence.

“…There’s something else you need to grasp,” Shota Aizawa stated, his voice steady.

The atmosphere grew tense once more.

“This system functions solely because Yokohama is... isolated.”

Midoriya’s eyes widened in curiosity.

“Isolated how?” Izuku Midoriya inquired, leaning forward.

Aizawa’s expression remained unchanged.

“Heroes aren’t permitted within the city,” he replied matter-of-factly.

The reaction was immediate.

“What?!” someone exclaimed in disbelief.

Even Bakugo frowned, his frustration evident. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s a deliberate choice,” Aizawa explained. “Hero involvement would upset the equilibrium among the three factions.”

Todoroki’s gaze sharpened, his interest piqued. “So outside authority is limited.”

“Absolutely.”

Aizawa continued, his tone unwavering.

“For quirk users, access to Yokohama is tightly regulated,” he elucidated. “It can take up to a year of paperwork, approvals, and protocols just to gain entry.”

Midoriya’s pen hovered mid-sentence, his mind racing.

“A year…?”

“And even then,” Aizawa added, “they are under constant surveillance.”

Crossing his arms, he emphasized, “They must wear quirk-suppressing restraints—bracelets that limit or nullify their abilities.”

This revelation stirred the class anew.

“And those can’t be taken off?” someone asked, a hint of concern in their voice.

“Only by the authority that imposed them,” Aizawa confirmed, his tone unwavering.

A brief silence enveloped the room.

Then—

“What about those without quirks?” Midoriya asked, his curiosity unyielding.

Aizawa answered without a moment’s hesitation. “They’re unrestricted. Quirkless individuals can roam freely within the city.”

The stark contrast didn’t escape notice.

Chuuya clicked his tongue, a hint of resignation in his voice. “…Yeah. That makes sense.”

Dazai cast a glance his way but remained silent.

Aizawa’s tone shifted, becoming more serious. “There’s one more rule,” he stated, commanding attention.

The room fell into a hush.

“When someone departs Yokohama…”

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to linger.

“They don’t speak of it.”

The gravity of that statement hung heavily in the air.

“…What do you mean?” Midoriya asked, confusion flickering in his eyes.

Aizawa’s gaze sharpened slightly. “I mean exactly that. What transpires within Yokohama stays there.”

No reports.

No public knowledge.

No explanations.

Todoroki spoke again, this time in a hushed tone. “…Enforced secrecy.”

“Yes.”

“Think of it as a closed system,” Aizawa suggested. “What happens inside doesn’t escape. That’s part of why it *works*.”

“Or why no one intervenes,” Chuuya muttered under his breath.

Aizawa didn’t contest that notion.

The classroom fell silent again—but this time, it was tinged with unease.

Yokohama wasn’t just different.

It was controlled.

Contained.

And whatever occurred within its borders—

was never meant for the outside world.

Aizawa let the silence linger for a moment longer.

Then—

“…That leads us to the crucial part.”

The class turned their attention back to him.

He glanced toward the back of the room, focusing on Osamu Dazai and Chuuya Nakahara.

“The two of them,” Shota Aizawa declared, “are from Yokohama.”

The revelation rippled through the classroom—whispers, wide eyes, and a surge of curiosity ignited once again.

Midoriya practically buzzed with excitement. “so I really was right…?” he whispered in awe.

Todoroki’s gaze sharpened, now laser-focused.

Bakugo leaned forward, interest etched into his features.

Aizawa raised his hand slightly. “Feel free to ask questions,” he offered. “But let’s keep it reasonable.”

The room quieted once more.

“They aren’t compelled to answer everything,” he reminded them. “There are limits to what they can disclose.”

Chuuya crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. “…Yeah. Don’t get too nosy.”

Dazai offered a faint smile. “We prefer to keep our conversations selective.”

Aizawa remained stoic.

Instead, he moved to the side of the room, reached into his capture weapon—

and pulled out a sleeping bag.

A few students blinked in disbelief.

“…Seriously?” someone whispered incredulously.

Aizawa laid it out without a word and slid inside as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“I’ll be here,” he said flatly, his eyes already closing. “Just don’t wreck the classroom.”

And just like that—

he drifted off to sleep.

A hush fell over the room.

Then—

“…Is he really asleep?” someone whispered, incredulity evident.

“Oh, he’s out cold,” Mina said. “We’re on our own now.”

That was all it took.

The tension shattered instantly.

Hands shot up.

Voices overlapped in a chaotic chorus.

“So what’s it really like there?!”
“Have you fought the Port Mafia?!”
“Is it true you can’t trust anyone?!”
“Wait—black holes?!”
“Do you actually know those organizations?!”

Chuuya’s eye twitched slightly, a hint of exasperation creeping in.

“…This is going to be a long day.”

Dazai chuckled softly beside him. “Oh, absolutely.”

And just like that—

Class 1-A transformed into an interrogation room.

When class finally ended, the noise didn’t fade—it *spilled* into the hallway.

Students gathered, still buzzing with questions, glancing back at Chuuya Nakahara and Osamu Dazai as if they were walking case studies.

Chuuya clicked his tongue in annoyance. “…I’m out,” he muttered.

Dazai smirked, a playful glint in his eye. “Running away already?”

“Heading to class,” Chuuya shot back. “You should try it sometime.”

“Not likely.”

Chuuya rolled his eyes but didn’t linger. He had places to be.

---

The halls of U.A. felt different now.

Less foreign.

Still strange—but not overwhelming.

Chuuya strolled with his hands tucked in his pockets, following the directions he’d been given earlier. A different classroom. A different kind of lesson.

Not combat.

Not survival.

“…Reading,” he muttered under his breath, a hint of disdain coloring his words.

---

He paused outside the door.

A moment of hesitation.

Then he knocked.

From within came a loud, exuberant voice.

“COME IN!”

Chuuya winced slightly.

“…What the hell—”

He pushed the door open.

---

Inside stood Present Mic—loud, vibrant, and the complete opposite of everything Chuuya was accustomed to.

“YOOO! You must be Chuuya!” Present Mic beamed, practically radiating enthusiasm. “WELCOME to your *learning era!*”

Chuuya stared at him, disbelief etched on his face.

“…I already regret coming here.”

Mic laughed heartily. “You’ll manage, don’t worry!”

Chuuya stepped inside slowly, glancing around.

Books.

Papers.

A board.

Basic stuff.

Yet to him—

it felt like a battlefield he didn’t know how to navigate.

“…So,” Chuuya said, crossing his arms, “where do we begin?”

Present Mic’s grin softened just a touch—still energetic, but more focused now.

“We start simple,” he said. “Reading. Writing. Numbers. No pressure.”

Chuuya frowned. “No pressure?”

“Exactly!” Mic said, his enthusiasm unwavering. “You’ve already survived way tougher challenges, right?”

That gave Chuuya pause.

“…Yeah.”

“Then this?” Mic gestured to the board. “Easy peasy.”

Chuuya exhaled slowly, a hint of skepticism lingering.

“…We’ll see.”

He moved further in and took a seat.

Still doubtful.

Still guarded.

But—

he stayed.

And for the first time in his life—

Chuuya Nakahara was about to embark on a journey of learning he’d never had the chance to pursue before.

Present Mic—or rather, Hizashi up close—toned himself down just enough to avoid overwhelming the room.

“Alright,” he said, sliding a sheet of paper across the desk. “We start here.”

Chuuya glanced down.

The alphabet.

Simple.

Clean.

Completely unfamiliar.

“…You’re kidding,” Chuuya Nakahara muttered, disbelief coloring his tone.

“Nope!” Hizashi responded cheerfully. “Foundation first. Always.”

Chuuya leaned back slightly, scrutinizing the page as if it might spring to life.

“…Tch. Fine.”

Hizashi pointed to the first letter.

“A.”

Then the next.

“B.”

And the next.

“C.”

He methodically went through them all—clear and steady, ensuring each sound was distinct.

Not rushing.

Not skipping.

Just building it, piece by piece.

Chuuya listened.

Truly listened.

His brow furrowed slightly, eyes tracking each letter as Hizashi spoke.

It wasn’t like learning combat.

There was no instinct to rely on.

No muscle memory.

Just—

memory.

“…Alright,” Hizashi said after finishing. “Your turn.”

Chuuya stared at the page again.

“…This is stupid,” he muttered, frustration creeping in.

“Maybe,” Hizashi replied easily. “But you’re still going to do it.”

A pause hung in the air.

Chuuya exhaled through his nose.

Then—

“…A,” he said, a bit rough around the edges.

“…B.”

Better.

“…C…”

He took his time, slower than Hizashi had gone.

Careful.

Deliberate.

As if each letter had to be coaxed from the depths of unfamiliarity.

He stumbled once or twice.

Corrected himself.

And pressed on.

Hizashi didn’t interrupt—just nodded along, encouraging without overwhelming him.

By the time Chuuya reached the end—

“…Z.”

He stopped.

A moment of silence followed.

Then—

Hizashi grinned widely. “See? Not so bad.”

Chuuya clicked his tongue, looking away slightly, trying to mask his growing pride. “…It’s still annoying.”

“Yeah,” Hizashi acknowledged. “New things usually are.”

Chuuya glanced back down at the paper.

The letters didn’t feel as foreign now.

Still strange.

But not insurmountable.

“…Are we doing that again?” he asked, a hint of curiosity creeping in.

Hizashi’s grin widened. “Oh yes,” he said. “We’re just getting started.”

Chuuya sighed, a mix of resignation and determination. “…Great.”

But he didn’t push the paper away.

Didn’t get up.

Didn’t leave.

Instead—

he leaned forward slightly.

And tried again.

Present Mic clapped his hands together, a quick and lively sound that filled the room.

“Alright, Chuuya! It’s time to level up!”

Chuuya Nakahara glanced up from the alphabet sheet, a flicker of apprehension crossing his face.

“…That fast?”

“Absolutely!” Hizashi replied, sliding a fresh sheet in front of him. “We’re diving into *words* now.”

Chuuya’s gaze fell to the new sheet.

Three-letter words.

Simple.

Concise.

Yet still a bit irritating.

“…Tch.”

Hizashi pointed to the first word.

**C A T**

“Give it a try,” he encouraged. “Sound it out, piece by piece.”

Chuuya leaned in, narrowing his eyes as if sizing up a rival.

“…C,” he began.

A pause.

“…A…”

Another pause.

“…T…”

He frowned, the pieces beginning to click.

“…C…a…t…”

It clicked.

“…Cat.”

Hizashi snapped his fingers. “YES! That’s it!”

Chuuya blinked in surprise.

“…Huh.”

Not too shabby.

Challenging, but not insurmountable.

“Next one,” Hizashi prompted, pointing.

**D O G**

Chuuya let out a soft breath.

“…D…o…g…”

This time, the pause was shorter.

“…Dog.”

“Nice job!” Hizashi beamed.

Chuuya felt his shoulders ease just a bit.

“Alright, let’s keep it going.”

---

**H A T**

“…H…a…t… Hat.”

**B E D**

“…B…e…d… Bed.”

**S U N**

He hesitated for just a moment.

“…S…u…n…”

Then—

“…Sun.”

---

With each word, the process became a touch quicker.

A little smoother.

Chuuya reclined slightly, his eyes drifting back to the page.

“…This is strange,” he muttered.

Hizashi tilted his head, intrigued. “Strange how?”

“…It feels like… piecing together a puzzle,” Chuuya replied.

“Exactly!” Hizashi exclaimed, pointing at him with enthusiasm. “That’s reading!”

Chuuya clicked his tongue, but there was less irritation in it now.

“…Still annoying.”

“Still doing great,” Hizashi countered with a grin.

Chuuya stole another glance at the words.

Then—

“…Give me another one.”

Hizashi’s smile widened.

“Oh, you’re really getting into it now!”

“Don’t push it,” Chuuya replied, but his focus remained unwavering.

And for the first time—

learning felt less like a chore.

It felt like a challenge he could genuinely *win*.

After a while, Present Mic clapped his hands again, softer this time.

“Alright, Chuuya! You’ve taken your first steps in reading—now we’ll build on that with writing.”

Chuuya Nakahara looked up, a hint of suspicion lingering.

“…This better not be worse.”

Hizashi grinned and slid another paper in front of him.

“Nope—just a different approach.”

Chuuya glanced down.

Three-letter words once more.

But this time, beneath each one—

faint outlines.

Traceable letters.

“…You want me to copy it?” Chuuya asked, a touch incredulous.

“Trace first,” Hizashi clarified. “Follow the lines. Get familiar with how it *feels*.”

Chuuya stared at the paper as if it had personally offended him.

“…Fine.”

Hizashi handed him a pencil.

“Start with the first one.”

---

**C A T**
*(with “cat” faintly outlined beneath)*

Chuuya gripped the pencil a bit awkwardly at first.

“…Tch.”

He lowered it to the paper—

and carefully traced the first letter.

C.

Slowly.

A bit unsteady.

“…This is annoying,” he muttered.

“Keep at it,” Hizashi encouraged calmly.

Chuuya moved to the next letter.

A.

Then—

T.

He finished the word and leaned back slightly.

“…Feels strange.”

Hizashi nodded. “That’s perfectly normal. You’re teaching your hand something new.”

Chuuya glanced at his work again.

“…It doesn’t look terrible.”

“Exactly.”

---

“Next one.”

**D O G**

This time—

Chuuya was a bit quicker.

Still careful.

Still deliberate.

But less rigid.

“…D…O…G…”

He finished and let out a light breath.

“…Okay.”

---

**H A T**
**B E D**
**S U N**

With each word, the process grew easier.

The lines became straighter.

The pauses grew shorter.

Chuuya’s grip adjusted naturally, his movements smoothing out without him even realizing it.

By the time he reached the last word, he stared at the page once more.

“…Huh.”

Hizashi leaned in, curiosity evident in his eyes.

“See the difference?”

Chuuya examined his work closely.

The first word—messy.

The last—much cleaner.

“…Yeah,” he admitted.

Hizashi smiled brightly.

“Alright,” he said, tapping the page enthusiastically. “Now let’s try one *without* tracing.”

Chuuya’s head shot up.

“…Already?”

“Yep.”

Chuuya exhaled slowly, twirling the pencil in his fingers.

“…You’re really not letting me ease into this, huh?”

“You’re doing better than you realize.”

A brief pause hung in the air.

Chuuya turned back to the paper.

Then—

“…Fine. Give me one.”

Hizashi’s grin grew wider.

And just like that—

Chuuya was no longer just enduring the lesson.

He was actively engaging with it.

By the time math rolled around, Chuuya Nakahara felt like his brain had been through a completely different kind of battle.

“…Numbers are worse,” he grumbled, staring down at the last page.

Present Mic chuckled. “You survived gravity manipulation—pretty sure you can tackle addition.”

“Barely,” Chuuya retorted.

Yet, he *had* done it.

Simple one-digit addition.

Slow.

But accurate.

Hizashi handed him a couple of workbooks.

“Take these,” he instructed. “Practice back at the dorm. No rush—but don’t slack off.”

Chuuya accepted them, flipping through briefly.

“…Yeah, yeah.”

But this time, he didn’t complain nearly as much.

---

Before long—

it was time for lunch.

---

The cafeteria buzzed with life, packed with students, energy crackling in the air. It was a stark contrast to the calm, focused atmosphere of his lesson.

Chuuya quickly spotted Osamu Dazai and made his way over, dropping into a seat nearby with some members of Class 1-A.

He pulled out a simple sandwich—

and a bottle.

The liquid inside looked… peculiar. Slightly cloudy. Definitely not something anyone there recognized.

Their curiosity was immediate.

Eijiro Kirishima leaned in closer.

“Yo—what’s that?” he asked, eyes wide.

Beside him, Mina Ashido tilted her head in intrigue.

“Yeah, that drink looks kinda weird.”

Chuuya glanced at it, then took a small sip as if it were completely normal.

“…Medicine,” he replied nonchalantly.

That only piqued their interest further.

Dazai chimed in.

“you know that huge earthquake a couple weeks ago?” he asked.

Mina paused for a moment.

“…Yeah.”

Uraraka blinked, confusion etched on her face. “What does that have to do with the drink?”

A brief silence enveloped the table.

Then—

Dazai spoke up, his tone calm yet serious.

“That earthquake,” he said, “was caused by Chuuya.”

The table fell silent.

“…WHAT?!” Kirishima nearly choked on his food.

Mina’s eyes widened in disbelief. “No way!”

Uraraka looked shocked. “Y-you caused an earthquake?!”

Chuuya clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed that this was now public knowledge.

“…It wasn’t intentional.”

Dazai continued, his tone still light but devoid of humor.

“He went through something that pushed his ability too far,” he explained. “The aftereffects hit him hard.”

Chuuya took another sip of his drink.

“…My body’s still recovering,” he added. “So I’ve gotta stick to certain things until it stabilizes.”

That provided some clarity about the drink.

Mostly.

But not entirely.

From further down the table—

Katsuki Bakugo leaned forward, his eyes sharp and piercing.

“…What the hell did you go through to cause a *fucking earthquake*?” he demanded.

Silence fell once more.

For a fleeting moment—

an unreadable exchange passed between Chuuya and Dazai.

Then—

nothing more was said.

Chuuya took another bite of his sandwich, focusing on that instead.

Dazai leaned back slightly, allowing the moment to pass.

They both chose to ignore the question entirely.

Bakugo clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Tch. Figured as much.”

But he didn’t push further.

Not just yet.

Kirishima scratched the back of his head, still trying to process the revelation. “…Still, man… that’s kind of insane.”

Mina nodded vigorously. “Yeah, like—*really* insane.”

Uraraka’s concern deepened. “Are you… okay though?”

Chuuya shrugged slightly.

“…I will be.”

Dazai glanced at him, a silent understanding passing between them—but he didn’t interrupt.

Because some things—

simply couldn’t be explained.

Not in that moment.

Not like this.

And certainly not yet.