Enough

Ochaco was just about to ask Y/N a question when the door to the classroom suddenly slid open, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. The entrance was marked by the appearance of a man with wild, black hair and a tired expression, who looked like he had just rolled out of bed. His hero costume was dark, disheveled, and worn, and his overall demeanor carried an air of authority that immediately silenced the class. 

“Class 1-A, I’m your homeroom teacher,” the man said, his voice rough, matching the weariness that seemed to hang about him like a second skin. “My name’s Shota Aizawa.”

The students’ reaction was a mix of curiosity and apprehension, but Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. Aizawa. Shota Aizawa. She’d known of him for years, admired him from afar, and never expected that her path would lead her here, in a classroom with him standing before her, ready to teach. 

Aizawa had always been her ideal—a stoic hero who radiated strength, discipline, and control. She had looked up to him from the moment she saw him in action, with his calm demeanor even in the most dangerous situations. He was the type of hero who didn't care for the limelight, yet he was respected and revered by many. The way he carried himself, the authority he exuded, and the quiet intelligence behind his eyes—she admired it all. 

Y/N had never imagined she’d be here, in this very classroom with him, let alone in a situation where he’d be teaching her. She’d imagined U.A. for so long, but this was different. This was real. And if she had known Aizawa would be her teacher, she would have prepared herself differently. The words she had spoken earlier, her casual remarks about Bakugo—would she have said them the same way if she’d known he was listening? 

Her hands trembled slightly as they reached up to adjust the earring in her ear, the one given to her by Hawks. It was a small, almost insignificant thing to the outside world—just a simple feather-shaped earring—but to her, it was a reminder of the bond they shared, and a symbol of comfort amidst the chaos that had surrounded her life recently. In a world of constant change, that earring was a piece of stability she clung to, something familiar that kept her grounded.

As her fingers brushed the earring, she glanced up at Aizawa. Their eyes met for just a brief second, but the intensity of it felt like an eternity. His gaze flickered to her earring, lingering on it just a fraction longer than it should have. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Y/N caught it. Aizawa’s eyes softened ever so slightly, the briefest of pauses before his gaze returned to its usual detached indifference. 

Y/N quickly averted her gaze, her heart hammering in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she had imagined it, but the fleeting moment of attention felt heavier than it should have. There was something about the way he looked at her, something she couldn’t quite place. Was it recognition? Did he know about Hawks, about their connection? No, it didn’t make sense. They were in a professional setting now—U.A., a school for heroes—and there was no room for distractions. 

Aizawa cleared his throat, and the class quickly fell into silence, all eyes on him as he spoke again. 

“P.E. clothes,” he said, holding out a stack of uniforms to the students. “Get changed and meet me at the P.E. grounds. We’re doing a Quirk Apprehension Test. You’ll be tested on your Quirks since you couldn’t use them in high school.”

A murmur of excitement and anxiety filled the room as the students exchanged glances. This was it—the first official test of their abilities at U.A. Everyone was eager to see what their classmates could do, what their own limits were. But Y/N stayed silent, her mind far from the test that awaited them. Her thoughts were still tangled in the moment that had just passed, the lingering tension in the air between her and Aizawa. 

She accepted the P.E. clothes from Aizawa with a stiff nod, avoiding his eyes this time as she turned to leave the room. As she made her way down the hall with the others, her thoughts raced. *Aizawa. He’s really here, teaching at U.A. And he… he looked at my earring. Did he notice it? Could he have known what it means to me?*

She shook her head, trying to clear her mind. She was reading too much into it. Aizawa was just a teacher. He wasn’t interested in her, and even if he had recognized the earring, it didn’t mean anything. It was probably nothing. Get it together, Y/N, she reminded herself. She had bigger things to worry about than her feelings. U.A. was where she needed to focus. There was too much at stake.

As she entered the changing room, she caught a glimpse of Aizawa again, standing near the doorway, watching the students leave. Their eyes briefly met once more. Y/N could have sworn there was something in his gaze, something deeper than before, a flicker of recognition. But it was gone before she could analyze it further, and the brief moment of connection passed quickly.

Her pulse quickened, and she quickly turned her attention to changing into her P.E. uniform, trying to shake off the feeling that had taken root in her chest. The fabric of the uniform felt tight against her skin, a reminder of the test ahead. But even as she moved with purpose, her mind kept returning to that fleeting look from Aizawa. 

He’s not interested in me. He’s not. Stop it, Y/N.

But despite her reassurances, she couldn’t help the nervous flutter in her stomach. Why did she feel so unsettled? Why did she feel this pull, this undeniable connection that didn’t seem to make sense?

Once changed, Y/N made her way toward the exit, glancing toward Aizawa one final time before heading outside. He was standing at the door, his posture more relaxed than it had been before, his eyes scanning the students as they gathered outside. When he saw her, his posture shifted ever so slightly. His gaze lingered on her for just a moment, and it made her feel… uneasy. 

Maybe I’m reading too much into this, she thought. It’s just my imagination. He’s a teacher. Nothing more.

But deep down, Y/N wasn’t so sure. There was something about the way he looked at her, the weight of it, that made her question if there was more beneath the surface. 

As they all made their way to the P.E. grounds, Y/N pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind. She had to focus. The Quirk Apprehension Test was waiting, and there would be plenty of time for everything else later.

For now, though, she couldn’t help but feel the odd, unsettling mix of excitement and nervousness as she stepped forward. This is U.A. I’m here for a reason. And I won’t let anything—especially not my feelings—get in the way of that.

Hawks sat at his desk, flipping through a stack of reports, though his mind was far from focused on the paperwork in front of him. His gaze wandered to the window, where the steady rainfall blurred the world outside into a soft, muted haze. It had been a busy week, one filled with countless tasks, but there was a quiet comfort in the dullness of the day. The rain's rhythm was soothing, and for a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the tranquility of it.

Then, almost imperceptibly, a familiar sensation tugged at his senses. It was subtle but unmistakable—like a whisper on the edge of his awareness. He felt the faintest shift in his feather, the one he had given to Y/N. It wasn’t a strong pull, but just enough for him to recognize it. His hand paused midair, the pen still loosely gripped between his fingers, as his attention honed in on the feeling. The feather shifted slightly, as if it were being absentmindedly played with. 

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

She’s thinking about me again. 

The thought lingered in his mind, warm and comforting. He didn’t know why, but there was something soothing about knowing she was there, somewhere, toying with the feather he had given her. It was just a small token, a simple thing, but the fact that she cared enough to hold onto it, to find comfort in it, made him feel connected to her in a way he couldn’t explain. The image of her absentmindedly running her fingers over it, as if it were a piece of him she could cling to, brought a quiet joy to his chest.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, and closed his eyes for a moment. The soft sensation of her interaction with the feather echoed in his mind, a comforting hum amidst the noise of his thoughts. Despite the rain and the mountain of reports waiting for him, Hawks found himself at peace. 

The feather itself was a small thing—insignificant to anyone who didn’t know the story behind it. But for Y/N, it had become something more. It symbolized safety, care—perhaps even a quiet connection between them. Hawks wondered, with a small chuckle, if she even realized just how much it meant to him that she kept it close. That, somehow, the feather had become a part of her life. 

He smiled to himself. She’ll probably get into trouble for losing it one of these days, he thought, but it didn’t bother him. That’s alright. I’ll be there when she needs me.

A fleeting thought crossed his mind: did she ever think about him the way he thought about her in these quiet moments? He didn’t know, and honestly, it didn’t matter much. What mattered was that, for now, she was safe. She had the feather, and with it, a reminder that he was there for her, even if from afar. 

His smile widened, and he shook his head, returning his attention to the reports with a renewed sense of purpose. Something as simple as Y/N playing with his feather had brightened his day. 

And for now, that was enough.

The atmosphere on the P.E. Grounds was charged with an undercurrent of competition as Y/N stood quietly among the students of Class 1-A, preparing for the Quirk Apprehension Test. The air was thick with anticipation, but Y/N didn’t feel the usual rush of adrenaline that came with it. The rules were being laid out by their homeroom teacher, Shota Aizawa, his tone as cold and indifferent as ever. The students around her fidgeted with nerves, stretching or chatting excitedly, but she remained calm. This wasn’t her first time facing a test. She had been through plenty before, but here, at U.A., it was different. 

The other students had their eyes on the prize—their Quirks were impressive, powerful, and full of potential. Some of them pushed themselves hard, desperate to prove themselves, to outdo each other. But Y/N didn’t feel that same drive. She wasn’t here to be the best. She wasn’t here to show off or fight for first place. Her goal was simple: survival.

She didn’t need to be extraordinary. She just needed to get by.

The first test was the 50-meter dash. Y/N stepped up, her posture casual, and her expression unfazed. She could feel the eyes of her classmates on her, but it didn’t bother her. They could think whatever they wanted. She wasn’t interested in impressing anyone. 

Shota Aizawa’s piercing gaze swept over the class, but Y/N blocked it out. She had learned long ago to tune out distractions. The whistle blew, and without a moment’s hesitation, she pushed herself forward. Her legs moved with practiced ease, each stride powerful but effortless. Speed had always been one of her strengths. Her body had been trained for years to respond without thought, to move as quickly and fluidly as possible. 

The wind rushed past her face as she surged toward the finish line, her body barely breaking a sweat as she crossed the mark in a blur. Her time wasn’t the fastest—certainly not record-breaking—but it was solid. She didn’t need to try too hard. She knew she had the potential to run faster, but why push herself to the limit for something so trivial?

The other students might have been trying to one-up each other, but Y/N wasn’t here for competition. She was just here to pass.

The grip strength test followed, and Y/N eyed the device with a cool, calculating gaze. She’d always been strong—her Quirk, if she had one, was likely to enhance that. But she wasn’t going to show her full capabilities here. She had to keep things in check, not stand out too much. She placed her hand firmly around the grip, squeezing with just the right amount of force to get a high score. The numbers shot up quickly, but she didn’t linger to admire her performance. 

It was high, too high for a normal student. Y/N forced herself to relax her hand and let go of the device. She glanced at the score, then made a mental note to keep things in moderation. The last thing she wanted was to raise any suspicions. She wasn’t here to be a standout student; she just needed to fly under the radar.

As the others moved on to the next tests, Y/N kept a low profile. Katsuki Bakugo blasted through each one with his usual explosive power, causing the other students to watch in awe. Ochaco Uraraka floated effortlessly across the 50-meter dash, and Tenya Iida’s speed was unrivaled. But Y/N wasn’t focused on them. She didn’t care about their performances. They could go ahead and show off. As for her, she didn’t need to prove anything.

Next came the repeated side steps, and Y/N watched as Minoru Mineta used his Quirk, bouncing easily from line to line, his small frame seemingly perfect for the test. When it was her turn, Y/N moved with grace, her feet gliding across the ground in a smooth, fluid motion. She had practiced this as a child, learning to be nimble and light on her feet, moving with the speed and agility required to pass. But again, she kept her pace moderate, not rushing, not over-exerting herself. She wasn’t trying to show off—just get through the test without standing out.

Then came the ball throw, the one Y/N had been dreading. It was the one test where it was almost impossible to remain inconspicuous. The idea of drawing attention to herself in a way that might raise questions wasn’t something she wanted to deal with. 

She gripped the ball, taking a steadying breath. Her muscles tensed in preparation, but she kept them under tight control. When she released the ball, it flew through the air—further than some of the other students, but not by much. It wasn’t a record-breaking throw, but it was good enough. It was controlled, measured, and most importantly, it wouldn’t raise any suspicion. 

As Aizawa wrote down her score, Y/N made a mental note to continue playing it safe. There was no need for heroics here. She wasn’t interested in making a spectacle of herself. She was just here to get through this day, to survive. 

The remaining tests—distance run, seated toe-touch, and sit-ups—went as smoothly as the others. Y/N kept a steady pace, not too fast, but not too slow. In the distance run, she didn’t push herself to the limit, instead keeping a consistent rhythm that would get her through without exhaustion. The seated toe-touch was a breeze, and the sit-ups were just a matter of endurance. She moved steadily, keeping everything in check. 

By the time the tests were over, Y/N felt the familiar weight of exhaustion settling in. But she didn’t show it. She wasn’t one to wear her emotions on her sleeve, and certainly not in front of her classmates. She stood apart from them as they gathered in groups, talking about their scores and debating who had performed the best. Y/N didn’t care. The results were irrelevant to her.

She glanced at the other students, many of them already celebrating their results, their competitive spirits fired up. But for Y/N, it wasn’t about the results. She wasn’t trying to be a hero. She wasn’t trying to stand out. She was just here to get by.

The thought that had been lingering in the back of her mind resurfaced: Why am I still here? U.A. was a place for the best of the best, and she didn’t belong with them. She didn’t have the drive to be a hero, not really. She was here for a different reason entirely. She wanted to see if she could survive. That’s all.

When the final rankings were revealed, Y/N wasn’t surprised to find herself at the bottom. It wasn’t a defeat—it was simply a confirmation of what she already knew. She wasn’t special. She wasn’t extraordinary. She was average, nothing more.

She looked at her classmates, still celebrating, but she didn’t join in. It didn’t matter to her. She wasn’t trying to prove herself. She had done what she set out to do—survive the tests without attracting attention. 

And today, she had done exactly that.

The air in the U.A. sparring area was thick with tension as Y/N faced off with Shota Aizawa. His sharp gaze tracked her every movement, but she stood perfectly still, an unreadable calm emanating from her. The students of Class 1-A had long since filtered out of the area, leaving Y/N alone with the teacher who, though seemingly indifferent, had made it clear that her performance today had piqued his interest.

Aizawa had made it clear enough during the physical tests: he was watching her closely, and he didn’t think she was showing him everything. Y/N had expected as much. He was a seasoned hero, experienced in picking up on the subtleties of human behavior. She had tried to keep her performance at a level where she wouldn’t draw too much attention, but now, here she was, alone with him, and she knew this spar would be different. Aizawa didn’t miss much, and she couldn’t afford to let him see too much.

"Follow me," Aizawa had said, his voice low and authoritative. Y/N hadn’t hesitated. She had followed him to the empty sparring room, where they now stood face-to-face, the air heavy with unspoken understanding. Aizawa’s eyes were fixed on her with a knowing intensity, his posture relaxed but still ready for anything.

Aizawa was testing her, but not in the usual way. He wasn’t looking for brute strength or overwhelming power. He was looking for something else—something more subtle. He had seen the way she’d held back during the Quirk Apprehension Test, not wanting to stand out. He had seen through her controlled performance. The question now was whether she would let him see what she was really capable of.

"You’ve got brains. That much is obvious," Aizawa said, his voice clipped as he surveyed her, "But that’s not enough. Not in the Hero Course. You’ve got no physical strength behind those scores. No combat ability. And that’s something I can’t overlook."

Y/N didn’t flinch under his gaze. "I know," she replied, her voice steady, betraying none of the nerves she might have felt. She knew exactly what Aizawa wanted to hear, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of letting him know everything. 

"You’re holding back," he said, his eyes narrowing. "And I’m not interested in a half-baked performance. A hero needs more than intelligence. They need strength, speed, and adaptability." 

He stepped forward into a fighting stance, his muscles coiling as he prepared for what was coming next. "I’ll be testing you myself. Get ready. You’ll spar with me."

Y/N’s eyes flicked to his movements, her body remaining still as she sized him up. She had seen Aizawa fight before, and she knew his combat style was ruthless—efficient, and deadly. But she also knew this fight was more than a simple test of skill. It was a test of control. And she wasn’t about to give away any more than she had to.

"You really think you’ll be able to judge me in one fight?" she asked, her tone casual, though she knew the answer already. 

Aizawa didn’t answer. His silence spoke volumes as he lunged forward with the speed of a predator, aiming for her shoulders to throw her off balance. Y/N was prepared for this. She sidestepped smoothly, her body moving with practiced grace as she avoided his strike effortlessly. But instead of following through with an immediate counterattack, she slowed herself down. 

Her movements were deliberate, calculated. She didn’t want to appear too fast or too skilled, and so she let Aizawa’s momentum carry him past her, forcing him to recover his stance before she made her move. It was all part of the act.

Her fist struck him then, but it wasn’t with full force. She didn’t want to hurt him, just knock him off balance, to make it look like she was trying, but not too hard. It was a controlled punch, one that hit him in the midsection with enough force to make him stagger—but not enough to send him reeling. 

Aizawa’s eyes narrowed in response, his stance solidifying as he recovered from the blow. "You’ve got power," he said, his voice low, almost curious. "But you’re still holding back."

Y/N didn’t respond, her expression impassive. She didn’t need to explain herself. She was doing exactly what she wanted, letting him see enough to know she was capable, but not enough to make him believe she was truly a threat. 

The fight continued, and with every strike, Aizawa pushed harder. He aimed for her arms, her legs, trying to find a weakness—any opening he could exploit. But Y/N was faster than he expected. She ducked under his grasping hands, rolled out of his reach, and twisted her body in ways that kept her one step ahead. Yet each time, she never fully committed. She held back just enough to make it seem like she was struggling to keep up, when in reality, she was just being careful.

Aizawa’s strikes came faster, his precision sharper, and his movements more calculated. But Y/N kept her distance, weaving through the fight with a fluidity that belied her true skill. She wasn’t giving him everything. And yet, she wasn’t losing, either. She was making it look natural—like the fight was evenly matched when in reality, it was anything but.

Finally, after several more exchanges, Aizawa went for a grapple, his hands reaching for her in a way that would trap her. Y/N knew it was coming. She could see the change in his body language. This was his moment to pin her, to finish the fight.

But she had other plans. As he lunged toward her, she feigned a moment of vulnerability. She didn’t move as quickly as before, allowing him to grab her wrist. She let him twist her body, and then, in one smooth motion, she allowed herself to be thrown to the ground. 

The impact was sharp, the sound of her body hitting the mat echoing through the room. It hurt—only slightly—but she didn’t let the pain show. Her breathing was controlled, and she lay still for a moment longer than necessary, allowing Aizawa the satisfaction of thinking he had won.

Aizawa stood over her, watching intently. His eyes flicked over her, assessing the situation, looking for signs of weakness. But Y/N didn’t give him the satisfaction of showing any.

"You’re holding back," he muttered, his voice more observant now than before.

Y/N pushed herself up slowly, not wanting to seem too eager. Her body ached slightly from the fall, but her healing factor was already working to ease the discomfort. She stood, wiping off the dust from the mat as she met Aizawa’s gaze.

"I don’t need to win," she said, her voice calm, almost too calm. "I just need to show I’m not a threat. Not yet."

Aizawa studied her for a moment longer, as if trying to piece together the puzzle in front of him. "You’re not fooling me," he said, his tone softer than before, but still firm. 

She could see it now—the realization in his eyes. He knew. He knew she was capable of far more than she was letting on. But he also knew she wasn’t going to show him everything. Not yet.

Aizawa moved in one final time, his speed almost blinding as he reached for her again. This time, Y/N didn’t have the time to evade his grasp fully. His hands caught her by the wrist and in one swift, fluid motion, he brought her back to the mat, pinning her easily beneath him.

Y/N let out a small grunt as she hit the mat once more, but she didn’t struggle. Instead, she relaxed into the hold, giving him the satisfaction of the victory. She had lost, and she knew it. But that was part of the plan. Aizawa would think she had been outclassed. He would think she was nothing special, a student who had fallen short. 

"Well," she muttered, her voice tinged with dry humor, "Looks like I lost."

Aizawa didn’t say anything at first, his grip still firm on her, but then a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It’s good to see my number one fan again," he murmured, before standing up and brushing off his hands, his gaze flickering over her one last time.

Y/N remained on the mat for a moment longer, catching her breath. The fight hadn’t been about winning—it had never been about winning. It had been about showing restraint, about proving to Aizawa that she was more than she appeared, without ever fully revealing her true strength. 

"If you ever need a fan again," she said with a smirk, her voice barely above a whisper, "I’ll be around."

Aizawa turned to leave, his footsteps heavy against the floor. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start again."

As he exited, Y/N allowed herself a small exhale, rolling over to push herself up. The fight had been an exercise in control. And though Aizawa might not have fully understood it yet, Y/N knew she had passed the test.