Chapter 4: What a Hero Is
UA was loud in the mornings.
Students talked about training, rankings, quirks, and future hero names, their voices filling the halls with energy that felt almost aggressive, like everyone was trying to prove they existed by being heard.
I walked through it without joining in.
That was normal.
I took my seat near the window, placing my bag down carefully, sitting straight, hands folded, eyes forward, while the class slowly settled around me, laughter fading into murmurs, murmurs into silence as Aizawa entered the room.
He looked the same as always.
Tired.
Uninterested.
Watching everything.
Class passed without anything special happening.
No lectures about my quirk.
No warnings.
No looks filled with suspicion.
And somehow, that made my chest feel heavier than before.
---
After the bell rang, students stood up quickly, chairs scraping against the floor as they rushed out, eager for lunch, eager to be anywhere else, while I remained seated, staring at my desk, thinking.
About Mai.
About fear.
About what I had taken.
About whether saving someone was still saving if they lost something important because of it.
I stood up slowly and walked toward the door at the front of the classroom.
Aizawa noticed immediately.
He always did.
"What is it?" he asked, already tired.
"I want to ask you something," I said.
He studied me for a moment, then sighed.
"Five minutes," he said. "Walk."
---
We stopped in the empty hallway outside the classroom.
Sunlight came through the tall windows, casting long shadows across the floor, the quiet making every sound feel sharper than it should have been.
I stood still, unsure where to start.
Aizawa leaned against the wall, arms crossed, waiting.
"Sir," I said finally.
"Yes?" he replied.
"Who do you think is the greatest hero?" I asked.
He blinked.
Once.
That alone surprised me.
"The greatest?" he repeated.
"Yes," I said.
He looked away, eyes drifting toward the window.
"People usually say All Might," he said. "They like symbols. They like smiles."
"That's not your answer," I said.
"No," he agreed.
I waited.
"The greatest hero," Aizawa said slowly, "is the one who finishes the job and makes it home alive."
I frowned slightly.
"That's all?" I asked.
"That's enough," he replied.
The answer sat wrong in my chest.
It felt incomplete.
"So," I said carefully, "what does it mean to be a hero?"
Aizawa didn't answer right away.
The hallway remained quiet.
"A hero," he said at last, "is someone who makes a choice when no good options exist."
I thought about that.
"And if every choice hurts someone?" I asked.
He looked at me again.
This time, his eyes were sharp.
"Then you live with it," he said.
I swallowed.
"What if saving someone changes them?" I asked. "What if they survive, but they lose something important?"
Aizawa's expression tightened.
"Are you asking for permission," he asked, "or forgiveness?"
"I don't know," I answered honestly.
He exhaled slowly.
"Heroes don't get permission," he said. "And forgiveness doesn't always come."
The words hit harder than shouting would have.
I nodded.
"One more question," I said.
"Make it quick," he replied.
"If someone saves everyone," I said, "but people start hating them for it… are they still a hero?"
Aizawa didn't respond immediately.
For a long moment, he just looked at the floor.
"Yes," he said finally. "But they don't get to decide that."
I bowed slightly.
"Thank you for answering," I said.
He watched me turn away.
"Kido," he said.
I stopped.
"Being a hero isn't about being right," he added. "It's about accepting what your actions become."
I nodded once and walked away.
---
Lunch felt louder than usual.
I sat at the edge of a table, eating quietly, listening more than speaking, watching how people moved, how they laughed, how easily emotions passed between them.
I wondered how fragile all of it really was.
Shoto sat across from me.
He didn't speak at first.
Then, "You talked to Aizawa," he said.
"Yes," I replied.
"What about?" he asked.
I thought about lying.
I didn't.
"I asked what a hero is," I said.
Shoto paused, chopsticks hovering midair.
"And?" he asked.
"I'm still not sure," I answered.
He nodded, like he understood more than he said.
"You're strange," Shoto said quietly.
"I know," I replied.
He looked at me for a moment longer.
"You don't feel like Dad," he added.
That surprised me.
"I don't want to," I said.
"That's good," Shoto replied.
Then he stood up and left.
I sat there, staring at my tray, feeling something warm in my chest that I didn't recognize at first.
It took me a moment to realize it was relief.
---
Later that evening, I stood alone on the training field.
No exercises.
No orders.
Just open space and cooling air.
I closed my eyes.
I reached out slightly.
Not enough to erase.
Just enough to feel.
The world softened.
Then I stopped.
My hands shook.
I clenched them into fists.
I remembered Aizawa's words.
Accepting what your actions become.
I didn't know if I could do that forever.
But I knew one thing.
I didn't want to be a hero who smiled while people lost parts of themselves.
And if that meant walking a different path—
Then I would walk it alone.
---
That night, as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, a thought formed quietly in my mind.
If the world decides I am dangerous…
Then I will make sure it never sees who I am protecting.
The room stayed silent.
But for the first time—
The silence answered back.
------------------ End of Chapter 4 -----------------