Returning to class had that particular quality of things that are normal on the surface but not normal at all underneath.
The UA building looked the same. The hallways, the classrooms, the large door of Class 1-A that Mineta had crossed for the first time weeks ago. Everything was the same.
What wasn't the same was the people inside.
Mineta entered the classroom and noticed immediately that quality of twenty people who had shared something normally unshared and were now in the same usual space with that weight hanging over them. It wasn't exactly tension. It was more like the weight of something that had happened and was still happening, even if it was no longer visible.
He sat in his usual fourth-row seat.
Behind him, the familiar sound of Yaoyorozu's pen on her notebook.
Some things didn't change.
Kirishima arrived with Kaminari, both talking about something Mineta didn't fully catch but that had the quality of a conversation started before entering the building and not yet finished. Uraraka arrived with Asui, who calmly took her seat and pulled out her notebook with the methodical routine of someone for whom routine is a form of order.
Bakugo arrived alone, sat down, and looked ahead with the posture of someone who had decided the day had a specific goal and didn't need to elaborate that goal to anyone.
Midoriya arrived with his notebook already open, writing as he walked, with that continuous analytical focus Mineta had learned to recognize as his natural state during periods with much to process.
Todoroki arrived silently. He sat down. Looked ahead.
The class gradually filled with that quality of things returning to shape after being deformed—not exactly the same, but close enough to function.
Kaminari was the first to break the silence, which was predictable because Kaminari and silence had a complicated relationship usually resolved in Kaminari's favor.
— Do you think Aizawa-sensei will come today? — he asked, loud enough for half the class to hear but with the tone of someone technically only speaking to Sero.
— He's in the hospital — said Sero.
— Yeah, but it's Aizawa-sensei.
Sero processed that for a moment.
— Valid point — he admitted.
— I think he'll come — said Ashido from her row, turning. — I think he'll come wrapped in bandages from head to toe and act like nothing's wrong.
— That would be very Aizawa-sensei — said Kirishima.
— Too Aizawa-sensei — added Jirou.
— Can there be too much Aizawa-sensei? — asked Kaminari.
The question went unanswered philosophically because at that moment the classroom door opened.
Aizawa Shouta entered.
Wrapped in bandages from head to toe.
The silence that followed had a specific quality, different from the silence before he entered. It was the silence of twenty people simultaneously processing that Ashido had been literally correct in a way that was almost uncomfortable.
Aizawa walked to his desk.
He sat.
He looked at them.
— Good morning — he said, in exactly the same tone as always, with the same energy of someone for whom showing up to work in his physical state was a completely reasonable decision that needed no further explanation.
Silence.
Ashido looked at Kirishima with wide eyes.
Kirishima looked at Ashido with equally wide eyes.
Kaminari looked ahead, processing whether what he was seeing was real or if the break during closure had affected him in some particular way.
— Sensei — said Iida finally, with the voice of someone who has many things to say and is carefully selecting which to say first —, with all due respect, should you be here?
— I am here — said Aizawa. — That answers the question.
— Technically, that answers a different question — murmured Midoriya, low enough that only Mineta and Uraraka could hear from nearby.
Uraraka covered her mouth with her hand.
Mineta looked ahead with the expression of someone who hadn't heard anything.
— The doctors said I could attend — Aizawa added, with the tone of someone who had had this discussion and won, though the doctors probably wouldn't fully agree with the final score. — With conditions.
— What conditions? — asked Yaoyorozu from the fifth row.
— That I do nothing physical.
— And what if you have to erase a quirk? — asked Kaminari, with the genuine curiosity of someone who hadn't fully calculated whether it was a good question before asking.
— Then I do something physical — said Aizawa.
Kaminari opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened his notebook.
Sero, beside him, wrote something on a paper and passed it over.
Kaminari read it and nodded with the solemnity of someone receiving important wisdom.
Mineta couldn't see what was on the paper, but Kaminari's expression suggested it was probably about when to ask Aizawa-sensei questions and when not to.
Aizawa let the classroom absorb his presence for a moment, a technique he deliberately used even if never described in those terms.
— Before continuing with the schedule — he said finally — there's one pending matter. With everything from the USJ and the closure days, we didn't choose class representatives.
The classroom processed this.
— Do we do it now? — asked Uraraka.
— Yes.
— How? — asked Kaminari. — Vote?
— Vote — confirmed Aizawa.
— I can organize the process — said Iida immediately, with the posture of someone who found a logistical problem and has very concrete opinions on solving it correctly.
— No — said Aizawa.
Iida blinked.
— No?
— If you organize the process, you're also a candidate. Conflict of interest.
Iida processed that for a second with the expression of someone whose internal logic reached the same conclusion as Aizawa's but who expected to reach it on his own.
— That makes sense — he admitted, sitting with the particular rigidity of someone accepting an argument he doesn't like but can't refute.
— Good. Papers.
Yaoyorozu was already producing paper before Aizawa finished the sentence, with the efficiency of someone who anticipated the need before it was verbally expressed.
Aizawa looked at her for a second, noticing but choosing not to comment.
— Everyone writes a name. Representative and alternate separately.
The voting process had that quality of organized chaos inevitable when twenty people with opinions have limited time.
Kaminari whispered to Sero asking if he could vote for himself.
Sero said technically yes, but it was "very specific energy."
Kaminari pondered that longer than necessary and then wrote a name that wasn't his own, though no one ever knew which.
Ashido wrote hers with the concentration of someone making an important decision, folded it carefully, unfolded to correct something, and refolded with the expression of someone who reached a definitive conclusion.
Bakugo wrote his in about two seconds, placed it on the desk with the energy of someone who had an opinion from the start and didn't need the voting process to know it.
Todoroki wrote his with geometric precision, folded it, and passed it forward without looking at anyone in particular.
Mineta wrote Yaoyorozu as representative and Iida as alternate, folded them, and passed them forward.
Collecting the papers took longer than it should because someone, Hagakure, dropped hers twice, and locating them required a moment of collective effort since they were invisible along with her.
— Sorry, sorry — said Hagakure, with the voice of someone genuinely embarrassed even though no one could see her expression to confirm.
— You have them? — asked Ojiro, next to her, with the advantage of roughly knowing where Hagakure was at all times.
— I think so. — A pause. — Yes. I have them.
— Sure? — asked Aizawa, in the tone of someone deliberately patient.
— Sure — Hagakure confirmed. — Well. Pretty sure.
— Pretty sure isn't enough.
— Very sure — she corrected. — I really have them.
— Fine — said Aizawa, with the tone of someone deciding this conversation ends regardless of whether Hagakure has the papers.
Kaminari whispered to Sero that this exchange was the most stressful part of the day so far.
Sero said the day wasn't over yet.
Aizawa counted silently, with the efficiency of someone processing information without needing to comment while doing so.
The classroom waited.
Kaminari whispered something to Sero that Mineta didn't fully hear, ending in a bet.
Sero shook his head.
Kaminari nodded as if confirming his original theory.
Ashido stared ahead with the concentration of someone awaiting important sports results.
Jirou had the expression of someone who already knows the result and waits for confirmation.
— Class representative — said Aizawa finally, without looking up from the papers — Yaoyorozu Momo.
From the fifth row came the sound of someone who had been taking notes and suddenly stopped.
— Me? — said Yaoyorozu.
— Clear majority — said Aizawa.
— But I didn't… — Yaoyorozu paused, processing several things simultaneously. — I didn't volunteer.
— Class representative elections don't require volunteering. They require people to write your name.
Yaoyorozu looked around the classroom.
The classroom returned the gaze with varied expressions. Uraraka nodded enthusiastically. Kirishima gave a thumbs-up, energy of someone considering this the correct outcome. Todoroki looked forward with functional indifference. Midoriya with the expression of someone who voted with conviction and is satisfied.
Bakugo stared ahead with the expression of someone who has an opinion but doesn't prioritize expressing it right now.
Kaminari, from his row, in a voice not entirely low:
— I knew it.
Sero, beside him:
— You didn't.
— I strongly intuited it.
— Intuition isn't the same.
— For me, it is.
Aizawa didn't comment, which was in itself a form of comment.
Yaoyorozu looked around the classroom one more second with that composure, though there was more underneath than calm acceptance, visible only to those who knew exactly where to look.
Mineta knew where to look.
Pressure, he noted mentally. Yaoyorozu didn't want this because wanting it would mean fully trusting she could do it. That trust isn't fully consolidated yet.
— Alright — said Yaoyorozu finally. — I accept.
— Good — said Aizawa. — Alternate: Iida Tenya.
Iida straightened in his chair with the posture of someone receiving important news and calibrating the right response.
— It's an honor — he said, completely sincere. — I will do my best to support Yaoyorozu-san and serve this class as efficiently as possible.
— No speech necessary — said Aizawa.
— It wasn't a speech. It was a statement of intent.
— The difference is smaller than you think.
Iida processed that with the expression of someone not fully agreeing but recognizing this is not the moment to debate.
— Understood — he said, sitting with extra rigidity as someone assuming an official responsibility.
Kaminari nudged Sero.
— I knew that too.
— You didn't.
— I strongly intuited it too.
— Strong intuition isn't prior knowledge.
— In my case, yes.
Sero looked at the ceiling, expression of someone having this conversation too many times to find it new but without a better plan for the next half hour.
Aizawa let the representative moment settle exactly four seconds, enough for the class to process one piece of information before receiving the next.
Which, coming from Aizawa, was practically a dramatic pause.
— Good — he said. — One more thing.
The tone hadn't changed. Exactly the same as always, the same he used for surprise exams, expulsions, or any announcement regardless of importance.
Meaning the tone gave no hint about what was coming.
The classroom noticed. There was something in the way twenty people fell silent simultaneously that was different from usual silence.
— The UA Sports Festival — said Aizawa — will take place in three weeks.
Silence.
Then the classroom exploded.
Not all at once, which would have been more manageable. In waves, with that quality of collective indignation that starts at one point and spreads outward.
— Three weeks? — Uraraka looked at Aizawa with wide eyes. — After the USJ, three weeks?
— Yes.
— But sensei — said Iida, voice respectful but with genuine objections — isn't that too soon? Some students are still recovering. The class mood isn't exactly…
— Three weeks — repeated Aizawa.
— It's just — said Kaminari — literally a week ago there was a giant creature breaking things. And now we have a festival. It's a little… — he searched — weird?
— Not weird — said Aizawa.
— A little weird — murmured Ashido, low enough that Aizawa technically didn't hear.
Aizawa looked at her.
Ashido looked at her notebook, suddenly absorbed by its immense interest.
— Sensei — said Yaoyorozu, calm in her new representative position, still calibrating — I understand there are institutional reasons for keeping the schedule, but perhaps you could explain the reasoning so the class can process it better.
Aizawa looked for a second.
If there was acknowledgment that the newly elected representative was already exercising her role, it wasn't visible from outside.
— Fine — he said. — I'll explain once.
The classroom calmed with the specific speed of people who learned that when Aizawa says "once," it's best to listen.
— The Sports Festival has existed for decades — said Aizawa, voice unchanged but weighted when saying important things. — Cancelling it sends a message. The message is that the villains who attacked USJ achieved something. That they changed how UA functions. That they have that power.
Silence.
— Cancelling the Festival — he continued — is giving them victory. It says an attack is enough to make this institution alter what it does and how. UA will not say that.
— But — said Midoriya, processing logic while speaking — isn't it dangerous? If we know organized villains want to attack UA…
— The Festival has the highest concentration of professional heroes of the year — said Aizawa. — As a safety measure, it's more efficient than any closure. Villains attacking during the Festival will find more resistance than any other time.
Midoriya nodded slowly, realizing an uncomfortable but irrefutable conclusion.
— Also — said Aizawa, tone shifting slightly, with that quality of emphasizing the most important part — the Sports Festival is the most important opportunity of the year for you. Professional agencies watch. Recruiters are there. What you do during those hours can determine your internships, your connections, your whole trajectory.
The classroom processed that differently than before.
Kirishima straightened.
Bakugo had a new expression, something behind it not exactly conventional enthusiasm, but his version of it, more focused and colder than usual.
Ashido and Kaminari exchanged a glance containing more information than such a glance should hold.
— All agencies? — asked Todoroki, calm but with attention slightly different from usual.
— The main ones — said Aizawa.
Todoroki looked ahead silently, but Mineta noticed something in his posture had shifted.
Endeavor, thought Mineta. Todoroki knows his father will be watching. That means something very specific for him.
— And if someone isn't recovered by then? — asked Uraraka, asking what others were thinking but only she voiced.
Aizawa looked at her.
— Three weeks — he said — is enough time to recover from what came out of USJ, if used correctly.
Mineta heard that and thought of Hayashi saying two weeks of base work before control training. Exactly two weeks within those three.
Just, he thought. Exactly just.
The classroom took a while to settle completely after the announcement, energy redistributed as people adjusted internal plans.
Kaminari told Sero he'd train so hard agencies would fight over him.
Sero said that was optimistic.
Kaminari said optimism was his secondary quirk.
Kirishima said Kaminari's optimism was actually stronger than his electrical quirk, though with fewer direct combat applications.
Kaminari considered if that was a compliment for several seconds before deciding yes.
Bakugo didn't speak, but the way he held his pen had changed, with the tension of someone who has made a decision and is holding it until needed.
Yaoyorozu in the fifth row took notes again, pen faster than before, mind processing multiple things and using writing to organize.
Mineta in the fourth row looked ahead.
Three weeks.
Two weeks base work with Hayashi. One week Resin Protocol control training before the Festival if everything goes to plan, optimistic but possible.
Not ideal, he thought, honestly. But it is what it is.
Aizawa let them process, time enough to be less than most would ask, but more than anyone expected from someone in his physical state.
— One more thing — he said in his usual tone.
The class looked.
— The Sports Festival isn't a celebration — Aizawa said. — It's work. What you do there has real consequences. Treat it accordingly.
Silence.
— Questions? — asked Aizawa.
— Can we know the format? — asked Midoriya.
— Not yet.
— Can we train outside class? — asked Kirishima.
— Always.
— And if it rains? — asked Kaminari.
Aizawa looked.
Kaminari considered for about two seconds and decided probably not.
— Legit logistical question — he said, less conviction than at first.
— It's in a covered stadium — Aizawa said, deciding it deserved an answer.
— Good — said Kaminari. — That's what I wanted to know.
Sero looked at him.
— That wasn't what you wanted.
— Part of it.
— A very specific part.
— All parts are specific. That's how parts work.
Aizawa closed his folder with the precise sound of someone ending a one-sided conversation.
— Let's start — he said.
Class began.
That afternoon, in the notebook:
*First day back.
Aizawa-sensei arrived wrapped head-to-toe in bandages and acted like nothing happened. Ashido predicted it exactly. Some things are inevitable.*
Representatives: Yaoyorozu Rep, Iida Alternate. Makes sense. Yaoyorozu accepted calmly though more complicated underneath. Pressure of someone who didn't want the role because wanting it would require full trust in her own ability. She'll handle it alone. That's how she works.
Sports Festival. Three weeks. Aizawa explained: cancelling is giving them the victory. Not cancelled.
Plan: two weeks base work with Hayashi. One week Resin Protocol control training. I reach the Festival with an evolved quirk I don't fully master. Not ideal.
Long pause. Then:
But the Festival in original canon was where several students defined their paths. Where Todoroki began resolving long-standing issues. Where Midoriya continued building what he's building.
And where Mineta Minoru was irrelevant.
That changes.
Closed the notebook.
Three weeks.
The work started tomorrow.
End of Episode 22.