It was the third day into the summer training camp, and all Aizawa could say was that he was mildly impressed with his students. Of course, he expected that his homeroom class would break and come back stronger; that was the point of the whole trip anyways. Although mentally and physically they've grown the past semester, quirk-wise, they just about stayed the same, and this training camp was supposed to stop that. Iida, Midoriya, Todoroki, and Bakugo were obviously on top of everyone else in the class' games, they were trying their hardest during their training for various reasons. He knew that ever since he saw them peak out of the forest on the first day when they'd finally reached their destination. That didn't mean he wasn't a bit proud of all the other students though, they've all achieved and grown from who they were on the first day of school. He was training the next generation of heroes, but he couldn't help but especially feel confident in this year's particular new batch of upcoming heroes. 

The future was going to be in good hands, and he was relieved. It meant he could relax when he had the time or motivation to settle down. He needed some time off but that begged the question with what he was going to do with so much time if that was the case. He wasn't old, and he wasn't injured too much to not be able to do hero work, thank Recovery Girl for that, maybe in twenty years he would retire? But what would he do? Take a nap? He already used up all his free time to do that, after all he was a teacher by day and hero by night, but technically he was a hero 24/7. 

Heroes didn't get breaks unlike any other professions. Because there was always trouble and someone that needed to be saved no matter what time of day, whether at 3 AM in the morning or at 7PM, there was never an inconvenient time for villains, only for heroes really. Most heroes got breaks by either retiring or leaving, he didn't want to mention the second option just because it was an inevitable and unwilling breather for heroes as they permanently left their jobs and life behind. But if he's able to somehow live a normal and healthy life (well as normal and healthy as it could possibly be as a pro hero), maybe he'll actually have a break from... everything he guessed. 

Other than napping, he never really saw himself doing anything other than work. Maybe if he was forced to, he would be dragged into Nemuri and Hizashi's antics or activities, but really, he had no planned what to do because he's been so focused on the present. He had no time to daydream of what his future would be like, let alone what'd he do if he didn't have so much goddamn work piled on him. Having two jobs kept him on his guard and toes, and he wasn't sure what it would be like to suddenly just release the stress and hardships that came with both occupations. He was a busy man, always has been, and he couldn't imagine himself without each job because it just made him who he was. He was a strict-ass teacher and sensei and a media-hating, underground hero, nothing more and nothing less. 

Heroes aren't considered as humans to most. They were considered as gods to some, protectors, guardian angels, but definitely not humans. Because they were raised to have higher expectations of those that were pro heroes, and that meant that pro heroes couldn't make any mistakes, no matter how trivial it was, anything from little to big could immediately knock a hero off of his pedestal. That's why he was an underground hero; so there was no way he'd be placed on one, where it's just a museum exhibit in which people could judge and examine. They had such fickle minds, but one thing was for sure. 

Once someone took up an occupation as a pro hero, they would never be considered as anything but that. Vulnerability and weaknesses weren't allowed in a hero, because that dubbed them as incompetent and weak heroes. Although it was heroes that played a huge role in society, it was obviously the civilians that shape their society, after all, it was the majority of human populations. And because of those high expectations, heroes were never given a break because they were expected to do their jobs. It made sense, didn't it? But heroes were enslaved by society with its constant need to feel safe, and as much as he hated it, he accepted it as well. Being an underground hero helped that burden lessen, but it was still there to the few people that knew of his real identity as the unheard of Eraserhead. 

That was what being a hero did to him. It made him busy and productive, and he embraced that as his life, so much so that he couldn't imagine what to do with the time he had if he wasn't a pro hero. He had never wanted to be more than just a pro hero, it was his only drive, and he was goddamn thankful that he was given the strength and support from the few that actually stood by his side to become who he was right now. He wanted to save people, so less people would end up like his mother when he was little. But as he ventured down the path of becoming a hero, more reasons popped up around him.

He learned that being a hero gave him... he didn't quite know how to explain it, but it gave him comfort and security, it gave him hope and will, and it gave him something he didn't know he could have: people. He liked having the idea of people around him heading towards the same goal as he was even though they were so different and varied from him in inexplicable amounts. As much as a lone introvert he was, he still appreciated those that were able to look past his barriers. 

But like he said, without heroics he wasn't sure what to spend his extra time without heroics with.

Maybe make a family? 

He shook his head, knowing that he shouldn't be thinking of the future for himself just yet, partially because he had to focus on the current present, but also because he was unsure of his future himself? Settle down with a family? Preposterous. Not like he had the time or effort to... find someone... he'd given up on that dream a long time ago. It seemed almost impossible to imagine himself with a little ravenette girl and boy he was able to come home to, with a wife also there in the kitchen, but he wanted to change that. Attempting to put an image on his life partner's face, he envisioned kind eyes, a perfect smile that would make his heart flutter, and the softness in her tone that would make him melt into a puddle. 

Because he was so lonely, and all he wanted was just someone to make him feel whole again. That was all he wanted really, just someone that made his life worth living, even if just a little. Someone to paint over the dull grays and blacks that represented his life, someone to replace the emptiness he felt in his heart sometimes. He desperately craved love and affection, something to make him just a little content with the life he was living. Even though the way his life was was fine, he wanted something more than just 'fine.' He just wanted someone to just do that for him, because he was alone at thirty-one years old. What he longed for was somebody to make him content to the fullest. He was trying to imagine the person who would do that. 

As he tried painting the picture more, he was imagining the hair, the length and color of it, if it was straight or curly, how it would feel like to run his fingers through them. He imagined their silky, soft hair passing through the gap of his fingers, twirling them and smelling them, maybe of honeysuckle or lavender. How their hair would tickle his skin and face as he kissed the imaginary woman. Then, he would imagine the tender and warm sensations he would receive when they brushed his ebony locks with their hands. 

Next he imagined their eyes; how it would feel to be enchanted by that gaze from her, how just knowing that he had her attention would've made his heart skip. Her eyes would lock onto his for the briefest of seconds and his breath would hitch just from that. She would look into his pitch black pits and examine them like they were an ancient artifact in a museum. 

Their smile was next. It was just the definition of perfect, no matter how rare or often it appeared, he knew it would make his heart just jump from the sight. Because when she smiled, he knew the very familiar feeling of having the will to achieve anything. Knowing he was at fault for just a beautiful sign of joy always made him giddy inside, but her laughter was just as musical as gorgeous as the sight of her grin. It would ring through his ears and his brain would convince himself that it was a sound that came from heaven. He knew that those two actions would make his pumping organ thump heavily against his chest. 

The banter he shared with her would be priceless and treasured in the very depths of his mind, to be stored and never forgotten, and everytime he recalled them it would make him smile or laugh as he relived the past through memories. The sly and flirty remarks from the two of them as they shot back at one another, the playful and jesting insults and names thrown at one another, the flustered reactions they would cause on each other's faces, he loved that. He enjoyed the reproduction of snuggling next to someone for warmth on a cold night, the sound of soft snores filling their bedroom as they contently slept in each other's embrace made his form warm and fuzzy inside. 

He didn't know what it was like to have romantic feelings for someone, but he wouldn't mind being able to explore them. Someone to pull close to his chest and a person how he could share his vulnerabilities and weaknesses without worry, somebody that promised to have never hurt him and leave, the human he imagined being the closest to his heart. He took a second to collect all that information and looked back at the finishing product he created.

His heart stopped and his breathing came to a halt as he stared with wide eyes at the person he saw in his mind.

He stared at an image of Y/N, and all those warm feelings he had of someone disappeared. Because suddenly, that dream was a plane that had been through turbulence and crashed. Of a fletchling bird that tried to fly only to fall to its death. Of a person that wished to be greater but lost their life trying. Of a struggling, introvert teen who had hoped to find love only to get rejected. Because that dream of getting a partner finally dawned on him that that dream was dead for an excruciatingly painful time, and something conflicted in his chest as it drummed rapidly in panic.

He had no future of finding someone, because he was convinced Y/N was the one. He was sure that before no one could replace Y/N, that no one else was more perfect to be by his side than her. All those things he imagined wasn't his ideal wife; it was Y/N. He was remembering her.

He was remembering her. Why? Why was he calling back the memories he had with her? It's not like those memories could be made again. He didn't enjoy those memories because it reminded him of one very agonizing point in his life that he still to this day didn't want to accept or believe. It was something that he couldn't process in his head because his stubborn ass refused to believe it was true, because it wasn't possible was it? Even after fifteen years, he still couldn't come in terms with it, a little faint light and hope that shouldn't be there was, and he was still reaching out for it even though it was a hoax.

That Y/N was gone. 

The hope he had of getting someone special just for him was gone because he imagined that as someone who wasn't here anymore. His heart clenched inside of him bitterly as a tsunami of woe and anguish washed over him, taking over his mind and plaguing his consciousness, the organ beating in his chest twisting in an uncomfortable and wretched way as he continued to ponder over his lover.

Y/N wasn't ever coming back.

...

His lover?

It registered in his head as he came to a terrifying and dreadful realization, and everything in his world stopped as it sent his head spinning. His hands gripped onto his heart metaphorically, his face paling and his form shaking just a bit as he was pulled into a sudden panic. His mind raced at hyperactive speed and a discovery that shouldn't be possible was uncovered as his eyes widened as he searched a little closer just to verify. But it was there, the facts, the evidence, the point was proven and right, and that absolutely scared him to know. It wasn't possible, it can't be! He shouldn't... he couldn't... that can't be! The aching hope he had beating in his chest had faded into an empty void that filled it, and it caused him to hurt even more. 

He still loved her, didn't he?

The tiny voice inside his head whispered and he immediately tried to deny it and refuse. He couldn't accept the truth, just like he couldn't accept that she's been gone for fifteen years. He couldn't possibly still be in love with her... could he..?

He didn't want to admit it, he wanted to deny it with every single thing he had inside of him, because that meant he still had emotions for her. Something he couldn't control, handle, or knew how to deal with. He still loves her, and he hated that because those feelings could never be reciprocated. Heartache shot through his entire being, as he tried to desperately hide himself from the very obvious fact he had been lying to himself for all these years. It hurted to know that he still was very much attached to a person he knew could never feel or act the same way he wanted to. He hid that love with grief, hate, and refusal to acknowledge her because he always felt it was his fault. 

He hated the mention of her. He knows that, but he never hated her. He couldn't bring himself to even if he could. He had never hated her in the first place, but whenever he was reminded of her, he was stricken with an unerasable amount of affliction, a regret he didn't know how to bubble up and move on from until it numbed him into the core. He regretted because he still loved her, and he was disgusted by that. How could he love someone that was gone? All love brought was a world of remorse and torment that he wasn't strong enough to pull through, he was still constantly suffering under it. 

He couldn't love her anymore because... 

She abandoned him.

But he was the one that made her leave, wasn't he?

He should have known that such dreams weren't reachable, and he shook his head as he shooed away anymore thoughts relating to that, knowing if he had gone any further, he would be breaking down, and he couldn't do that right here, right now. Right now wasn't a time for him to lose his shit. Shaking his head left and right in an attempt to get rid of his thoughts, it was somewhat effective as it gave him room and space to breathe, and other thoughts that mattered more started trickling in as he took in a deep breath. 

Settling down was definitely not a future for him. 

He swallowed a gulp of sorrow and pain down his throat as he closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh. Fluttering his eyes again he recomposed himself. As he was saying, he was fairly impressed with his class. Even those that had failed the practical exam were improving, though at a slightly slower right than average, they were growing nonetheless, and he was giving them a push anyways. He had to motivate his students, after all, the future would soon be in their hands and he had to prepare them for that. 

Being a hero took a lot of preparation and everything out of you; he knew that personally. Heroes didn't have idle time or get breaks. Most heroes were retired due to injury or death, as unfortunate as it seemed, it was true. Very few heroes got to retire willingly, that was just the hazards that came with becoming a professional hero. It wasn't some walk through the park kind of shit, heroes walked through the darkest and deepest parts of realities most civilians didn't know existed, and no matter what, he swore he would protect these heroes until they were ready to hatch into tomorrow's top pro heroes of Japan. 

It was dangerous, and he wasn't going to send those that weren't prepared and able to handle it out there in the battlefield. Fighting villains was like a battlefield, inexperienced soldiers surely would die, and he wasn't going to send those who he knew weren't ready to their death. That's why he had the quirk assessment every year, to determine which ones were worthy and able to pass for the path of becoming a hero. Too many late heroes had taken their last breath while fighting crimes or handling natural disasters. If all they were gonna do was die without being able to protect people, then that was on his fault, because he didn't teach them proper. 

Because what good of a hero were they if they couldn't protect the ones that mattered- or protect anyone at all? That's right- they weren't anything but disposables, useless dolls that would be thrown away. If heroes couldn't save others, then they weren't allowed to call themselves heroes. People like that didn't deserve that title. People like that weren't allowed to be called people if they couldn't save the ones in their reach.

He bit his lower lip tightly as his hands clenched into visibly frustrated fists. How was he a hero at all? 

His mind raced back to Y/N once again. 

He bit his lips, aware that he was going off topic. At least... he shook his head, reminding himself of where he was and what he was doing prior before his train of thoughts had shifted his mood. He replaced his frown with a blank expression to mask the saddening and aggravating thoughts, his fists loosening back to their former state. His palms were shoved into the pockets of his baggy pants, his obsidian gaze directed from the floor to infront of him as he straightened up his slouch just slightly. 

"For tonight's lesson, I will drill into you how to behave during an emergency. If you don't become more self-aware that you're falling behind the others, then the difference between you will grow larger," the tired teacher said as he led the remedial group to the classroom, their footsteps following behind him in the same shuffled-like pace. "In a broad sense, this is also kind of 'treat.' Like a mint-flavored one." 

He personally didn't have much of an opinion on mint. He didn't necessarily like it, but at least it helped with breathing. Much like the students, he would rather be doing something else, his preference being sleeping, but as their teacher he had to teach them. This allowed them to have a chance to catch up to their fellow classmates even though they didn't like it. It was beneficial, but not very satisfying was the point. 

"But mint tastes good..." Kirishima argued exhaustingly, but he chose to ignore that comment. 

"Oh, that's weird!"

God, he hated this kid. Cannot shut up about comparing his own class to the Erasure hero's homeroom classroom. He was so passive aggressive at showing just 'how much better Class 1-B was than Class 1-A.' He personally thought the kid had rabies, or maybe an egotistical problem like Bakugo... just more on the crazy rather than angry side. He strode aside the six students and walked towards Vlad King. 

"Vlad, I want to add some practice maneuvers this time," he spoke to the other homeroom teacher. 

"I was thinking about that, too. You don't have to tell me that-" but he was quickly cut off when a physic-like sound rang through the Class 1-A's homeroom teacher's mind- and apparently everybody else's minds in the room- as all their eyes widened at the sudden sound. 

"Everyone!" a familiar voice said in his head. Mandalay... what happened to have needed their immediate attention by using her quick? Something dire? It had to be... could it be...?

No- not again. Dammit! They even made sure to limit the teachers going to lower the risks of their location being found out. The students started to ramble about the hero's quirk, which did not settle his nerves. They had taken all cautions they possibly can to have ensured they weren't able to interfere with the training camp. Now they were here, and they couldn't get help anytime soon. He needed to protect the students as their teacher and hero! 

"Quiet," he ordered the students as he focused. "We're being attacked by two villains! It's possible that there are more! Everyone who can move, get back to the camp immediately! Even if you come across an enemy, retreat and do not engage!"

Dammit to hell, he had to protect his kids. 

"Vlad, I'm leaving this place to you. I'll go protect the other students!" Those were his words before he rushed out of the room, instantly heading for the exit to round up all the other students so that he could defend for them all at once rather than having to worry about the other students. 

How could this happen again? He didn't want to imagine what would happen this time. Images of USJ flashed through his head. How close Shigaraki's hand was to Asui's face- he remembered the fear and horror in the eyes of his students he failed to protect because he wasn't able to defend and save himself. He couldn't have another repeat of the USJ incident, he couldn't allow people to doubt them and their superhero society, or lose faith in both of those either. 

As he stepped outside, he peered out into the forest, a vibrant, light blue blaze surrounded the trees and the sky, blue embers and ashes drifting in the wind as he continued to stare at the burning forest. "This is bad..." he observed. 

"Is your worry taking precedence, Eraser?" an unfamiliar voice said next to him. As he turned his head to the direction, he saw an outstretched head, and on instinct he jumped up and out of the way as large, sapphire flames erupted from the male's hand as he was about to call out for Class 1-B's homeroom teacher. 

"Don't get in my way, pro hero," he heard the flame-wielding villain whispered. "You guys aren't the ones we want."

So it was true that they were scouting for the students. Who were they after? He needed to protect them before they could get to him. He couldn't dare let them touch a hair on any of his students; it was his duty as a teacher and student to protect his students! If he couldn't do that, then he couldn't call himself either of those. If they so much as bruise them, they would have to personally deal with him when they were caught. With this ravenette-male first. He waited for the fire to evaporate, and took his time to cling onto the entrance structure, the scarred villain coming into full view. His blue eyes lingered over him for a quick second, his black eyes staring back. 

"Well, I guess you are a pro, after all," he complained to himself, before reaching his hand out again. Aizawa was quick to erase his quirk before any fire could shoot out. 

"Nothing's gonna come out," the Erasure hero quickly responded as his scarf shooted out and wrapped around the younger male's torso and arms. He tugged on his scarf tightly, bringing the younger male's body towards him, in which he jumped down, one hand taking hold of his head, and his body curved so his knee flew into the man's jaw. He untangled him a bit from his scarf, which turned the male around swiftly, planting his face into the ground. His free hand made sure he couldn't do anything sketchy with his hands while he sat on the man's back.

"Tell me your purpose, number, and positions," he demanded as he pressed harder against the villain's spine to ensure he wasn't able to move. 

"Why?" the blue-eyed villain groaned. 

"Because otherwise this will happen," he threatened as he cracked the arm his hand held, purposefully breaking the wrists. The hero's expression darkened, with his hair sliding over his right eye, his tired left eye staring down at him like a hawk. "Your right arm's next. Let's do this logically. If we get to your legs, it'll be annoying to transport you." 

"Are you in a hurry, Eraser?" he said as blue flames erupted from the villain's right hand. Before he could snap his right arm's wrists, he stopped in shock of what the being under him had just muttered.

"At some point in time would be a good point to show up, Dead Pulse."

A/N: Oh my god, I just finished this chapter in two days. Are you proud of me? Actually, three days because I started on Sunday night but whatever.