"Then what exactly separates that person from the criminals he hunts?" Iida uttered, his fist clenched. "Where exactly is the line drawn if someone can decide who gets paralyzed and who doesn't. And what gives this person the right? If he can do this now, then how long will it be before someone else decides that they have the right to do so as well based on their own intentions?"
He adjusted his glasses. "This is why people aren't allowed to use their quirks in these situations. No matter the cause. The short term relief is only temporary and will lead to greater repercussions down the line. New problems that have to be solved. Don't tell me you don't see how condoning leads to problems."
Nobody answered. Unfortunately, this was one of those arguments where the question itself was difficult to argue against.
Because Iida wasn't wrong. If everyone decided for themselves what justice meant, then eventually justice stopped meaning anything at all. Yet at the same time... Reality wasn't exactly cooperating with ideals lately.
"I don't think this can be easily answered that way." Momo finally broke the silence. "Everyone has different points ... And all of them sadly make sense. The law may be clear but ... Isn't a hero's job ultimately to protect no matter the cost?"
"That still doesn't make it right, Yaoyorozu!" Iida argued, his voice rising as he stepped toward the center of the group, his posture rigid. "If we begin to measure justice solely by its practical efficiency, we abandon the very moral foundation of our society! A hero must be a pillar of hope, not an executioner who cripples the desperate and the wicked alike!"
"Not everything is black and white, Iida," The voice cut in at that moment. Everyone turned to Todoroki who had been silent all this time.
"I understand where you're coming from and under normal circumstances, you are right. The problem is that both arguments make sense."
Several students looked toward him.
"If hero society was functioning normally, then Iida would be completely right."
Iida blinked.
"But it isn't."
There was no reply to that. Iida opened his mouth and closed it several times, unable to come up with a single word of argument. Because they all knew it.
The country was struggling. Prisons had been emptied. Thousands of criminals were still at large.
"The fact people are even discussing White Fang is proof of that." Todoroki glanced toward him.
"If the system was handling things properly, nobody would care about a vigilante, or see his actions in any positive light. After all, someone who goes around crippling people, whether good or bad isn't supposed to inspire goodwill."
That... Was harder to refute.
Momo frowned. "People don't usually start looking for alternatives unless they feel something is missing."
"Exactly." Todoroki nodded. "The article only became popular because people are scared. Before All Might retired, nobody would have similar thoughts at all."
That was true. Nobody spent time debating whether a random vigilante could outperform hero agencies while All Might was around. The conversation wouldn't have existed.
A heavy silence followed. At the end of the day, it all came down to fear for one's own safety. It was something the current hero system couldn't guarantee, and enforcing that standard on people at the risk of their lives was overly selfish.
Even Iida understood that. Fear explained conspiracy theories. Fear explained desperate people supporting desperate solutions. Not because everyone suddenly loved vigilantes. They were simply afraid.
"They just want someone to fix things." Uraraka said.
"Yeah. Honestly..." Sero scratched his cheek. "I kinda get why the article blew up."
For a moment, the conversation lost its edge. The argument stopped being about White Fang.
It became about everything else. The prison breaks, numerous attacks, even the uncertainty about their respective futures. Then Jiro suddenly pointed at Yuta.
"Why are you being so quiet?"
Yuta froze. Every head immediately turned toward him. 'Oh come on.' Just great, his classmates suddenly remembered he existed.
"Huh? What's wrong?"
"Nothing. But you started this conversation." She pointed out. "And you've barely said anything."
".."
Uraraka tilted her head. "That does sound suspicious."
"Mhmm. Very suspicious." Hagakure nodded.
Yuta rolled his eyes at her theatrics. "Oh please, forgive the guy who feels that the majority of this apocalypse is partly his fault for his. I only happen to be the reason All Might wasn't in Japan when all this happened so forgive my internal turmoil as suspicious behaviour."
The self-deprecating deflection hit the group like a bucket of cold water. A collective wince rippled through the clearing at Ground Omega. Mentioning the Kamino incident or All Might's retirement was still the ultimate conversational conversational third rail in Class 1-A—especially when Yuta phrased it like that.
Jiro raised her hands defensively, her earphone jacks twitching. "Whoa, okay, I didn't mean it like that! Don't get all dark on us. I just thought, since you usually have an opinion on literally everything, it was weird seeing you play the strong, silent type."
"Yeah, man, don't do that to yourself," Sero added, looking visibly uncomfortable as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Nobody here blames you for what happened. The whole country got caught up in that mess. If I have to blame anyone, it's the league's fault for making YAMANOTE LINE happen in the first place."
"Agreed."
"Oh come on Yuta, we didn't mean it like that. Don't feel bad."
Yuta let out a theatrical, long-suffering sigh, letting his shoulders slump just enough to sell the 'tortured soul' routine while secretly thanking his lucky stars for the massive guilt-shield he'd just deployed. It was a cheap move, but hey—when you're secretly the vigilante currently causing a philosophical schism in the middle of hero society, you use whatever cover you can find.
'Maybe I should let my clone disappear for a month.' The idea lasted approximately three seconds. Then he remembered the prison breaks. The riots. Shigaraki was still out there. Plus there was a growing list of lunatics that seemed determined to treat Japan like a competitive sport.
Yeah, so that wasn't happening.
Maybe have the clone tone it down? He didn't know. He suddenly missed fighting giant monsters. Those were much easier to deal with "I'm fine. Seriously. No need to feel sorry for me."
"No worries bad guy. We don't. After all, you heal fast and have thick skin. If anyone's going to be fine, it's you."
Hagakure said 'Cheerily' while looking at him.
Yuta looked at Hagakure. "You know, for an invisible person, you somehow attract attention constantly."
"Talent."
The class laughed lightly. The tension from earlier eased somewhat.
Only somewhat. Because Jiro wasn't letting him escape. "Okay, smart guy." She pointed directly at him. "Enough dodging. What do you actually think?"
Yuta immediately regretted everything.
Around him, several heads nodded. Even Todoroki looked interested. Tch .. Traitor.
Yuta pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine." The group quieted.
He considered what to say, thought it over twice, "If you're asking whether I think White Fang is a good person..."
He shrugged. "I have no idea." Several students blinked.
"That's your answer?" Jiro asked.
"Pretty much." He shrugged again. "I was mainly watching you all because you all just remind me of internet trolls talking about celebrities. Don't forget that we don't know anything about him."
"We know plenty."
"No, we don't." He looked toward Midoriya. "Everything we know comes from news reports."
Then toward Tokoyami. "Rumors."
Then toward Iida. "Second-hand accounts."
The class paused. "We don't know what he's thinking. We don't know what his goals are. We don't know why he does the things he does. Where he came from, who he is."
His gaze drifted upward. "I mean, we barely even know if the image people keep using is actually what he looks like. So why speculate so much?"
That... Was actually true. The realization visibly spread through the group. The White Fang had become famous. Yet nobody really knew anything about him.
"Tch. A bunch of pathetic extras crying over a ghost story," Bakugo scoffed. "Who gives a damn what his reasons are? Running around breaking spines in the dark just means he's a coward who knows he'd get crushed the second he tries that garbage against real Pros or the Commission."
"Sure Bakugo. If that makes you sleep at night."
"Why you .."
"Well, whatever his deal is, he's definitely not our problem right now." Jiro noted, twirling her earphones jacks. "I feel like something big is about to happen. "Have you guys seen Aizawa-sensei's expression since this morning? He looks even more sleep-deprived than usual."
"I can probably make an educated guess." Momo replied. "The concern of the administration is entirely logical. After all, we might have to go out to act as manpower. They are probably preparing us the best they can."
"Which is precisely why you shouldn't be wasting your remaining recovery minutes gossiping about variables you can't control." The class stiffened in unison as a low, tired drone cut through the afternoon chill.
Shota Aizawa walked out from the shadow of the central observation platform, his dark eyes bloodshot and intensely focused. Behind him, Midnight followed closely, her usual playful, teasing demeanor completely absent.
"Sensei!" Iida instantly snapped back into a rigid salute.
"Your ten minutes are up," Aizawa said flatly, clicking off his digital clipboard. "The public discourse outside these walls is a mess, and speculating on unregistered actors won't improve your reaction times or your quirk's power. If you have enough breath to debate current affairs in the cold, you have enough energy to complete your mobility training. So When exactly were you planning on getting back to training?"
Instant silence. Aizawa sighed. "Thought so."
The class immediately began pretending they had been productive the entire time. Aizawa wasn't buying it.
"Before you scatter," he said. "There's something I need to discuss."
That got everyone's attention. The homeroom teacher glanced across the class.
"The Hero Public Safety Commission's new initiative has officially been approved. The details will be distributed later, but the short version is simple." His expression remained serious.
"You will begin work studies."
The training ground went quiet.
"Work studies?" Kaminari repeated, turning the phrase over like he wasn't sure it was the same thing he'd heard before.
"That's what I said," Aizawa confirmed.
"Isn't that like," Sero started, "isn't that different from internships?"
"Yes." The reply came, full of flat patience.
"During your internship period, you were placed with agencies for observational and limited supervisory experience. You watched and assisted under strict parameters. In essence, you were guests invited to observe and learn." He paused. "Work studies are similar in different ways. You will still be under the supervision of a pro hero and operate under them, yes. Within defined parameters, yes. But you engage with real case situations in real time alongside licensed professionals."
He paused. "In other words, you are no longer a guest meant to observe and learn. You can still do that, but joining a work study essentially means that you are seen as a capable, active member of the agency and will be regarded as such."
Everyone's eyes brightened. "So we'd actually be doing hero work," Midoriya asked.
"In essence. Yes."
"That sounds significantly more dangerous," Yaoyorozu said carefully.
"It is," Aizawa said. "Which is why it's normally a second or third year activity. Which is why we normally spend considerably more time preparing you before it happens." His expression didn't change. "We don't have that time."
Nobody said anything to that. "Under normal circumstances," Aizawa continued, "work studies require you to pursue agencies yourselves. You reach out and express interest. Agencies who actively accept work study students evaluate and decide."
"Most say no. A few say yes. That process takes weeks and the results are uneven. And due to the difference between internships and work studies, fewer agencies take them as the risks are great." He looked across the group. "The current situation has changed that dynamic significantly."
"Because of the initiative," Iida said.
"Because of the initiative. Agencies that previously wouldn't have considered taking first-year students are now accepting them. The operational gap is real and they need bodies in the field." He held the group's gaze. "I'm telling you this so you understand the context, not because it's good news. The agencies most eager to take students right now are generally the ones most desperate for manpower. That desperation is not a quality you want in a supervisor."
"So how do we know which ones are worth it," Uraraka asked.
"Most of you won't have to figure that out yourselves. The school is handling placements." He let that land for a moment. "The teachers know which agencies have the track records, the infrastructure, and the operational environments to actually develop you rather than just use you. You'll be placed based on quirk compatibility and what each agency can realistically offer." A pause. "That's the arrangement for most of you."
"Most?" Jiro caught on.
"Most," Aizawa confirmed. He looked at five specific faces in sequence. "Todoroki. Bakugo. Iida. Tokoyami. Akutami. You have received direct requests from agencies. Not through the school's placement system. Direct requests, submitted independently, based on what those agencies already know about you." He looked at them. "You'll be selecting from those offers rather than being assigned."
He took out a stack of short papers and handed them over.
"Here."