After looking through every book, shelf, and cranny, Sam found no more surveillance devices. He did find a closet stocked with simple clothes and his uniform.
"Grey?" he muttered. "This is one ugly ass uniform."
He pulled out the shirt and tie and tossed the jacket back into the closet. He laid out the pants, belt, shirt, and tie neatly. His steel-toe boots stayed on.
"I'll only wear the shirt and tie."
A brief smirk crossed his face.
"Isn't Endeavor's kid in U.A.? I wonder how he'd feel seeing me wearing the same boots that broke his jaw."
The thought faded quickly.
Sam showered, turning the water as cold as it would go. He felt no discomfort. No satisfaction. Just emptiness. He washed mechanically and went to bed wearing only boxers.
Sleep was brief and violent.
Night terrors ripped through him—gunfire, explosions, heat, screaming. He woke again and again, drenched in sweat, heart pounding. By morning he lay staring at the ceiling, hollow and exhausted.
When the light was strong enough, he rose.
He went for a run, hit the gym, and showered again. Then he dressed.
As he adjusted the tie, there was a knock.
"Well," Sam muttered, "here we go."
He opened the door to Aizawa.
"Let's go."
Sam grabbed his bag.
"What about your jacket?" Aizawa asked.
"Not happening."
Aizawa said nothing.
They walked in silence. Sam hadn't forgiven Aizawa. Aizawa didn't trust Sam—not fully. Therapy was mandatory. This wasn't something Hound Dog could handle alone; a specialist was already arranged.
"That's a big ass door," Sam muttered when they stopped outside Class 1-A.
"I'll go in first," Aizawa said. "I'll call you in."
Sam nodded.
'This might be interesting.'
⸻
Yesterday's battle trial still lingered in Izuku Midoriya's mind.
Facing Iida and Bakugo had been overwhelming, but he and Uraraka had won. His arm still ached, but he ignored it.
I have to get control, Izuku thought. All Might trusted me.
The classroom buzzed until Aizawa entered.
"I watched your battle trials," Aizawa said. "Bakugo, you're talented. Stop acting like a crying child."
"Tch… yeah," Bakugo muttered.
"Midoriya."
Izuku straightened.
"You broke your arm again. You won. But unless you gain control, that won't matter. Think with urgency."
"H-Hai!"
Aizawa looked over the class.
"We have two things. We might as well get it over with. First, we have a new student with us today."
The room erupted in shock.
Iida shot to his feet.
"Sensei! This seems like a very inappropriate time to begin classes! And now there are twenty-one seats in the class! This makes an imbalance in the first years!"
"I'm aware," Aizawa replied, "but his circumstances are…unique. Actually, you might have heard of him."
That got everyone's attention.
"Oh! Is it a movie star?!" Mina asked.
"A rocker?" Jiro added.
"Neither. Anyway, try to be gentle. I say this for your own good."
That unnerved them.
The room fell silent.
"Alright. Come in."
The door opened.
A steel-toe boot stepped inside.
Then white hair.
Then a gnarly scar.
The class gasped.
"S-Sam Suzuki?" Izuku felt shaken the moment his eyes landed on him.
It felt like Sam was staring straight through them. Even Bakugo looked unsettled.
"Introduce yourself."
Sam stood still, looking at the shocked students.
"Sam," he said. "Don't fuck with me."
Aizawa sighed, hearing that. The students were visibly shaken. Iida and Momo wanted to speak, but hesitated. Who wouldn't? He had taken down two of the top three heroes in the nation by himself.
"Language."
"Oh…please don't fuck with me."
Aizawa sighed again.
'Smartass.'
"Just sit down."
Sam nodded and walked past them, observing each student carefully. Mineta was already passed out, a look of pure horror frozen on his face.
If he is the future of heroics, god help us.
Sam sat behind him with a rigid posture.
"Now then," Aizawa said, "for the second thing."
He paused dramatically.
'Too dramatic,' Sam thought.
"You need to pick your class representatives."
The mood flipped instantly.
Moments ago they'd been shaking—now they were loud, energetic, arguing over who should be picked.
They were literally terrified a second ago, Sam thought. The fuck?
Iida stepped forward, insisting they do it democratically. Aizawa didn't care. Neither did Sam.
Votes were written.
Tallied.
Midoriya Izuku was chosen. Yaoyorozu Momo became vice representative.
As they processed it, Iida froze.
"Wait… we still have one more vote!"
He realized who it must be and approached Sam.
"S-Suzuki-kun! M-my name is Tenya Iida. Would you like to participate?"
Sam blinked, genuinely surprised.
'He's got some cajones.'
"I'm good."
Iida nodded and retreated.
Aizawa confirmed the results and left.
The room sat in tense silence.
THE Sam Suzuki was here.
Bakugo stood up.
He walked over to Sam's desk and slammed it with an explosion.
BOOM.
Sam didn't flinch.
But inside, the sound detonated memories—grenades, mines, gunfire.
'Hold it together.'
"Can I help you?" Sam asked calmly.
"Yeah," Bakugo snapped. "I want to know how a quirkless loser like you beat the top pro heroes!"
Sam stared out the window.
"And why should I?"
Bakugo's teeth ground together.
"Because I don't believe for a second you didn't use underhanded methods!"
"Of course I did," Sam replied. "I won because I was smarter. That's all."
Bakugo snapped.
He exploded forward.
Sam moved on instinct—dodging, grabbing the back of Bakugo's head with one hand and his extended arm with the other, then slamming his face into the desk.
Bakugo hit the floor, nose bloody.
"Fuck!"
"BAKUGO!" the class shouted.
They rushed forward—then froze.
There was terror in Sam's eyes.
It eased into rage.
"Never fuckin' do that shit again," Sam said quietly. "I'm serious."
His presence flared. The room recoiled instinctively.
Even Bakugo froze.
Sam turned and walked out, clutching his head.
'Goddamn brat…'