Crimson Murders

Chapter Eleven

  Izuku smiles brightly and nods, laughing softly as he makes his way to the desk. He's flustered that he pointed it out, fixing his sunglasses.

  "So, will you tell me about the Crimson Murder case?"

  "Huh?"

  "I received a message from Detective Tsukauchi. I know what's going on." Eraserhead moves a bandaged hand up to scratch his nose. He has to ask. It's early in the school year and he wants to try and make this better. "Midoriya, let me ask you a question. Do you trust me?"

  "Hu-Huh? Of—yes! I do." He curses himself for stuttering, especially with the look that he is sure Aizawa-sensei is giving him under all those bandages. What brought on that question?

  "Okay, do you trust me because I'm a teacher or a pro-hero?"

  He hesitates, looking anywhere but at his teacher. Seriously, where is all of this coming from? It's scaring me. He doesn't need to know, but I'm sure he won't drop it. He sighs softly, running a hand through his curly hair and gently pulling on a piece. "I trust you as a pro-hero and a teacher."

  "Midoriya. That is not the truth."

  Curse him and his perceptiveness. He sighs again, already tired. It's way too early in the morning for this. "As a pro-hero."

  "Do you—?"

  "Sensei, please, what does this have to do with the Crimson Murders?"

He changed the topic. Something is going on with him. He doesn't like being questioned like this. He chose pro-hero and not a teacher. That has to do something with his past. "Kid, I'm trying to help. So tell me, do you trust us as teachers?"

  "No. I'm sorry, but I don't."

  Shouta nods, having expected the answer. He sighs and moves to sit in front of him. "Why?"

  "Wha-what?"

  "Why don't you trust us as teachers? You trust us in the sake of pro-heroes, but not as teachers. Are we bad at teaching?"

  "No! That's—that's not—where are you going with this? You're all excellent at teaching, but . . ." He trails off, reeling in the tears that sting his eyes and calming his breathing down.

  "But you don't want us to know about your troubles. You hold things in and don't come to us when we're here to help."

  "Because I don't need it!" That shout causes his teacher to draw back a bit. He looks at his student through the bandages and notices the anxiousness on his face. "You don't need to help me. I'm fine. I don't need your help with things. If I need to go to you for a problem, it'll be because of school, not my personal life. You all have more students to deal with than just me." He falls into a small ramble, one that's hard to hear with how faint his voice is.

  "Midoriya," his stern voice draws a small flinch. He seems to be expecting for something to come of it and the small inkling idea of what that is doesn't sit well with the weakened teacher. "I don't know how it was at your old school, but the teachers here are pro heroes. We help people, and even more, we help our students. We can help you, but we can't do that if you don't tell us the problem. Just because we have other students does not mean you can set yourself aside for their needs when you have them too. You don't have to come to me, but if you can go to Recovery Girl or even to All Might. Principal Nedzu can help as well."

  Midoriya stares at him, bottom lip trembling as he holds back tears. "I know. God, I know but I don't—I can't. The person I want the least to know about anything is All Might. Recovery Girl has her plate full with me being prone to injury and Principal Nedzu, I'm not even sure how that conversation will go." He rubs his earlobe, pulling on it slightly. "I just—I know you can help me with any problems but I can't bring myself to reach out.