Teachers pet (COMPLETE)

Chapter 8: Recovery and Return

A week has passed since the USJ incident, but the memory of it still lingers in my mind like a fresh wound, refusing to heal.

The first few days in the hospital are a blur of pain and exhaustion. Every muscle in my body feels like it’s been stretched to its limit and then snapped back into place, raw and aching. My quirk drained me in ways I’d never experienced before. The mental strain leaves me with splitting headaches, and even the smallest movement feels monumental.

The first day, I can barely sit up without wincing. Nurse Vivy checks on me often, administering painkillers and reassuring me that it’s normal to feel this way after such a massive quirk outburst. But the physical pain is only part of it. The emotional weight, the guilt, is heavier.

Every time I close my eyes, I see it again—Aizawa-Sensei, bloodied and broken, the Nomu crushing him like he was nothing. And then, Shigaraki's hand reaching for me. My telekinesis exploding, the environment tearing apart in my fury. The memory sends shivers through me. What if I had hurt someone? What if I had killed someone?

By the third day, I can move around a bit more. The soreness in my muscles has eased, but my mind still feels heavy. I try not to think about how I’d subconsciously held Aizawa-Sensei in the hospital room with my quirk. The embarrassment gnaws at me, and every time I think about seeing him again, my stomach churns.

On the fifth day, I’m well enough to leave the hospital, though the doctors warn me not to push myself too hard. My quirk is still fragile, and my body is still recovering from the strain. I want to feel normal again, but the memories replay in my mind like a broken record.

My classmates visit throughout the week—Momo, Midoriya, Tsuyu-chan—they all tell me I did the right thing, that I saved lives. But their reassurances don’t erase the guilt twisting inside me.

Now, as I walk toward U.A. for the first time since the incident, the air feels lighter. I’m not fully healed, but I’m ready to be back. Ready to move forward.

As soon as I step into the classroom, the atmosphere shifts. The energy is buzzing, far lighter than it was before the USJ attack. I barely make it through the door when every pair of eyes turns to me.

“Hoshino! You’re back!”

“Hey, how’re you feeling?”

“What was it like? I heard you did something crazy with your quirk!”

In seconds, I’m surrounded by my classmates, their voices overlapping and blending into a flood of questions. My heart pounds in my chest, my throat tightens, and the walls seem to close in. It’s too much, too fast.

I try to answer, but my voice gets lost in the noise. The questions keep coming, the room growing louder, and I can feel my anxiety bubbling up, threatening to overwhelm me.

“Give her some space!” Momo’s voice cuts through the chaos. She steps between me and the others, her presence like a protective shield. “She just got back. Let her breathe.”

The chatter dies down immediately. My classmates exchange sheepish looks as they back off, giving me the space I so desperately need. I shoot Momo a grateful look, my pulse still racing, but the panic begins to fade.

“Thanks,” I mumble, feeling dazed from the sudden attention.

Momo smiles gently, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to answer all their questions right now. Just focus on getting back to normal.”

I nod, taking a deep breath to steady myself. The last thing I want is to be the center of attention, but after what happened, it seems unavoidable.

As I slip into my seat, I can still feel the eyes of my classmates on me, but the storm of questions has subsided—for now.

The noise of the classroom fades into the background, and I rest my head on my arms, trying to ease the tension that has settled in my chest. The others are still talking, their excitement palpable. They’re discussing the news—our class has been mentioned on TV because of the USJ attack. Even Bakugou looks smug, like he’s ready to take on the world.

Then, the door slides open.

The classroom falls silent in an instant. Aizawa-Sensei steps in, and my breath catches in my throat.

He looks rough—his arms are heavily bandaged, his face bruised, and his eyes hidden behind protective goggles. But despite his obvious injuries, he carries himself with the same calm authority that I’ve come to expect.

"Morning, class."

A murmur ripples through the room. We’re all processing the fact that Aizawa-Sensei is back so soon, still in recovery. His presence is reassuring, but it also reminds me of the danger we faced, of how close we came to something much worse.

“Aizawa-Sensei, what are you doing here?” we all ask, our shock evident.

“My well-being is irrelevant,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “What’s more important is that your fight isn’t over yet.”

He steps forward, his movements slow but deliberate, placing his materials on the desk. “The U.A. Sports Festival is about to start.”

At that, the class lets out a collective groan. “Why would you scare us like that?” someone mutters.

My heart races as I watch Aizawa-Sensei. His bandages and bruises are stark reminders of everything he sacrificed to protect us. And yet, here he stands, as if nothing could bring him down. A strange mixture of awe and fear swirls inside me.

Aizawa-Sensei’s eyes sweep across the room, resting on each of us before finally locking onto me. For a moment, I freeze, and my breath hitches in my throat. My face flushes, and I quickly look away, pretending to focus on my notes.

Some of my classmates raise concerns about the timing of the Sports Festival, given the recent attack.

“The administration thinks this is a good way to show that the threat has been handled and that our school is safer than ever,” Aizawa-Sensei explains. “Security will be tighter than in previous years. Plus, this event is a huge opportunity for all students. It’s not something we can cancel because of a few villains.”

The rest of the lesson passes in a blur. I try to focus on the content, but my mind keeps drifting back to the USJ—the way my telekinesis had spiraled out of control, how close I came to losing myself in the chaos of my own emotions.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of class, my classmates begin to gather their things, chattering excitedly about the Sports Festival. I stay behind, the weight of everything still pressing down on me.

Momo notices and leans in, her voice soft. “You okay?”

I nod, forcing a small smile. “Yeah… just tired.”

She gives me a knowing look but doesn’t push. “Take it easy, Mailin. You’ve been through a lot.”

As the classroom empties, I remain seated, waiting until the room is nearly deserted. I watch as Aizawa-Sensei packs up his materials, moving slower than usual. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand and approach his desk, my hands trembling.

“Aizawa-Sensei…” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looks up, his eyes meeting mine through his goggles. “Yes, Hoshino?”

I hesitate. There’s so much I want to say—thank you, I’m sorry—but the words feel too heavy.

“Thank you,” I finally whisper, my voice trembling. “For everything.”

Aizawa-Sensei’s expression softens, though it’s hard to see behind the bandages and goggles. “You did well, Hoshino. Don’t forget that.”

His words hit harder than I expect, and I nod quickly, turning to leave the room before the emotions can overwhelm me.