Ripples of Fate

Chapter 16: Bruised and Battered

Mailin’s POV
It’s barely the second day at U.A., and I’m already becoming quite familiar with Midoriya Izuku. Not that I mind—it’s just that I never expected one student to visit the nurse’s office so frequently so early on.

The door swings open, and I already know who it is before I even turn around. “Midoriya,” I call out with a soft laugh, “back so soon?”

Midoriya, sporting several fresh bruises and holding his arm like he’s shattered it again, stumbles into the room. Right behind him is Aizawa-sensei, his usual tired eyes scanning the room, and something like a resigned sigh escaping his lips.

“Mizuhana-sensei,” Midoriya begins, face flushed with embarrassment. “I—uh—had a little... trouble during Battle Training... again.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Just a little?”

Aizawa grunts. “A little trouble is an understatement.”

I motion Midoriya over to the bed, casting a brief glance at Aizawa. “Let me guess—Kacchan?”

Midoriya nods sheepishly, his face flushing even more. “I’m sorry, Mizuhana-sensei. I really didn’t mean to—"

“No apologies needed, Midoriya. But... if you keep this up, I might have to start reserving this bed just for you.” I smirk, placing my hands over his injured arm.

A faint warmth spreads from my fingers as my quirk activates, water swirling gently, invisible to the eye but felt in the soft healing energy coursing into his broken bones. His arm begins to mend under my hands, and I take a moment to admire the boy’s tenacity. He’s reckless, sure, but there’s something undeniably admirable about his determination. Even if it lands him here, in my care, almost daily.

Aizawa stands nearby, arms crossed, observing quietly as I heal Midoriya. I can feel his presence—he always watches his students closely. But there’s something different in the way he watches now, like there’s more on his mind.

“He’s determined, but if he keeps fighting like this, it’s only going to get worse,” I say, almost to myself, as I finish healing Midoriya’s arm.

“He’s trying,” Aizawa mutters, stepping forward. His voice is low, filled with that same tired tone, but beneath it, there’s a protective edge. “But he’s still got a lot to learn.”

I nod, watching as Midoriya flexes his hand, eyes wide in amazement. “You’re good to go,” I tell him gently. “But try not to break anything for at least... a day?”

Midoriya grins sheepishly and thanks me profusely before heading out. As the door closes behind him, I can’t help but chuckle. “At this rate, I’m going to be seeing him every day.”

Aizawa stays quiet, his gaze lingering on the door where Midoriya left. There’s something almost... heavy in the air between us. He hasn’t said much, but I feel the weight of his thoughts, the silent worry he holds for his students. I’ve always admired that about him, how much he cares even when he tries to hide it.

“Kids like him need someone to keep them in line,” Aizawa finally says, his eyes meeting mine briefly.

“Kids like him need teachers like you,” I reply softly, not entirely sure why I said it. But it’s true.

There’s a brief pause, something passing between us—familiar, yet strangely intimate. Aizawa’s expression doesn’t change, but I can feel the tension. It’s as if something lingers just beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to rise.

Before I can say more, Aizawa turns toward the door. “See you tomorrow, Mizuhana.”

“See you tomorrow, Aizawa.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving me with this lingering feeling I can’t quite shake.

---

Wednesday, April 10: Class President Election and Media Break-in
The next day isn’t much different. Midoriya once again ends up in my office, and I can’t help but laugh when he walks in, looking a little sheepish after the day’s events. Aizawa, as usual, is right behind him, his face unreadable but clearly resigned to this new routine.

“I swear, Mizuhana-sensei, I’m trying not to end up here all the time!” Midoriya says with an apologetic smile as he sits on the bed.

“Don’t worry,” I say, already placing my hands on his injured shoulder, “I’m getting used to seeing you.” I chuckle, letting the warmth of my quirk flow through him, repairing the damage caused by his reckless actions.

This time, it wasn’t just battle training. Midoriya, being Midoriya, had gotten caught up in the chaos of the media break-in. Somehow, even the smallest things manage to find him—and, by extension, me.

“You know,” I tease, “if you keep this up, I’ll have to start charging you a special ‘Midoriya rate.’”

Midoriya chuckles nervously, though his shoulders visibly relax under my touch. “I’ll... try to be more careful,” he mumbles.

Aizawa, standing in the corner of the room, gives a tired sigh but doesn’t say anything, his arms still crossed as he watches us. It’s becoming a pattern now—this quiet, almost companionable silence as I tend to his students.

When I finish healing Midoriya, he thanks me yet again and quickly hurries out the door, leaving me alone with Aizawa once more.

I feel his eyes on me, even though he’s barely moved. It’s not uncomfortable... it’s just there, an ever-present feeling of being noticed. Of being seen.

“You really care about them,” I say quietly, turning to meet his gaze.

“I do,” Aizawa replies simply. “But they need to learn to care for themselves too.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes me pause, something deeper in his words. For a moment, it feels like we’re not just talking about Midoriya.

I don’t say anything else. Instead, I offer him a small smile and nod. “You’re doing a good job, Aizawa. You’re a good teacher.”

His eyes linger on mine for a moment longer than usual, and there it is again—that quiet tension, the unspoken connection we share. It’s so subtle, yet undeniable. And just like yesterday, it leaves me feeling unsettled, like there’s something more waiting between us, just out of reach.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mizuhana,” he says, his voice softer this time, before turning to leave.

“See you tomorrow,” I reply, the words hanging in the air long after he’s gone.