The air in the 1-A common room hung thick with the stench of despair, a unique blend of stale instant ramen and the faint metallic tang of teenaged panic. It had been three weeks since the infamous Friday night gaming session, the one that had inadvertently transformed Mr. Aizawa into a snarling, sleep-deprived beast and earned them this… this punishment.
Aizawa, a man who usually conveyed emotion through the subtle twitch of a single eyebrow, had actually smirked when he announced their double challenge. "This week, you will be teaching middle school classes," he'd drawled, his voice dripping with a sardonic pleasure that sent shivers down their spines. "And afterwards, you will be spending the week sleeping in the classroom. Consider it… bonding."
A wave of horrified gasps had ripped through the room. Teaching middle schoolers? Those tiny terrors, those walking, talking bundles of chaotic energy? It was a fate worse than anything they'd faced in the League of Villains' clutches. And then sleeping in the classroom? Staring at those desks that held so many memories (usually of near-death experiences during training exercises)? It was a cruel and unusual punishment, even for their perpetually grumpy homeroom teacher.
"This is worse than any of the villains we've faced," whined Mineta, tears welling in his already large eyes. "At least villains don't ask you about the reproductive cycle of a starfish at 7 am!"
"We're doomed," murmured Kaminari, his face a portrait of abject terror. "Absolutely doomed."
Despite the initial shock, the reality of their situation slowly sunk in. They had to do it, there was no escaping Aizawa's chillingly determined gaze. Reluctantly, they packed their bags - not for a heroic mission, but for the grim task of surviving middle school. Sleeping bags, pillows, and an alarming amount of snacks were stuffed into bags, alongside textbooks that they hoped would somehow magically make them experts in subjects they barely remembered themselves.
That night, the normally lively classroom was transformed into a makeshift campsite. Sleeping bags were spread across the floor, a colorful patchwork against the stark backdrop of desks and whiteboards. The tension was palpable, punctuated by the rustling of plastic wrappers and the occasional frantic whisper.
"Do you think they'll throw things?" Uraraka asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Definitely," Bakugo grunted, already sporting a dark scowl. "Those little brats probably have a black belt in paper airplane warfare."
The next morning saw them herded like sheep towards the middle school wing. Aizawa, looking eerily pleased with himself, pointed them to their assigned classrooms and simply stated, "Try not to traumatize them."
The first day was… an experience. Midoriya, ever the conscientious student, attempted to teach them the complexities of quirk analysis, only to be met with blank stares and whispered questions about his green hair. Iida, with his perfectly structured lesson plans and rigid dedication to the rules, managed to accidentally transform a history lesson into a debate on proper table etiquette.
Yaoyorozu, ever the resourceful one, tried to give a practical demonstration of chemistry, nearly causing a small explosion when her experimental model volcano went a bit too enthusiastically. And poor Kaminari, attempting to teach basic physics, ended up electrocuting himself while demonstrating Ohm's Law, resulting in a chorus of gleeful giggles from his students.
Bakugo, true to form, decided to tackle the issue head-on. His "lesson" on discipline involved yelling loudly, which worked surprisingly well, until one particularly sassy girl asked him if he was going to explode like a firework. Bakugo, predictably, went silent – though the steam coming from his ears was quite a sight.
Throughout the week, each day was a new adventure in chaos. They dealt with questions about everything from the mating habits of pigeons to the existential meaning of Fortnite. They learned the hard way about the fickle nature of middle school attention spans and the terrifying power of a well-timed spitball.
There were moments of accidental brilliance, too. Kirishima discovered his motivational speeches somehow resonated with the student body, and Todoroki, with his stoic demeanor and calm explanations, actually managed to explain the laws of thermodynamics without causing anyone to fall asleep. Surprisingly, Mineta's pervy nature, while still inappropriate, somehow captured their attention during a health class.
By the middle of the week, the 1-A students were a tired, frazzled mess. They developed an unspoken language of exhausted sighs and shared glances of mutual suffering. They began to appreciate teachers in a way they never had before, realizing just how much patience and sheer willpower it took to deal with a room full of hormonal and energetic young teenagers.
The week of teaching stretched on, a seemingly endless marathon of pop quizzes and glitter-bomb attacks. Finally, the last day of teaching arrived, and the class 1A students dragged themselves back to their classroom, their faces pale, their clothes stained with unknown substances. They collapsed onto their sleeping bags, a collective sigh of relief echoing through the room.
"Never again," groaned Sero, burying his face in his pillow.
"I think I'd rather fight the League of Villains any day," added Jiro, her voice hoarse.
"I actually miss Aizawa's training," said a surprisingly sincere Midoriya.
That week in the classroom was surprisingly quiet. With the burden of teaching off their shoulders, a strange sort of camaraderie had grown. They shared stories of their teaching escapades, laughing at each other's mishaps and finding some grim humor in the whole ordeal. They even found themselves doing homework in the same room without engaging in death-match scenarios.
When Aizawa finally released them on Friday, they didn't run for the exit like they usually did. They actually lingered, a little bit shell-shocked, and a little bit… stronger. They had faced the ultimate challenge, and somehow, they had survived.
As they finally left the classroom, they knew one thing for sure: they would never again take a Friday night gaming session for granted. Or, more importantly, they wouldn't wake up Aizawa on a Friday night, ever. They had gone into a week of madness and came out the other end, forever changed. They may have survived middle schoolers, but it was a fight that they'd leave for future generations. They had paid their dues. And hopefully, their next punishment would involve less screaming, glitter, and spitballs.