A few others showed up after Yaoyorozu left. Khan smiled through all of it. Waved them in. Let them talk. Let them squirm.
He gave advice. None of it sounded dangerous. Not even if you read the transcript back under a forensic microscope.
Just words. Simple, supportive words.
"Your choices carry your name, don't forget that."
"Family honor sticks longer than bruises. Wear it like armor."
"If someone threatens what you stand for, meeting them halfway means letting them take a piece."
"Know when to speak. Know when to strike. Know which earns respect faster."
Harmless on their own. Encouraging, even. Nobody would flinch reading that shit in a motivational pamphlet. And without context, there wasn't a reason to flinch.
But two weeks from now, Tenya Iida's brother was gonna bleed all over a sidewalk in Hosu.
And those words would turn from encouragement into kindling. Fuel for a dumb, angry charge straight into a grave with no flowers.
And Khan'd shrug and say, "Well, I didn't tell him to go."
Because he didn't.
He just built the platform, laid out the sword, and made sure Iida knew how to hold it. And in two weeks, Iida would take those words and sprint headfirst into the nearest death flag.
Like a fucking idiot.
**
On May three, a few days before the Sports Festival banners went up, Khan invited Inko Midoriya to the school.
He framed it simply. Support follow up. A counselor checking in with a parent whose kid had been through a lot without actually being there.
Inko arrived early. That habit came from years of waiting rooms and school offices where being late felt rude even when nobody cared. She sat on the edge of the chair in the reception area, purse hugged to her side, eyes drifting over the walls lined with certificates and smiling class photos. UA loved its proof of excellence.
Khan came out himself to escort her in. Sleeves rolled that read relaxed without looking sloppy. He walked her down the hall past doors with frosted glass and muted voices. His office door stayed open until she was seated.
"Mrs. Midoriya," he said. "Thanks for coming in."
She smiled, worry parked at the edge of her eyes. It never fully left her face, just shifted seats depending on the day. Khan noticed it and didn't comment.
He gestured toward the small counter by the window. A kettle sat there, still warm. A box of good quality tea bags beside it. Coffee in a special tin.
"Would you like anything?" he asked. "Tea or coffee."
"Oh. Tea would be nice," Inko said. She clasped her purse tighter as she spoke. "Thank you."
Khan poured the water and set the mug in front of her. He waited until she wrapped her hands around it before taking his seat.
"I appreciate you coming in," he said. "I know school meetings don't usually come with good memories."
She gave a small laugh. "That's true. I was worried Izuku'd done something wrong."
"He hasn't," Khan said. "This is just a check-in."
Inko nodded, taking a careful sip, then another.
"I met with Izuku earlier this week," Khan continued. "He's doing alright. Tired, but that's expected."
Her shoulders dropped a notch. "That's good to hear. He tries so hard not to worry me."
"Kids pick that up early," Khan said. "They learn fast what makes their parents tense."
She smiled, a little sad this time. "I know. I try not to show it."
"Trying counts," Khan replied. "But they learn more from what we do than what we hide."
Inko tilted her head. "What do you mean?"
Khan leaned back, folding his hands loosely in his lap. "Setting examples doesn't stop once they hit their teens. That's a myth people tell themselves so they can rest. Kids keep watching. They notice routines. Habits. How their parents treat their own bodies and time."
Inko looked down at her tea. "I suppose I could be better about that."
"Most people could," Khan said. "I'm not saying this as a judgment. I'm saying it because it matters."
She hesitated. "Izuku worries about me. About my health. He tries to hide it, but I see it."
Khan nodded. "He mentioned that. Not in a complaint way. More concern."
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. "I know I've gained weight. It's not hard to notice."
He didn't rush to answer.
"Bodies change," he said. "Stress does that. So does time. I'm not here to talk about numbers or mirrors. I'm talking about energy. Movement. Doing things together."
She glanced up. "Together?"
"Yeah," Khan said. "Walking. Light workouts. Nothing extreme. It's easier to keep habits when they're shared. You don't have to frame it as fixing anything. Frame it as time together. I'm not here to comment about your body, Mrs. Midoriya, it's not my place."
Inko smiled, tentative. "Izuku would like that. He always asks if I want to go out with him. I usually say I'm tired."
"That's honest," Khan said. "But sometimes tiredness fades once you start moving."
She nodded slowly. "I suppose I could try."
"Trying is enough," he said. "You don't need a perfect plan. Just consistency."
She took another sip of tea, thinking.
Khan glanced toward the corner of the room, where the microwave sat.
"Speaking of habits," he said, "Izuku mentioned something interesting about your kitchen."
Inko blinked. "Our kitchen?"
"The microwave," Khan said. "He told me it doesn't rotate."
Her brow furrowed. "Oh. Yes. It's very old. Still works, though."
"It works," Khan agreed. "Just not the way newer ones do."
She tilted her head. "Is that important?"
"It was," Khan said. "One of his mentors used a microwave analogy to explain how his Quirk should function. Spreading energy evenly. Low power over time. The problem was, Izuku's mental picture came from your microwave. No rotation. All the heat in one spot."
Inko's eyes widened. "Oh."
"He wasn't wrong," Khan continued. "He just had outdated reference material."
She covered her mouth with one hand. "I had no idea. He never said anything."
"Of course he didn't," Khan said. "He didn't want to make you feel bad."
Her hand dropped back to her purse. "I should have replaced it years ago."
Khan stood and crossed to his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out an envelope, already prepared. He set it between them.
"What's this?" Inko asked, alarm creeping into her voice.
"A shopping check," Khan said. "For a tech shop near your place. Enough for a new microwave. Maybe something else if you need it."
Her chair scraped softly as she pushed back. "Oh no. I can't accept that."
"It's useless in my hands," Khan said easily. "School budget earmark. If I don't spend it, it goes back into a pool nobody touches."
She shook her head. "That's too much. I couldn't."
He didn't push the envelope toward her. He left it where it was.
"This isn't charity," he said. "It's maintenance. Same category as replacing a cracked step so someone doesn't trip."
Inko frowned. "I don't want to take resources meant for students."
"It is for a student," Khan said. "Indirectly."
She hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the envelope, then pulled back.
"I'm really grateful," she said. "But I don't feel right about it."
Khan nodded. "Fair. Let me reframe it."
He leaned forward slightly. "Your home environment shapes how Izuku thinks. About training. About recovery. About safety. This is part of that. You wouldn't refuse new textbooks because the old ones still have words in them."
Her lips parted, then closed again. She stared at the envelope.
"I don't want him thinking we can't manage," she said quietly.
"He already knows you manage," Khan replied. "This won't change that. It'll just keep him from breaking his fingers over a bad metaphor."
She let out a laugh, surprised and real.
She sighed and reached out, fingers brushing the paper. "If I accept this," she said, "I want you to know I'm not taking it lightly."
"I wouldn't expect you to," Khan said.
She picked it up and tucked it into her purse.
"Thank you," she said. "Really."
"You're welcome," he replied. "And for what it's worth, Izuku's doing good work. He listens. He adapts. That matters more than people realize."
Her eyes shone at that. She escaped her eyes, blinking away the tears and looked down at her tea.
"He's always been that way," she said. "Even when he was little. Always watching. Always trying to understand."
"That trait didn't come from nowhere," Khan said.
She smiled, small but proud.
They sat in a comfortable quiet for a moment.
"I have one more thing," Khan said. "And you're free to ignore it."
She looked up. "Alright."
"Take care of yourself, for him." He said with a bright smile.
"I will." She said. She finished her tea and stood. "I'm glad I came."
"So am I," Khan replied.
He walked her to the door. She paused there, turning back.
"Khan-sensei," she said. "You're very kind."
He smiled. "I'm thorough."
She laughed at that and bowed slightly before leaving.
The door closed behind her.
Khan returned to his desk and sat. Parents were easy. Not because they were foolish, but because they were tired. Tired people reached for help and thanked you for the rope, even when it tightened later.
He opened his terminal and made a note under Midoriya's file. Home support reinforced. Environmental factors addressed.
Then he closed it and leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
**-**
This novel is completed. I'm currently editing the chapters and uploading them to Patreon. If you'd like to read the full novel and support my work, feel free to check it out. Available up to Chapter 55 so far.
patreon.com/EternallyPoor