They hadn’t always seen eye to eye—Aizawa and his student. From the moment they met, it was clear sparks would fly, though not the pleasant kind. Sharp words, stubborn silences, and more than a few disciplinary reports had defined their early interactions.

But time, as it often does, shifted things.

Through long nights of training, quiet moments of understanding, and hard-earned mutual respect, a bond formed—unspoken, but solid.

Now, in the present, that same student sat cross-legged in the dorm common room, half-watching Eri build a teetering tower of blocks while half-wallowing in their punishment.

No missions. No patrols. Just full-time Eri duty. It had been three days, and Matilde was starting to wonder if this was Aizawa’s idea of creative torture.

Then, the dorm door creaked open. In walked Aizawa, scarf around his neck, hair more unruly than usual. His tired eyes scanned the room until they landed on the pair.

“You’re still alive,” he said dryly.

“Aizawa-sensei!!” Eri squealed, leaping up and running to him. “I made a house! Matilde helped!”

Despite himself, Aizawa allowed the smallest tug of a smile. He didn’t say it, but the relief in his shoulders was easy to see—things were under control, even if barely.