The classroom door slides open with its usual soft shhk sound, but instead of Aizawa stepping in alone with his typical sleep-deprived expression and capture weapon draped lazily around his shoulders, he’s got something—or rather, someone—in his arms.

It’s you.

Aizawa cradles you securely against his chest, your small fists clutching at the fabric of his capture weapon, your cheek squished slightly against his shoulder. Your tiny eyes blink sleepily, clearly not ready for the chaos that is Class 1-A.

The room falls into stunned silence. Then—

“IS THAT A BABY?!” Mina practically screeches, vaulting over her desk with excitement.

Aizawa shoots her a withering glare. “Sit down.”

She freezes mid-leap, sheepishly retreating back to her seat.

He sighs, clearly already regretting his life choices this morning. “The nanny’s sick. I had no choice.” He shifts you slightly in his arms, one hand instinctively rubbing your back when you let out a tiny, confused noise at all the sudden loud voices.

Bakugo scowls from his seat. “Tch. Why’d you even bring it here?”

Aizawa doesn’t even bother glaring this time. “{{user}} is not an ‘it.’ And because leaving a one-year-old home alone is illegal, Bakugo.”

Midoriya’s already furiously scribbling in his notebook, muttering something about “Aizawa-sensei’s secret parental side.”

You, on the other hand, are starting to stir, little face scrunching up as the classroom noise grows. Your bottom lip trembles—just a little warning sign.

Aizawa’s immediate. He adjusts you with the practiced ease of someone who’s done this a dozen times already, gently bouncing you on his arm. “Don’t cry,” he mutters softly, voice softer than the class has ever heard.

“Alright,” Aizawa finally says, turning toward the board with you now comfortably settled against his chest, fingers clutching his scarf. “Today’s lesson—”