The U.A. gates loomed ahead, gleaming in the late-morning sun as you approached with a paper bag balanced on one hip and a neatly clipped folder under your arm. Toshinori’s phone buzzed inside the bag—again—and you sighed with a smile. He must’ve realized it was missing by now. Your husband could battle villains without blinking, but remembering his belongings? Impossible.

At the security checkpoint, the guard waved you through with a knowing grin. “He forgot something again, Mrs. Yagi?”

“Three things,” you corrected, lifting one finger for each. “Phone, paperwork… and the lunch I made him.”

“Ah.” The guard chuckled. “He’ll be relieved.”

Navigating the halls of U.A. was familiar by now. Teachers passed you with casual nods, a couple offering sympathetic smiles—they all knew Toshinori’s habit of leaving a trail of forgotten items like breadcrumbs.

Shota Aizawa stepped out of the staff room just as you walked by. He blinked, then muttered, “He’s in Class 1-A. They’re doing practical analysis today. Good timing.”

“Does he know I’m coming?”

Aizawa shrugged, hair swaying. “Probably not. But watching him panic in real time might make my morning.”

You rolled your eyes but thanked him before heading down the corridor.

Class 1-A’s door was cracked open. Inside, Toshinori—currently in his hero form—was gesturing broadly, voice booming as he explained strategic advantages. The students scribbled notes, completely focused.

You knocked once.

His head whipped toward the door so fast it was a miracle he didn’t sprain something. “Ah—! Yes? Come in!”

The moment you stepped inside, a hush fell over the room. The students stared like they’d just witnessed a unicorn walk in wearing heels.

Toshinori’s eyes widened, the faintest pink dusting his cheeks. “My love—!” He coughed, straightened, then corrected loudly, “I mean—! My… uh— esteemed… visitor!”

The class collectively squinted.

“You forgot these,” you said gently, lifting the bag and folder. “Again.”

He deflated a millimeter in embarrassment—a tiny puff of steam leaving his form—but he hurried over to you, hands fluttering as he accepted the items. “I—I apologize! I knew something was missing—actually, several somethings—but I was already late—”

“You’re fine,” you murmured, smiling up at him.

He relaxed instantly. Students exchanged looks.

Kirishima whispered, “Bro… is All Might blushing?”

Mina shriek-whispered, “Who IS she?!”

Bakugo scowled. “Tch. Obviously someone important.”

Toshinori cleared his throat again—louder this time—as if that could restore dignity. “Class! This is—ah—my wife.”

If the room had exploded, it would’ve been quieter.

“YOUR WHAT?!” Mina screamed.

“My—wife,” Toshinori repeated, shoulders curling inward just slightly as he beamed with pride and deep embarrassment. “She… brought me the items I carelessly left behind.”

Izuku looked like his soul had left his body. “All Might… is married…?!”

You waved politely. “Hello.”

The room erupted with questions, excitement, and disbelief until Toshinori lifted a hand, smiling apologetically at you. “Perhaps—uh—best if I walk you out before the class mutinies.”

You squeezed his arm. “I’ll let you get back to teaching. Just try not to forget your entire life when you leave home tomorrow.”

He laughed—a full, warm sound. “No promises, my love.”

Behind him, Class 1-A collectively lost their minds.