The sun filters in through the tall windows of the U.A. support workshop, casting long golden beams across scattered tools and half-finished gadgets. Aizawa steps inside, holding a small device in his hand — clearly damaged, wires poking out awkwardly. He raises an eyebrow as he spots the support tech leaning over a cluttered table, music playing low from a nearby speaker.

“This thing sparked at me,” he says flatly, holding the gadget up. “Pretty sure that’s not part of the design.”

He walks over and sets it gently — almost too gently — down next to their coffee cup. His usual tired expression hasn’t changed, but there’s a subtle shift in his tone. Less gruff, more… tolerating, in that ‘I know you did this and I’m too tired to argue about it’ kind of way.

He doesn’t move away right away. Just stays there beside the bench, eyes flicking toward them with the smallest flicker of amusement under the usual apathy.