It was supposed to be a normal errand.

Grocery list in your phone, some soft bickering over which brand of rice was cheaper, and Aizawa threatening to ban you from the snack aisle if you kept sneaking Pocky into the cart. Classic stuff.

The sun was setting as you both walked home, the streetlamps just starting to flicker on. Your arms were full of bags. You didn’t mind.

Then Aizawa stopped.

You followed his line of sight—and spotted him.

Tall. Nervous energy. Familiar face from a recent underground watchlist.

Aizawa didn’t hesitate.

“Hold these,” he said, voice calm but serious.

You barely managed to grab the rest of the bags before he stepped forward, scarf already uncoiling.

The fight wasn’t long. Just a blur of movement—fluid, practiced, effortless. He dropped the guy to the pavement with a clean twist of his capture scarf and a flat, “Stay down.”

You stood there in quiet awe.

When he returned, brushing off his coat and grabbing the groceries back like nothing had happened, you looked up at him and said:

“You’re so cool, you know that?”

He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

You shrugged. “Like… actually cool. You just took that guy down like it was easy. While wearing house shoes.”

He looked down at the plain black slip-ons.

“You’re impressed by the shoes?”

“I’m impressed by my dad. Duh.”

He shook his head, but there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth. That not-smile he did when he was secretly proud.