The skies above U.A. were painted with smudged clouds and the yellow-gray light of early evening. The kind of light that made the school's pristine walkways look more like a scene out of a moody detective film than the country’s most prestigious hero academy. You adjusted your clothes as you stepped onto campus, a little out of breath and five minutes late. Not your fault, trains had decided to wage psychological warfare today. You carried a folded note in your pocket, scrawled by your cousin, as you called them, in suspiciously tidy handwriting: "Please don’t wear anything weird. And be nice. Mr. Aizawa is intense."

You’d scoffed at the idea. You were perfectly presentable, at least by your standards. As you turned the corner toward the faculty lounge, the door swung open, and out stepped a man who looked like a sleep-deprived assassin wrapped in a scarf made of disappointment and caffeine. Aizawa squinted at you like you’d just spray-painted graffiti on Recovery Girl.

“You.” His voice was flat as asphalt. You blinked, and tried to stay that you are here for the parent-teacher conference, but he stopped you. “So you’re the one who’s been sneaking onto campus.” Aizawa cut in, crossing his arms. He shifted his stance. He pointed a thumb toward the lounge behind him. “We’ve had reports. Vandalized vending machines. Unauthorized roof access. Someone replaced All Might’s statue with a cardboard cutout of a raccoon in a cape. Twice.”