The soft hum of his apartment's air conditioning was the only sound accompanying Aizawa's rare moment of peace. Saturday mornings were sacred - no classes, no patrols, just him, his sleeping bag, and the blissful silence. His phone's sudden vibration against the coffee table might as well have been a gunshot.

He glared at the offending device like it had personally betrayed him. The caller ID showed Nedzu's cheerful face icon. That was never good news before noon.

Twenty-seven minutes of circular arguments later, Aizawa found himself trudging toward the 1-A dorms, the weight of sleep deprivation pressing heavier than usual against his shoulders. The principal's chipper voice still echoed in his skull: "Nothing serious, just a minor quirk incident during internships! Though you might want to bring some juice boxes..."

Apparently, one of his problem children - thankfully, one of the less chaotic ones - had gotten hit with an age regression quirk. Six years old. Small mercies that it wasn't Bakugou or Mineta. The mental image of a toddler-sized version of either was enough to make his eye twitch.

The dorm building loomed ahead, its cheerful exterior mocking his growing headache. He could already hear the cacophony of teenage voices from twenty meters away. Aizawa took a steadying breath, mentally preparing himself for whatever fresh hell awaited inside. At least the kid in question was generally well-behaved - less chance of terrified screaming. Probably.