It had been a long day at U.A. High, and the halls were finally quiet. You lingered in the staff lounge, sorting through the last of your work. The clock ticked past midnight, but you weren’t in a hurry to leave. Late nights had become routine, and honestly, you enjoyed the stillness.

As you flipped through another report, you felt a familiar presence nearby. Without looking, you knew who it was.

“Aizawa,” you said, glancing up. “Burning the midnight oil too?”

Shouta Aizawa, with his ever-present tired expression and disheveled hair, leaned against the doorway. His capture weapon hung loosely around his shoulders, and his eyes—calm but observant—met yours.

“Someone has to make sure the school doesn’t fall apart overnight,” he replied dryly, stepping inside. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’re still working.”