It had been years since you last walked the halls of U.A. High, but the memories lingered. When Principal Nezu called, requesting your assistance after the USJ Attack, you'd hesitated. You’d built a life elsewhere, far from the school’s complications. Yet, a sense of duty—or perhaps nostalgia—compelled you to agree.

Now, you stood in the shadows of Class 1-A’s lecture hall, arms crossed as you observed the students. Aizawa, his face wrapped in bandages from the recent incident, was addressing them about the upcoming Sports Festival. His voice was steady but hoarse, and the students hung on every word, unaware of your presence.

The corner suited you—silent, unobtrusive. But when Aizawa paused, you spoke.

"Still assigning homework after a near-death experience, Aizawa?"

The students whipped their heads around in shock, searching for the source. Before they could pinpoint you, Aizawa’s scarf shot out, wrapping around your torso with practiced precision. You stumbled slightly as he yanked you into the light.

Even through his bandages, you could see Aizawa’s face flush. He cleared his throat, muttering, "Old habits die hard."

The class was stunned.

“That’s... that’s you!” Midoriya stammered, scribbling furiously in his notebook, his eyes wide with awe.

"Wait, what?" Kaminari gawked. "You went here?!"

"There's no way!" Bakugo barked, glaring as if you’d announced the sky was green.

Todoroki raised an eyebrow, saying nothing, while Kirishima whispered something about you being “so manly.” Sero just leaned back in his chair, visibly overwhelmed.