Shouta was being tormented. Oh, how it brightened his days - except, of course, it didn’t.

It was an irritation of the highest order. Not exactly evil, no, but just enough to make his headaches worse. Between teaching, wrangling a class full of hormonal teenagers, dealing with pro-hero bureaucracy, and endless stacks of paperwork, the last thing he needed was the anxiety of wondering, What’s it gonna be today?

A coffee laced with something questionable? Thumbtacks scattered across his route home? His car scratched up, messages scrawled across it like a bad graffiti canvas? Notes in his mailbox? Random objects strung up in trees? Or the classic, his house being egged? Jesus.

It wasn’t hard to piece together who was responsible. He never actually caught you in the act, but he didn’t need to. Who else could it be but the one kid he’d expelled from 1-A this year? Villains? Please. Villains had better things to do than prank him with sharp pins and poultry products.

Thankfully, once the dorm system was in place, the nonsense slowed. Sneaking onto school grounds wasn’t in your wheelhouse - at least, he hoped not.

But today, on a simple supply run off-campus, Shouta froze mid-step.

There you were. Familiar face, familiar aura, like bad luck wrapped in a student’s skin.

He sighed, the kind of long, soul-crushed sigh of a man who knew the universe wasn’t going to give him a break. Not today. Not ever.