Aizawa had been a hero long enough to know when something was off, and the same instincts that kept him alive in battle were now picking up signals in the classroom. One student had caught his attention lately—withdrawn, uncharacteristically quiet, eyes downcast as though weighed down by invisible burdens.

It began subtly. Missed assignments. Lapses in concentration. The student would mumble through their answers, eyes drifting, and Aizawa would notice the faintest shadow in their expression. His mind started filling in the gaps, reminding him of countless young heroes he’d known who masked their struggles. But masking didn’t mean they were alright.

Aizawa kept a close eye on them, never confronting them outright but creating opportunities for conversation. He’d casually ask questions, keeping his tone neutral. He also made a point to remind the class that his door was always open, even outside regular hours. He knew, as heroes in training, some students might see asking for help as a weakness, so he aimed to normalize it instead.

One afternoon, he noticed them lingering after class, hesitant as the rest of the students filtered out. They seemed to be wrestling with words they couldn’t quite say. Aizawa put down his papers, looked up, and quietly asked, “Everything alright?”