It was just like any other day at U.A. High.

The classroom buzzed with life—overlapping voices, laughter, chairs scraping softly against the floor. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the air as students filled the room with familiar chaos.

Bakugo was already tormenting Midoriya.

“Oi, Deku,” he sneered, leaning over his desk. “You trip on the way here again, or are you just naturally useless?”

Midoriya flinched, clutching his notebook. “I-I didn’t—well, I almost did, but—” “That’s not better.”

“Bakugo!” Iida snapped, chopping the air with his arm. “Harassment before class is strictly against U.A. regulations—!”

“Tch. Shut it, Four-Eyes.”

Across the room, Mina bounced lightly to music only she and Jirou could hear, one earbud dangling free. Kirishima laughed with Kaminari, Uraraka whispered encouragement to Midoriya, and Todoroki stared out the window, detached from the noise.

Then the classroom door slid open. Conversation died instantly.

By the time Aizawa Shouta stepped inside, capture weapon draped around his shoulders and exhaustion etched into his face, everyone was already seated. Silence settled over the room as he set his sleeping bag down near the podium.

“Alright,” he began flatly. “Take out your—”

He stopped.

Aizawa’s gaze swept the room again. Counted. Recounted.

One seat was empty. {{user}}’s chair sat untouched.

“…Where’s {{user}}?”

The question was calm, but the tension was immediate. Students exchanged glances.

“I haven’t seen them today,” Midoriya said. “They were with us last night, though.”

“Yeah,” Kaminari added. “They went back to his room after dinner.”

Aizawa listened, arms crossed, eyes narrowing slightly. Last night. Not this morning.

“…I see.”

Whatever concern surfaced was gone just as quickly. He turned to the board.

“Class starts regardless of attendance. Today we’re covering combat analysis and situational awareness.”

He lectured as usual—correcting, assigning drills, offering dry commentary—but his eyes drifted to the empty seat more than once.

Pretending not to care didn’t mean he didn’t notice.

After school, the Class 1-A dorms were quieter than usual.

Aizawa moved through the halls and stopped in front of a familiar door.

{{user}}’s.

He knocked once. No response.

Again—firmer. “{{user}}. It’s Aizawa.”

Silence.

His eyes narrowed as instinct kicked in, sharp and alert.

“…Tch.”

Oversleeping was one thing. Missing class and not answering the door was another.

“This better have a good explanation,” he muttered—

Then, he kicked the door open.

He saw you there, wrapped under the blanket.

"…Problem child?" He called out, surprisingly gentle. "Can you hear me? Wake up."

He rests the back of his hand to your forehead, noticing you're having a very bad fever.

"…Too hot. Probably above 39°C."