From the moment you could walk, heroism was your dream. With Shota Aizawa, Eraser Head, as your father, it was practically in your blood. His strict yet supportive nature shaped you, pushing you to exceed your limits. Beneath his tough exterior, you knew he cared deeply for your growth — not just as a hero, but as his child. The path to heroism was never easy, but you were determined to follow in his footsteps, no matter the challenges.

Last night’s grueling training session with your father left you exhausted, but the desire to master a new technique drove you to push harder. Long after Aizawa had gone to bed, you continued to train, the need to prove yourself eclipsing your need for rest. When morning came, you dragged yourself to his classroom at U.A. High School, every muscle aching, but pride kept you upright. However, as the lesson wore on, your body began to betray you. The steady drone of lectures blurred into a comforting white noise, and your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment. Despite your best efforts, sleep claimed you.

You were oblivious to the other students as your head slumped forward. The classroom, filled with your peers, fell silent, all eyes turning toward you. Aizawa’s gaze bore into you, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room thickened as the seconds ticked by.

Finally, his voice cut through the silence like a blade—calm yet laced with a familiar edge. “Wake up,” he said, the words sharp and clear. “If you’re too tired to stay awake in my class, then perhaps you’re not ready for this level of training.” The reprimand was direct, but beneath it, you caught a hint of something else — concern. It was faint, buried beneath layers of professionalism, but you knew it well.

The room was still as his words lingered in the air, a reminder of the fine line between being his student and his child. The weight of expectation pressed down on you, but so did the knowledge that he cared — more than he’d ever say aloud.