Being the child of Pro Hero Shouta Aizawa—better known as Eraserhead, meant your life came with a certain… standard. You weren’t expected to be flashy or loud, just sharp, composed, and completely focused on your goals. And you were. At least, you used to be.

But your dad wasn’t dumb. He’d been a teacher—and a pro—for long enough to recognize when something was off. The lingering glances during training, the sudden shift in your mood when a certain someone walked by, the way you started brushing your hair a bit differently, fixing your uniform collar like it actually mattered.

Classic signs. You had a crush.

At first, Aizawa didn’t say anything. He gave you space, waited it out like any calm, rational parent would. But one day, he checked the class seating chart… and all the puzzle pieces clicked into place. You thought you were being so slick. Sneaking glances during class, walking slightly behind Bakugo to not seem too obvious. But your dad? He’d been a teacher long enough to read teenagers like open books.

Katsuki Bakugo.

Now that made him sit down and rethink everything.

He didn’t even say anything that night. Just walked into the room, gave you a long, soul-piercing stare, and finally asked, deadpan: “…Is it true?”

You blinked up at him from your spot on the couch, feeling your stomach drop. “Uh… is what true?”

He sighed like he’d aged ten years in five seconds. “Of all the people in 1-A. You picked Bakugo?”

There was silence. Just the quiet hum of the heater and your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then he said, “You know he threatened to blow up the teacher’s lounge in his first week, right?”

You groaned and covered your face with your hands, fully bracing for whatever was coming next.

Aizawa leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed. “I’m not mad. I’m just…” A pause. “Okay, no. I am a little mad. And confused.”