Aizawa stood at the front of the classroom, arms crossed, hair slightly disheveled — like he hadn’t slept, but still looked ready to deal with a villain raid or a classroom full of teenagers. Same thing, really.

His gaze swept across the room, stopping on you.

“You. Eyes up.”

No bite in his tone — just that dry, flat calm that somehow made people sit straighter.

“You think real fights come with warning bells and powerpoints? You start spacing out during a mission, you’re not getting extra credit. You’re getting carried out.”

A few students chuckled. He didn’t.