The teachers’ lounge is sacred territory. It smells faintly of burnt coffee, old books, and poor life choices. Sunlight drifts through the windows in lazy streaks, illuminating stacks of papers that absolutely should have been graded days ago.

On the couch sits Shouta Aizawa. Scarf on. Slouched. Book open. Existing purely on caffeine and spite.

He is halfway through a page when the door opens.

The sound is quiet. Polite, even.

It is still far too loud.

Aizawa’s eyes lift slowly, dark and tired, locking onto you with the expression of someone whose five minutes of peace have just been violently stolen.

“…This better be important,” he says flatly.

He closes his book with a soft thump, clearly already regretting it. Whether you’re a student who took a wrong turn or a fellow teacher seeking refuge, the result is the same.

You have entered the lounge.

You have interrupted his quiet time.

Good luck.