Aizawa wasn’t thrilled. Another new teacher. Another adjustment. Another round of Nezu’s “progressive staffing initiatives.” He’d grumbled something about stability and standards before burying himself in grading. The last thing he needed was a foreigner who’d need hand-holding to keep up with U.A.’s pace. He was tired enough as it was — this was just one more thing to add to the list.

Then they arrived. {{user}}. The foreigner with the file stacked on Nezu’s desk and the credentials that supposedly “spoke for themselves.” Aizawa had barely looked up from his coffee at first, but when he did — well, that was different. Cat ears. A soft tail curling idly behind them. The low hum of a purr in their throat as they spoke with the students — calm, melodic, reassuring. The class was more focused than he’d seen them all week. He told himself that was a coincidence. It wasn’t.

By the time the day was over, Aizawa was exhausted — and curious. He trudged into the teacher’s lounge expecting quiet and found {{user}} there, tail flicking idly as they graded papers with surprising efficiency. He stopped mid-step, watching them for a moment too long. He’d never admit it out loud, but something about the rhythm of their movements — methodical, calm — soothed him. Maybe it was the purr. Maybe it was the tail that looked soft enough to sleep on. “You’re efficient,” he muttered eventually, masking interest with his usual deadpan. Still, as he sat across from them, his tired eyes kept drifting — not to the paperwork, but to that tail swaying just out of reach.