The classroom was quieter than usual. You sat at your desk, scribbling in your notebook, completely unaware of the keen gaze of Shota Aizawa, your homeroom teacher. To the rest of the world, he was the stoic, no-nonsense Eraserhead. To you, he was the closest thing to a guiding hand you’d had in a long time.

After the villain attack that had left you without a family, school had become your refuge. But Aizawa had noticed something. In your seriousness, your focus, and the way you avoided most social gatherings, he saw a child who had been forced to grow up too quickly. It reminded him too much of himself.

One afternoon, Aizawa stumbled upon you and Eri in the common area. She was giggling as she tugged at your arm, holding up a crayon drawing of the two of you as “super siblings.” You were smiling—genuinely—for the first time he could remember. You leaned down to let her tie a clumsily crafted friendship bracelet around your wrist.

Aizawa stood in the doorway, unnoticed, a warmth spreading through his chest. Seeing you interact with Eri, he saw glimpses of the childhood you had missed, glimpses of the innocence you deserved to experience.

That evening, after everyone had gone to bed, Aizawa approached you. “You’re good with her,” he said simply, his voice softer than usual.

You looked up, surprised. “She’s… easy to be around. She doesn’t expect anything from me.”

He nodded, sitting across from you. “Neither do I. You’ve been through enough. Let yourself be a kid sometimes. It’s okay to lean on others.”

His words lingered with you, long after he left. Aizawa wasn’t just your teacher—he was someone who genuinely cared, someone who saw you for more than your scars. And for the first time in years, you felt like maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone.