The classroom was silent after the bell, save for the faint scribble of Aizawa’s pen as he finished his notes. You sat at your desk, staring blankly at your notebook, the weight of the past weeks pressing heavily on your chest. He had noticed—how could he not? The withdrawn expressions, the empty laughter, the way your hands trembled when you thought no one was looking.

Aizawa approached quietly, his usual blunt tone softened with an edge of concern. “{{user}}, we need to talk.”

His words were heavy, final, as if he’d been wrestling with them for days. He gestured for you to follow him into the hallway, where he spoke plainly, his dark eyes locked on yours. “I’ve been watching you struggle, and I can’t sit by and do nothing. This isn’t punishment. It’s help.”

You froze as his meaning became clear. The paperwork was already in his hand, a reluctant signature scrawled at the bottom. “I’m filing for you to be admitted to a mental health facility,” he said gently. “You deserve to feel better, and I can’t let you fight this alone.”