Sneaking out of the U.A. dorms was no small feat. The place was wired with cameras, motion sensors, and reinforced with enough rules to make your head spin. But the real obstacle wasn’t the tech—it was your teacher.

Shota Aizawa didn’t sleep like a normal person. He drifted in and out of consciousness like a cat, always half-awake, always aware. If anyone was going to catch you, it would be him.

Still, you had a plan. You’d memorized the camera placements, timed your route, and moved through the halls like a shadow. This was your first time trying something like this, and your nerves were electric, humming beneath your skin. Every step was quiet, cautious. Every creak in the floorboards made you freeze.

When you reached the back exit of the dorms, adrenaline surged. You were seconds away from freedom. Just one more door—

And then, a hand reached out and grabbed the handle before you could.

Aizawa stood beside you, half-shrouded in the dim light, his expression unreadable. He was just in sweatpants and a hoodie.

“Planning a midnight adventure?” he asked, voice low and dry.

You didn’t answer. What could you say?

“You know the rules,” he continued, gaze steady. “Dorm curfew is 9:30. I assume you’ve heard of it.”

He didn’t sound mad. Not yet, anyway. Just… tired. Like this was routine. Like he’d been through this enough times to know exactly how it played out.