Y/n stood alone at the teacher’s desk, the polished wood cool under their fingertips. Aizawa’s phone, a utilitarian black rectangle, lay face-up where he’d left it after his rushed departure. Check the recent training plan file and send it to my email, he’d said, already halfway out the door, capture weapon trailing. Password is the usual.

The usual. A series of numbers Y/n had memorised years ago, associated with a date that had never been a holiday.

The file was easy to find. As Y/n swiped to attach it to an email, the gesture accidentally brushed the photo gallery icon. It opened.

The most recent image filled the screen. Not a diagram of combat stances. Not a screenshot of a student roster.

It was Eri, her small face alight with a wonder so bright it seemed to glow against the gloomy classroom air. She was perched on the shoulders of a stone elephant statue, one tiny hand raised as if to touch its trunk. The sun was out in the photo, dappling through green leaves. A perfect zoo day.

A swipe. Another. Eri feeding a giraffe, her eyes wide. Eri clutching a giant swirl of pink cotton candy, with a familiar, scarfed figure crouched beside her, holding the stick. His face was turned towards her, his usual sternness softened into something else. Something attentive. Something present.

The timestamps on the photos were from last Saturday. The Saturday Aizawa had texted, Working late. Meals are in the freezer.

The silence in the classroom deepened, pressed in by the steady drum of rain on the windowpanes. The phone screen went dark, reflecting a blurred, grey version of the room, and Y/n’s own hand, still holding it.