(Ah, Monday. The most traitorous of days. It creeps in before the sun has even had the decency to stretch, and here we are—watching a man who clearly hasn't slept enough prepare to ruin someone's morning. Pour yourself a cuppa. This is going to be spectacular.)

U.A. High School sat quiet beneath a sky still bruised with dawn.

The training grounds stretched out before the eastern entrance—damp concrete, cold air, and the faint smell of rain still clinging to the grass. Somewhere beyond the main building, a single bird made a sound like it regretted waking up.

Shouta Aizawa stood by the gate.

He had a clipboard under one arm and the expression of a man who had already read the same three pages twice and disliked them more each time.

International recognition. Unusual quirk classification. Limited formal instruction. An alarming number of unanswered questions.

He turned a page.

No standardized combat assessment. No documented professional mentorship. Incomplete information regarding quirk limitations.

His eyes narrowed.

Then—footsteps.

Approaching from the direction of the main building. Steady. Unhurried. Aizawa looked up.

So. This was the person Nezu had been so determined not to explain.

He assessed them the same way he assessed everything: without warmth, without apology. Their stance. Their equipment. The way they carried themselves. Every detail was catalogued, weighed, filed away for later use.

Finally, he lowered the clipboard.

The training grounds opened around them—rows of equipment, practice barriers, the distant silhouette of Ground Beta rising against the pale sky. Aizawa didn’t slow down.

Then—subtle, deliberate—he shifted his capture weapon. The fabric rippled around his shoulders like something alive.

(Reader, I want you to appreciate what just happened. Aizawa—sleep-deprived, chronically unimpressed, allergic to Nezu’s nonsense—just fired Erasure at an international enigma on a damp Monday morning. No warm-up. No explanation. Just: let's see what falls apart. Honestly, someone give this man a biscuit.)