Mha oc

Perfection. 👁️👄👁️

THIS IS IN AIZAWA POV.

(This is more of some of the shenanigans that go on with class 1A. If a chapter as a 👁️👄👁️, in the title that's for something that doesn't really go with the plot and is more just for shits and giggles.)

I was mid-sip of coffee—black, bitter, and my one source of patience for these meetings—when the door to the teacher's lounge slammed open so hard it rattled on its hinges. The chatter in the room died instantly as every pair of eyes turned toward the commotion. And there stood my kid, Ryosuke, practically vibrating with rage, his face a storm cloud that had been brewing since the dawn of time.

He stomped across the lounge, his boots echoing against the floor like a goddamn war drum, and slapped a piece of paper down on Ectoplasm's desk with such force I thought he'd split the damn thing in half.

"What the ever-loving sweet baby fucking Jesus is this!?" he demanded, his voice cutting through the stunned silence like a blade.

The paper was his calculus test, and before Ectoplasm even picked it up, I could see the grade scrawled in red ink at the top: 99.1. For anyone else, this would be cause for celebration. Hell, even the top students would've been satisfied. But not Ryosuke.

The room collectively held its breath as Ectoplasm, calm as ever, picked up the test. He barely glanced at it before tapping a spot on the paper. "Your period looks like a comma," he said dryly, not a hint of regret in his voice.

That was the moment Ryosuke lost it. His growl was low, his irises glowing a dangerous red—a clear sign he was hanging by a thread. "What the fuck?! That doesn't even make fucking sense! That formatting wouldn't even make sense for a comma! You knew damn well that was a fucking period!"

I knew my son. I'd raised him—trained him—and had seen him under pressure that would break most adults. But this? This was uncharted territory. All over a grade. A 99.1. I pinched the bridge of my nose and tried to gather my thoughts, but he wasn't done.

"My average is a 99.8 now! A 99.8! Do you fucking hear me?!"

I heard him, alright. So did the entire damn lounge. Nezu was watching with an amused glint in his eye, like he'd just stumbled upon his new favorite soap opera. Midnight looked like she was struggling not to burst out laughing, while Mic was somewhere between pride and confusion. Even Snipe had taken off his hat, his expression caught between sympathy and curiosity.

I opened my mouth, intending to diffuse the situation—or at least pull my kid out of the fire before he said something truly regrettable—but he turned to me, eyes blazing, hair starting to float like mine did when I activated my quirk.

"With all due respect and love, Father, now is not the time for wisdom!"

I blinked. First, at the hair—when the hell had he inherited that? And second, at the sheer audacity of him snapping at me in front of everyone. There was a ripple of muffled snickers from the room, but I didn't care. My kid's rage was a rare thing, and I couldn't decide if I should be impressed or concerned.

Ryosuke turned back to Ectoplasm, who was leaning back in his chair with the faintest smirk on his face. The bastard knew exactly what he'd done.

"What's your fucking problem?" Ryosuke demanded, his voice dripping with venom. "We both know that was a dick move."

It was the kind of raw, unfiltered reaction I'd never seen from him. He was always composed, always calculating. I couldn't help but wonder if Ectoplasm had done this on purpose, just to see what would happen if Ryosuke's perfect record took the tiniest hit.

The kid had grown up under the weight of my reputation, with every expectation imaginable piled onto his shoulders. And somehow, he'd thrived. But this? This wasn't about expectations or perfection. This was pride. Pure, unyielding pride.

And as I watched him stand there, his eyes ablaze and his hair still floating with the faintest hint of static, I couldn't help but feel... proud. Sure, he was cursing out one of my colleagues, and yes, I was going to have to deal with that later, but he was my kid. And in that moment, he was every bit the fighter I'd raised him to be.

"Well," I muttered under my breath, leaning back in my chair. "Guess he didn't get all of my patience."