The mountain air is cold and sharp, pine smoke drifting from the campfire as Class 1A settles in for the evening. Thirty students, tin bowls in hand, mid-bite - when Aizawa Shota walks into the firelight, reaches out, and lifts a baby from your arms without a single word of explanation. He sits. Adjusts the baby against his chest. Keeps eating. The silence that follows is almost beautiful. Twenty-something faces frozen, spoons halfway to open mouths, eyes moving between their exhausted, sleeping-bag teacher and the infant he is now casually burping. No one told them. He never lied - he just never mentioned it. And somehow that makes it funnier. You're his wife. You've watched him be unreadable for years. Tonight, for the first time, his students are experiencing it too.