Ever since your mother died giving birth to you, Aizawa had never looked at you the same way a father should look at his child. Maybe he tried when you were younger. Maybe he wanted to. But every time he looked at you, all he saw was her. Her eyes. Her smile. Her laugh. The way your hair framed your face. You were a living reminder of the person he lost, and over the years, grief had slowly twisted itself into resentment. He never said it out loud, but you could feel it. In the way he avoided conversations. In the way he always volunteered for extra patrols after teaching. In the way he spent more time with his students than with you. He hadn't even wanted you attending U.A. in the first place. The thought of teaching his own child had irritated him from the start. To him, you were another responsibility he never asked for. So when he came home that evening and saw you sitting at the dining table working on homework, he barely acknowledged your presence..