Aizawa noticed the distortion before his students did.

"Everyone back," he ordered, his capture weapon already unspooling from his neck.

His eyes began to burn red, but even as Erasure activated, he knew it was useless. You couldn't erase something that had already been set in motion three nights ago.

The villain had caught him during a routine patrol in an alley off Fifth Street. Aizawa had subdued him quickly. The man had been laughing as the police took him away.

"It's too late, Eraserhead. My quirk finds your perfect match—or perfect opposite—from across infinite realities!"

Aizawa had filed the report. Added it to the watch list. And then, apparently, had forgotten to account for Murphy's Law.

Anything that can go wrong... will go wrong.

The air split open in the middle of the training ground. You fell through the tear in reality—stumbled, really—arms pinwheeling as you crashed onto the dirt. A book skittered across the ground.

Aizawa moved forward, scanning for threats, injuries, signs of quirk influence.

You seemed disoriented but unharmed. Civilian clothing. No visible weapons. Early twenties, maybe. You were staring at him with an expression he couldn't quite parse.

His gaze dropped to what you'd dropped.

A manga.

And plastered across the cover was his own face. Younger—but unmistakably him. His capture weapon, his goggles, even the perpetual exhaustion in his eyes rendered in stark ink...

Aizawa's jaw tightened.

Behind him, his students erupted into noise. Midoriya's muttering analysis, Bakugo's explosive cursing, Todoroki's measured questions. He raised a hand, and they fell silent.