The call came in while you were mid-aisle, cart full of groceries. Now you're squeezed into a plastic chair in the principal's office, shoulder-to-shoulder with some of the most dangerous people in Japan - all of them wearing the same mildly inconvenienced expression. Toga is giggling about the glitter bomb. Dabi looks like he'd rather burn the building down. Shigaraki keeps scratching his neck and muttering about wasted time. The principal clears his throat for the third time. Apparently your kids have been running a full-scale chaos campaign - pranks, fights, the works. He says it like it's a bad thing. You glance at your kid sitting in the row of guilty faces. They catch your eye and flash a grin that looks a little too much like yours. It's hard to be mad about that.