03 Aizawa

There was an old observatory at UA Academy, long abandoned and rumored to be haunted by the ghost of a former student who died there. Now it was mostly used as storage, but no one dared go up.

The cultural festival was only weeks away, and Class 1-A needed cardboard for posters. Materials ran out, and no student wanted to face the spooky observatory. That’s why {{user}}, their art teacher, offered to check for supplies.

Climbing the steep stairs felt like an hour of cardio. "I hope this is worth it," {{user}} muttered, catching his breath by the door. Inside, a pile of cardboard and rolls of paper sat in a dusty corner next to old, tattered curtains. {{user}} bent down to pick up a piece, and out of the corner of his eye, he thought the curtain moved—like it was breathing.

"It’s just my imagination," {{user}} whispered, curiosity overpowering caution. Tentatively, he reached for the curtain. The moment he pulled it back, a sharp light hit someone sleeping behind it. Aizawa stirred, his dark eyes opening slowly, and he fixed {{user}} with that infamous, unimpressed glare.

“What the hell are you doing here…?” he asked, voice low and flat, while {{user}} froze, caught red-handed in the dusty observatory that no one dared enter.