Airwaves Unscripted (PapaMic)

U.A. was still U.A.—which meant chaotic, exhausting, and filled with the kind of absurdity that only a school for heroes-in-training could produce.

The morning had been normal enough. Homeroom started with Aizawa-sensei dragging himself into class like he hadn't slept in a week (which, honestly, was probably true). He gave us a rundown of the day before mumbling something about "not causing unnecessary headaches" and flopping down into his sleeping bag in the corner.

Classic.

English with Dad was as painful as always. He had way too much energy for first period and treated every class like a game show. Half the time, it was fun; the other half, it felt like an endurance test. He had us practicing hero catchphrases in English today, and I swear, he looked personally offended when I refused to yell mine at full volume.

Then there was lunch, which was surprisingly normal. I sat with Iida and Uraraka like usual, while Todoroki hovered nearby, eating his soba like the world's most judgmental food critic. He still didn't really engage much in conversation, but at least he didn't leave when we started arguing about which Pro Hero had the worst fashion sense. (Spoiler: It's still Best Jeanist. I'm sorry, but full-denim is a crime.)

Training was brutal, as expected. Aizawa-sensei was in one of those moods, which meant extra drills, extra sparring, and extra suffering. I may or may not have seen Kaminari's soul leave his body at one point. Kirishima, as always, just grinned through the pain.

And through it all, I kept moving.

Kept up the jokes, the laughter, the friendly jabs at my classmates. Kept acting like everything was fine.

Because that's what I was supposed to do, right?

Mom wouldn't want me to be worrying, I knew that much. She'd probably tell me to focus on school, to enjoy my time here, to be happy.

So that's what I did.

I shoved my worries down, let them sit in the back of my mind where they couldn't weigh me down too much.

There was nothing new from the police. No updates, no messages.

Just silence.

And silence could mean a lot of things.

Good or bad, I didn't know yet.

But until I did—until I had a real reason to be worried—I'd just keep going.

Mic's POV from here on out!!!

The teacher's lounge was unusually quiet. Well, as quiet as it could be with Midnight chatting with Cementoss about some new hero documentary and Ectoplasm grading papers with the precision of a military strategist.

I was sitting on one of the couches, half-listening, half-zoning out when my phone buzzed.

Tsukauchi.

That alone was enough to set off alarms in my head.

With a quick glance at Aizawa—who was sprawled in a chair, pretending not to be listening—I got up and stepped outside before answering.

"Yamada speaking. What's the news?"

"The case is moving to court."

That sent my stomach plummeting.

"That fast?"

"It was inevitable," Tsukauchi sighed. "Given the circumstances, it's not just a domestic dispute anymore. Quirk usage in public, property damage, an injured officer—there's no sweeping this under the rug."