ni5ko3

[ni5ko3]

PART 1

AIZAWA SHOUTA X STUDENT READER

SUMMARY:YOU have thirty days to confess to your teacher.

30 Days

That's how much time you have left to confess to the person who gives you butterflies in your stomach. Thirty days to make him notice you.

You sat at your desk, absentmindedly ignoring every sentence spoken aloud—you had something far more important to focus on.

"Thirty days left."

You’d written it in a small notebook hidden under your desk, next to a simple sketch of him sleeping in class one day. "Thirty days, and I’ll leave... without saying anything? No. This is my chance."

You lifted your head slightly, eyes burning with quiet determination. You’d made up your mind. You would make him see you. At least once... as you, not just as a student.

---

Of course, it wouldn’t be easy. Trying to confess to a man who seemed practically asexual? You’d never once seen him smile in the three years he’d taught you. He excelled at ignoring everything. That definitely made things harder.

Day 1

You decided to start simple: make his favorite coffee—that pitch-black sludge that tasted like pure bitterness. How could anyone enjoy that?

But you were hopeless at making anything beyond three-minute instant ramen!

So, you turned to the best friend of any desperate soul: YouTube.

"How to make black coffee for someone who seems to prefer chewing coffee beans in the morning."

After frantic searching, you found a video titled: "Strong Black Coffee in 5 Minutes." It featured a calm Japanese man explaining the steps like he was brewing ambrosia. You grabbed the coffee you’d specially bought: "Strongest Black Coffee Blend," as proudly stated on the package—and followed the instructions meticulously.

Mistake #1: You didn’t heat the water enough before pouring. Result? A lukewarm cup of bitter darkness.

Mistake #2: You added three heaping tablespoons of grounds—just like the man in the video—but forgot your mug was half the size of his. The smell alone could knock someone unconscious.

Mistake #3: The mug itself. A simple white one with cute cat doodles (you knew he liked them after years of surreptitiously staring at his laptop stickers). But you hadn’t rinsed the soap properly, leaving tiny bubbles floating on the surface like a final insult.

In the end, you’d managed to create something... *unique*. If only it could stay that way.

You stood before the bathroom mirror, practicing a confident smile:

"Good morning, Sensei. I brought you coffee... I know you like it black."

But your nervous laugh betrayed your fear. What if he drinks it right in front of you and gags? What if he looks at you in disgust and says, "Is this an attempt to poison me?"

leading to a six-hour interrogation where he discovers you’re a failure at life who can’t even make coffee, decides he could never marry someone so incompetent, and abandons you forever—

Yes, you’d definitely overthought this.

---

Your hands trembled around the mug, the hot liquid scalding your wildly pounding pulse. When you saw him sitting at his desk as usual, time seemed to stop.

"Thirty days..."

You took a step forward... then suddenly noticed the strange, foamy scum on the surface that looked suspiciously like poison.

At the last second, you swerved towards the trash can and dumped it all in.

Final result: Utter failure…But you were still smiling. Because you knew something he didn't...

"I'll try again tomorrow."

---

Day 2

After the black coffee disaster, you decided to switch tactics: something sweeter... Chocolate. Everyone loves chocolate. You’d even seen him eat it a few times, even if it was the bitter kind.

The problem? You couldn’t make anything more complex than toast sandwiches. But then you remembered your secret weapon... your friend Souji! He was the best person to ask for something like this.

You messaged him at midnight:

"Please help me! I need an easy chocolate recipe...

—

You mixed crushed biscuits, cocoa, and condensed milk as per the video Souji sent. But in your enthusiasm, the mixture ended up like construction mortar!

Attempt #2:

You added more milk... then more... until it became an unshapable black liquid. Determined to salvage it, you crammed the sludge into small molds and shoved them in the freezer, praying they’d turn into something resembling food.

An hour later, your "chocolate truffles" emerged... flat as burnt pancakes, with a texture like wet clay.

A voice in your head whispered, "Are you sure you want to give him these? Is this premeditated murder?"

But you persisted... silencing the doubts with, "They look awful, but the taste might be fine!" (Though you didn’t dare taste one yourself for fear of poisoning).

---

You packed the dubious sweets into a small box labeled: "From a Grateful Student" (carefully avoiding any hint of romantic intent).

During break, you saw him alone in the staff room. Your chance.

You approached with heavy steps, feeling like you were carrying bricks, not candy.

"Sensei... this is for you."

He glanced at you with his usual detachment, then at the box. He opened it methodically... and paused slightly at the contents.

"Thanks... but what exactly is this?"

"Ch-Chocolate truffles!"

He picked one up hesitantly, took a bite... and froze. His eyes widened slightly

*"It’s... salty?”

Disaster. You realized you’d used table salt instead of sugar!

”Please, someone dig me a hole to die in right here”

"Sorry! Sorry! I should’ve tasted them first!"

---

After the black coffee tragedy and the salty chocolate crime, you decided food was not the way to his heart.

Knowledge... maybe.

Aizawa-sensei valued serious students. The ones who read. Who didn’t scream like Bakugou or chase each other down hallways like Midoriya.

And you... you had a library card, a notebook, and a half-baked plan.

The plan was simple: Choose a thick, impressive-looking book. Sit in a strategic corner. Furrow your brows like you understood every word. Wait for him to see you as a mature,scholarly student... and maybe, just maybe

as ideal future wife material.

Was it a foolproof plan? Absolutely not. But it was better than accidentally poisoning him.

---

The library was nearly empty and cool. You chose a table by the window and pulled out a book titled:

"Psychoanalysis of Quirk Influence on Neural Equilibrium."

You didn’t understand a word of the title, but the cover looked imposing... and prestigious.

You opened the book and stared intently at the words as if drafting a thesis.

Then... he walked in.

His hair tied back carelessly, steps slow, carrying a stack of papers to grade like they weighed him down.

"Act natural. Stay calm. Don’t stare too much... or maybe just one glance? Damn it, don’t smile!"

He sat directly across from you. Your heart pounded so hard you forgot to breathe.

But... did you remember to remove the sticker from the book's cover?

The one that said:

"Top 10 Most Pretentious & Incomprehensible Books of the Year!"

Panic flashed across your face. You tried to subtly tilt the cover away... but it was too late. He’d seen it.

"...Do you understand this kind of book?"

"S-Sometimes...? I mean... I like to challenge myself?"

He simply nodded, then returned to his papers without another word.

---

Half an hour passed. The silence was heavy, thick with amplified awkwardness.

Then... you moved to grab your pen, and the book slipped... taking a small note with it that slid right onto his table.

A note written in your handwriting: "Plan B: Win his heart... not poison his stomach."

He picked it up. Read it. Raised an eyebrow slightly... Is this yours?

"No! I mean... yes! I mean... maybe?"*

He didn’t comment. Just handed the note back and placed his own pen on top of it.

"Use this. The one you have is broken."

Then he stood up and left.

---

You stared at the pen. Grey, simple, engraved with his name.

"He gave me something personal... That’s progress... right?"

In your secret notebook that night, you wrote:

Day 3: Didn’t smile... but gave me his pen. That means something, even if it's small.

Then you drew a tiny heart beside the entry.

---

Day 4

After a full night of overthinking and staring at the grey pen he’d left you, you decided the next plan would be simple—no complications, no kitchen, no accidental confessions.

Just... be where he is at a specific time.

Aizawa-sensei was known to pass through the side gate every morning, minutes before assembly. Most students didn’t notice, but you’d observed him long enough (in a non-creepy way... relatively) to know the exact timing.

You woke before dawn, despite your bed groaning like it was caught in an earthquake. You dressed carefully, tied your hair to look effortlessly neat (though it took thirty minutes to tame one stubborn strand), and carried a notebook full of notes... to look like a diligent, serious student.

---

The gate was almost empty. The morning chill made your fingers numb, but you clung to the notebook like a shield.

"Act natural... like you’re just early for class... not lying in wait for a specific person.”

Then you saw him.

His steps measured, hands slightly curled under the weight of his black bag, eyes half-lidded like he’d just woken from hibernation.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward:

*"Good morning, Se—"*

But Fate decided to mock you. A sudden strong gust of wind ripped dozens of pages from your notebook.

The papers scattered like a flock of white birds—some flying into the courtyard, others landing right at his feet.

You froze.

He stopped, looked at the ground, then at you.

He said nothing, just bent down and picked up the nearest page...

That’s when you realized the true disaster: The page he picked up was one of your "secret sketches" of him—drawn while he slept in class once, complete with side notes like: "The most beautiful moment of peace in the day."

You expected him to toss it or ignore it, but... no.

He stood up straight, looked at the drawing for two extra seconds, then held it out to you.

"I believe this is yours."

"Th-Thanks! It’s... study notes... sort of..."

He didn’t comment. He just started gathering the other pages, helping you catch them before the wind stole them away.

You chased one page while he retrieved another, and for a moment, your hands touched over the same paper. His fingers were cold. Your body stiffened, but he didn’t pull away.

When you’d collected them all, you were both slightly out of breath.

He handed you the stack and remarked quietly:

"Bring paperclips next time... Or don’t carry everything in one hand."

"...Got it."

You walked beside him towards the building in a strangely comfortable silence. The wind died down, and the sound of your footsteps was the only thing filling the space.

Before he entered, he stopped suddenly and pulled something small from his pocket.

It was a metal paperclip.

"Hold onto this. Avoid the chaos."

You took it carefully, feeling its weight in your palm far more than it deserved.

"Thanks... I’ll return it soon."

"No need."

Then he vanished into the hallway, leaving the whole morning feeling slightly less cold.

---

That night, you sat on your bed, placing the paperclip on the table next to the grey pen.

You wrote in your notebook:

Day 4:

He caught my papers... and saw me running around just like him, chasing things I don’t want to lose.

Then you drew a tiny paperclip beside the pen... and added another heart.

---

Day 5

Since the gate incident and the metal paperclip, you felt an invisible thread between you. Not love, not even friendship... but at least he wasn’t just a teacher passing you by anymore.

So, when you heard your class would be training with rescue equipment in the gym today—and that *he* would be supervising—you volunteered to help set up.

---

The gym was full of boxes, and student chatter mixed with the clang of metal gear.

Aizawa stood by the main table, writing on a clipboard, his eyes tracking every movement effortlessly.

You approached him, trying to sound casual:

"S-Sensei... Can I help set up the equipment?"

He lifted his head, looked at you for a second, then gestured minimally towards a medium-sized box:

"Take that one over there."

You grabbed the box eagerly... but it was heavier than expected. You staggered, trying not to stumble... until a misplaced step made you trip on a loose piece of wood on the floor.

You didn’t fall completely, but the box slipped from your hands and landed on your foot. The pain was sharp, and a choked gasp escaped you before you sank to the floor, clutching your foot.

Before two seconds passed, he was crouching in front of you, leaning in slightly to check.

"Are you okay?"

"Just... a... little squashed." You tried to smile, but you were dying of embarrassment more than pain.

He knelt, moved the box aside, and quickly examined your foot.

"You need a cold compress..."

He offered his hand to help you up. You hesitated for a moment, then took it—it was unusually warm, or maybe yours were just frozen.

---

He led you to the table and sat you on a wooden bench. He pulled a small instant cold pack wrapped in cloth from his bag.

"Hold this here. At least five minutes."

You did as told while he stood nearby, keeping an eye on the other students.

He answered questions about equipment without moving, then suddenly turned to you:

"You’re the type who rushes in before assessing the situation."

You flustered: "that's a bad thing?.."

"Not always. But it brings injuries... as seen."

He smiled faintly, and you found yourself saying: "So... you’re saving me from myself now?"

He didn’t reply, but the corner of his mouth twitched upwards before settling back into neutrality.

---

After training ended, you limped slowly towards class. He caught up without you noticing and said:

"If your foot still hurts tomorrow, tell me. Don’t ignore it."

You nodded, feeling a strange sense of comfort... not because you’d escaped injury, but because you’d discovered his concern could be quiet, without fanfare.

That evening, you wrote in your notebook:

Day 5: Sometimes, little accidents are the only way to get close to someone who always keeps their distance.

Day 6

The morning was overcast, the air thick with the scent of rain.

You weren’t the type to carry an umbrella, confident the sky wouldn’t break before assembly. First mistake.

Halfway to school, the sky decided to unleash everything it had. The rain was sudden, torrential, and no one had opened an umbrella over your head.

You sprinted towards the gate, hair plastered to your face, uniform soaked three times its weight. And there, under a large black umbrella, you saw him... Aizawa, walking with steady steps, utterly unaffected by the downpour.

---

As you neared, he lifted the umbrella slightly to let you in, his tone familiarly cool:

"You’re soaking the entire ground."

"S-Sorry... the rain surprised me."

You expected him to walk on, but he paused at the entrance, turned to you, and tilted the umbrella in your direction.

"You have class on the other side of the building, right?"

You nodded. Before you could ask, he started walking beside you, holding the umbrella high enough to cover you both.

---

You tried to walk quickly to not keep him in the rain, but forgot the umbrella wasn’t that wide. You ended up much closer to him than expected.

Your heart raced faster than your steps.

After a moment of silence, he said abruptly:

"Rain isn’t an excuse for tardiness. Be prepared next time."

"Got it... Um, is this your favorite umbrella?" you asked, just to break the silence..and holy it was a stupid question..

"It’s not mine."

You stopped questioning, but he added after two seconds, as if reading your curiosity:

"One of the teachers left it in the staff room."

In that moment, you realized you were sharing a stranger’s umbrella with him... Strangely, that made it feel more awkward than the rain itself.

---

At the classroom door, he lowered the umbrella.

"Return it to the staff room after class. Make sure it doesn’t get lost."

You took it, thanked him, and tried to hide your fluster.

At the end of the day, while returning the umbrella, you spotted him down the hallway, watching from a distance to ensure you did it. He didn’t approach or say anything... but you caught the faintest, rarest hint of a smile.

---

That night, you wrote in your notebook:

Day 6:Rain washes everything away... except the moment I was under the umbrella with him.

---

Day 7

Today was a joint training session with another class.

The instructor split students into teams, and you found yourself paired with a tall, energetic boy from the other class named Habato.

From the first moment, Habato explained strategies like you’d known each other for years. He laughed loudly, stood closer than necessary, and applauded every idea you had like you’d saved the world.

---

Mid-training, you struggled to secure a heavy piece of equipment; your arms were tired. Kirishima immediately swooped in to lift it for you.

"Don’t push yourself, I’m here!" he said with a wide grin.

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut in behind you:

"You’re here to train, not to let others do the work for you."

You turned. Aizawa stood there, arms crossed, eyes sharp as they shifted between you and Habato.

*"I was just—"kirishima tried to explain, but Aizawa cut him off coldly:

"She’s capable of lifting it herself. Focus on your own training."

You grabbed the equipment again and lifted it this time, despite its weight. You felt his eyes on you until you secured it.

When you finished, he said, loud enough for only you to hear:

"Don’t let others treat you like you’re fragile."

You wanted to retort, but noticed he was already looking back at kirishima, who was smiling nervously.

---

After training, as you gathered your things, he stopped beside you and said:

"Your worth isn’t tied to pleasing anyone."

It didn’t take much to figure out he meant someone specific.

---

That evening, you wrote in your notebook:

Day 7

Apparently... jealousy doesn’t need shouting. A single shift in tone is enough.