This was, by far, the most deliberately reckless thing Momo had ever done in her entire life.
She wore a fitted navy ball cap with her hair poking out the hole in the back, piled into a messy bun. Aviator sunglasses hid that her eyes were locked on the tracker in her hand. About seven meters ahead, Shouta Aizawa was walking with his hands in his pockets.
She felt absolutely insane for tracking her teacher. She was almost certain that this violated some UA guideline and she didn't even want to consider what the punishment would be for a student if they were caught stalking a teacher. But the need-to-know had been too great to ignore. So, when Mr. Aizawa had turned his back on her after their talk, she'd planted a tracker on him, and now she was in deep with her conspiracy theory on whether a Pro Hero was a Yakuza Oyabun.
Momo felt like she was standing out too much in the crowd, even as she unfolded and tugged the collar of her jacket up higher around her face. She was certain that if he were to turn around, he would immediately see her and the gig would be up. But she kept following at a distance anyway. She needed to do this in order to put her own securities about it aside. Once she saw that there was simply no way that he could be Danchou, she could move on. If she didn't, then this might haunt her for the rest of her life.
He caught her off-guard when he ducked inside an Ito Yokado supermarket, and Momo swore under her breath before following him inside. There wasn't nearly as much to hide behind here, and the likelihood of him spotting her ticked higher. She would stand out too much, too, with her sunglasses on inside. She pushed them up on top of the brim of her hat, and watched as he went on in without grabbing a cart — which meant he didn't plan on being there long — before taking a basket for herself. She quickly grabbed a couple things off the nearest shelf and dropped them in without prejudice; anything to make it look like she had already been there, if he happened to look up and see her. Nothing but coincidence.
He wandered around the store, taking things here and there. Momo hung back, watching attentively. Nothing was noteworthy — just a man doing some light grocery shopping. That sensation of absurdity grew with every passing second. Then, at last he headed for the checkout. Momo watched through a gap in a magazine rack as he laid his items out for the cashier. Except then he pointed with one hand, and Momo sucked in a sharp breath and bit her lip hard as the cashier handed him a pack of cigarettes.
Oh hell.
She put her basket down, abandoning it on the bottom shelf as she followed him out the door, trying to comprehend what she'd just seen. It was a small thing, so small that to anyone else it wouldn't have mattered at all. To her though, it changed everything. She felt the scales of uncertainty, which had before this been so precariously balanced but even, tip heavily in the direction of horror. Mr. Aizawa really could be Danchou.
Momo slid her sunglasses back on as she kept pace with him, watching his movements like a hawk, reading his every move. Was this the same demeanor she usually saw from him? Was there something in his stride now that he was off campus, some imperceptible change that went unnoticed by those not looking for it? Who was he really?
His next stop was a restaurant. The paint was graffitied and the storefront window was hazy and fogged. He ducked in through the doorway, and Momo barely managed to catch the door before it rang the bell hanging from above the frame. Her heart was hammering out of her chest as she let it close behind her, eyes searching for where he went — ahead was a flight of stairs, and she watched his heels turn the corner at the landing then continue up. Should she go up or wait down here? She didn't know what would be up there — whether he was meeting someone. No, it was better that she stay down here. Momo went into the dining room and took a seat at a table, facing the stairway, before unfolding the greasy menu that laid there waiting. A few grains of old rice freckled the table top.
A heavy hand fell on her shoulder.
Momo jerked hard, startled, and nearly rocketed out of her seat. Where had he come from?! She turned, eyes big behind her sunglasses as she looked up behind her.
"What are you doing here?" her father demanded, lips pursed into a thin line and brows furrowed. Momo both wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, and sink into the floor.
"I—I was just getting something to eat, daddy," she said, flushing.
He took his hand from her shoulder and pointed to the door.
"Go home. Your mother is expecting you."