One of the definitions of insanity was often said to repeatedly do something again and again, while expecting different results. Momo had begun to wonder whether she was slipping down that treacherous slope into the category. Certainly her actions couldn't be quantified as sane — she was following Mr. Aizawa yet again. Every time she trailed him after school ended, the feeling of dread that she was going to be caught worsened, and with it deepened the fear of the consequences. She was pushing her luck, and for what? It had been two weeks of — let's not mince words, she was stalking — her teacher, and the only activity of interest had been that he'd bought a pack of cigarettes. It should've been enough to sate her curiosity. He had done nothing.

And still she found herself making excuses; she'd only been trailing him for a couple hours a day after school finished for the day. If he was living a shady double life, he was likely doing it late at night. Watching him during the daylight hours proved nothing with regard to his innocence or guilt. If she wanted to get to the heart of the matter, she'd have to dig deeper. So she lied to her parents and told them she would be spending the night at Uraraka's — they wouldn't check up on her there.

So Momo followed him through his daily after school routine; he went to the store and bought a pack of cigarettes, then went to the same restaurant every day. She no longer followed him inside either; instead waiting someplace outside for him to emerge. The store took him about ten minutes, and he would be in the restaurant for about an hour. Twice more her father had come out of the restaurant, too — she hadn't realized it was a place he frequented it, and it was certainly for the best that she not push her luck with going in after Mr. Aizawa anymore anyway. So she waited outside instead.

Her father came out before Mr. Aizawa did, and Momo shrank a little deeper into her hoodie as she watched while he shook hands amicably with the two men he came out with, then headed in the direction of where she'd discovered he parked his car down the street. Fifteen minutes later, Mr. Aizawa emerged, and Momo adjusted her sunglasses on her nose before pushing herself away from the wall and trailing him.

From here he went to the dry cleaners where he would pick up a bag of laundry, then he would go home. Momo felt uncomfortable knowing where her teacher lived, but she saw little other choice. He lived in an apato style building — nothing special. It had thrown her off the first time she'd seen it. If he was Danchou, she'd expected him to live in something...fancier. Yesterday she'd scouted out a nook she'd be able to see his apartment from where she could sit undisturbed without drawing attention to herself. She settled into it now, doing her best to seem uninteresting.

She didn't know how long she would need to wait. She didn't even know if he would be leaving his apartment again tonight at all. Momo rocked back on her heels slightly, watching his building attentively. She had walked the perimeter yesterday, too, and she knew this was the only entrance and exit, unless he decided to go out a window — and her gut said that would involved far too much effort and far too little grace for Shouta Aizawa.

There was finally movement at exactly half past nine. Momo sat up straighter when his door opened, and her teacher stepped out. He was dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, with trainers on his feet. He had pulled his hair away from his face in a low ponytail, and a pair of oversized headphones over his ears. Mr. Aizawa didn't look around him as he locked the door and started off down the street. Momo inhaled a deep breath, steeling herself, before she pushed herself up to her feet and began to follow.

It was both a disappointment and an immense relief when he went to a gym. The gym looked questionable, judging by the face of the building. It looked run down. Sketchy. It would be members only, so as soon as he headed in the direction of the door she knew whatever happened in there would be unknown. She couldn't follow him in like she did at the grocery store. There was a moment where she didn't know what to do next — should she call it quits here? Should she wait it out? Momo chewed on her lip before decided to walk the perimeter of the building.

There was another exit at the back, but the mouth of its alley opened back on either side of the building at the street. He wouldn't be able to leave without her seeing him. So she decided to wait it out instead of throwing in the towel. Momo lowered herself into the doorway of the business across the street, her body growing sore from the prolonged sitting. It was harder to stay still this time; she moved her legs to stretch her calves and Achilles. As the minutes ticked by, she had to rise to her feet, and Momo bent to touch her toes, feeling the burn along the backs of her legs.

"Hey honey, need some help?"

She jerked, startled, as a man's silhouette loomed over her. He was dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt, still clean — he hadn't gone in the gym yet. Headphones hung casually around his neck. There was a leering quality to his gaze as he looked her up and down, and Momo's skin crawled. She was dressed in baggy sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Her goal had been to be almost gender fluid in case Mr. Aizawa caught a glimpse of her — abstract enough that he may not be able to place it as her. What this man saw that drew him over, she didn't know, but she wanted him to leave.

"No," she said flatly, and flicked her sunglasses down off the top of her head to hide her eyes.

"Don't be like that." He leaned against the building. His lips were peeled back in a smarmy smile, trying to be charming as he looked at her from under his hooded eyes. "I can help you stretch."

"No thanks."

"You might like it," he insisted, stepping forward into her. Momo flinched away, jerking, as his hand ran up under her hoodie, finding the bare skin of her ribs. His other hand plucked her glasses off her face, tossing them behind him.

"Get off me!"

The man suddenly choked and stumbled back, tripping down the steps. He gave a sound of pain as his feet tangled underneath him. Momo's hands flew up to cover her mouth, stifling her gasp as Mr. Aizawa flung the man away from her like a rag doll, putting himself between them.

"She said no," Mr. Aizawa snarled.

Her assailant didn't have the balls to face off with her teacher. Hell, she wouldn't have in his shoes, even if she didn't know Mr. Aizawa was a Pro Hero. He ducked his head and slinked away down the street, shoulders hunched and limping. Mr. Aizawa advanced toward her. Panic, quick and icy cold, shot through her veins as his eyes found her face.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I—I was running an errand for my parents," she lied lamely, but it was the first thing that came to mind.

"Your parents?" The look on his face told her that he didn't believe her.

"You shouldn't be out in the streets this late, Ms. Yaoyorozu," he said sternly. "Get moving. I'll walk you to the train station."

She was in no position to argue, and doing so would only further arouse his suspicion. He didn't become a Pro Hero by being naive. It was unlikely that he believed her half-baked excuse. She wouldn't have believed it if it had been laid on her like that. So Momo kept her mouth shut and put her hands in her pocket, walking beside him. It felt strange to be in his company outside of school, and inside her head, her thoughts were warring. She still had no evidence that Mr. Aizawa was Danchou, and his behavior continued to speak to the contrary. She'd been caught once now, and if he caught her again then there would be real repercussions. Possibly expulsion from UA. Was this worth the risk, just to prove or disprove that he was Danchou?

Momo stole a glance at him from the corner of her eye. His face was void of expression; he certainly didn't look happy, but he didn't look annoyed or displeased either. There was something more to him now though. Her eyes followed the angle of his jaw and traced over the beginnings of a fresh scar under his eye, the last trace of his fight against the League of Villains. It was more pink than silver still. He was alert, though sullen with the slightest downturn to the corners of his lips. For the first time, she saw something becoming in him. Dare she even say a handsomeness. The realization caught her off-guard, and Momo hastily cast her eyes back down to the sidewalk and didn't look at him again until they reached the train station. He waited with her until it arrived, then turned his back and raised a hand in farewell as he walked away.

She would not follow him again, she decided as she watched him leave through the window of the train. If he was indeed Danchou, she would need to find another way to find the truth.