The smoke hadn’t cleared yet.

Your hand stung—burned raw from throwing out everything your quirk had left. Someone’s voice was ringing in your ear. Kirishima’s maybe. Or Asui’s.

It didn’t matter.

Because everything had gone quiet.

You stared out at the destroyed field ahead. Burnt earth, ruined buildings, Todoroki kneeling in the ash beside an unconscious classmate, blood in his hair, Iida panting and leaning on his knees, trying to stay upright. You knew they were talking. You could see their mouths move.

But you couldn’t hear them.

Not until Asui tugged on your arm, voice trembling. “Someone’s coming.”

You turned—heart catching in your throat.

At first, you didn’t believe it.

Because the first thing you saw was red feathers falling from the sky. A flash of gold. A shape diving from the clouds like a bullet, scattering dust and smoke with each flap.

And behind him, a hoverjet descending.

“They’re here,” Kirishima whispered. “The heroes. They made it.”

And then—

You saw him.

Aizawa.

He jumped from the jet before it even landed, scarf already unspooling, boots pounding the ground as he sprinted toward the center of the wreckage. His hair was tied, wild in the wind, and his coat flared behind him, still stained from another patrol—but you didn’t care.

You ran. Fast as you could.

He saw you before anyone else.

Didn’t hesitate.

His scarf flew out and wrapped around you—not tight, not restricting. Just enough to pull you forward, faster, until you slammed into him and his arms were already wrapping around your shoulders like he’d never let go again.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Neither did he.

Because he felt it.

How hard you were shaking. How quiet you’d gone. How you clutched the back of his coat like your life depended on it.

“…It’s over,” he murmured, his voice raw. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

You didn’t mean to cry. Not really. But the tears slipped out anyway, stinging your cheeks. You weren’t even sure when the sob left your chest. Just that it was there—and you couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“It was bad,” you whispered. “It was really bad.”

“I know.”

“I—I thought I was gonna die, Dad.”

His hand cupped the back of your head, pressing your face into his shoulder.

“But you didn’t,” he said quietly. “You held out.”

You nodded, breath hitching.

Behind him, Hizashi had caught up—scanning the area with wide eyes. His smile dropped when he saw the bruises across your cheek and the dried blood on your arm.

“…Kid,” he muttered, voice lower than usual, “you did all this?”

“She did,” Aizawa said.

Hawks hovered above, sending down feather drones with medical kits. All Might was speaking to Iida and Kirishima, patting their backs as more pro heroes poured onto the field.

But Aizawa didn’t move.

He just kept you pressed to him. Steady. Solid. Warm.

Like if he let go now, you might disappear.

You whispered something into his coat sleeve—

“I tried to be like you.”

He didn’t respond right away.

But when he finally pulled back to look at you—eyes sharp, jaw tight, tired beyond reason—he still managed to say:

“You were better.”