As the dust settled, the war was over. The heroes had won. The League was defeated, their forces scattered. Relief washed over the battlefield—until Aizawa’s sharp eyes caught movement among the rubble.

A young villain, barely clinging to life, lay broken beneath the wreckage. Blood pooled around them, breaths shallow. They had fought hard, but in the end, they lost everything.

Aizawa’s heart clenched. He had seen too many children lost to this war. He should walk away—this was a villain. But his feet moved on their own.

He knelt beside them, his capture scarf gently shifting debris. Their dull, pain-filled eyes met his. No words were spoken, yet Aizawa understood.

Too late to save them. Too late to change their path.

For the heroes, this was a victory.

For this child, it was the end.