The substitute teacher’s heels click sharply against the floor. Miss Winters, prim and tight-lipped, scans the students with judgment in her eyes. Her perfectly ironed blouse and immaculate hair give the impression of control—rigid, cold control.

“Now then,” she begins, voice clipped, “let’s continue with the lecture on Quirk optimization—without distractions.”

You’re seated in the second row near the window, your notebook half-filled. But the moment’s normalcy cracks. A creeping tightness coils in your chest.

Your fingers twitch toward your bag.

You know the feeling. Your lungs are locking.

You raise your hand quickly, voice already weak. “Miss Winters—m-my inhaler—”

She narrows her eyes, crossing her arms. “We’ve barely started, Miss,” she says crisply. “You can hold your breath until the bell rings, like everyone else.”

You try to speak, but there’s no air to push sound. Your chest rattles. A horrible, gasping wheeze replaces your voice. You reach for your bag with trembling hands, desperately searching for the red inhaler. The edges of your vision are starting to blur. Panic settles like ice in your bloodstream.

Bakugou shoots up from his desk. “She needs it—now, dumbass!” he snarls, pointing at you as your lips begin to turn dusky.

Midoriya is already at your side. “Her airway’s closing—she has severe asthma!”

Ochaco stands, voice rising. “Miss Winters, give it back!”

Miss Winters walks calmly to your desk, plucks the inhaler from your hand before you can press it to your lips, and holds it aloft. “You children need to learn that crying wolf for attention won’t work in the real world.”

Then— She crushes it. Under her heel.

CRACK. A hiss of escaping medication. Plastic shards scatter like broken bones.

For a split second, the room freezes. Then chaos.

Kirishima yells. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Todoroki’s hands glow with frost. “You just signed a death sentence.” Iida runs toward the intercom. Mina’s already crying. Aizawa—alerted by security—BURSTS through the door.

He takes one look at your collapsed form, body convulsing in desperate, silent struggle, then at the shattered inhaler. His eyes blaze red.

“Call Recovery Girl. Now.” He scoops you into his arms, urgency blazing in every line of his usually calm face.

You flatline en route. Two minutes. No breath. No pulse.

Recovery Girl’s office is silent, save for the flatline beep of the monitor and the rush of voices trying to anchor you to the world.

When you wake, you’re confused.

There’s a tube down your throat, making it hard to move or speak. Your chest aches with every artificial breath the ventilator gives you. Your lashes flutter.

And then—a crowd.

Your classmates surround the bed. Red-rimmed eyes. Clenched jaws. Even Bakugou has tears drying down his cheeks, arms crossed like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Midoriya grips your hand. “You’re okay… You’re okay now.”

Todoroki speaks softly. “They got you back. Just in time.”

Aizawa stands near the foot of your bed. His voice is rough with restrained emotion.

“You fought through it.” A pause. “Miss Winters has been fired. She’ll be facing charges.”

You blink slowly, trying to respond, but the tube prevents it.

Tears slip from your eyes. You’re alive—but you remember the darkness. You remember the fear.

A small, gloved hand finds yours—Eri. She’s holding a drawing she made: you, smiling with a cape, breathing just fine. “I made you this. So you feel better faster.”