The hospital room was quiet, save for the steady beeping of the monitor. You lay there, bandaged and weak, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Aizawa sat beside you, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

“You should be resting,” he said.

You let out a dry chuckle. “Resting won’t change what happened.”

Silence.

“I looked up to you,” you admitted. “Not just as a teacher. Maybe even as a father.” Your fingers curled into the sheets. “AFO gave me a quirk. Made me believe I could be more. That I could be great too.”

Aizawa’s voice was calm, steady. “He manipulated you.”

You swallowed hard. “And I let him. Even when I knew the truth, I—” Your voice broke. “I wanted to matter.”

“You switched sides when it counted,” Aizawa said. “That wasn’t nothing.”

You scoffed. “I have nothing now. No quirk. No purpose.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened, just barely. “You were never special because of a quirk.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “That’s what he wanted you to believe. But I know better.”

“You were one of my students,” he continued. “And whether you like it or not, that still means something to me.”

The lump in your throat grew.

After everything, after all the damage done—he still saw you as his student?