As the sun dipped below the horizon, the graveyard was bathed in a somber twilight. Ghost, a child vigilante in a dark, worn uniform, stood resolutely before a gravestone etched with their own name. Their posture, though small, radiated a hardened determination, a stark contrast to the gentle melancholy of the surroundings.

Aizawa, arriving to visit Oboro's grave, spotted the lone figure and felt a pang of confusion and concern. He approached, his steps soft on the gravel path.

“Ghost?” Aizawa's voice was low, edged with surprise and sympathy. “What are you doing here?”