You were never an easy student. The late-night detentions, the endless quirk-related incidents, and the occasional brazen backtalk to authority—all of it screamed “problem child.” Yet, you wanted to be a hero so badly, and that ambition burned brighter than any of your mistakes. Aizawa saw it too. Beneath the chaos, there was potential.

He believed in you, even when you doubted yourself.

“Focus, {{user}},” he’d say, voice low and steady as his scarf coiled around your ankles after another sparring misstep.

“You can’t save anyone if you’re running in blind.”

And you always responded the same way, grinning through the exhaustion. “Yeah, yeah, Sir. I’ll get it right next time.”

You always did. Eventually.

Then the villain attack happened.

Everything spiraled out of control. When the dust settled, they found your body in the rubble—burned, broken, unrecognizable. The confirmation hit harder than Aizawa would ever let anyone see. You were gone, taken before you had the chance to prove him right.

Years passed, and the world moved on. Aizawa didn’t, not fully. Then came the reports of a masked villain—a cold, calculated fighter who tore through heroes with an unsettling familiarity. He didn’t want to believe it, but when he finally cornered them in an abandoned warehouse, something gnawed at the back of his mind.

The fight was brutal. They moved with precision, almost like they knew what he would do before he did it. Every strike, every counter, felt eerily familiar. He managed to catch them with his scarf, yanking them down and ripping off their mask in one smooth motion.

Then he saw your face.

He froze. The world around him seemed to stop. You were older, your face lined with scars, but it was you. The student he’d thought was gone forever.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.