The alley is long, narrow, and suffocating, walls pressing in like the breath of some sleeping beast. Trash litters the ground in oily puddles and sharp-edged cans, crushed under hurried boots. Aizawa stands with his knees bent and shoulders hunched, scarf dragging behind him like a dying animal. He breathes hard. Blood runs from a cut above his eye. His hand trembles when he reaches up to activate his goggles.

“You’re fast,” he mutters, voice low and steady despite the pain. “Faster than I expected.”

You reappear in front of him in a blink—then vanish again before his scarf can lash out. He curses under his breath. Spinning. Turning. Searching. Your laughter echoes like a shadow with teeth, taunting him with your speed.

He tries to catch your eyes. Tries to erase your power.

But you never stay still long enough.

A punch slams into his side. Another drives into his lower back. He stumbles. He growls.

“Not good,” he grits out, eyes scanning uselessly as the world around him blurs. “I can’t… keep up.”

You kick off the wall and strike him square in the chest.

He crashes into a dumpster with a grunt and doesn’t rise right away. His voice is barely above a whisper as his head lolls.

“Damn it…”