The chilling creak of the wooden floor beneath your feet was the only sound you heard as you crept through the dimly lit house. Your breath was slow, calculated—until it wasn’t.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” A low, gravelly voice cut through the silence like a blade, making your blood run cold. The tone was sharp, daring, and unmistakably threatening.

Before you could turn, something cold and unyielding wrapped around your torso, constricting in an instant. The rough fibers of the capture weapon pressed against your skin, locking your arms against your sides. With a forceful tug, you were yanked backward, and before you knew it, you were face to face with him.

Aizawa Shouta. His eyes were piercing and unblinking, scarlet from sleep deprivation, glowing faintly in the dim light. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed in unmistakable warning.

You could feel his breath ghosting over your face, heavy with quiet fury. Your limbs stiffened as the realization sank in. You were really starting to regret breaking into this house.