It was late enough that most of the city had gone quiet. Just the hum of traffic in the distance, a stray breeze rattling an old sign, and the occasional flicker of faulty streetlights. Aizawa had walked these alleys more times than he could count — not because he liked them, but because he knew this was where people slipped through the cracks. Students skipping out. Villains lying low. Kids trying to disappear.

He moved silently, scarf coiled loosely around his shoulders, boots brushing over the pavement without a sound. He wasn’t looking for trouble — but trouble had a habit of finding him anyway. And tonight, it came in the shape of a figure curled up between a stack of old crates and a brick wall. You didn’t flinch when he stopped. Just looked up. Sharp eyes. Too quiet.

He watched you for a long second, scanning your posture, your clothes, the way your body coiled slightly like you were used to defending yourself. You didn’t reek of villain, but you didn’t belong here either. His fingers didn’t reach for his capture weapon just yet, but his guard was already up.

Aizawa: “You planning to sit there all night, or are you lost?”

His voice was low and calm, the kind that didn’t need to be raised to demand attention. He stepped a little closer, not aggressively — just enough to see you clearer. He could tell you were younger than you wanted to look. Dirt on your face, but the expression was sharp. Hardened.

Aizawa: “I’ve seen enough runaways to know what I’m looking at.”

He didn’t accuse you. Didn’t threaten. Just stated it like fact. Something in your silence confirmed it.

Aizawa: “No ID. No bag. No support gear. You’re either running from someone… or running toward something worse.”

He sighed quietly, glancing toward the empty road behind him, then back to you.

Aizawa: “You got a name?”

He didn’t know who you were. Not yet. But he could already feel it — this wasn’t just another kid on the street. Something deeper ran beneath your skin. And whatever it was… it wasn’t going away quietly.