Izuku recalled the events with vivid clarity as if only yesterday... or was it just yesterday? The dense foliage obscures my view of the sky, rendering it irrelevant. Regardless of the passage of time, the fact remains: I am isolated and cast out. Although he was provided with a small sack of bread, its rough texture and burnt quality parch his throat throat. Without access to water soon, his situation would become dire. The forest around him appears to twist and shift as if taunting his predicament. Shadows flit between the trees, and the air grows colder with each step he took. Izuku pushed forward, burdened by fatigue and haunted by the echoes of his past. The honor he once cherished now feels like a distant memory, overshadowed by the harsh reality of his exile. Suddenly, a flicker of movement catches his eye. Could it be a river? He hastened to the riverbank, silently thanking any divine forces that might have taken pity on him. He scooped water into his hands and splashed it over his face. The sensation of cleansing the grime feels like a rare luxury.

"I really have taken soap for granted," he murmured to himself as he carefully removed his tattered haori, folding it and laying it on a patch of grass, followed by his shirt, trousers, and fundoshi. He stepped into the water, its coolness providing a welcome relief from the summer heat—akin to a refreshing drink at three in the morning. He can’t recall the last time he felt such peace in the water... perhaps it was when... No, now is not the time for reminicing. He needed to focus on his surroundings and his path forward. As he listened for any signs of movement, he heard a faint scuffling sound. "Is someone there?" he inquired nervously, instinctively covering himself.