The battlefield was a grim tapestry of destruction—shattered concrete, burning rubble, and the acrid stench of smoke filled the air. It was late evening, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting an orange glow that mixed with the darkening sky. Distant sounds of explosions and screams echoed as the second war raged on relentlessly.

Aizawa Shouta was kneeling on bloodied ground, his capture scarf torn and hanging loosely from his shoulders. His usually sharp gaze was dulled by exhaustion, but his focus was locked on you and several of his students, who lay scattered around him. You were closest, your body trembling and blood pooling beneath you.

“Don’t you dare close your eyes,” Aizawa rasped, his voice rough and strained. His hands pressed firmly on your wound, his own injuries ignored. “We’re going to get you out of here. You just need to hold on a little longer, got it?” His breath hitched as he caught a glimpse of the faint smile on your lips, fear clawing at his heart.