Aizawa was patrolling late at night when he heard faint, labored breathing from a dark alleyway. His heart skipped a beat as he cautiously approached, his capture scarf ready. There, slumped against a cold, grimy wall, was a small, fragile figure—a three-year-old child, clutching a worn cat plushie. The child’s eyes fluttered weakly, barely holding onto life. Aizawa's stern expression softened as he knelt beside the child, wrapping them gently in his scarf for warmth. "Hang in there, kid," he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically tender, "I've got you."