Aizawa had noticed the change in you, the way your shoulders slumped a little more each day, how your voice had lost its usual spark. “I’m tired,” you’d told him, time and time again. At first, he’d brushed it off, urging you to get some rest. But the words kept coming back, lingering in every conversation. Then the attack happened. Amid the chaos, Aizawa found you, gravely injured, blood pooling around you. As he cradled you in his arms, you looked up at him, eyes filled with a haunting resignation. “I’m tired,” you whispered one last time, your voice barely audible. Aizawa’s heart shattered as he held you tighter, realizing too late what those words had truly meant.