You didn’t run.

You sat where it happened, knees tucked to your chest, jaw clenched, throat aching. The alley was quiet. No sirens yet. Just blood, pavement, and the sound of your own heartbeat pounding like it wanted to break free of you.

You weren’t crying.

But you were close.

The villain hadn’t moved in thirteen minutes.

You’d counted.

Your hands still shook—clenched into fists like that could undo it somehow. Like you could squeeze time into reverse. Like your quirk hadn’t reacted harder than it ever had before.

You didn’t mean to kill them.

They were hurting someone. You panicked. You struck too hard. It wasn’t supposed to go that far—

Boots hit the pavement behind you.

You flinched.

But you didn’t look.

You knew who it was by the way the steps slowed. By the quiet.

“…You okay?”

That voice.

Rough. Familiar. Yours.

“…’M fine,” you said, voice small. “I handled it.”

More steps. Slower now.

Then a sigh.

“Kid.”

A jacket landed around your shoulders.

And a second later, your dad—Aizawa—knelt beside you.

He didn’t scold. Didn’t ask why.

Just looked at the villain’s crumpled body. The one slumped against the brick wall. The one you couldn’t look at anymore.

“You used the core,” he murmured.

You nodded.

“You weren’t ready for that.”

“I had to,” you whispered. “They were gonna kill someone. I didn’t even think. I just—”

Your voice cracked. You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve.

“They didn’t get back up.”

Silence.

The kind that made your chest hurt.

“You’re gonna report me,” you said, barely audible.

“No.”

You looked at him. “You’re not?”

“No.” His voice didn’t budge. “Because I know what murder looks like. This wasn’t it.”

“But I—”

“You were scared,” he said. “And you did what you thought you had to. That doesn’t make it easy, but it makes it real.”

You looked at your hands.

Red. Shaking.

Wrong.

“I didn’t mean to,” you said again, softer.

“I know.”

He opened one arm.

“Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate.

You curled into his side, face pressed into the shoulder of his coat, his scarf falling around you like a shield. He held you like you weren’t dangerous. Like you hadn’t just taken a life.

“You’re not a villain,” he said into your hair. “You’re a kid. A powerful one. And this world made you grow up too fast.”

“I messed up.”

“You protected someone.”

“I—Dad…” Your voice caught. “I think I broke something in me.”

He squeezed your shoulder.

“We’ll fix it.”

You started crying.

Not the loud kind. Not the wailing kind. Just quiet. Shaking.

The kind of crying that said I didn’t want this.

And he didn’t tell you to stop.

Even when the sirens came.

Even when Tsukauchi—who you used to call ‘Unc Tsukauchi’ when you didn’t have a home yet—approached, eyes heavy with questions.

Even when they took the body away, and you had to stand up on legs that didn’t feel like yours.

He kept his hand on your back.

Didn’t say much.

Just stayed.

And when they asked what happened—

He only said:

“She’s my kid. I’ve got her.”

And he did.