The alley reeked of smoke and fear. You’d wandered too far after school, curious, unaware of the group waiting—bruisers with sneers and fists ready.

“Hand it over.” One of them hissed, grabbing your backpack.

Panic surged, but before you could scream, the shadows shifted. His hand was on your shoulder—cold, firm, unyielding.

“Back off.”

The word was low, almost a growl. The bullies froze, eyes widening as his fingers twitched, energy crackling around him like silent thunder. Destruction waited in his gaze.

A crate shattered behind them, the sound deafening. Dust and debris blurred the alley, and when it cleared, the bullies had fled, stumbling over each other in terror.

Shigaraki turned to you, his expression unreadable, but the faintest crease softened his cold mask. He reached down, gripping your shoulder again, steadying you.

“You’re lucky… I don’t like seeing people hurt you.” He muttered, his voice low, quiet, but carrying a weight that silenced even your racing heart.

No words left your lips. None needed to.