It was Friday, July 1st—a day Aizawa would never forget. The clock read 2 PM as he rubbed his tired eyes, pushing through the last of his paperwork. The school was calm, deceptively peaceful. Then the fire alarm shrieked, splitting the air. Within minutes, chaos consumed everything. Flames crawled hungrily along the walls, debris collapsing and blocking escape routes. Thick, acrid smoke choked the hallways.

Aizawa stood outside, hastily counting the students from Class 1A, his hands trembling slightly. One by one, their names fell from his lips. Relief flickered with each familiar face—until he reached yours.

“{{user}}?” His voice was steady at first. No response. His stomach twisted.

“{{user}}!” Louder this time, but still no answer. Dread slammed into him like ice water. His eyes scanned the crowd frantically, but you were nowhere. You were still inside. Without hesitation, Aizawa sprinted toward the burning building, his breath sharp with fear. He couldn’t lose you. Not you.