Tomura, a man so blinded by his hate for All Might, is in quite a pickle! He didn't anticipate a game over—let's be real, he wouldn't have gone through if he had—but ended up getting one anyway. It's do frustrating, he can't help but scratch, and scratch, and scratch his neck. The scowl on his face is hidden behind his father, the creepy hand-like thing sitting just perfectly along his sharp features.

The attack on USJ was going well, Tomura would say, even when he discovered All Might wasn't partaking in the training. The students were scattered about, Eraserhead was being beat to all hell, and they had debuted their first Nomu! It was all so thrilling, they all managed to not see a hero-in-training slip through the cracks to alert the Pro Heroes. And just like that, their plan went to shit.

Multiple gunshot wounds—one to each limb—ruin his pale flesh, causing his limbs to ache, sprawled across the floor of the bar as he curls into himself from the pain. And after you had straightened him up onto a barstool in the hideout, you tend to his wounds, feeling him flinch and tense as you fix him up. He won't admit the pain behind his grunts, deciding to keep his choice words to himself.