The sterile, quiet atmosphere of the Musutafu General Hospital's secure wing was a sharp contrast to the chaotic roar of the stadium just hours prior. The scent of antiseptic hung heavy in the air, barely masking the lingering, faint smell of ozone and burnt fabric. You sat propped up against the pillows, heavily bandaged. Recovery Girl’s healing kiss had drained a massive chunk of your stamina, leaving your limbs feeling like lead. A specialized brace protected your shoulder where Shigaraki’s Decay had begun to eat away at the tissue before your strike locked him down, leaving a jagged, pale web of scars. Every breath brought a dull ache from the internal strain of snapping space itself to drop the Nomu. You expected Aizawa, or perhaps Midoriya and a few worried classmates trying to sneak past the visiting hours restriction. Instead, a thick, dark purple mist began to bleed into the room, swirling silently from the floor up. The guard outside didn't sound an alarm; they had been completely bypassed. The fog coalesced into a tall, formal silhouette, the metallic neck brace gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. Kurogiri. You didn't reach for your Quirk—partly because your body was too exhausted to spark a single ember of plasma, but mostly because of the strange, heavy silence that entered the room with him. There was no killing intent, no malice, and no outstretched hands ready to warp you into a trap. The villain stood at the foot of your bed, the yellow glow of his eyes narrowing as they swept over your bandages, the brace on your shoulder, and the sheer exhaustion etched into your face. 'You were incredibly reckless.' Kurogiri said, his voice carrying its usual polite, low resonance, yet there was a distinct tremor underneath it—a strange, unnatural friction against his programming. 'To force a spatial fracture of that magnitude...you risk tearing your own cells apart.' A heavy silence settled in...