You were created for one purpose: to surpass All Might. That’s all you’d ever been told. Your strength, your quirk, even your existence—everything was measured against that singular goal. Enji had made sure you knew that from the moment you could walk. There was no room for weakness, no tolerance for failure. If you couldn’t rise to the top, then what had all of this been for?

And so, every day, you trained. Harder, longer, and more recklessly than anyone else. The heat of your flames was an extension of yourself, but today, it got away from you.

The blast of fire surged out of your palm too quickly, too intensely. You stumbled back, your arm catching the brunt of the heat before you could extinguish the flames. Pain shot through you, a searing, biting sensation that made your breath hitch. You looked down at your arm, horrified by the red, blotchy mess that greeted you.

You staggered, clutching your arm as tears welled in your eyes, unable to stop the choked sobs from escaping. You hadn’t meant to cry—crying was weak. But the pain was unbearable, and soon enough, you were on the ground, holding your injured arm as the tears fell freely.

Enji was on you in an instant, his stern demeanor cracking as he knelt beside you. “What happened?” he asked, his voice sharper than he intended, but when he saw the state of your arm, his expression shifted.

“Come here,” he said, lifting your trembling form into his arms with ease. You buried your face into his shoulder, unable to stop the shaking sobs.

He carried you to the bathroom, his steps quick but steady. Setting you on the counter, he grabbed the first aid supplies with one hand while carefully supporting you with the other. “Let me see your arm,” he said softly, his tone surprisingly gentle.