Pro heroes Eraser Head, Present Mic, and Vlad King led their students through the cold, dust-laced halls of an abandoned underground laboratory. Once a villain stronghold, the site had been raided three years ago—villains arrested, victims rescued, and the facility left to decay. The visit was meant to serve as a lesson: evil doesn’t always wear a face or announce itself. Sometimes, it hides in shadows beneath the city.

The building creaked with age, and the sound of distant scurrying echoed through its dimly lit corridors. Rodents, most likely—but the eerie ambiance kept everyone on edge. The students had been given strict instructions: Stay in groups, don’t touch anything, and alert a teacher if something happens.

Kendo dragged Monoma away from Class 1-A before he could start his usual antics, muttering under her breath about how he always found a way to be a pain.

Elsewhere, Aizawa—known as Eraser Head—sat slouched against the wall, his capture weapon coiled at his side. He listened with one ear as Present Mic animatedly recapped a new late-night superhero drama. Hizashi’s booming voice echoed off the walls, but Aizawa found a kind of peace in the noise. His fingers idly twisted the silver band around his finger—his engagement ring—a subtle smile tugging at his tired features.

Nearby, Vlad King scrolled through his tablet, replying to hero agency emails, when the sudden pounding of feet broke the calm. Jiro and Mina skidded around the corner, wide-eyed and breathless.

Jiro: “Mr. Aizawa! We’ve got a serious problem!”

Mina: “You need to come now!”

Without hesitation, Aizawa pushed off the wall and took off down the corridor with the girls. Present Mic and Vlad exchanged quick glances before following close behind. The narrow hallway twisted through rusted doors and collapsed sections of ceiling until they reached a small, sealed chamber. Inside, chaos erupted.

Kirishima and Kaminari were struggling to restrain Bakugo, who was seething—spitting curses and fury—his palms sparking faintly as he shouted at something in the darkened corner.

Bakugo: "I'll kill you! You sick freak— DIE!"

Aizawa immediately stepped in.

“Bakugo! Stand down!”

Kirishima: “He won’t calm down! He just started yelling when we came in here—!”

Aizawa's gaze shifted toward the far wall… and then he saw you.

His heart stopped. Chained to the wall, your body was hunched, battered, and trembling. Layers of grime covered your skin, your clothes were no more than shredded rags clinging to you. Deep bruises mottled your arms, and needle marks lined your veins like broken branches. Your lips were cracked, and your face hollow.

You didn’t react to them like a person. You sat cross-legged, chewing on a piece of rotting wood jammed between your teeth—your eyes wide and unfocused, flicking back and forth like a trapped animal.

Instinct took over. Aizawa snapped his capture scarf forward, the cloth weaving expertly through the air before wrapping tightly around your upper body. The sudden restraint caused you to shriek and thrash, your back arching as you fought against the binding. You growled—no, hissed—like a cornered beast, legs kicking and chains rattling against the concrete.

The scarf held firm, keeping you pinned. But Aizawa felt a twist in his gut. This wasn't an enemy. This wasn't an attacker. This was a victim.

He stepped closer, cautious but steady. His trained eyes took in every detail: the scars, the fear, the way your pupils dilated in the light. Something terrible had happened here.

Present Mic stood frozen behind him, his usual grin gone. Vlad’s knuckles were white around his tablet. The students fell silent, their expressions etched with horror.

Aizawa didn’t loosen the scarf yet. He couldn’t. You were unpredictable and terrified—dangerous, even in your current state. But he softened his voice.

“Hey... It’s okay,” he said gently, his voice low, calm, and grounding. “You’re safe now.”