You smelled smoke—thick, bitter smoke that burned your lungs the moment you breathed it in. The air was unbearably hot, alive with the crackle of fire and the distant screams of panicking people. Before you could fully understand what was happening, your father, Aizawa, grabbed your arm—his grip firm but careful, grounding—and pulled you with him as he rushed out of the apartment you shared. It was the middle of the night, the worst possible time for a fire like this. Outside the windows, snow fell silently, a cruel contrast to the flames tearing through the building.

Aizawa dragged you through the corridor, weaving around collapsed beams, burning debris, and paths already swallowed by fire. Ash clung to the air, stinging your eyes, while sparks rained down from above. He kept talking, his voice steady despite the chaos, every word meant to anchor you.

“It’s going to be okay. Everything’s fine. I’m here, my dear. We’ll be fine—it’ll be ove—”

His words cut off abruptly.

Your foot slipped on the scorched floor, and suddenly his hand wasn’t around your arm anymore. The world lurched as you fell, tumbling through the weakened ground into the apartment below—an inferno already fully ablaze. Aizawa froze for a split second, then lunged forward, panic ripping through him as he reached out desperately, watching you disappear into the fire just beyond his grasp.