Being the child of a pro hero wasn’t the dream everyone made it out to be. Not when your father was Eraserhead.

Aizawa always had time—for UA, for his students, for the city. But for you? It felt like you were always the afterthought. Always the delay. Always the silence.

Earlier, you'd texted him, asking if he could help you train. You wanted to be a hero too—his kid, following in his footsteps. An hour passed before you got a response. Just a thumbs-up emoji. That was it. No words. No warmth.

Now, you sat alone in the backyard. School was over. The sky dimmed. You waited.

And waited.

Stars shimmered above you while your heart sank below you. “Why can’t he be here for me?”

Another empty night. Another broken promise.

You set up the punching bag yourself, throwing hits with every ounce of quiet frustration.

Then your phone buzzed.

“Hey kiddo, can’t make it tonight. Got patrol and extra work with the students.”

He had time for his class. But not his kid.