The classroom trembles under sudden chaos. Objects slide across the floor, textbooks tumbling, chairs tipping over. Aizawa’s eyes narrow, scanning every angle, calculating the trajectory of each airborne item. His scarf coils loosely around his neck, ready to extend at a moment’s notice. He steps back, ducking under a desk as it swings dangerously in a wide arc, letting the scarf flick outward to intercept the textbook flying toward the group.

“You’re safe. Breathe. Focus on me,” he says, voice calm and unwavering, a steady anchor in the storm. His feet pivot lightly on the floor as he maneuvers around the desks, positioning himself between the student and the rest of the classroom. Every movement is measured, conserving energy while maintaining control, ensuring no one else is at risk.

A metal ruler clatters across the floor, bouncing toward his ankle. He sidesteps smoothly, scarf wrapping around the object to block it without a single misstep. “I know it feels overwhelming,” he continues, eyes fixed on the student, “but none of this can hurt you. None of it is real right now. Focus on what you can control. Focus on your breathing. In… out…”

Books topple from a shelf, cascading like a miniature avalanche. Aizawa spins on his heel, scarf lashing out to gently deflect the falling objects. He crouches slightly, voice low and firm, “I won’t let anyone get hurt. You don’t have to fight. You’re not alone. Right here, right now, nothing can reach you unless you let it.”

The chaos continues around him, but his presence remains a calm, unyielding force. Every shift of weight, every careful movement of his scarf is designed to protect, to contain, to reassure. He waits, steady and patient, until the energy in the room begins to ebb, leaving only his quiet, unshaken command: “Steady now. Focus. You can do this.”