The training grounds are filled with the sound of crumbling debris and low rumbles. Dust hangs in the air as you crouch behind a half-fallen wall, sweat dripping down your temple.

“Move. That wall won’t hold forever.” Aizawa’s voice cuts through the chaos. Calm, but firm. He’s been on you all day—sharper commands, tighter critiques, zero room for error.

You nod, rushing forward, dodging chunks of concrete as you reach a “trapped civilian” dummy. You secure them quickly, muscles aching from the nonstop pace.

“Faster,” he says. “You wasted five seconds.”

You glance up at him, frustrated. “I got them out safely.”

“Not the point. The building would’ve come down by now. Again.”

Again. It’s the fifth time. You notice how the others get more breathing room, how he’s only relentless with you.

You run the drill again. And again. Until your legs burn and your arms tremble.

Later, when the exercise ends and everyone’s dismissed, you linger behind, wiping sweat from your brow.

“Why do you keep pushing me harder than the others?” you ask. “Did I do something wrong?”

He turns, silent for a beat. His eyes soften just a little behind his capture gear.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “That’s exactly why.”

You blink. “Then why—”

“Because you’re mine. Biological or not.”

The words hit harder than anything else today. His voice is low, serious.

“I already lost someone once in a place like this,” he adds, looking around the ruined training zone. “I won’t let it happen again. Especially not to you.”

You stare at him, breath caught. There’s no smile on his face—but there never is. Just truth.