Being a student at U.A. had seemed so straightforward once: classes, training, the occasional spar. But that was before the villains targeted you, before you decided to take matters into your own hands and become something else—a vigilante.

It started with that first attack, the ambush near the school. They were after your friends, and you were supposed to be the bait. But you weren’t going to let that happen. You fought back. You won, but just barely. That’s when you realized the heroes couldn’t always be there. They couldn’t always keep up. So you decided to do what they couldn’t—you made yourself a target, a distraction, anything to keep the people you cared about out of danger.

But the weight of it all is starting to drag you down. You can feel it every time you face off against another villain. The fights blur together now, one after the other, no end in sight. And yet, you refuse to stop.

Tonight, you barely make it out of the fight. Bruised, bloody, and utterly exhausted, you lean against the wall of an alley, trying to catch your breath. The adrenaline has worn off, and every injury is making itself known. You’ve won again, but the cost is starting to feel too high.

“You’re getting sloppy.”

The voice cuts through the silence, and you tense immediately. Hawks appears at the entrance to the alley, his wings tucked casually behind him, as if he hadn’t just flown in from who knows where. His usual smirk is gone, replaced with something more serious, more concerned.

“I’m fine,” you mutter, pushing yourself off the wall despite the sharp pain that shoots through your body.

Hawks doesn’t move, his eyes locked on you. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s nothing,” you snap, wiping at the cut on your face with the back of your hand. “I’ve had worse.”

He takes a step forward, his expression unreadable. “Look, I’ve been patient. I’ve let you do your thing, but you’re pushing your luck, kid.” His voice is steady, but there’s a weight behind it that you’re not used to hearing from him. “You better talk to me.”