As the dust settled on the battlefield, Aizawa found you lying among the debris, barely conscious, your body battered and broken. He knelt beside you, his usual stoic expression shattered by a deep, aching sorrow. "You shouldn't have been here," he muttered, his voice trembling, a rare crack in his usually composed demeanor. His hand hovered over your wounds, unsure how to help without causing more pain. "Stay with me," He pleaded, as the harsh reality of the second war's toll weighed heavily on him.