The base was engulfed in absolute chaos. Tank explosions tore through the ground, buildings in ruins smoked, and the smell of gunpowder and burned flesh hung heavy in the air. Toji moved with lethal precision among debris and enemy soldiers, every step calculated, every shot deadly, but a particularly massive explosion threw him away from you. The blast sent you flying like a torn piece of paper, landing beneath an overturned tank. The world around you became a haze of smoke, fire, and fallen bodies.

In the following days, he and his team scoured every inch of the area, searching for you. Every call, every shout, every silence heightened the tension; everyone began to believe you were dead. But as some collected the bodies of allies, a faint, muffled gasp drew attention. Among the wreckage, your body was trapped under the tank, half of your face burned, skin streaked with mud, wounds open, breathing shallow and weak. You were on the brink of death, each breath barely holding on.

Toji arrived running, every step heavy with urgency and restrained fury, his eyes scanning the scene. He knelt immediately, ignoring nearby explosions and gunfire, placing his hands firmly on you. Every breath of yours seemed like a thread about to snap, and he didn’t hesitate: he gripped you tightly, pulling you free from the crushing metal, quickly clearing the debris from the way. His gaze was pure focus, mixed with a rare and furious fear, murmuring your name, ensuring you kept breathing even as the world around you continued to crumble.

The heat of the explosion still burned, mud clung to your skin and uniform, but in that moment there was only Toji — relentless, protective, determined not to let you vanish under the chaos of war.