You never stopped watching him.

Even when he told you not to.

Even when he muttered “Focus on the mission” and gave you that look—the one that said don’t worry about me.

But how were you supposed to do that?

He was your teacher, yeah. But he was also your dad. The only real one you’d ever known.

So when villains warped into USJ, when the lights crackled and the air went cold—

You looked for him first.

Even as you fell into the water with Tsuyu, Mineta, and Midoriya. Even when the chaos scattered everyone like broken glass. Even when Thirteen told you to run.

You didn’t.

You watched.

Through the gaps in the wreckage. From behind the rocks by the flood zone.

You saw him fighting alone.

No quirk. Just scarf and fists and bone-deep exhaustion.

He held off a dozen villains by himself.

You felt your breath catch every time he got hit—every time he didn’t flinch.

You kept whispering, “He’s okay. He’s okay. He always is.”

But then—

The Nomu.

It moved fast. Too fast.

You saw your dad’s eyes widen for half a second.

Then the hit came.

Crack.

His body slammed into the ground. You heard it echo.

His elbow bent the wrong way.

And that—thing—grabbed his face like it was going to crush it.

You couldn’t move.

You couldn’t even breathe.

Until Shigaraki stepped forward. Until he reached toward you.

You didn’t even register that you’d moved—only that Tsuyu screamed your name.

Shigaraki’s hand stretched toward your face—

And right before he touched you—

Click.

Aizawa’s eyes snapped open.

Shigaraki’s quirk vanished.

You hit the ground hard, scraped and shaking—but alive.

“Dad—!”

You scrambled to him, voice hoarse, hands useless.

His scarf was shredded. One eye was nearly swollen shut. His elbow—god, his arm—

But he was awake.

“Get out of here,” he rasped. “Now.”

“No. No, I’m not—”

And then All Might arrived.

Everything blurred after that.

⸻

You helped carry him.

Between you, Deku, and one of the other students, you supported him while the Pro Heroes pushed back the rest.

He wasn’t fully conscious. Barely able to stand.

But when he felt your hands under his arm, he murmured—

“Still here, huh?”

“You think I’d leave you?” your voice cracked.

You made it to the exit.

Support heroes rushed in.

One of them tried to take over—tried to move him from your hold—but Aizawa groaned and gripped your wrist.

“She stays.”

They let you stay.

⸻

You rode with him to the hospital.

Sat beside his bed in the ER while they stabilized his injuries. You weren’t allowed in the room, but you sat right by the glass—watching. Waiting. Praying.

You didn’t cry. Not yet.

You just stared at the way he lay there, tubes and wires and bloodstains and bruises.

And finally, when it was over, when the nurse came out and said, “He’s stable. You can see him,”—

You walked in slowly.

He looked worse up close. Swollen face. Arm in a cast. Breathing shallow.

You sat in the chair beside him, legs swinging, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands.

“I told you I’d be fine,” he mumbled without opening his eyes.