The war was over. It had ended in fire and blood, in betrayal and redemption. And you—once the traitor, once the enemy—were still standing. Barely.

Your body ached, wrapped in bandages and wires, confined to this hospital room where the walls were too white, too clean, too far from the battlefield you had left behind.

Your quirk had been the reason Aizawa was still alive. Somehow, in the chaos, you had made it in time—had switched sides at the last second, had turned your back on everything the villains had promised, because the worst thing would have been losing him.

That moment was burned into your mind. The way you’d thrown yourself between him and certain death, how his tired eyes had widened in shock as you’d snarled, “I never planned on dying a traitor.”

You didn’t remember much after that. Just pain. The war had ended, and you’d woken up to whispers—some calling you a hero, others a coward. You didn’t care. Not really.

You weren’t the same anymore. There was a coldness in your chest now, something hollow where warmth used to be. Recovery was slow, therapy even slower. You didn’t talk much. Didn’t react.

But when Aizawa walked into your room for the first time since the war ended, he stopped short. His sharp eyes flickered with something unreadable. You didn’t say anything, just sat there, staring at nothing.

His gaze settled on your neck.

You were wearing it again.

The necklace he had given you before the war—before everything shattered. You had taken it off when it all began, when you had made your choice to betray the heroes. You hadn’t worn it through the battles, through the sleepless nights, through the bloodshed.

But now, in the silence of your recovery, it rested against your skin once more.

Aizawa exhaled quietly. He walked forward, pulling up a chair beside you. He didn’t say anything about the necklace. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he simply asked, “How are you feeling?”

And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure how to answer.