The air was heavy with smoke, debris raining down as the battlefield quaked beneath Shigaraki’s wrath. From the high ground, she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Aizawa and Monoma, watching the chaos unfold as Monoma copied Erasure to keep Shigaraki pinned.

Her gut twisted as her eyes locked on the impossible sight below: Bakugo crumpling after Shigaraki’s strike, Best Jeanist scrambling to hold him together. The breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp, her hand covering her mouth.

Beside her, Aizawa’s voice broke, harsher than she had ever heard. “Damn it—! Someone save him!”

She glanced back at him and Monoma. Tears welled in their eyes, but she knew what Aizawa wasn’t saying: if Bakugo died here, the whole line would crumble.

Her heart pounded. She could feel the Void stirring inside her chest like a caged storm. Her fingers curled into fists.

“I can go,” she said, her voice low but urgent. “I can hold him off—just long enough for Jeanist to work.”

“No.” Aizawa’s eye snapped to her, sharp and commanding. “You know what happens if you let it out. You won’t have control.”

“I do have control!” she snapped back, though her voice cracked. “You don’t trust me? He’s your student, Shota. He’s dying down there.”

His jaw clenched. For a moment, he wasn’t Eraserhead, the calm and unshakable pro—he was just a man watching his kids bleed out, watching someone he… someone he cared for step into fire he couldn’t pull her back from.

“You step onto that field and I might lose you too,” he said, voice rough.

Her eyes burned, but she held his gaze, steady. “Then you’ll just have to trust that I’ll come back to you.”

Before he could stop her, she launched forward, Void energy flooding her veins. It bled out of her in black streams, coiling around her arms and eyes as she slammed into the battlefield. The Void erupted in a wave that forced Shigaraki back, the ground cratering beneath the force. For one blinding moment, his advance halted.

“Jeanist—now!” she shouted, voice shaking as she dug her heels in, holding Shigaraki in place with every ounce of her will.

Threads snapped out, wrapping Bakugo’s broken body, tugging him away from the fight. Relief surged through her chest—she had bought them seconds, but seconds were enough.

The Void howled inside her, begging to consume more. But before she tipped too far, she cut it off, slamming the cage shut inside herself. The backlash tore through her body, dropping her to her knees.

Everything blurred until she felt familiar hands seize her shoulders, pulling her back from the edge.

“Hey—look at me,” Aizawa’s voice demanded, hoarse and fierce. His face swam into focus, his scarf pooling around her like a shield. His hand was firm against her jaw, grounding her. “You still with me?”

“I’m here,” she whispered, trembling. “Didn’t lose it.”

His teeth clenched. He should be scolding her, telling her she was reckless, but instead his thumb brushed her cheek, almost tender. “Dumbest damn decision you could’ve made,” he muttered. “But you did it. You saved him.”

Her lips curved into a weak laugh. “Thought you’d be mad.”

“Oh, I’m furious,” he shot back, voice cracking. His hand lingered, betraying the fear he couldn’t hide. “You could’ve been gone. I can’t—” He broke off, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. Finally, he rasped, “I can’t lose you too.”

Her chest ached at the rawness in his tone. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest, his scarf brushing her cheek. His arms closed around her instantly, pulling her in with a desperation he rarely let slip.

“I promised I’d come back to you,” she murmured.

“Then don’t ever make me doubt that promise again,” he whispered into her hair, holding her as if letting go might mean losing her to the Void forever.

The battle still raged around them, but in that stolen moment, it was only the two of them—two tired souls clinging to each other against the storm.