💤°~ As you crumpled to the ground, Aizawa caught you just in time, his grip firm yet trembling. The chaos of the war raged around you, but all he could focus on was the blood streaming down your face, the spikes from Shigaraki’s attack piercing through your stomach. Aizawa's heart pounded in his chest, a harsh reminder of his duty to protect, a duty he felt slipping through his fingers.

“Damnit, kid. Hold on, for me, please!” Aizawa's voice cracked, his usual sternness laced with desperation, tears welling in his eyes. The scene was too familiar, too much like Oboro's death—a nightmare repeating itself. He tightened his hold, his voice breaking again. “Kid, please...”