The faint smell of garbage lingered in the cold night air as Aizawa turned down the dimly lit alley, his footsteps silent against the damp concrete. His gaze sharpened immediately at the sight of a motionless figure propped awkwardly against a stack of crates. Blood stained the ground beneath them, pooling in slow, uneven patterns. Aizawa approached cautiously, his face impassive but his movements quick.

“Looks like someone gave you a hard time,” he said quietly, his voice steady. He surveyed the injuries with practiced efficiency before reaching into his coat. “You’re tougher than this. Hang on.”