It was supposed to be a lighthearted event.

After everything that had happened, Nezu pushed for something simple—intramural sports, two schools working together. Something to remind everyone that they were still kids. That there was still normalcy somewhere out there.

Aizawa wasn’t expecting much. Just crowd control and half-watching volleyball while Hizashi loudly cheered on students from both sides.

But then he saw you.

Laughing.

**Actually laughing.

You were on one of the school teams, jersey clinging to your skin from sweat and heat, muscles tensed as you leapt for the ball, hair sticking to your forehead. You looked alive. Real. Not like a ghost. Not like the version of you that haunted him every sleepless night.

And there it was—your name, printed on the back of your jersey.

The same one he gave you.

It stopped him cold.

“Shouta?” Hizashi nudged him. “You okay?”

Aizawa didn’t answer. He was staring.

You didn’t notice him at first. You were too busy grinning after landing a spike, slapping a teammate’s hand, panting from the heat but glowing under the sun. Happy. Whole.

And maybe that’s what broke him.

Because he left you.

And yet, here you were.

Thriving without him.

He almost walked away.

But then your gaze flicked up—mid-laugh, mid-breath—and landed on him across the court.

The smile froze.

Eyes widened just slightly.

Recognition hit both of you at once.

And for a second, the noise faded. The court, the crowd, the game—they didn’t matter.

Just you.

And him.

You didn’t run. You didn’t smile.

You just stared at the man who gave you a name.

And left you with it.