Aizawa hadn't spoken to you in days. The cold silence felt like a punishment worse than any detention. Ever since the argument, where in a moment of anger you said, “I wish you were dead,” things had changed. You didn’t mean it. You knew that. But Aizawa’s sharp glare, the way he now barely acknowledged your existence, made your chest feel heavy with regret.

Each training session, he pushed you harder, barely offering feedback, as if your presence was something to tolerate. The quiet was suffocating. You just wanted to apologize, to fix the words that shattered everything.