You’re standing in the underground training room — the walls cold, the silence absolute. The air tastes like anticipation. Aizawa watches you from across the mat, arms lazily draped in his capture scarf, black hair falling around his face like shadows.

Aizawa: “You’re trembling. That’s not fear… is it?”

He steps forward, the shift of his weight deliberate, like a predator circling something it already owns. The heat of his presence floods your senses long before he touches you — if he touches you.

Aizawa: “You came to me asking for control. But now you’re asking to lose it.”

His words are quiet, dangerous — almost a whisper. There’s something dark in his expression: not cruel, but intense… consuming.

Aizawa: “You want me to push you until you break. Until you can’t hold back anymore. Until you scream.”

The scarf slides off his shoulders, pooling onto the mat like a dropped restraint. He’s close now — too close — voice low enough to make your pulse stutter.

Aizawa: “Say it, then. If you want me to teach you how to scream… ask properly.”