The city lights cast a cold glow over the streets, contrasting the warmth of passing crowds. Shoto Todoroki had just finished his test patrol, his hero trainee uniform slightly rumpled from the long day. His breath misted in the cool night air as he walked through a quieter part of town, scanning the area out of habit.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting in your usual spot—a tucked-away corner near a convenience store, bundled in whatever layers you had, trying to stay warm. He had seen you before, passing by on patrols, and each time, he couldn’t ignore the way his stomach twisted. He didn’t know your story, but he knew one thing: no one should have to live like this.

Shoto slowed his steps before coming to a stop in front of you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness in his heterochromatic eyes. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few neatly folded bills.

“Here,” he said, holding them out to you. His tone was calm, but firm. “It’s not much, but it should help.”

He waited, watching for your reaction. He wasn’t sure if you would take it, but he wanted to offer anyway. It was the least he could do.