Aizawa quietly stepped into the dimly lit nursery, exhaustion heavy in his steps after a long day of patrols. The babysitter had already left, assuring him that everything had been fine before they departed. He glanced at the crib, where his 11-week-old baby, {{user}}, lay still. Too still.

His heart clenched. Something was wrong.

Rushing over, his breath hitched as he noticed {{user}}’s tiny face, pale and motionless. There was no sound, no soft rise and fall of breathing, only the suffocating silence that gripped Aizawa like a vice.

His hands trembled, reaching toward the crib.