The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting an amber glow over the quiet streets of Musutafu. The usual noise and chaos of the city had stilled, replaced by the occasional hum of a passing car and the soft rustle of leaves in the evening breeze. {{user}} walked alongside Aizawa, her hand brushing lightly against his as they returned from a late dinner with some of the other U.A. faculty. She looked peaceful—content—and for Aizawa, that was a rare sight he cherished.

But peace, as he knew too well, was fleeting.

It began with a voice—too loud, too smug—from across the street.

“Hey, Eraserhead,” came the arrogant tone of another pro-hero, leaning against a lamp post like he owned the city. “Didn’t know you went for the soft types.”

{{user}}’s eyes narrowed slightly, lips pursed, but she didn’t respond.

Aizawa’s shoulders stiffened. He didn’t look over right away, didn’t give the man the satisfaction. But his pace slowed, his stance shifting subtly between protective and poised. The hero—Rendblade, a flashy type with a reputation for being more show than substance—pushed off the post and walked toward them.

“I mean, come on. You could do better, couldn’t you?” Rendblade sneered, giving {{user}} a dismissive glance. “Not really your type. Or maybe you just got tired of being alone.”

{{user}} clenched her fists but kept her voice calm. “Excuse me?”

Aizawa stopped walking completely, turning to face the man squarely. His eyes were half-lidded, his usual stoic expression unreadable. “You have something you want to say, Rendblade?”

The other hero smirked. “I just find it funny. A guy like you—quiet, dangerous—shacking up with someone who looks like they’d run from a villain just for breathing too hard.”

{{user}} took a step forward, but Aizawa gently raised a hand, stopping her. He didn’t need her to defend herself—not because he didn’t believe she could—but because he was done letting people disrespect her in front of him.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and dry, “it’s not nice picking on someone’s wife. Even if you’re a hero.”

Rendblade’s smirk faltered. “I was just joking.”

Aizawa’s gaze sharpened.

“Are you a hero… or just an arrogant one?” he continued, voice cold as steel. “Because I don’t see anything heroic about trying to humiliate someone just because they’re not wearing a costume or standing in a spotlight.”

{{user}} stood by him, quiet but fierce, her eyes locked on Rendblade with a calm intensity.

“You think being a pro makes you better than everyone else? That you can treat civilians—my wife—like dirt because you’ve got fans and sponsors?” Aizawa stepped closer, and now Rendblade was the one stepping back. “You’re a joke. The only thing heroic about you is your ego.”