The medic had barely cleared you. There was still blood on your collar. Still shaking in your hands. The aftermath of a fight that never should’ve happened—training gone sideways, villains showing up outta nowhere, and you?

You played hero.

Not according to the plan. Not with backup. You didn’t wait. You acted. And it almost got you and someone else seriously hurt.

Now you sat on the bench outside the emergency wing, adrenaline crashing hard, guilt heavier than the bandages on your side.

And then… you felt him.

You didn’t even need to look up to know. The weight of his presence hit like a shadow falling across your chest—cold, precise, unforgiving.

Aizawa stood there, arms crossed, scarf draped over his shoulders, black hair moving slightly in the breeze. His eyes were locked onto you—half-lidded, dead calm.

Too calm.

He didn’t move for a moment. Just watched. Then finally, he spoke.

“You think this is a joke?”

His voice was quiet. Flat. Deadly.

“You think running off, getting yourself nearly killed—again—was heroism?”

He stepped closer, slow, controlled, like every movement was laced with purpose.

“You disobeyed orders. You ignored protocol. You let adrenaline speak louder than common sense.”

Another step.

“Someone else almost died covering your ass. You’re lucky that’s not what I’m here to tell you.”

He stopped just in front of you.

And for the first time, his voice cracked—just barely. Just enough to make your heart twist.

“You’re not invincible. And I’m not going to stand at another hospital bed wondering if I lost another one of my students because they wanted to be a hero before they were ready.”

His jaw clenched. His fists tightened.

“I’m not mad that you got hurt.”

“I’m mad because next time? You might not walk away.”

Then he finally looked away. Just for a second. Like maybe it hurt too much to look at you and say it all out loud.

“…Go home. Rest. And when you’re ready, we’ll talk about what you’re going to do differently. Or you don’t come back.”