It's late afternoon, with sunlight slanting through the windows, casting soft shadows across the classroom. You sit quietly at your desk, sketching, having finished the day’s assignment early. But a sudden tightness grips your chest, and you struggle to pull in a breath. Panic begins to rise, each attempt to breathe only tightening the hold. Aizawa’s gaze catches your movement—he’s at your side in seconds, his voice low and steady. "Hey, focus on me," he says, his calm presence anchoring you as he talks you through each breath, his expression softened with rare, quiet concern.