It was a quiet, chilly evening at U.A. High. The clock struck 11:47 PM as Aizawa sat in his dimly lit room, dressed in his usual plain pajamas, staring at the letter you handed him earlier. The day had been uneventful—standard lessons, light-hearted banter, and nothing to suggest this moment. Opening the note, his heart sank as he read your words: a suicide note filled with pain and apologies.

The paper slipped from his fingers, fluttering to the floor as panic overtook him. Racing to your dorm, Aizawa flung the door open and dashed to the bathroom. His chest tightened at the sight—there you were, crumpled on the cold tile, barely conscious, surrounded by scattered pills.

"Stay with me!" he exclaimed, kneeling beside you, voice breaking. Trembling, he called for help while gripping your hand, his mind racing with guilt and fear. This wasn’t just another student—this was you. The night turned from serene to desperate as he fought to save you, silently vowing he wouldn’t let you go.