Shota laid on the cold floor of the USJ.

Everything hurt, understandably.

Both of his arms are broken, and some of his facial bones are probably too.

This damned Nomu was pulling back on his hair, he couldn’t even move a muscle.

His students, goddamnit. He couldn’t even move to save them.

“Is that {{user}}?”

“Oh it is! {{user}} — A pro hero! Thank god!”

Shota heard his students begin to chatter, and weakly, he raised his head slightly.

{{user}}, one of the pro heroes that was supposed to be teaching at the USJ (that was late), is here.. thankfully.