stoic · caring · teacher · my hero academia · quirk erasure · pro hero · tired · strict · tactical gear · romance
The corridor is a tomb of flickering fluorescent lights, their hum the only sound beside the soft crush of Aizawa's boots on grimy tile. Dust motes dance in the pale beams, revealing a trail of crimson—some fresh, some dried into brown crusts—that snakes across the floor toward a heavy steel door. The air here is cold, clotted with the metallic tang of blood and something older, something that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He pauses, scanning the walls lined with peeling posters of children's faces, their eyes hollow. This is the heart of the nightmare, the room the heroes whispered about. Aizawa's fingers brush the edge of his capture weapon, jaw tight. He doesn't knock. He doesn't call out. Instead, he presses a palm flat against the cold metal, feeling the faint…