THE HERO PUBLIC SAFETY COMMISSION was thrown into chaos. Alarms blared, agents rushed in every direction, and the sterile halls that once embodied order now echoed with frantic shouts. The discovery of Madam President's mutilated body had sent shockwaves through the organization.

Despite the uproar, her final directive was honored—your release was ordered.

The cell door creaked open, and Hawks stepped inside, a familiar grin playing on his face. You blinked in disbelief, watching as he approached.

"I heard alarms and shouting," you quipped, your voice dry. "Did someone die?"

Hawks chuckled as he knelt to unclip your chains. "Damn, are you psychic or something? You hit that one right on the dot."

Your mouth fell open slightly, half-joking but genuinely shocked. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously," Hawks confirmed, tossing the restraints aside. "The old hag bit the dust. Murdered in cold blood. Looks like someone had a grudge—and a quirk that made it nasty."

You rubbed your wrists as the heavy chains fell away, finally standing upright for the first time in days. "And you're just... letting me go?"

"Orders are orders, kid." Hawks smirked, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Let's not waste time; I'm getting you out of here."

Your heart raced, caught between relief and suspicion. "So... no one suspects me?"

Hawks shook his head. "Nah. You've been under surveillance this whole time. They've got cameras, logs—you're cleared. This wasn't your style anyway. Too messy."

You glanced at him sharply. "And you're not upset?"

Hawks leaned closer, his expression uncharacteristically tender. "Upset? Kid, I'm relieved. This place was tearing you apart, and I saw it every time I came here." His voice softened, brimming with a protectiveness that made your chest ache. "Don't think I wasn't counting the seconds to get you out of here."

As he unfastened the last of your chains, you stumbled, and he caught you effortlessly. His hands were firm, but his touch was gentle. "Now, let's get you out of this hellhole and back to where you belong."

You managed a weak smile, your voice barely above a whisper. "Oh, thank you..."

Before you could say anything more, Hawks scooped you into his arms. "Easy there, superstar," he teased, his smile filled with a warmth that melted away some of your exhaustion. "You've done enough standing strong for everyone else. Let me carry you this time."

The fresh air hit you as he leapt into the sky, his wings gliding effortlessly. He held you close, cradling you as though you were the most fragile and precious thing in the world. "Just rest, [Name]," he murmured, his chin brushing the top of your head. "I've got you. I'm not letting anyone hurt you again. Not ever."

Shinso Hitoshi stood frozen outside the Aizawa residence, the white box in his hands trembling slightly. Inside was a strawberry cheesecake—a recipe he'd carefully crafted, hoping to bring comfort to your family. He'd spent hours trying to perfect it, tasting every layer and adjusting the flavors meticulously, just so it might be good enough for you.

But you weren't even here. He knew that. Still, he stood at the door, his finger hovering over the doorbell, hesitating. His mind raced with memories of you: the way your laughter could light up even the darkest room, the fire in your eyes when you fought for what you believed in, and the way you somehow always managed to make him feel seen in a world that often overlooked him.

He was about to press the doorbell when a shadow crossed his vision. Startled, he turned to see Pro Hero Hawks descending gracefully from the sky, carrying you in his arms. You looked fragile, wrapped in a plain white hospital gown, your hair disheveled, but to Shinso, you were breathtaking. His breath caught in his throat as his heart swelled, an overwhelming rush of relief and adoration crashing over him.

Hawks landed smoothly, his golden eyes filled with an unspoken softness as he gently lowered you to your feet. "There we go," Hawks said, steadying you as you swayed.

You blinked, your gaze falling on Shinso. "Shinso..." you whispered, your voice raw but laced with warmth that made his chest tighten.

He froze for a moment, the cheesecake forgotten as he stared at you. You looked so exhausted, yet so utterly you, and he couldn't stop himself. Setting the box aside carefully, he closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out instinctively to hold yours.

"[Name]," he murmured, his voice trembling with a mix of relief and affection. His fingers laced with yours, and the world around him seemed to disappear.

You took a shaky step toward him, your head resting against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was like a lullaby, soothing you in a way words couldn't. "Thank you..." you whispered, your voice trailing off as your body finally gave in to exhaustion.

Shinso caught you as you collapsed into him, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "You're okay now," he murmured, his voice breaking. "You're safe."

Hawks, who had been quietly watching, let out a laugh that broke the tender moment. "LOL, she just fell asleep standing up!" His boisterous snort echoed, but his eyes shone with fondness as he watched the two of you.

Shinso's face turned scarlet, his grip on you tightening. "Shut up," he muttered, glaring at Hawks but unable to hide the way his lips curved into the faintest smile.

Hawks smirked, stepping closer to ruffle your hair one last time before he took off. "She's got good taste," he said with a wink at Shinso. "You take care of her, okay?"

"I don't need you telling me that," Shinso grumbled, but his voice was soft, filled with emotion. As Hawks disappeared into the sky, Shinso looked down at your sleeping face, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

To him, you were everything.

//

Water surrounded you, infinite and all-encompassing. You weren't drowning, not quite—it felt more like falling, endlessly sinking into an abyss. Your hair floated around you in weightless strands, while beams of sunlight pierced the surface above, casting a golden glow that seemed impossibly far away. The water didn't hurt you; instead, it cradled you gently, almost whispering as if it were alive, guiding you somewhere unknown. You didn't resist.

Then, in the corner of your vision, movement. Someone else was here.

You turned your head, your eyes straining to focus through the rippling water. Familiar strands of powder-blue hair came into view, and your chest tightened as realization struck. Shigaraki. He was falling alongside you, his movements frantic yet subdued, as though his struggle was a losing battle he couldn't even muster the strength to fight.

You reached out instinctively, your body weightless as the water carried you closer to him. Your faces leveled, mere inches apart now, his crimson eyes locking onto yours. Those eyes, so full of pain and exhaustion, trembled as they met the soft blue of your gaze. Opposites—light and dark—floating together in this vast, silent ocean.

"[Name]..." he whispered, his voice fragile, like that of a lost child.

"Tenko," you breathed, your heart shattering at the vulnerability in his expression. "I'm here for you. I'm sorry—for everything. For the way the world treated you. For the pain, the loneliness—" Words spilled from your lips, frantic and aching, until a finger pressed gently against them, silencing you.

"It's not your fault, [Name]," Shigaraki said softly, a faint, broken smile tugging at his lips. "It's not."

Your chest constricted as he spoke, and the space between you seemed to close. His eyes, filled with a fragile warmth, felt like they were searching for something in yours—a flicker of hope, perhaps. Your noses nearly brushed, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though you might be able to save him, to pull him from the darkness.

But the moment shattered.

A shadow erupted from the depths, dark tendrils wrapping around him and dragging him back. His eyes widened in fear as he began to choke, his body flailing violently against the pull. The water, once serene, turned turbulent, thrashing around you as the shadow engulfed him.

"Tomura," a deep, cold voice echoed. The unmistakable voice of All For One. "You are my successor."

"No!" you screamed, but your voice was swallowed by the water. You reached out, desperately trying to grab Shigaraki, to hold onto him, but your quirk—your control over the water—betrayed you. The ocean became your enemy, dragging him further and further away.

"[Name]," Shigaraki's voice rang out one last time, strangled and faint. His eyes locked on yours, the pain and despair in them cutting through you like a knife.

"My blood runs in your veins, Umiko." All For One said for the last time.

And then he was gone.

You thrashed against the water, but it turned against you, suffocating you, drowning you. The light above faded into darkness as the ocean closed in around you.

With a gasp, you jolted awake, your lungs heaving for air. The suffocating pressure was gone, replaced by the familiar comfort of your room. Plushies surrounded you, their soft forms a stark contrast to the terror that lingered in your chest. It was a dream—a terrible, vivid dream.

Your breaths came in shallow pants as you wiped at your face, your fingers trembling. The memory of Shigaraki's desperate eyes haunted you, but reality grounded you.

To your right, Eri slept soundly, her tiny frame curled up with a peaceful expression. To your left, your father's head rested on your bed, his body slumped awkwardly on the floor. His soft snoring stopped abruptly as you stirred.

"[Name], you're awake," Aizawa said, his voice hoarse but laced with overwhelming relief. He shot up to sit straight, his dark eyes scanning your face for any sign of discomfort.

"Chichi..." you whispered, your voice cracking.

He reached for your hand, his grip firm yet gentle. "You're safe," he said, his tone more resolute now. "You're home."

Tears welled in your eyes, but you smiled faintly, holding onto his hand like a lifeline. "I know," you murmured, the weight in your chest easing just slightly.

For now, you were safe. But the echoes of your dream, of Shigaraki's haunting words, stayed with you. And you knew deep down, this wasn't over.

At the same moment, Shigaraki bolted upright from the counter where he had dozed off in the League's new hideout. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath, his damp hair clinging to his forehead. A cold, unfamiliar sensation trailed down his face. He lifted a trembling hand to touch his cheek—tears.

The realization made him freeze, his crimson eyes narrowing in frustration. Why was he crying?

The room was quiet save for the occasional hum of machinery in the background, but he quickly noticed several sets of eyes fixed on him.

"Moaning in your sleep, boss? That's a bold move," Dabi's dry voice cut through the silence, a smirk curling at the corner of his lips.

Shigaraki's hand twitched at the remark, his fingers instinctively moving to scratch at his neck.

"It was about [Name], wasn't it, boss?" Toga chimed in, her tone sing-song and teasing. She leaned forward, resting her head in her hand, a dreamy expression softening her features. "I mean, she is really pretty. And the way she talks? It makes me all tingly inside." A blush spread across her cheeks as she clasped her hands together, grinning like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Shigaraki glared at her, his eyes narrowing further, but his silence betrayed him. He shifted uncomfortably under their watchful gazes.

Dabi let out a low chuckle. "Guess that answers that."

Toga squealed with delight, rocking back and forth like a child reveling in gossip. "Oh, this is so cute! The big bad boss has a soft spot. Tell me, what did she do in your dream? Did she say something sweet? Or maybe she ma—"

"Enough," Shigaraki growled, his voice low and menacing. His nails dug into the wood of the counter, leaving jagged scratches.

The room fell silent, save for the faint sound of Toga's muffled giggle.

Shigaraki leaned back, trying to shake the remnants of the dream that clung to him like a shadow. He couldn't let them see how deeply it affected him. He had bigger plans—ones that couldn't afford distractions, no matter how intoxicating they were.

But even as he stared off into the dimly lit room, the image of you lingered in his mind, as vivid and haunting as the dream itself.

//

A few days later, the headlines of every major newspaper screamed the same shocking story:

"Hero Public Safety Commission in Chaos: Boss and Top Board Members Brutally Murdered."

The gruesome details chilled the nation. Witnesses and investigators described the crime scene as grotesque—victims disassembled in a manner that defied logic, as if their bodies had been blown apart from the inside. The culprit? Unknown. Quirks were speculated but inconclusive. The public was left in fear, the villain responsible an enigma.

You hadn't even looked at the news. You'd been too busy catching up on everything else—the chaos of your life and the exhausting aftermath of your last encounter with the villains. Right now, though, you had other priorities.

"Thanks for this, Monoma!" you exclaimed with a grin, admiring yourself in the mirror. The My Little Pony-themed barber cape Monoma had draped over you was a ridiculous touch, but it made you laugh. Your white hair, slightly burned at the edges thanks to Dabi's last encounter, was in dire need of attention. Apparently, Dabi had a talent for more than just setting things on fire—he also had a knack for ruining hairstyles.

"Oh, shut up," Monoma replied with a playful roll of his eyes. "It's the least I could do." Despite his sharp words, his touch was gentle as he combed through your hair, sectioning off the damaged strands before snipping them away.

You swung your legs in childlike playfulness, your heels tapping lightly against the chair. But Monoma wasn't fooled. As someone who'd studied you far more than he cared to admit, he could see right through the cheerful facade.

"You know," he began, pausing mid-snip. His eyes met yours through the mirror, soft but serious. "You don't have to act in front of me. If something's wrong, you can say it."

For a moment, the mask slipped. Your eyes darkened, shadows of weariness and pain flickering like a storm behind them. But just as quickly, you forced a smile, brushing off his concern.

"Oh, pfft," you said with a wave of your hand. "If I couldn't handle all of that, how could I ever be a hero?" Your voice was light, but Monoma wasn't convinced.

He stared at you for a beat longer, his hands still. He'd memorized that face of yours years ago, back when you were both younger—back when you didn't have to hide so much. He knew you better than you realized, maybe even better than you wanted him to.

Monoma swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he offered a small, reassuring smile. "Right. But, you know, even heroes need a break sometimes."

Your smile softened, and for a fleeting second, you let yourself relax under his care.

Monoma resumed cutting, his movements slow and deliberate, as though handling something fragile. To him, you weren't just a classmate, a hero-in-training, or someone he admired. You were the person he loved, the one he silently vowed to protect—even if you didn't know it.

When he finally put down the scissors and removed the playful My Little Pony cape, you stood up, examining your freshly trimmed hair in the mirror with a satisfied smile.

"You know," you began, turning to face him, "if you parted your hair like this—" you stepped closer, so close your noses were almost touching. You reached up, gently parting his blond hair in the middle. "And paired it with a taper fade, it would really suit you." You tilted your head, analyzing your imaginary masterpiece as though he were a blank canvas.

Monoma didn't move. He didn't even breathe. All he could focus on was you—the closeness, the warmth of your fingers brushing against his forehead, and the way your eyes sparkled when you were deep in thought. His heart thudded erratically in his chest, each beat louder than the last.

"Yeah," he rasped, his voice low and uneven, "you would really suit me."

You paused, furrowing your brows. "Huh?" you asked, unsure if you'd heard him correctly.

Realizing what he'd said, Monoma's eyes widened in panic. "I-I mean, aren't you supposed to be moving into the dorms today?" he blurted, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to change the subject.

"Oh, right!" you said with a grin, apparently buying his excuse. "I was just about to head out."

Before he could respond, you wrapped your arms around him in a quick, playful hug. Then, with a cheeky smirk, you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Bisous, Monoma," you teased, throwing his own signature line back at him. Your smile was dazzling as you turned and dashed out the door, waving over your shoulder.

Monoma stood frozen in place, his hand flying to his cheek as if to preserve the feeling of your lips there. His face flushed a deep crimson, and the sound of the door closing barely registered in his dazed mind.

As your footsteps faded, he finally snapped back to reality.

"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" he yelled, his voice echoing through the empty house. He slumped into the chair you'd just vacated, burying his face in his hands. "She's too fucking pretty! What the hell am I supposed to do with this?"

He groaned, his heart still racing as he replayed the moment over and over again in his head. It was official—MONOMA WAS A MAN, UTTERLY AND HOPELESSLY UNDONE.

AN: