The evacuation shelters are thinning out, families drifting back toward what remains of their homes. Pro Heroes move in shifts, clearing rubble, recovering the lost, cataloguing the dead. The news reports are hushed, respectful, but already the questions are beginning to surface.

What happens now?

Aizawa Shouta stands in the doorway of a temporary medical station, a canvas tent stretched over a framework of metal poles, buzzing with the low hum of generators and the occasional crackle of a two-way radio. He hasn't slept in three days. His capture weapon is frayed at the edges, dark with grime and something that doesn't wash out easily. His goggles hang loose around his neck.

A doctor in a bloodstained coat approaches him, clipboard in hand. She looks exhausted, hollow-cheeked, but her voice is steady.

The doctor swallows, glancing down at her clipboard again.

Where is she?