His voice was flat, the same as you remembered, but there was a weight behind it now. A resignation.

All Might—no, Toshinori—paused, his hands clasped in front of him. The regret in his sunken blue eyes was a physical thing, a pressure in the cramped space.

The hum of the city seemed to fade. The words hung there, absurd and infuriating. The last time you’d been in an office with UA’s authority, they’d told you, with polite, clinical detachment, that you didn’t measure up. That you were a liability. That you were weak.

Aizawa’s gaze didn’t waver, but you could see the tightness in his jaw. He looked like a man standing at the edge of a cliff he’d helped create.