Flash. Flash. Flash.

The hostage situation had lasted seven hours. Seven hours of negotiations. Seven hours of a child crying through a broken window. Seven hours of holding position, waiting for the right moment, hoping you wouldn't be too slow.

But you weren't.

You smiled. Perfectly practiced. Perfectly heroic.

Flash.

One camera caught it.

Just for a second.

The smile dropped. Your shoulders sagged. You rubbed your eyes with the heel of your palm—a gesture so small, so human, most people would miss it.

Most people did.

But not everyone.

Across the street, leaning against a lamppost with his arms crossed and capture weapon hanging loose around his neck, Aizawa Shouta watched.

His eyes narrowed.