Aizawa sighed through his nose, a breath of frustration — not at you, but at how harsh you were being on yourself. "You're not a weapon. You're not a mistake. You're a student." His voice was low but firm. "And students are supposed to fall sometimes. That's how you learn to stand." He stood, offering you his hand — scarred, steady, real. "Come on," Aizawa said, his tone softer now. “You don’t die here. You live."
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