Enough

The city lay in ruins. Smoke billowed into the ashen sky, turning the once-blue horizon into a smudged canvas of despair. The ground trembled with each deafening explosion, a relentless symphony of destruction. Hours ago, this street had been vibrant, alive with the chatter of vendors and the laughter of children. Now, it was a battlefield. Crumbled buildings lay scattered like the discarded remnants of a forgotten game, and the air was thick with the mingled scents of dust, fire, and fear.

Seven-year-old Y/N L/N huddled behind the jagged corner of a shattered wall, her small body trembling uncontrollably. She’d been playing on this very street, chasing a ball her parents had bought her, just before the chaos erupted. Her parents... They were right there. Weren’t they? Y/N’s memory was a haze of panicked screams and hurried footsteps, their voices shouting for her to run, to keep moving. But now, they were gone. Dust clung to her disheveled hair, and tears carved clean streaks through the dirt smudged across her face. 

“Mommy? Daddy?” she whispered, her voice cracking as she scanned the wreckage for any sign of them. Only silence answered, broken by the occasional distant scream or the ominous groan of collapsing structures. Her heart thundered in her chest, loud enough that it drowned out her shaky breaths. She pressed herself tighter against the wall, as if she could melt into it and escape the nightmare unfolding around her.

The shadow loomed first, long and monstrous, cast by the flickering light of nearby flames. Then came the figure—a hulking villain whose every movement sent shockwaves through the ground, toppling what little still stood. Y/N didn’t know who he was, only that he radiated danger, a living force of destruction.

Suddenly, the building beside her groaned ominously. Cracks snaked up its foundation, the sound splitting the air like a warning. Y/N’s wide, terrified eyes snapped upward just in time to see the structure give way. She scrambled to her feet, trying to run, but the ground beneath her quaked violently. Her foot caught on a jagged piece of rubble, and she fell hard, scraping her knees. She had barely time to scream before the collapsing building sent a massive chunk of concrete crashing down onto her small frame. 

The world went white-hot with pain. Her legs were pinned beneath the rubble, and every shallow breath felt like knives stabbing her chest. She clawed at the ground, trying desperately to pull herself free, but the weight was too much. Tears streamed down her face as her cries for help rang out, weak and desperate amidst the chaos.

“Help me! Somebody, please!” Y/N sobbed, her voice breaking. Her small hands clawed at the jagged debris, but it was futile. Dust filled the air, choking her lungs, and her vision began to blur. Fear coiled in her chest, tight and suffocating. Was this it? Was this where she would die, alone and scared beneath the wreckage?

And then, amidst the chaos, she heard it: footsteps. Purposeful. Steady. They cut through the cacophony of destruction like a lifeline. A voice followed, calm but resolute, commanding attention despite the surrounding mayhem. “I’m here. Stay still. I’ll get you out.”

Through the haze of her tears, Y/N looked up. A man emerged from the smoke, his figure stark against the backdrop of destruction. He was clad in black, his dark hair tied back haphazardly, strands falling into his sharp, focused eyes. His scarf whipped in the wind like a living thing. Though he didn’t wear the polished confidence of a seasoned hero, there was a determination in his expression that rooted her to the spot. 

“It hurts…” Y/N whimpered, her voice barely audible.

“I know,” Aizawa Shouta—Eraserhead—replied as he crouched beside her. His voice was low, steady, almost soothing despite the urgency of the situation. “I’ll get you out of here. I just need you to stay calm for me. Can you do that?”

Y/N nodded weakly, though tears continued to stream down her cheeks. The pain in her legs was unbearable, and her tiny hands shook as she reached out to him. “I-I’m scared…”

“I know you are,” Aizawa said, his tone softening. “But I won’t let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

He wasted no time, his sharp eyes scanning the debris trapping her. His hands moved with practiced precision, aided by the movements of his scarf, which stabilized larger pieces of rubble as he worked to free her. Each shift of the concrete sent small tremors through the pile, and Aizawa paused frequently to ensure nothing collapsed further. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he gritted his teeth against the strain, but he didn’t stop. 

“You’re doing great,” he murmured, glancing down at her pale face. “Stay awake for me, okay? I need you to stay awake.”

Y/N blinked at him, her vision swimming. She tried to speak, but her voice was barely a whisper. “I-I’ll try…”

“Good. That’s all I need.”

The rubble groaned as Aizawa lifted the final piece pinning her legs. His movements were careful but urgent, and when the weight was finally gone, he wasted no time. Blood stained Y/N’s torn clothes, and her legs were bruised and scratched, but there was no time to assess the damage. Gently but firmly, Aizawa scooped her up into his arms. She was so light, her tiny frame trembling against his chest as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he said softly, his scarf coiling protectively around them to shield her from the falling debris. His voice was a quiet anchor amidst the chaos, grounding her as he moved swiftly through the wreckage. “You’re safe now.”

Y/N clung to him weakly, her small hands gripping the fabric of his suit. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her, and despite her best efforts, her eyelids began to flutter shut. “T-thank you…” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the distant roar of destruction.

Aizawa’s jaw tightened, and his pace quickened. “Don’t thank me yet. Just stay awake, okay? We’re almost there.”

But Y/N couldn’t fight it any longer. The pain, the fear, the exhaustion—it was all too much. Her head lolled against his shoulder, her breaths shallow but steady. Aizawa glanced down at her unconscious form, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his worry.

As he carried her toward the triage station set up at the edge of the destruction, Aizawa’s thoughts were a whirlwind. This was one of his first major battles as a pro hero, and the devastation around him was overwhelming. But holding this small, fragile child in his arms reminded him why he had chosen this path. It wasn’t about fame or recognition. It was about moments like this—being the person who could make a difference when it mattered most.

He reached the medics, his voice sharp and commanding as he handed Y/N over. “She’s stable, but her legs need attention. Make sure she gets the care she needs.”

The medics nodded, quickly taking her from his arms. Aizawa watched for a moment, his sharp eyes softening as they checked her vitals. Then, with a deep breath, he turned back toward the wreckage. There were still others to save.But as he ran back into the chaos, Aizawa carried her whispered “thank you” with him, a quiet reminder of the lives he fought to protect.

The steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor was the first sound Y/N L/N heard as she stirred from the heavy fog of unconsciousness. Her body felt leaden, as though weighed down by invisible chains. Her head throbbed faintly, and her limbs wouldn’t obey her attempts to move them. Slowly, she forced her eyes open, squinting against the harsh glare of fluorescent hospital lights above her. 

The sterile scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils, sharp and unfamiliar. She tried to sit up, but a searing pain shot through her side, stealing her breath. Gasping softly, Y/N stilled, blinking back tears. It was then she noticed the wires and tubes connected to her small body—an IV drip in her arm, electrodes on her chest, and a pulse oximeter clipped to her finger. Her legs, swathed in layers of bandages, throbbed with a dull ache, and the skin beneath her torn hospital gown itched where scrapes and bruises had been treated.

Panic bubbled at the edge of her mind. Memories flashed before her eyes—the crumbling building, the deafening roar of explosions, the agonizing weight of rubble pressing down on her small frame. She squeezed her eyes shut, as if doing so might block out the haunting images. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” a warm voice exclaimed, breaking through her spiraling thoughts.

Y/N turned her head cautiously, her neck stiff and aching. A doctor stood beside her bed, clipboard in hand. He looked to be in his forties, with salt-and-pepper hair and kind eyes framed by thin glasses. His smile was gentle, meant to comfort, though his gaze held a shadow of concern.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asked softly, pulling a chair closer to her bedside. “Do you feel any pain?”

Y/N swallowed, her throat dry and scratchy. When she finally managed to speak, her voice was hoarse. “My side… and my legs. They hurt.”

The doctor nodded, his expression sympathetic. “That’s to be expected. You’ve been through something very serious, but you’re safe now. You’re a fighter, little one—you pulled through.”

She blinked at him, confusion mingling with the lingering fear in her chest. “What… what happened to me?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Setting his clipboard down, the doctor leaned forward slightly, his tone measured and calm. “You were brought here in critical condition. The rubble that trapped you caused severe injuries, including damage to your liver. You lost a lot of blood, and we had to perform an emergency surgery to save your life. That surgery included a liver transplant.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock. “A t-transplant?” she stammered, the word foreign and frightening. “Who… who gave it to me?”

The doctor’s expression softened further. “I’m afraid we can’t disclose that information. Just know that the right donor was available at the right time. You were very lucky.”

Her small hands gripped the blanket covering her, trembling as she tried to process his words. The idea of someone giving her a part of themselves to save her felt heavy, overwhelming. She wanted to ask more, but her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

A tall man in a police uniform stepped into the room, his demeanor professional but kind. He carried a notepad and pen, his face serious but not unkind as his eyes landed on the young girl in the hospital bed.

“Hello, Y/N,” he said gently, walking closer. “I’m Officer Tanaka. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened, but before we start, I want you to know that you’re safe now. The hero Eraserhead found you and brought you here in time. He’s the reason you’re alive.”

At the mention of the hero’s name, Y/N’s chest tightened with emotion. “Eraserhead?” she whispered, her voice small and shaky. “He… he saved me?”

Officer Tanaka nodded, pulling up a chair to sit near her bedside. “That’s right. He cleared the rubble and carried you all the way to the medics. He stayed until he was sure you were in good hands. You were very brave, Y/N, and so was he.”

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, and her lower lip quivered. She rubbed at her face with her unbandaged hand, sniffling as she tried to contain her emotions. “What about my parents?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Did he… did he find them too?”

The officer’s expression faltered, and for a moment, his gaze dropped to the notepad in his hands. “We’re still looking for them,” he said softly, his voice measured. “The area where the attack happened is still dangerous, but our team is working hard to find them. Can you tell me the last time you saw them?”

Y/N’s chest tightened as she recalled the chaotic moment when she’d been separated from her parents. “We were running,” she murmured, tears slipping down her cheeks. “They told me to go ahead, and they stayed behind me. Then the building started falling, and I—I couldn’t see them anymore.” Her voice broke, and she buried her face in her hands, sobbing.

Officer Tanaka’s pen scratched across his notepad as he jotted down her words. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said after a moment, his voice kind and steady. “I know this is hard, but you’re helping us a lot. Do you remember anything else about the attack? Or what the villain looked like?”

Sniffling, Y/N wiped her tears away with the back of her hand. “He was big,” she said shakily, her voice trembling. “And scary. His arms were like sharp rocks, and he kept laughing when he broke things. I—I don’t know what he wanted. He just… he just kept smashing everything.”

The officer nodded, scribbling down her description. “That’s very helpful,” he assured her. “Thank you, Y/N. We’re going to do everything we can to stop him and bring your parents back to you.”

Y/N’s small frame trembled as she clutched at the blanket covering her. “Do you think my mom and dad are okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, Officer Tanaka hesitated, his gaze flickering with something unspoken. Then he knelt beside her bed, his voice soft but resolute. “We’re going to do everything in our power to bring them back to you,” he promised. “But right now, your job is to rest and get better. You’ve already been so brave.”

The doctor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, his expression reassuring. “The officer’s right,” he said. “You need to focus on healing. You’ve been through more than most adults ever will, and you’re still here. That makes you stronger than you realize.”

Though her heart ached with worry for her parents, Y/N nodded weakly. The weight of the day pressed heavily on her small body, and exhaustion pulled at her mind. She clung to the officer’s words and the memory of the hero who had carried her to safety, holding onto the fragile thread of hope they offered.

For now, all she could do was wait.

The hospital room was silent, shrouded in the faint glow of moonlight spilling through a narrow gap in the curtains. Y/N lay in the bed, her frail body resting against the slightly inclined mattress. Though the room was quiet, her mind buzzed relentlessly, refusing to let her drift into sleep. She stared at the ceiling, counting the faint cracks in the plaster as if doing so might calm her racing thoughts. 

Everything felt different now. The world beyond the hospital walls seemed sharper, louder. Sounds she once ignored now demanded her attention. She could hear the soft chirping of crickets from somewhere far away and the low, persistent hum of traffic in the distance. Even the faint rustle of leaves in the wind seemed magnified, pressing against her heightened senses. 

She closed her eyes, attempting to block out the overwhelming sounds, but it was no use. The more she focused on silencing them, the more they seemed to grow louder, filling her mind until her chest tightened with frustration. Just as she was about to let out a weary sigh, a new noise caught her attention—a subtle creak, almost imperceptible, coming from the direction of the window. 

Her eyes flew open, her body jolting upright despite the soreness in her limbs. Her heart pounded in her chest as she turned her head sharply toward the source of the sound. The window, which had been securely closed earlier, now moved ever so slightly, its frame groaning softly as it slid open. A shadow slipped through the gap with quiet grace, landing silently on the floor. Y/N froze, clutching her blanket tightly, her breath caught in her throat.

For a fleeting moment, fear gripped her. Who could it be? But then recognition washed over her like a soothing balm. Her wide eyes softened, and a smile broke across her face.

“Eraserhead!” she exclaimed, her voice a hushed but excited whisper. Relief and joy colored her tone as she relaxed against the bed.

The shadowed figure froze in place, his hand still gripping the edge of the window frame. He looked almost comical, like a child caught sneaking into the kitchen for a late-night snack. Slowly, he straightened and stepped closer, his face coming into focus under the moonlight. His wild black hair framed his tired but watchful eyes, and his scarf was wrapped loosely around his neck.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he said softly, his tone carrying a hint of teasing.

“I was trying,” Y/N replied, shrugging lightly as she adjusted her grip on the blanket. “But everything’s so loud now. The world feels… different.”

She tilted her head, her gaze distant as she focused on the cacophony of sounds beyond the window. “I could hear the window creak before you even opened it,” she added quietly, her voice laced with wonder and confusion.

Eraserhead’s expression softened, though his face remained mostly unreadable. He stepped closer, crouching beside her bed so they were at eye level. “Your senses are probably heightened because of the trauma,” he explained, his voice calm and reassuring. “It’ll settle down over time. For now, try not to let it overwhelm you.”

Y/N nodded slightly, though the tension in her small shoulders didn’t completely ease. She glanced down at her bandaged arm, then back at him with a faint, determined smile. “I’m strong,” she declared, lifting her arm as if to prove it. “See?”

Eraserhead’s lips twitched upward in the faintest of smiles, a rare crack in his usually stoic demeanor. “Yeah, I see that,” he said, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “Stronger than most adults, I’d say.”

His words made her grin widen, her chest swelling with pride. The hero who had saved her—the serious, intimidating Eraserhead—was smiling and even laughing at something she’d said. It felt like a tiny victory in an otherwise dark and uncertain time.

Gathering her courage, Y/N glanced at the notepad and pen sitting on the bedside table. “Um… Mr. Eraserhead?” she began hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze following hers to the notepad. “What is it?”

“Can I…” She fidgeted with the edge of the blanket, her fingers twisting the fabric nervously. “Can I have your autograph? Please?”

Eraserhead blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. “An autograph? From me?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Why would you want one from an underground hero? I’m not exactly famous.”

Y/N tilted her head, her expression earnest. “Because I’m your number one fan,” she said simply, as if the answer was obvious.

For a moment, Eraserhead simply stared at her, caught off guard by her sincerity. Then, to her surprise, he let out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Number one fan, huh?” he said, his voice carrying a hint of dry amusement. “That’s a first.”

She nodded enthusiastically, her eyes shining with admiration. “You saved me,” she said, her voice brimming with emotion. “You’re the coolest hero ever! Even if you’re not famous, you’re the best to me.”

Eraserhead shook his head slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching upward again. “Alright, number one fan,” he said, reaching for the notepad and pen. His handwriting was messy but legible as he scrawled his name across the paper. “But don’t go selling this, okay?”

Y/N giggled, clutching the autograph like it was the most precious treasure in the world. “I’d never sell it! I’m keeping it forever,” she promised, her voice filled with childlike sincerity.

As he stood, preparing to leave, her voice stopped him in his tracks. “Will I see you again?” she blurted out, her words rushed and filled with hope.

He paused at the window, glancing back at her over his shoulder. His dark eyes softened, and he gave a faint nod. “Maybe,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “But only if you keep being strong. Deal?”

“Deal!” Y/N replied, her voice firm and determined despite her small frame.

Satisfied, Eraserhead gave her a small wave before slipping out the window as quietly as he’d come. Y/N lay back against her pillow, the autograph clutched tightly to her chest. For the first time since the attack, a genuine smile spread across her face. The fear and sadness that had weighed so heavily on her heart felt lighter, replaced by a glimmer of hope.

The sounds of the world outside no longer felt so overwhelming. Instead, they became a backdrop to her thoughts of the quiet, kind hero who had saved her. As she closed her eyes, she held onto the memory of his visit, the sound of his laugh, and the promise she’d made.

For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt safe—and maybe even a little happy.

The hospital room was steeped in an uneasy quiet, the kind that settled over places meant for recovery but steeped in pain. The soft glow of the overhead lights created elongated shadows on the pale walls, giving the space a sterile, almost lifeless feel. Y/N sat in her bed, a child too small for the heavy weight of the world now pressed upon her shoulders. The plate of food on the tray before her sat untouched, its contents growing cold as she absentmindedly fidgeted with the edge of her blanket. Her hands trembled slightly, though whether from exhaustion or the unshakable emptiness that had rooted itself in her chest, she wasn’t sure.

The creak of the door opening broke through the stillness. Y/N’s head jerked up, startled, her wide eyes fixing on the figure stepping into the room. He was an older man, dressed impeccably in a kuro montsuki, the formal black attire strikingly out of place against the drab setting of the hospital. His presence was commanding yet serene, a quiet power that filled the room without overwhelming it.

The man’s face was lined with the marks of age—deep wrinkles etched into his forehead and around his sharp eyes, which seemed to pierce through the veil of her silence. His hair was streaked with gray, tied neatly back, a contrast to his otherwise unyielding aura. When his gaze fell on her, the hardness in his expression softened, replaced by something almost gentle.

“Y/N L/N,” he greeted, his voice deep but warm, its resonance easing some of the tension that had settled in her small frame. “My name is just ‘The Boss’ or 'Pops' for now. I was a close friend of your parents.”

Her eyes widened slightly at the mention of her parents, a flicker of recognition flashing across her face. She straightened instinctively, her small hands tightening on the edge of her blanket. But she didn’t say anything, her lips pressing into a thin line as a shadow of suspicion and pain crossed her features.

The Boss didn’t rush her. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, as if aware that any sudden action might startle her. He pulled the chair from the corner of the room and positioned it beside her bed, lowering himself into it with a quiet dignity. His sharp gaze flicked briefly to the untouched plate of food on the tray. He raised an eyebrow but made no immediate comment.

Instead, after a moment of silence, he said, “You haven’t eaten.” It wasn’t a question. His tone was soft, but there was an unmistakable firmness beneath it. “Why not?”

“I’m not hungry,” Y/N replied, her voice barely audible. She kept her gaze down, her hands knotting the blanket into a tangled mess.

The Boss studied her closely for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Not eating won’t help you heal,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his hands resting on his knees. “Your body needs strength, and you won’t find that strength on an empty stomach.”

His words hung in the air, heavier than the sterile quiet of the room. Y/N shrugged, her small shoulders lifting in a way that seemed to hold the weight of the world. “It doesn’t matter,” she muttered.

“It does,” he countered, his voice taking on a fatherly edge. There was no anger in his tone, only quiet insistence. “You’ve been through a great deal, child, but life doesn’t stop because of pain. You must take care of yourself, even when it feels like the world has turned its back on you.”

Y/N flinched slightly at his words, but she didn’t look at him. Her chest tightened, and she blinked rapidly to hold back tears. His voice, though firm, carried a thread of empathy that made it harder to push him away. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his. “You knew my parents?” she asked hesitantly.

The Boss nodded, his expression softening further. “I did. Your father and I shared a bond—a deep trust forged through years of understanding. And your mother…” He paused, a hint of wistfulness creeping into his voice. “She had a light that brightened even the darkest of times. They were good people, Y/N.”

Her throat tightened at his words, and she quickly looked away, biting down on her trembling lip. “Then why aren’t they here?” she asked, her voice breaking as she spoke.

The Boss didn’t answer immediately. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful as he considered her question. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Sometimes life takes people from us before we’re ready,” he said. “It’s not fair, and it never will be. But what we can do—what we *must* do—is carry their memory with us and honor them by living.”

His words hit her like a tidal wave, and though she said nothing, the tears she had been holding back spilled over, streaking silently down her cheeks. She bit her lip harder, trying to stifle the sob threatening to escape.

The Boss reached out, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the bed. His presence was steady, grounding, as if he were offering her an anchor in the midst of her storm. “From now on, I will take care of you,” he said firmly. “You will have a home, safety, and family. I promise you that.”

Y/N turned to look at him, her tear-streaked face searching his for answers. “Why?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why would you do that for me?”

“Because it is the right thing to do,” he replied without hesitation. “Your parents would want you to be cared for, protected. And I will honor their memory by ensuring you have that.”

For the first time since the attack that had stolen everything from her, Y/N felt a small flicker of warmth in her chest. It wasn’t enough to erase the pain, but it was something—a tiny ember of hope that had been absent for far too long. She nodded hesitantly, her voice trembling as she whispered, “Thank you.”

The Boss inclined his head slightly, his expression softening even more. “You’re welcome, child.” He gestured toward the plate of food on the tray. “Now, let’s start with something small. A few bites, for today. I won’t force you, but I’ll be disappointed if you don’t try.”

Y/N hesitated, her gaze shifting to the plate. The food didn’t appeal to her, but the weight of his steady gaze and the gentle encouragement in his voice made her pick up the fork. She took a small bite, chewing slowly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a step.

The Boss nodded approvingly, leaning back in his chair. “Good. That’s a start.”

Y/N set the fork down after the first few bites, her appetite still nonexistent. But when she looked at the Boss, his expression wasn’t one of disappointment. Instead, there was quiet pride in his eyes, as if her small effort had been enough.

“You’ll find that strength,” he said softly. “One step at a time.”

Y/N lay back against the pillows, a tentative sense of security settling over her. The sterile walls of the hospital room felt less suffocating with his steady presence nearby. For the first time in what felt like forever, she believed that she might be able to keep going. Not for herself—at least, not yet—but for the memory of the parents who had loved her and the stranger who had promised to carry her through the darkness.