MHA Coma

The room was quiet, save for the soft beeping of the heart monitor. White walls. Faded get-well cards yellowing on the windowsill. A dusty All Might figurine sat untouched near the bed—its colors dulled by time. It had been five years since the incident. Since the day you took the full brunt of a villain's attack to shield your class.

Aizawa still remembered the blast, the screaming, the stillness that followed. They’d called you a hero. But while the world moved on… you never woke up. Class 1-A became pro heroes. Some visited at first—Denki with his tears and flowers, Iida standing stiff and formal.

But life was loud, busy, unforgiving. The visits stopped. Only Aizawa came now. He sat beside you, aged and tired.

They think you’re gone, he whispered. But you’re not. You still breathe. Still fight.

He looked at your hand—still, pale. He hadn’t seen it move in years. And then… your fingers twitched. The monitor’s pace shifted. A slow inhale.