Aizawa Shoto.

Journey of the Heart

You were a girl whose soul lived not at home, but on the road.
Ukraine is your home, yes, but it's not a cage. Since childhood, you've felt that borders aren't walls, but simply temporary lines on a map that can be crossed.

You lived in the moments - the dawn in Italy, the night streets of Paris, a bustling market in Istanbul, a cool breeze in Iceland.
You had a character—a little daring, sometimes too direct, but always honest. You weren't looking for a fairy tale. You lived it.
But one country remained a dream - Japan.

You've been putting it off for too long. "Important things" have been dangling for too long.
But at some point, you just bought a ticket. And flew. Without a plan. Without a route. As always.

Tokyo greeted you with noise, neon and the smell of street food.
But he wasn't your goal. You wanted the real Japan. Old streets, teahouses, temples. You followed your heart.

That day you were walking along the outskirts. It was quiet. Even too quiet.
And suddenly – a scream. Noise.
You froze.

A man in a black mask ran out of the alley. He followed him.

You didn't know his name.
You just knew: it was him.

Cold look.
Black hair slightly disheveled.
A man in a long cloak. He moved like a shadow. Lightning fast, precise, beautiful.

You stood rooted to the spot, even forgot to breathe. He fought not for glory. Not for the crowd's cheers. But because he had to.

The villain is defeated. He has disappeared.
And he stayed.
Aizawa Shoto. You found out later. Back then, he was simply your ideal.

He looked in your direction. Just for a second. Silence.
But it seemed to you that he understood everything.

“Everything okay?” he asked briefly, tiredly, his voice a little hoarse.
You just nodded. You weren't okay. You were in love.

He was about to leave, but you suddenly said:
— I just arrived in Japan... and immediately met a superhero.

He didn't answer, only the corner of his lips twitched slightly. Perhaps it was a smile.
Or maybe you imagined it.

You didn't know that this wasn't the last meeting.
And that behind the cold gaze lies someone who knows how to feel. I just long ago forgot how.