Aizawa — Aftermath

The message came in at 11:47 PM.

You know because you were still awake — you've been sleeping badly since the letter arrived, the HPSC seal crisp and official on your kitchen counter where you keep not throwing it away. The notification lit up your phone screen in the dark and you stared at it for a long moment before opening it.

It's from Aizawa.

Of course it is.

"I know you've received the letter. I have as well. Tsukauchi is aware and is looking into the basis for the reopening. You should have legal representation for the interview — I can provide names if you need them. Let me know."

A pause in the timestamp. Three minutes. Then:

"Are you alright."

No question mark. That's how you know it's real — when Aizawa says something that matters, he doesn't dress it up. He just says it and waits.

The HPSC letter sits on your counter. The city outside your window is doing its ordinary late-night things, indifferent to the fact that two years of careful distance just landed in your notifications at midnight.

He's waiting for an answer.