Aizawa stands motionless in the sudden vacuum of her departure, shoulders sagging almost imperceptibly under the weight of her chaotic energy.
"You're enjoying this a little too much..."
The sharp thwip of webbing echoed through the training hall as she launched herself upward over the rooftop, her trail marked by the frantic crisscrossing of silk strands that spin a complex, dizzying web of false directions across the training ground.
Aizawa doesn't move, simply observing the last point where she'd vanished, hands tucked into his pockets as the echoes of her movement fade into silence.
He counts under his breath rather than rushing after her.
Only then does he break his stasis. In a single, practiced motion born of years of combat, his hand catches the end of the new capture weapon, drawing it free from around his shoulders. The silk unfurls with barely a whisper, flowing through his fingers like water rather than fabric.
His eyes sweep the arena once, twice, methodically dissecting the chaos she leaves in her wake. He ignores the most prominent strands, too obvious, he thinks, mind cataloging the flaws in her deception. The false routes, the overly visible anchor points, the trails designed to bait a pursuer into looking up and out. They were effective against opponents driven by instinct or eagerness, but he's not looking for where she wants him to look.
His gaze drops, narrowing with surgical precision. He traces the minute scuff marks on the floor where her boots had found purchase, the loose strand near the rooftop's edge. His lazy, slumped posture vanishes then, replaced by razor sharp clarity.
Without another word, he steps into motion.
There's no wasted energy in the way he moves, no dramatic sprint or flashy pursuit. Aizawa flows through the obstacles with economical precision, vaulting a low barrier before redirecting off a concrete support, the capture weapon following each movement effortlessly.
Rather than following the most direct path, he angles across the room to cut off the route she was most likely to choose next. As he rounds the next obstacle, his free hand shifts slightly on the capture weapon.
Not to throw it--Not yet. He wants one more look at how she adapts before committing, curious to see whether she'd notice the interception before he forced it.
