Chapter Text
~// Dreams are made of this \\~
Chapter 1
Katsuki clenched his teeth in frustration, still feeling that stubborn resistance inside, even though he knew it wouldn’t do him any good.
Truth be told, he had no idea how he was supposed to deal with it any further. There was no denying anymore that something was seriously wrong. But asking for help—accepting help—was still something the blond struggled with.
But now he was being forced to talk. Now he had to come right out and admit it, had to voice the suspicion of what might have happened to him.
“Looks like someone’s been using their shitty Quirk on me.”
…A few days earlier…
Katsuki had a shitty weekend.
Granted, he’d never been the cheerful, always-positive type anyway. He usually looked at things pretty critically and wasn’t great at cheering himself up when he was in a bad mood.
But that didn’t mean everything and everyone was crap.
At least not right away.
Still—this weekend? Yeah, it totally deserved the title “shitty weekend.”
It started on Saturday, when he overslept and missed his morning run. The park he usually ran through was way too crowded and chaotic for him to actually zone out. He kept having to dodge people walking their dogs, jump out of the way of cyclists, or squeeze past others just to get through. Then he accidentally bumped into a little kid, who immediately burst into tears. The kid’s overly dolled-up mom was not amused.
That’s how it started.
And honestly, that would’ve been enough.
But nope—things didn’t stop there.
Quite the opposite.
Next was his trip into the city. He needed to pick up his new schoolbooks for his final year at U.A. The city was, needless to say, fucking packed. On the train, some perv grabbed his ass, and he had to fight the urge not to blow up the whole damn carriage. The old, balding, overweight guy insisted it was an accident. Katsuki didn’t buy it for a second, dragged the bastard out at the next stop, and was ready to hand him over to security. It took several witnesses swearing up and down that it really had been an accident to make him let go.
One older guy with a white mustache even tried to calm him down, patting his shoulder like some kind of wise grandpa. He chuckled softly and scolded Katsuki half-jokingly, telling him he was supposed to be a hero and that heroes should rise above that kind of thing. Said he was a role model and needed to get a grip. Tch. As if Katsuki gave a crap about that. Just because people had known him since the damn Sports Festival didn’t mean he was about to start acting like some fucking “role model.”
He didn’t care what anyone said. Bottom line: he didn’t believe that creep for a second.
The guy was branded a disgusting bastard in his book.
End of story.
Even so, Katsuki pulled himself together, hissed a threat at the old man, and stormed off.
So much for that.
In his rush, he ended up bumping into a young woman carrying a stack of files, scattering them all over the platform. He wasn’t a complete asshole—he grumbled but still helped her pick them up, muttering an apology. She apologized too, even though it clearly wasn’t her fault. But the round-glasses woman insisted it was, then rushed off in a panic. She seemed to be in even more of a hurry than him.
Then came the next pile of crap—at the bookstore.
The dumb cashier seemed to recognize his name, because his face instantly lit up when Katsuki asked about his order. The guy’s grin got even wider, probably his pathetic attempt at flirting. Katsuki snorted, snatched the receipt from his hand, and ended up touching those clammy, grossly cold fingers. He wrinkled his nose in pure disgust.
Goddamn it…
On the way home, a teenager on a bike plowed straight into him—some idiot who clearly thought he was way better at riding than he actually was. His “stunt” of speeding down a way-too-steep staircase in the park left Katsuki with a bruised back.
If the pain hadn’t been so bad, Katsuki would’ve chased down that whole cowardly little gang who pedaled off like rats. Instead, some dude in a way-too-expensive suit kept talking at him until Katsuki finally gave in and let himself be driven home. The car reeked of money, stuffed with more high-tech crap than the support department’s latest gadgets. The tall guy with slicked-back hair insisted on dropping him off right at his parents’ place and personally explaining the whole situation to them. Fucking stranger.
Not even Katsuki’s sharp words could scare him off.
“Katsuki, son, what happened?” his dad asked as he opened the door, but the blond just clenched his teeth and brushed past him, tossing the suit guy a quick “thanks” over his shoulder before disappearing into his room with an ice pack. His mom came in a little later, rubbing ointment onto the sore spots, probably making sure she wouldn’t have to drag him to the hospital.
Maybe it wasn’t hospital-level bad, but it was still rough enough to keep him awake all night. It had been a long time since he’d had to deal with pain like that. At U.A., Recovery Girl always stepped in whenever injuries became an issue. But here? No nurse with healing powers.
And painkillers were for pussies.
Even if the next day, he almost wished he’d taken some.
The pain was joined by exhaustion, which only made his mood worse. Since lying down wasn’t an option, he tried to walk it off. It only helped a little—especially after he had to break up a group of teenagers who were ganging up on a weaker kid, trying to mug him for money.
Idiots.
From the look of the little guy, he clearly didn’t have much anyway. His old, shabby clothes made that obvious.
Katsuki stepped in—he couldn’t help it. The scene hit way too close to his own past. Maybe someday those punks would regret their shitty behavior, wish they’d acted differently. Just like he did now.
Of course, with dumbasses like that, it was no surprise things escalated into a fight. Katsuki won easily, mostly on defense rather than offense. After all, he was this close to becoming a pro hero—taking down a bunch of hormone-driven brats was nothing. Either their Quirks weren’t suited for fighting, or they didn’t have the guts to use them. Only one of them showed his ability, making his hands heat up until they were smoking. No big deal. Katsuki could handle that without breaking a sweat.
Quick win for him, pathetic defeat for the three idiots. Their threats and insults didn’t matter. He was more concerned about checking if the younger boy was okay.
The kid thanked him over and over, which only reminded Katsuki of his own childhood—of fucking Deku, and the guilt that still haunted him.
Even if he’d apologized.
Even if he’d changed.
It would never give Deku back the happy childhood he deserved.
Disgusted with himself, Katsuki brushed off the boy’s grateful words and walked on, hands shoved in his pockets. The fight hadn’t exactly done his back any favors. The pain was worse than before—but with his past weighing heavy on him, it almost felt like he deserved it.
.
.
.
Katsuki sat, annoyed, on an uncomfortably hard chair in his therapist’s waiting room. It was already afternoon. His U.A. bag was packed and resting on the chair next to him, acting as a barrier to keep other annoying patients away. He couldn’t even count anymore how many times he’d wasted his time here. Since the big war, both his teachers and his parents had forced him to go to these stupid therapy sessions. What had been a total pain in the ass at first turned out, in hindsight, not to be such a shitty idea.
Because if he was honest with himself—
“See you in two weeks.”
The voice carried faintly through the thin waiting-room door, but it was enough to make Katsuki instantly tense up.
And then jump to his feet.
When he pushed the door open, he caught just a glimpse of a messy green head slipping out through the entrance.
It had been unmistakably Deku.
Katsuki was sure of it. He could’ve recognized that idiot anywhere—whether in pitch-black darkness by his ever-bright red shoes, or in a crowded library by his constant muttering.
He’d just known him too damn long, dealt with him too often, not to have developed some kind of radar for Deku.
Which made it all the more alarming that he’d had no idea Deku was also in therapy. And not just anywhere—at his therapist’s.
“Katsuki?”
He turned to see said therapist poking her head out of the door, her brown eyes questioning.
He growled, grabbed his big sports bag, and headed into her office.
The sofa he dropped onto was still warm—just a hint of how long the nerd must’ve been there.
“You look tired,” Anko began as she poured tea for both of them. She did it, as always, with that graceful, almost mesmerizing ease that Katsuki couldn’t help but stare at.
When she handed him the cup, he gave her a curt nod of thanks.
“Didn’t sleep well,” he admitted. She’d long since gotten the knack for cutting through his lies and excuses anyway, so he knew there was no point in beating around the bush. What he hadn’t known was that she treated both Deku and him. Maybe that was intentional—after all, some of their sessions did circle back to that green-haired idiot. Deep down, he wondered if it went the other way too…
“Is that even allowed?”
Her brows lifted, the picture of quiet confusion.
Katsuki clicked his tongue in irritation.
“That you’re treating the nerd—uhm, Izuku—too. I just hope you keep the shit I tell you to yourself,” he said, correcting himself mid-sentence. He and Anko had agreed he’d try to use his childhood friend’s actual name more often. Partly because he’d decided it for himself, but mostly because it was a way of showing Izuku respect. Still wasn’t easy. Not saying it out loud, not even in his own head.
“You know I take confidentiality very seriously,” she said with a soft smile.
Yeah. He knew she didn’t need his threats. She was someone who dealt openly and honestly with people. But he still couldn’t drop his defenses completely—not when she knew so much of his private crap. He couldn’t shake the feeling of being exposed.
Still, he growled under his breath, annoyed. Just the thought that she was hearing both sides—his and Deku’s—was… unsettling.
But maybe, just maybe, he could use that.
“So… how’s he doing?”
Both he and Anko could hear it in his voice—the interest, the damn worry about the nerd. He was trying to be more open with his stupid emotions, but it was still hard for him.
“Good,” the short-haired woman answered simply, smiling gently at his concern. Now that she knew Katsuki was aware she had a clear view into Izuku’s life and past, she probably also understood exactly why he was asking.
Izuku had struggled to get back into a routine after the war, one that wasn’t built on constant danger, fighting, and relentless vigilance. Even with the support of the whole class, the idiot still had a hard time sharing his burdens and worries with others. He preferred to carry it all himself, burying his fears under endless training.
The thought made Katsuki laugh inwardly, as he couldn’t help but see the irony—the parallels between himself and that idiot.
.
.
.
“Bakugou!”
Shitty Hair jumped up from the couch as soon as the blond walked into the dorm. With a snort, Katsuki dropped his huge sports bag to the floor and marched straight to the fridge without a word.
“You’re late. Normally you’re back by the afternoon.”
“Tss,” he clicked his tongue, not about to say where he’d been. He grabbed his bottle of homemade green tea and poured himself a glass. “What the hell do you care when I show up? As long as I drag my ass to class tomorrow, it doesn’t matter.”
“Hmm, usually you try to beat us back here.”
“And why do you think that is?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Katsuki saw Kaminari leaning over the back of the couch, arm stretched up like an eager student.
“Oh, I know! You just want peace and quiet away from us.”
Katsuki smirked, lifted a finger from his glass of water, and pointed it at him.
“Hundred points, Pikachu. Too bad you’re not that smart in class.”
“Hey! That is -”
“Deku!”
Almost automatically, Katsuki ignored the blond and leaned to the side to get a better view of the common room where he’d heard round face’s voice coming from. On one of the armchairs sat the nerd, a comic book resting on his lap.
“How was your weekend? Did everything… go okay?”
The way Round Face chose her words, the hesitation in her voice—it immediately caught Katsuki’s attention. His mind jumped back to spotting Deku in his therapist’s waiting room.
Deku just nodded with that stupid blissful smile of his, but didn’t say anything more.
Which was suspicious as hell.
Even more so when Ochako didn’t press him on it...
.
.
.
“Mama, look! I can do something new with my Quirk!”
Excited, he ran over to his mom, tugging at her apron.
“Katsuki, be careful with that. I don’t want you setting off the fire alarm. Go play outside.”
Katsuki grumbled, downcast, and trudged off to his room.
~
He grinned in his middle school classroom. Boys and girls crowded around, waiting for him to show off his Quirk.
“Oh, wow!” came at first.
But then…
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“You’ll just hurt people with that.”
“Perfect villain Quirk.”
That day he went home angrier—but also more determined—than ever before.
~
The light vanished into shadow as a massive figure engulfed him. The stench of slime made him gag, and no matter how hard he struggled, no matter how many explosions he blasted off, there was no escape. The thing sapped his strength, pinned him down, blocked his sight. Air barely reached his lungs, every breath shallow, making him feel like he was suffocating. Panic took over, his arms flailing, his palms detonating wildly. Nothing worked. No way out.
He was useless. He was done for.
“Kacchan!”
A strained cry—and suddenly the slime peeled off his face. Gasping, he dragged air into his lungs and met a pair of watery green eyes.
“It looked like you wanted to be saved!”
Fuck.
That damned Quirkless Deku.
Useless and yet—
Katsuki shook his head, fighting back tears.
The humiliation was unbearable…
~
“Young Bakugou, that’s enough.”
Katsuki snapped out of his trance, still staring in shock at Deku, who had blocked his attack and, in doing so, handed victory to the “heroes” team.
His team had lost.
He had lost.
And suddenly, he felt like the most insignificant thing in the world…
~
“Why the hell didn’t you fight me with everything you had?!” he roared, shaking Half-and-Half by the collar. But the limp, unconscious body gave him no answer, no relief, nothing to soothe his frustration and rage. Deku had gotten through to him. And he hadn’t. And even though he stood on the podium as the winner, he felt like the biggest damn loser alive...
~
Failed.
He’d failed. He hadn’t passed the Provisional Hero License Exam.
Loser.
Loser.
Useless!
Katsuki groaned as he woke up before his alarm. His chest felt heavy and tight as hell. It had been a while since he’d felt like this, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. Shitty dreams—straight-up nightmares—had ruined plenty of his mornings before. After the war, that kind of thing wasn’t exactly rare anymore.
He swallowed down the weight in his chest and rolled onto his side, reaching for his phone. The light stabbed painfully into his eyes until they watered.
5:17 a.m.
Almost an hour before he’d normally get up for his morning workout.
He rolled back over, closed his eyes, tried to sleep again. But after a few deep breaths, his heart still racing like crazy, he knew it was useless. Wide awake and pissed off, he flipped the light on and got up.
.
.
.
“Whoa, dude, you good?” Sero asked a few hours later in the classroom.
Just like Katsuki expected, his shitty mood was written all over his face, so he didn’t bother hiding the annoyed groan as he slumped into his chair.
“Crap sleep,” he muttered, déjà vu hitting him hard. No surprise he felt like shit—two shitty nights in a row would do that.
Only this time it wasn’t back pain or the fallout of a fight keeping him up. It was fucking dreams.
Or more like memories.
Memories he could do without.
“Kacchan? What happened? You look tired.”
Deku walked into the classroom, passing by Katsuki’s desk like always. His big, way-too-green eyes landed on him, full of worry and surprise.
“Tss, don’t think that means I’ll hold back, Izuku. I’m still gonna kick your ass in training.”
Which was bullshit, and they both knew it. If it really came down to it, Katsuki didn’t stand a chance against Deku’s overpowered Quirks. The war had made that painfully clear. Deku had been fucking phenomenal, while Katsuki-
“I’m just saying. You’re usually so careful about your sleep.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not like I planned for that dumbass on the bike to slam into my back, Idiot.”
He rubbed his lower back for show, even though it didn’t hurt anymore. Better that than admitting he was losing sleep over fucking nightmares. What was he, the type to let crap like that mess with him?
“What? But shouldn’t you see a doctor then? Maybe Recovery Girl—”
“Shut up. It’s not that bad. Now sit your ass down and leave me alone.”
He wasn’t stupid enough to think Deku would drop it just like that. He’d known the green-haired nerd long enough to realize he’d have to brush him off at least a dozen more times before the day was over.
Yeah… he hadn’t factored that part in. Maybe he should’ve just kept his damn mouth shut.
But after all this time, it had become second nature for him to share more about himself than he ever would’ve years ago. Sometimes more than he could actually handle afterward. The questions annoyed him, sure—but the rest of the extras had learned to deal with his moods better. They knew exactly when his tolerance hit its limit, and most of the time they left him alone when he was having a bad day.
Like today.
Only Izuku had built a different kind of approach over the years. He didn’t flinch at Katsuki’s harsh words anymore. He didn’t back off when the blond squared up or raised his fists. And he never shied away from being close—he even tried spending time with him outside of training or classes. If Katsuki really thought about it, he’d figure Deku was trying to rebuild—or maybe build anew—their friendship. Not desperately, but carefully. Patiently.
It wasn’t like the old days.
Back then, their childhood had twisted them both, tied them up in a messed-up relationship. They’d been young, clueless, selfish. Both of them. The nerd had always clung to him, even when Katsuki had been an asshole. He’d ignored his own pride, and that had only pissed Katsuki off more. On top of that, he’d never left him alone, never respected his boundaries.
But now? Things were different.
They respected each other.
They’d achieved a lot together.
And Katsuki would be an idiot not to see that—and appreciate it.
.
.
.
He didn’t know exactly what had happened, but when his vision cleared and an all-too-hot hand clamped around his throat from behind, panic clawed its way up inside him. His stomach turned. Oxygen felt out of reach as fingers locked around his neck like a damn vice. Through blurred vision, he barely registered what kind of shit was going down. Chaos was everywhere. Screams and jerky movements yanked his attention in every direction. He couldn’t move—frozen solid—only rasping pathetically for air.
Then his eyes found green.
Deku was sprinting toward him. Fear and pain twisted his face. His arms hung uselessly at his sides. It wouldn’t matter. Even if he reached him in time, it’d be pointless. He should worry about himself instead.
“Stay back, Deku.”
And then the grip tightened, dragging him down into the deepest dark.
This time felt different when he woke up. His heart hammered in his chest, pulse racing out of control. It stood in stark contrast to the usual frozen paralysis he found himself in. His eyes stared blankly into the dark, his eyelid twitching with stress.
Fuck.
No way. What the hell was wrong with him?
Groaning, he finally dragged himself out of stillness, shoving damp strands of hair back from his forehead. A glance at his phone told him it was still the middle of the night. He’d barely slept a few hours. The fact that he’d had another shitty dream only piled on the frustration. Had something recently set him off, reminded him of all that crap? He’d noticed before—missions or lessons sometimes triggered memories from his past, and then he’d dream about them.
But this one had been different.
Too exact. Too perfect. No weird distortions, no nonsense. This had been a straight-up memory. Precise. Real.
Even as he wrestled with the thought, the dryness in his throat made him cough harshly. He grabbed his almost-empty water bottle, took a few swigs, but the choking feeling didn’t go away. Irritated, he flipped on his bedside lamp to go and refill it in the kitchen.
That’s when his eyes caught his own reflection in the mirror on his wardrobe.
“What the—?”
Confused, he stepped closer, making sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. But no—there they were. Faint marks across his neck. He blinked, brought his hand up to feel the strange bruises on his skin. No raised bumps, nothing to touch. So why did it hurt to swallow? Was he getting sick? Then where the hell did those—
He flicked on the big light. Looked again. Different colored blotches across his throat. And was that…
A handprint?
Panic crawled up his back, a bad feeling churning in his gut with nausea following close behind.
Before his brain could completely short-circuit at the insane thought that-
A too-hot hand clamping around his neck.
There was no way he was sleeping again. Instead, he tore through the internet, searching for possible causes. Something was wrong. Something was very fucking wrong here.
Self-inflicted injury in sleep?
Sleepwalking?
Panic attacks?
None of it fit. Sure, some people scratched themselves in their sleep, but would he really go as far as choking himself without knowing it? And besides—the marks didn’t even look like they could’ve come from his own hands. The angle was wrong. The print was too big.
Katsuki jolted as his alarm suddenly went off.
6 a.m. already.
He realized he’d spent hours glued to his phone, researching nonstop. His eyes burned, his head pounded, and he wasn’t any closer to answers.
Fuck.
He didn’t feel fit for training. So he pushed his alarm forward another hour and shoved his phone aside.
What felt like five minutes later, the alarm ripped him out of deep sleep again. Even with the extra hour, he felt more exhausted than before. Moving sluggishly, he got dressed, hesitated, then grabbed his thin gray scarf. His throat still felt swollen and dry—people would probably assume it was just a cold. At least then he wouldn’t have to deal with shitty questions…
.
.
.
“Oh, Bakugou, are you getting sick?”
So much for shitty questions.
“Sore throat,” he rasped, not even having to fake it.
“Shouldn’t you just go home and rest then? Maybe it’s the flu.”
The extras gathered around him, even some from Deku’s group. The blue-haired class rep adjusted his glasses with unnecessary force.
“Bakugou-kun, it’s important to take proper care of your health. Otherwise—”
“Shut up. I don’t need your lectures,” the blond muttered, annoyed. His head had been pounding ever since he woke up. Everything was too fucking loud. “I’m fine.”
He was not.
“You don’t look fine.”
Shut up.
“Mind your own fucking business.”
So damn tired.
“At least go see Recovery—”
He just wanted his damn peace.
“I SAID I’M FINE!”
The class fell silent in shock.
And Katsuki understood why. It had become rare for him to really yell. Sure, he still griped, snapped, and barked across the classroom on a regular basis. But not like before. Not with that much raw anger in his voice.
The blond rubbed his aching eyelids, shame and regret rising in his chest. He hadn’t meant to snap at his classmates like that, but he couldn’t hold it back anymore. He was irritated, stressed, and fucking tired. Couldn’t they just leave him the hell alone?
“Umm… but—”
“Kaminari-kun.”
Katsuki didn’t need to move his hand from his eyes to know the voice behind him belonged to Deku. His presence, his warmth, brushed against his back.
“We all know how carefully Kac-chan handles his health. I think he knows when he needs help and when he doesn’t.”
Aside from the actual words—where Katsuki could clearly hear the fucking provocation—there was also the way he said it. That tone. One he’d picked up during the war. Steady. Unshakable.
Katsuki couldn’t really remember the exact moment it hit him—that damn nerd had grown a spine. Maybe it was somewhere between all those fights, the near-death crap, and his stupid solo crusade chasing down the Tartarus escapees.
When they finally dragged his shredded body back into U.A., Katsuki had almost been sure the insecure, easily-spooked nerd he used to know was gone for good. There was no way someone could go through all that and come out the same.
But fuck—turns out friends and the backing of a whole damn country do miracles. Against all odds, the idiot still had that brightness in him, that sunny, too-cheerful side that pissed Katsuki off and yet… relieved him. Honestly, he didn’t even want to imagine Deku without it. That sunshine crap was baked into who he was.
Still, every now and then, that colder, commanding tone broke through—the one that didn’t sound harsh, but sure as hell warned you that whatever stupid shit you were pulling, you’d better cut it out fast. Katsuki knew it. The extras knew it. Anyone who actually knew Deku knew it.
Normally, Katsuki would’ve been fucking pissed that Deku dared to defend him in front of the others. But today? He was just too damn tired to waste the energy.
Before anyone could say anything, Aizawa stepped into the classroom. The group scattered, leaving the teacher to throw Katsuki a brief, questioning glance before focusing on his materials.
One good thing about the black-haired bastard: he minded his own business. Didn’t stick his nose into shit that wasn’t his. At least someone around here would leave him the hell alone.
Class dragged on. Katsuki was having a hell of a time keeping his eyes open. Sitting in the front row didn’t help either—there was no way he could let his exhaustion show. Aizawa would notice instantly.
At the same time, he couldn’t shake the nagging thoughts. No matter how logically he went over it, he couldn’t figure out the marks on his neck. Had he bumped into something yesterday? Or… had someone actually grabbed him by the throat during training?
The moment the thought crossed his mind, he shook his head internally. No way. Not since back then—since Dabi had grabbed him like that—he’d been hyperaware of anyone approaching him from behind. At first, he hadn’t even realized it himself, but over time he’d noticed the instinct: Every time he put his back to the wall during a conversation. Every time he spun all the way around in his chair the second there was the slightest movement in the room. Every time—
“Bakugou!”
Katsuki jolted upright. Mic stood over him with a raised eyebrow, hands on his hips.
“Hey, listener—am I boring you?”
When the hell had English class even started? Had he fallen asleep, or just sunk too deep into his own thoughts?
Katsuki grumbled, straightened up a little. Mic let it slide and went on with the lesson. From the back, Katsuki could feel the stares on him.
Goddammit.
And just like that, he had everyone’s attention again. Exactly what he didn’t fucking want. At least today there wasn’t any Quirk training—he wouldn’t have to hide in a locker room just to keep the bruises on his neck out of sight.
When the school bell finally rang, he didn’t waste a second. He was gone. Screw the extras. He wasn’t dealing with them today. Not when he didn’t even know what the hell was wrong with him.
Go to Recovery Girl and spill his concerns? Hell no. He wasn’t that much of a weakling. Like some fatigue and a weird mark on his throat were enough to send him running to the old hag. No fucking way.
And who knows—maybe tonight he’d finally manage a decent night’s sleep…
.
.
.
With his heart pounding, he stared into the faces before him.
His hands were bound in iron chains, holding back his Quirk.
“Join us.”
But Katsuki had no fucking intention of joining that pathetic gang of villains.
His mind burned instead with escape—every possible way out, every chance he could grab. And suddenly, the odds were in his favor. Those idiots had actually been dumb enough to take off his cuffs. Even so, seven of them still stood in his way. Each one more infuriating than the last. The scarred bastard and the gray-haired creep especially set him on edge.
If only—
And then All Might appeared.
In all his glory.
Relief hit him like a tidal wave, so hard his lip and eye twitched dangerously. But crying? Not an option. All Might was here, and he would—
The scene ripped away like film tearing, and in the next instant, that masked man stood before him.
A presence so heavy it froze him in place.
What the hell—? Who—
“All for One!”
All Might fought. He fought with everything he had. But that lunatic met him blow for blow, standing against him as if it were nothing. The earth itself shook, rattling Katsuki’s legs. But he couldn’t afford to care. He was tangled up with the League of Villains scum, blocking All Might’s way, dragging him down when he needed to fight that monster.
Your fault.
“Bakugou! Come!”
He looked up—Kirishima’s hand stretched toward him. He grabbed it.
And then—
The screen flickered. The image wasn’t clear, but it was enough.
The weak, skeletal figure.
The deflated costume, limp and powerless.
Smoke rising off his body as his strength bled away.
All Might had fallen.
The Symbol of Peace… defeated.
Nothing left but ash, smoke, and despair.
Your fault.
“Kacchan!”
He smacked Deku’s hand away.
Emotions crashed into him like a hailstorm, his pulse spiking until he could hear his blood roar in his ears.
He was furious.
So fucking furious.
At Deku.
At fucking All Might.
But most of all—
“Why the hell am I the one to blame for All Might’s time running out?”
He couldn’t take it anymore.
The weight.
The crushing guilt.
The belief that he was a failure.
He couldn’t take it.
His gaze hardened, burning away the tears. Deku’s eyes locked on his, just as unyielding.
As green light flared around him, Katsuki charged. He fought like there was no tomorrow. Deku landed brutal hits, but they only fueled the fire, the desperate need to win.
And he did.
Even with Deku pinned beneath him, face clamped in an iron grip, his limbs fixed to the ground—
He didn’t feel any better.
The feeling was still there. That suffocating, unspeakable fucking feeling.
He still wasn’t good enough.
Still not worthy of standing where he was.
No matter how hard he tried, it never mattered.
He would never reach All Might’s level.
Never be as strong as the greatest hero in the world.
Green eyes glared up at him, stubborn, unbroken—
Refusing to show even a hint of defeat.
“I’m not gonna be your punching bag anymore, Kacchan!”
He would never measure up.
Never—
His body refused to move as he drifted out of sleep.
The softer the awakening, the harsher reality slammed down.
“Ahhhrrg!”
He barely held back a loud cry, forcing himself to remember just how thin the dorm walls were.
Still, the hiss that escaped between his teeth was long and raw.
It felt like a mountain had crashed down on him.
Muscle pain was nothing compared to this—his eyelids alone felt like lead weights.
With effort, he clicked on his bedside lamp and hauled himself upright.
Just like the night before, his eyes caught his reflection in the closet mirror— and every other thought vanished.
He looked like… total shit.
And he didn’t mean just the deep, dark craters under his eyes. Scratches covered his face, some bleeding, others just raw and angry-looking. When he lifted his arms in disbelief to touch them, to check if they were even real, his eyes fell on more wounds. Each forearm carried a big, red mark. He didn’t know why, but something about them felt familiar. It looked like his skin had been crushed there, like something heavy had slammed down on him and tried to—
"I could admire All Might from a distance, but you were right there. This amazing person in my life!!"
Katsuki flinched. His breath caught as he realized where he’d seen wounds like these before, when he’d felt them burning on his own body.
His fight against Deku on ground beta.
But-
Fuck, no. That wasn’t possible!
“How—” he started, but the pain in his jaw was so sharp he swallowed the words back down.
What the hell was going on? How the hell did he end up with the exact same injuries as—
He shook his head hard, refusing to finish the thought, refusing to give shape to the suspicion clawing at the back of his mind. He couldn’t afford weakness.
Not again.
Never again.
His alarm rang. Seven o’clock. Technically, he’d slept, but there was no rest in it. And now he had to deal with… that. Whatever that was.
Fuck!
What should he do with this fucking wounds? Wounds too obvious to cover all of them up. His neck was one thing, but this?
He turned his head slowly from side to side. At least the mark on his neck was gone. One problem down. Still a dozen more to deal with before stepping into class.
Shit.
What the hell was he supposed to do?
Go to Recovery Girl?
No way.
He shuddered at the thought. No option. The second she saw these injuries, she’d run straight to Aizawa. There would be questions. Demands for answers.
Answers he didn’t have, for fuck sake.
So fuck that. Not happening.
They were just scratches. Nothing he couldn’t handle. The real problem behind them wasn’t going anywhere, but he shoved it down, forced himself to ignore it. First, he’d patch himself up. The rest… he’d figure out later. Somehow. When he wasn’t so fucking tired anymore…
.
.
.
Just as Aizawa was about to pull the door shut behind him, Katsuki slipped under his arm and into the classroom. The final bell rang out. He’d made it—barely. And judging by the surprised, dumbfounded looks that instantly landed on him, his late arrival—his uncharacteristic late arrival—hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed. Of-fucking-course. Even Aizawa gave him a silent once-over with his one eye.
Fall was on his side at least—he could hide most of the damage under his long sleeves. Well, mostly. The white bandages still ghosted through the thin fabric of his school shirt. The wounds on his face were another matter. The scratches might be ignored, but the purple bruise and the split lip couldn’t be. The big plaster covering them did little to help, drawing just as much attention as the injury itself.
But whatever.
Another day. More stares. More whispered bullshit. And then—those fucking green eyes drilling holes in his back.
Katsuki’s stomach twisted.
What worried him more though was quirk training. His body ached, his head pounded, and every part of him screamed for fucking rest. He had no idea how he was supposed to keep up in this state. If he ended up sparring against Half-and-Half or worse, against De- Izuku, he was finished.
“Bakugou?”
He looked up into Aizawa’s sharp eye, already bracing for the worst.
“You’re coming with me to the staff room after class.”
Fuck.
He knew it—his teacher was going to call him out about the injuries.
He just hadn’t expected it to be this fast.
The room behind him went suspiciously quiet. Too damn quiet. But as the double period dragged on, attention drifted. Katsuki almost welcomed it. Break time was going to be hell under Aizawa’s orders, but that was better than being smothered with his classmates’ pitying comments. And this time, he was sure, Deku wouldn’t jump in to defend him. His gaze boring into his back said enough.
When the bell finally rang, Katsuki shoved himself out of his seat with a scowl and followed Aizawa. Neither spoke on the way. Not unusual. Both of them preferred the right place and time for conversations like this. The back row desk in the staff room—private, out of earshot—was just that.
“What happened?”
Katsuki instinctively shrugged, cold and dismissive. Aizawa sighed.
“If you don’t want to tell me who you fought, fine. But you don’t seriously think I’ll let you into hero training looking like this, do you?” He gestured lazily at the bruises scattered across Katsuki’s body.
“Your private life is your business. But if it interferes with your training at U.A.—”
“Yeah, yeah, I got it already,” Katsuki cut in, folding his arms tight across his chest, underpressing the urge to rub his temples. When he avoided his teacher’s analysing gaze, his eyes landed on a familiar mop of green across the room.
Deku, talking to All Might. Tch. Of course the nerd was glued to the retired Pro--Hero like always.
What the hell were those two plotting now?
Before Katsuki could finish the thought, Deku’s eyes met his. And for the first time, Katsuki didn’t just see worry in those eyes. There was something else—something sharp, calculating. Almost like he was planning something. And he didn’t look away. He held the stare, steady, unashamed and fucking determined.
What the hell—?
Annoyed, Katsuki snapped his attention back to his teacher, wanting to get this crap over with.
“Can I go now?”
Aizawa narrowed his eye.
“You’re going to Recovery Girl first. Otherwise, you won’t last through training today. And if I see injuries like these again—ones that clearly didn’t come from training—I won’t be this lenient. Fights or whatever else you’re involved in? Not tolerated. Especially not in your final year.”
“Uh, Aizawa-sensei?”
Both Katsuki and Aizawa turned. Deku was approaching, All Might trailing behind him.
Great. Just fucking great. Now what?
“I don’t think Kac-chan was in any kind of fight.”
Ha. If only the nerd knew what he’d really been up to this weekend.
But his amusement didn’t last. Because Deku, the damn nerd, reached out-
“I just need to-” and tugged at Katsuki’s sleeve, pulling it up over the bandages. “-check something,” he muttered, already working at the wrappings. Katsuki hissed at the touch.
“Hey—what the hell are you doing?”
He tried to shake him off, but Deku’s grip was firm, his expression hard.
“What’s wrong, Kacchan?” His sharp green eyes met his, full of challenge. “Got something to hide?”
What the fuck?
“Ah, I, see…”, All Might whispered as the bandages slipped free and fell, revealing the angry red welts Deku had once left on him. “Yeah, I think you are right, young Midoriya.”
Wait.
Could it be-?
Panic surged, doubled when Deku ripped the plaster from his face too. It burned like hell, and Katsuki wanted nothing more than to slam him into the wall. But the look on Deku’s face—the way he didn’t even react to Katsuki’s anger—froze him in place.
And just like that, he knew he’d been caught.
“So it’s true,” Deku said quietly, meeting his eyes with a knowing look. Katsuki stood frozen, silent, offering no resistance, but no answer as well.
Which, of-fucking-course, was more than enough of an answer for damn Deku. He just nodded to himself, taking Katsuki’s silence as confirmation.
“I’ve seen these injuries before,” he said. Katsuki closed his eyes, waiting for the words that would finish him.
“I gave them to him myself, back at Ground Beta.”
Ha.
Fuck.
The idiot had actually figured it out. In less than a fucking day. Even though Katsuki had gone out of his way to keep it hidden. Un-fucking-believable.
“And… my ‘Danger Sense’ has been flaring all day. Not strong, but…” Deku shook his head, like he was trying to clear water from his ears.
Huh?
Danger Sense? But that quirk only reacts to his own safety. What the hell did it care about Katsuki for?
Aizawa only hummed thoughtfully, then studied him again. It didn’t take long for him to connect the dots too.
“Your silence tells me Midoriya’s not wrong. So? Are you finally going to explain yourself?”
Katsuki clenched his teeth in frustration, still feeling that stubborn resistance inside, even though he knew it wouldn’t do him any good. At the same time, he couldn’t ignore the tiny bit of relief creeping in now that his situation was finally out in the open. Truth be told, he had no idea how he was supposed to deal with it any further. There was no denying anymore that something was seriously wrong. But asking for help—accepting help—was still something the blond struggled with.
But now he was being forced to talk. Now he had to come right out and admit it, had to voice the suspicion of what might have happened to him.
“Looks like someone’s been using their shitty Quirk on me.”