Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Silence. Heavy, crushing silence.
It’s so cold it feels like my bones might crack. Damp, too—clammy in a way that makes my skin crawl. My head feels foggy, like someone stuffed it with cotton, and my fingertips are numb.nI try to inhale but I can’t.
Water fills my throat, burning my nose. I can’t breathe. Panic claws at me, but my limbs won’t cooperate. I reach up to cover my mouth—instinct—but my hand isn’t there. Or maybe I’ve forgotten how to move it.

Then a muffled boom rips through the water around me. The sound is distant, distorted. My eyes snap open just as I start to fall, and then— Metal. Cold, hard metal slammed into my back.

I cough violently, gagging as I force the disgusting liquid from my lungs. Before I can even open my eyes, someone grabs me by the shoulders and hauls me upright. Their voice cuts through the ringing in my ears, but I can’t make out the words. Short hair—half white, half dark. Eyes mismatched, just like the hair. A long scar slices down from his left eye to his ear.

I know that face.

“Todoroki…?” I whisper before I can stop myself.

He freezes. For a heartbeat, so do I. Then reality clicks into place with a gut punch. Todoroki Shoto is kneeling right in front of me. In the flesh. And over his shoulder—blond spikes. A flash of green. A shock of pink.

What the actual fuck?
Why am I looking at adult versions of characters I’ve only ever seen online? And why are his hands warm and voice so real?

“Hey. You okay?” His voice is low and steady, too vivid to be a dream.
This isn’t a dream. I know it. I feel it in my skin. This is real—too real. I was in my bed. At home. Normal life. And now—this.

There’s only one thing echoing in my head: run.
Even though I don’t want to, my body moves on its own, like it’s on autopilot. My bare foot hits the ground and suddenly I’m thrown backwards, flipping midair. The second my toes brush the floor again, my body bolts forward—too fast. Faster than I’ve ever run in my life.

I’m not in control. I can barely register Todoroki shouting my name. And then—there it is. A black-and-green pulse wrapping around my waist like a wave. Of course. Damn Midoriya.

I slam into the cold floor with a choked sound. Turn my head—and red eyes are staring down at me. A sharp, cocky smirk.

“Goodnight, bitch,” he says—and then it’s all darkness again.

⸻

I’ve been awake for a while now, but I keep my eyes shut, feigning unconsciousness.

This time, I’m definitely not in some grimy underground lab. The air smells like antiseptic, and the soft beeping of an ECG monitor hums beside me. Outside the room, muffled voices rise and fall.

Okay. Time to think. I’m not dreaming. Characters that shouldn’t exist are standing right in front of me. Instead of my bed, I woke up submerged in some murky tank in a creepy lab. (And for the record, that water tasted like actual sewer run-off.) And this body isn’t mine. It feels wrong, alien—stronger, maybe, but not mine. It moves without me, and it has powers I shouldn’t have.

So, yeah. Add up all the evidence. I’m in the body of a fictional character. And… what now? The absurdity is so off the charts it’s almost funny. Maybe I should just decide this is an extremely realistic dream. That makes more sense than the alternative. Because what’s the actual probability that my consciousness jumped into another person’s body, in a world that doesn’t even exist? Zero. Absolutely zero.

Yeah. My brain’s fried, REM sleep’s gone rogue, and now I’m having pain-enabled fanfiction hallucinations.

“How long are you gonna keep pretending you’re asleep?” The voice was low, rough—and came with a sharp jab to my ribs. I sat up instantly, clutching my side.

“You fucker…” I hissed under my breath, blinking my eyes open—and there he was. Bakugo Katsuki. Looking very real, very annoyed, and way too close for comfort. Okay, maybe this really isn’t a dream.

“Kacchan, you can’t just hit patients,” came Midoriya’s voice from the doorway. He walked in with two others—Tsukauchi, and another officer I didn’t recognize from the canon.

“She wouldn’t be a patient if she hadn’t tried to bolt from a damn lab,” Bakugo snapped, glaring at me like I’d personally ruined his week.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, well, anyone would bolt after seeing your pissed-off face first thing they wake up.”

His eyebrow twitched. Small victory.

“Listen here, you little—” he started, stepping closer, but Tsukauchi caught his wrist before he could grab my hospital gown. Bakugo scowled, clicked his tongue, and stepped back to let the detective move forward.

“I’m Detective Tsukauchi,” the man said evenly. “I’m here to understand your situation. This is my assistant, Hinata, and two pro heroes you might recognize—Deku and Dynamight.”

He gestured toward the two, and I gave a short nod, mostly to show I was at least capable of nodding.

“Miss Kurosawa Reina,” Tsukauchi continued, “do you remember anything from before you were taken by the organization—?”

“Reina?” I cut him off sharply. “That’s not my name. I have no idea what’s going on, I don’t know any organization, and I definitely don’t know why the hell I’m here.”

The words spilled out before I could think better of it.
Should I really be saying that out loud? That I’m not her? That this body isn’t mine?Because in the reflection of the hospital window, the girl staring back at me wasn’t me. The face, the hair, the eyes—all different. Even the voice that came out of my mouth felt foreign. And yet my fingers tightened around the sheets. My hands. My movement.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s not your name’?” Bakugo asked, hands stuffed into the pockets of his joggers, voice sharp.

Good question. Should I admit it? That I don’t belong here? Or do I fake it, pretend I know who the hell this Reina person is? Because truthfully, I don’t. I don’t know who she was, what she did, or what kind of power she had. The only thing I do know is that Bakugo and Midoriya are older now—definitely not the teenage versions I remember.
And if all the isekai tropes I’ve read have taught me anything, it’s that the protagonist never confesses to being from another world. Except, well, they usually know who they’ve become. I don’t even have that luxury. I just learned her name thirty seconds ago.

“Do you remember anything before that?” Midoriya broke the silence, stepping forward gently.

I shook my head. No point in lying—there’s no way I can fake being this girl without even knowing her backstory.

“Then… what’s your name?” he asked softly. He sat down on the edge of my bed, that familiar kind warmth in his expression. I didn’t return the smile. I looked down instead and mumbled my real name under my breath.

“I’ll schedule a head scan,” Tsukauchi interrupted, professional tone cutting through the moment. “We need to make sure there’s no trauma or memory loss.”

“With all due respect, Detective,” I said flatly, “my head’s fine.”

He didn’t seem convinced. Just nodded politely, exchanged a look with his assistant—whose name I’d already forgotten—and the two left the room.

But Bakugo and Midoriya stayed. Of course they did. The blonde looked like he was internally swearing at every life choice that led him here, while Midoriya was watching me with that same worried, too-understanding gaze that made my skin crawl.

“What?” I snapped. “You two got more questions, or are you just gonna stand there and stare at me?”

“That how you thank the people who saved your ass?” Bakugo shot back.

“Did I ask you to save it?” I retorted without missing a beat.

He took a step closer, and I immediately yanked the blanket over my head, curling up like a defensive burrito. “Just go already. I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

Silence. Then the soft creak of the bed as Midoriya stood. I could feel him stopping Bakugo from yanking my blanket away—heard the faint scuffle of movement, his calm voice cutting through the tension.

“Alright,” Midoriya said finally, gentle as ever. “We’ll talk again tomorrow. Try to get some rest, okay?”

A pause. Then a sharp, annoyed “tch” before the door shut behind them. Peace. Finally.

⸻

Hours later, I’d managed to fill an entire sheet of paper the nurse had given me. My handwriting looked half-crazed, but whatever—at least I was doing something.

I’d decided to list everything I knew so far, even the scraps:

1. The person whose body I’m in is named Reina Kurosawa. She’s probably around the same age as Midoriya and the others.
2. This body definitely trained its quirk before—because it moves like it remembers. The question is: what the hell is that quirk?
3. None of the canon characters seem to know Reina. So she’s either an OC… or something even weirder.
4. Everyone’s older now—so how the hell is that possible when the original story ended after their first year at U.A.?

And that’s… it. My grand list of discoveries and unanswered questions. For all my mental effort, trying to dig through the fog for Reina’s memories was a complete failure. It’s like she’s gone. Not buried—just absent. Which, yeah, doesn’t exactly make my situation better. It’s not like I can just crawl inside my own head and start browsing memories like a damn library archive.

So I decided to focus on point number two—Reina’s quirk. It was clearly the key to surviving, and I needed to figure it out before it figured me out.

The problem? Knowing this universe, it could be something vaguely physics-based… or something totally absurd, like “I store generations of power in my pinky finger” absurd - just likę One for all. Still, thinking back to the lab, that burst I felt—it came from my feet. Maybe, just maybe, it’s something I can actually replicate.

I stood beside the bed and gave it a try. Jumped. Nothing. Kicked sideways. Still nothing.

For the next few minutes, I flailed around like an idiot, hoping for a spark, a flicker—anything. Instead, I achieved exactly zero progress and a growing sense that I looked like a malfunctioning NPC.

Fantastic.

My gut told me the quirk wouldn’t respond to me directly—not yet. The body knows how to use it, but I don’t. And apparently, it’s not taking requests.

I sighed through my teeth. I needed information. Real information.

And then it hit me.

Two minutes later, I was sprinting down the hall in a hospital gown, bare feet slapping against cold tiles. The nurses blinked at me as I rushed to the counter.

“Can I borrow a phone? Please—it’s important.”

They hesitated, but handed it over. I punched in Tsukauchi’s number with shaking fingers. After two rings, his calm, professional voice answered. I cleared my throat and tried to sound like a confused but cooperative patient instead of a panicking soul-intruder. “Detective Tsukauchi… I thought maybe it’d help me remember if you told me about myself. You probably know more than just my name, right?”

He exhaled. “You have a brain scan scheduled tomorrow. We’ll talk after the results come in.”

I put on my best innocent doe-eyed amnesiac voice. “But what if it’s just temporary memory loss? I’m still in shock, you know…”

God, the cringe was physically painful. If he didn’t buy that, I was going to bury myself in the nearest supply closet.

“…Alright,” he said finally, voice cautious. “But not much. Your name is Kurosawa Reina. You’re twenty-one. We have no records on your parents, only that you lived with a foster aunt until you finished high school.”

Textbook tragic backstory. Dead or missing parents, raised by someone random—check. The fanfic starter pack.

Still, that wasn’t what mattered right now.

“And my quirk?” I asked quickly. “I mean, I feel weird not knowing how it works. Maybe if I hear it, something will click.”

“I can’t disclose that information,” he said firmly.

I clenched the phone. Come on, man. Work with me here.

“Detective, please—I just want to remember. Sometimes quirks help people recognize themselves, right?”

Silence. Then—

“…Kinetic Force. That’s all I can tell you. We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow. Goodnight.”

The line went dead.

I shoved the phone back to the nurses, muttered a quick “thanks,” and bolted back to my room—heart hammering.

Kinetic Force.

I had no idea what that actually meant in scientific terms. Physics was never my strong suit. But the word force definitely promised something dramatic. And if my guess was right… Reina might have been ridiculously overpowered. Even by this world’s standards.

I grabbed a coin from a nearby vending machine and rolled it between my fingers, the metal cool against my skin. My pulse sped up.

Window open. Air sharp and cold. I raised my hand, coin between my fingers, and closed my eyes. Focus. For a long moment—nothing. Then a faint tingle spread across my fingertips. I didn’t think. I just let the body take over. A snap. A burst of pressure.

The coin shot through the air like a bullet, slicing past the window and vanishing into the night. The wind rushed in, ruffling my hair. I stared, wide-eyed, the reality of it sinking in.

One thing was certain. I’d landed in a body with a quirk far too dangerous— and way too badass— for someone like me.

Chapter Text

It had been two days since I escaped from the hospital in the middle of the night. In that time, I’d managed to figure out a few things and even find a place to crash—which, honestly, wasn’t that hard considering where I’d ended up.

After jumping out the window in a hospital gown and leaping from tree to tree like some discount Naruto, I learned two things: Reina’s quirk was actually useful, and my legs couldn’t handle that kind of strain yet. The grand finale of that little stunt was me slamming face-first into a branch. Graceful.
Still, I somehow landed in one piece and found shelter with an old lady who barely talked and—judging by her behavior—was probably blind. Perfect opportunity. I promised to clean her house and cook in exchange for a place to sleep, and she agreed instantly. Classic shōnen logic: the world just hands you a convenient side quest when you need it most.

I hadn’t stepped foot outside since. Too risky. I left the grocery shopping to the old lady—who, surprisingly, handled it like a pro. In short, things were going… well. Suspiciously well.

I’d decided on one thing: if Reina never appeared in the original canon, I had no business interfering with it now. The timeline was already weird—clearly years after U.A.—so who knew what kind of butterfly effect I could cause by showing up somewhere I didn’t belong?
There was always the chance Reina came from someone else’s fanfic, but without a way to check, I wasn’t changing my plan. Which was: stay invisible and don’t die.

By now, I’d started getting a handle on her quirk—how it worked, what it could do, and what it couldn’t. The limits weren’t that bad, though considering this body had probably been floating in some tube for who knows how long, my little “parkour escape” had been both brave and extremely stupid. Still, no broken bones, so I’d call that a win.

I was lounging on the couch in sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt, half-watching TV. It still weirded me out that I could understand Japanese perfectly, but I decided to chalk that up to the great laws of fiction and move on.
Mrs. Mei was taking her afternoon nap, so I had nothing to do except exist quietly. The news mentioned rising crime rates in the city, but there wasn’t a single word about the lab incident or anyone looking for me. No “mysterious escapee” headlines, no wanted posters. Good. I’d seen the occasional patrol car pass by, but nothing close enough to freak me out.

In a weird way, I’d come to terms with what was happening—or maybe I’d just decided to observe it like a spectator instead of a participant. I wasn’t a hero, never wanted to be one. Let the protagonists do their thing. My plan was to stay out of it, keep my head down, and figure out how to get back to my own world.

Because no, living here was not an option.

The sound of tapping—her wooden cane on the floor—pulled me out of my thoughts.
Mrs. Mei shuffled out of her room, short silver hair neatly trimmed, dressed (as always) in a perfectly color-coordinated tracksuit. Today’s color: deep violet.

“What time is it?” she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.

I glanced at the old wall clock above the TV. “A little past seven.”

She muttered something under her breath and headed for the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards.
“Sweetheart…” she called after a moment, “I know you don’t like going outside, but could you do a small favor for this poor old lady?”

Oh no. No, no, no. I knew exactly what that meant. The moment I stepped outside, I’d run into someone I shouldn’t. That’s how this world worked. But I couldn’t just refuse—not when she’d let me stay here for free. The couch wasn’t exactly five-star comfort, but at least it was warm.

“What kind of favor?” I asked, already regretting it. Please let it be something minor.

“I’m out of my blood pressure medicine.”

For fuck’s sake.

Even in the most random, peaceful setting, the plot still found a way to drag me back in. The pharmacy she went to wasn’t far, but walking there in her condition would take at least an hour—and they’d close before she even got halfway. Judging by how organized she was, she probably kept a backup supply, but still… not good.

I sighed, accepting my fate. “Alright. Give me a second to get ready,” I said quietly.

“On the counter, dear. The prescription’s there, along with the exact amount. I even added a little extra—buy yourself a sweet bun for the trouble,” she said with a soft smile.

And just like that, I felt that familiar ache in my chest. She reminded me so much of my grandmother—the same warmth, the same bribes in pastry form. And really, how could I say no to that?

I tied up my hair—its color, of course, ridiculously unrealistic by normal-world standards—and wrapped half my face in her brown scarf until only my eyes showed.
Dressed in a tracksuit, scarf, and her old slippers, I headed for the door.

First time stepping outside in over two days. What could possibly go wrong?

Walking down the quiet street, I kept scanning every passerby for anything remotely suspicious. The odds of running into someone from the main storyline were astronomically high, and with my current luck, I half-expected a protagonist to drop from the sky any second now. So yeah—eyes open, paranoia on full blast.

Luckily, it was peaceful. Almost too peaceful. Every person who passed me gave me a wide berth, stepping aside like I was radioactive. Honestly? I wasn’t complaining. Having most of the sidewalk to myself was a luxury.

The sun had already dipped below the skyline despite the early hour, leaving only the glow of streetlamps and the neon spill from store windows to light my way. This part of the city was quiet—supposedly one of the safest neighborhoods in the area. That’s exactly why Mei lived here. No villain attacks, barely any patrols, and the residents were mostly elderly people who played cards or dice together every afternoon.
Domestic, calm, boring. Perfect.

When I reached the pharmacy, there were still a few minutes before closing. A little bell jingled above the door as I stepped in. The pharmacist—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and the patience of someone who had seen it all—took the prescription from my hand without even blinking at my slightly feral appearance.
Good. The less she asked, the better.

“Would you like me to write down the dosage, miss?” she asked after I paid, pen poised over the box.

“I think you can, just in case,” I said, trying to sound casual. She nodded and scribbled something on the packaging.

A muscle in my cheek twitched when I realized it was pointless—Mei couldn’t even see it—but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have the info for myself. Never know when you’ll need to play nurse again.

She handed me a small plastic bag with the meds, and I exhaled sharply the moment I stepped back into the cold air. I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding my breath.

So far, so good. No heroes, no explosions, no drama. Just a short fifteen-minute walk home and I’d be back on my couch, safe and sound, while Mei got her meds.

I picked up my pace, half because I wanted to be done, half because the scarf around my face was slowly turning into a portable sauna. My breath fogged up the fabric, heating my cheeks until I felt like I was melting. Meanwhile, my almost-bare feet in those godforsaken slippers were freezing solid.
If anyone saw me right now, I’d never live it down. I looked like a fashion disaster escaped from a mental institution. Not my proudest moment.

The return trip took me two minutes less than before. Victory. I stopped in front of the gate, finally loosening the scarf to let in some air. My face was burning red from the heat, and the cold air only made it worse, but whatever—it was over. Mission accomplished. No one stopped me, no one chased me, no one even looked twice. Mei would get her medicine, and I could flop onto the couch, face-first, like a satisfied corpse.

“Lab rat?” I froze.

That voice—too familiar, too sharp, too him. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Of all places. Of all moments. Of all people.

I slowly lifted my gaze—and of course, there he was. Bakugo Katsuki. Standing right in front of the damn gate, looking at me like I’d just crawled out of a containment chamber.

Why. Why him. Why now.

Also, what the hell kind of nickname was “lab rat”?

“Uh… no?” I replied, voice going up an octave. Smooth. Real smooth.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you run away from the hospital?” Straight to the point. Typical.

“Before I answer that,” I said, crossing my arms, “what are you doing in a neighborhood full of old ladies?” A fair question, if I do say so myself. He looked way too casual for someone who’d just tracked down a supposed fugitive. No explosions, no yelling—just him standing there, holding a plastic bag like we were two neighbors meeting by chance.

He tilted the bag slightly. “Couple blocks down, there’s the only store that sells my protein powder in cola-candy flavor.”

I blinked. “That’s… oddly specific.” And honestly? Disgusting. But sure, you do you, muscle man.

“Anyway,” I said, straightening a little. “To answer your question—I figured it was my best option.”

He stared at me for a few seconds, expression unreadable, then let out a long sigh.
“Are you… fucking stupid?”

My mouth fell open. “Excuse me? I have my reasons—and you, of all people, don’t need to know them.” I wagged a finger at him for emphasis. He snorted, unimpressed.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever your reasons, you’re coming with me.” His tone dropped into that low, commanding growl. “I’ve spent the last two days with those morons trying to track your ass down, and now, even on my night off, I can’t get a damn break.”

He took a step forward. Oh no. Nope. That tone. That look. Time to run.

“Uhh… nuh-uh?” I said, taking a step back.

“The fuck you mean ‘nuh-uh’?” he snapped, tightening his grip on the bag.

“Over my dead body,” I shot back—and before he could react, I spun on my heel and leapt upward, letting Reina’s quirk propel me into the air.

Bakugo didn’t hesitate. A flash of light, a burst of sound—and he was airborne too, riding his explosions like it was nothing.

I landed on the nearest rooftop, pushed off again, and kept going. This was the most efficient way to travel and the least exhausting, especially since I’d been practicing it in secret while Mei slept.

“If you don’t wanna piss me off, you better stop!” he yelled after me.

“You’re already pissed, so what’s the difference?!” I shouted back, launching myself off the edge with both feet for more speed.

That’s when I remembered a crucial detail. I was running…. In slippers. One of them flew off mid-jump and disappeared into the night.

“Fantastic,” I muttered under my breath. “Fucking fantastic.” My luck was clearly on vacation.

Bakugo’s voice grew louder again—he was gaining on me. I wasn’t fast enough, not yet. Maybe if I actually understood the physics behind this quirk, I’d have a chance. Should’ve paid attention in class.

I vaulted off the last rooftop and landed hard between two apartment buildings, then sprinted forward, quirk still buzzing in my legs. My lungs burned, my heart hammered, and I didn’t dare look back.

I didn’t stop running until the explosions faded behind me and the night went quiet again. No light, no sound—no Bakugo.

He wasn’t exactly the stealth type, so until proven otherwise… I was safe. For now.

I slipped off my other flip-flop and started running barefoot, on my toes, as quietly as I could. I had to find a way back home without bumping into him. Katsuki wasn’t stupid — he’d probably already figured out that I might try to return to the same place where he saw me last. My only shot was getting inside without him noticing — which meant climbing through the stairwell window. He was probably waiting near the main entrance. I doubted he’d go inside when he didn’t know which floor Mei lived on. And even if he did, there’s no way he’d reach my floor before I got to the apartment — though, honestly, that would be the worst possible scenario, because then he’d know I actually lived in the area.
Still, waiting out the night wasn’t an option. Mei was probably already worried sick. I had to go back.

It took me a solid twenty minutes to find my way to the building. I slipped through a narrow side street that cut across to the main road, bumping into piles of trash and freezing every time a rat scurried past. But none of that mattered. What mattered was making it back in one piece.

When I finally reached the back of the familiar building, I glanced around, crouching behind one of the dumpsters. I couldn’t see the main street clearly, but from what little view I had — no sign of a spiky blond head. Maybe I’d overestimated him a bit. Maybe he hadn’t figured out that I could be living here after all. I mean, he’d caught me right before I’d even turned toward the door — I didn’t touch the handle, didn’t even face the entrance. He had no solid reason to think this was my hiding spot. Still… better safe than sorry.

As quietly as I could, I crept toward the side of the building where the stairwell windows were. I took two deep breaths, trying to shake off the tension in my jaw, then looked around — and up. Nothing. No movement, no sign that he might be nearby. I crouched, channeling the Quirk into my feet, and jumped — landing perfectly on the right windowsill. One window was cracked open, the other shut. I reached out to open the first one wider, giving the area one more careful scan. Still nothing. Silence.

I let out a quiet breath of relief. I’d done it. I’d actually managed to lose him. Maybe I could count this as a small victory — outsmarting a top Pro Hero wasn’t exactly nothing. Hell, I deserved a reward. Maybe I’d make popcorn for tonight’s movie.

I reached out, pushed the window open fully, and swung one leg inside. But before I could move the rest of my body through, something yanked me backward.

Time slowed. An arm wrapped tight around my waist. I reached for the window frame, but too late — my fingers just grazed the cold metal before I was pulled down, and the smell of burnt caramel hit my nose.

“Got you,” a low voice murmured against my ear.
And just like that, I knew. He’d doubled back. Waited quietly on the damn roof. Katsuki freaking Bakugo had outplayed me. So much for my little victory celebration.

When he landed, he did it so smoothly it barely made a sound. Meanwhile, I was still hanging awkwardly in his grip, bent at an angle that made my spine pop like bubble wrap.

“Would you, by any chance, mind putting me down?” I asked through clenched teeth. “Not the most comfortable way to be carried, you know?” I tried to plant my feet on the ground, grabbing his arm for balance, but he was too tall. Way too tall. Seriously, what the hell were they feeding him at U.A.?

“If you think you’re walking anywhere on your own after the shit you’ve pulled these last three days, you’re dead wrong,” he snapped, tightening his hold around my waist.

I tapped his shoulder three times with a grin. “Okay, okay — you win. End of the spar. Go hit the showers.”

“You seriously think that crap’s gonna make me let go?”

“Yes!” I shot back, giving him a thumbs-up.

He squeezed tighter, and something in my spine made a very concerning noise. I winced. He finally set me on my feet but spun me around so my back was to him. His free hand grabbed my wrists, crossing and locking them behind me like fake handcuffs. Only then did he let go of my waist — though that didn’t exactly qualify as freedom.

“Move,” he ordered. “You’re coming with me. One more dumb stunt, and I swear I’ll tie you up and drag you instead.”

I swallowed hard. Yeah, he wasn’t bluffing. Of all the people in this world, he was probably the one most likely to follow through on that threat.

His grip on my wrists was firm — strong enough that I didn’t even bother trying to break free. I just stood there for a second, thinking. Calculating. Then I spoke up.

“What’s your deal, anyway? I told you I don’t know anything. I’m not whoever you think I am, and I can’t help you with whatever it is you’re doing.” My tone was calm — because talking was literally the only weapon I had left.

“Doesn’t matter whether you know something or not,” he said flatly. “You shouldn’t have run.”

He gave me a light shove forward, steering us toward the street. I needed a plan — fast. My brain scrambled for anything remotely clever.

“Wait!” I said, louder than I meant to. I could feel his glare burning into the back of my neck. What I was about to do was stupid, reckless… but better than doing nothing. “Let’s make a deal. One week. I’ll answer your questions, I’ll cooperate, I’ll do whatever you ask — within reason. After that, you let me go and pretend you never saw me.”

“For people like you, we’ve got our own ways of getting what we need,” he said dryly, crushing my offer like a bug under his heel.

“Wouldn’t it be smarter to work with me instead of wasting time trying to force me?” I shot back, turning my head toward him. “You’d save yourself the trouble of interrogations. And bold of you to assume I don’t have my own tricks to keep my mouth shut.”

Yeah, I was lying through my teeth. The second they even hinted at torture, I’d be singing louder than a springtime canary. Still — it was worth a try. Risky as hell, but maybe worth it. If I played along, maybe I could get real information — things I’d never find out on my own.

“Two weeks,” he said finally, frowning. “And longer, if the info you’ve got turns out to be useful.”

“Two exactly,” I countered.

“Not negotiating.” He gave me another push forward.

We were nearly out of the alley when I dug my heels in again. “Wait!”

He exhaled sharply, visibly done with my bullshit. “What now?”

“Just let me stop by Mei’s place for a second,” I said quickly. “I was getting her medicine for her blood pressure. I want to drop it off. She let me stay with her, so I owe her that much.”

He paused, studying me in silence.

“Some old lady just… let you stay at her place? A stranger?”

“Let’s say my natural charm convinced her,” I said with a crooked grin. No way I could tell him the truth — that it’s basically a rule of shonen universes: if you’ve got nowhere to go, find an old lady. They’ll always help you.

He frowned deeper, eyes narrowing, but after a long beat, he exhaled through his nose and released one of my wrists. Finally, I didn’t feel like I was being hauled off to the precinct — though his remaining grip still reminded me I wasn’t exactly free.

“You’ve got five minutes,” he said at last. “And I’m coming with you. I’m not giving you another chance to run — deal or no deal.”

“Maybe try having a little more faith in people, Katsuki?” I teased, glancing back at him.

“Who the hell said you could use my first name, huh?”

Chapter Text

I stepped through the apartment door feeling like I was walking straight to my own execution. Warm fingers wrapped tight around my wrist reminded me I wasn’t alone—and out of all the people in this world who could’ve ended up dragging me along, it had to be him. Perfect. Just perfect.
And what could I do about it? Absolutely nothing. Literally zero.

“Sweetheart, what took you so long?” Mei’s worried voice floated over to me as she rose from her worn-out armchair, the one she always sat in while listening to that old radio humming on the table beside her.

“Let’s just say I ran into an old acquaintance,” I threw back with a stiff smile. “And, unfortunately, I’ve got some things to take care of. I’m going to have to stay somewhere else for the next two weeks.” My eyes slid toward the tall man looming at my side—who, of course, didn’t bother to meet my stare. He just kept scanning the apartment, taking in every detail and the sight of the graying old woman across from us.

“But I’ll come back to you, I promise,” I added quickly before she could get another word in. “And I brought your medicine—it’s on the kitchen counter.” I started walking toward the kitchen, still tugging Bakugo along with me. True to his word, he hadn’t let go of my wrist once.

Mei fell silent for a moment, standing beside her chair, then nodded.
“All right. Stay strong. And don’t let anyone walk all over you. Men these days are impossible.” She chuckled.

I flicked a glance at the man in question, who frowned at her comment. She wasn’t wrong, though.

“Let’s go,” he muttered quietly, and I didn’t even have the chance to argue. Not that there was anything here to take with me anyway. The clothes on my back weren’t even mine.

Before I left, I let Mei pat me on the head. We wished each other well, and then I stepped out of the building still held like a dog on a leash by Katsuki’s grip. But at least Mei was safe. That was what mattered.

I walked in silence a step behind the blond. My bare feet were probably filthy by now, and the thin tracksuit I’d scrounged up wasn’t doing much to keep me warm. I shivered, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’d ever gone through. Running across rooftops barefoot was definitely more extreme than this.

I bumped my nose into his shoulder when he stopped short. Turning his face toward me, he gave me a slow once-over.

“Where’d you get those clothes?” he asked, curt as ever. Honestly, it was weird he even noticed.

“I stole them after I escaped the hospital,” I said flatly. What? A girl’s gotta survive. Running around in a hospital gown was way riskier than knocking someone out and stealing their clothes—especially when that gown had practically been my signature look.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose like a man already tired of his own choices. Well, no one said being a hero was easy.

He crouched a little, loosening his grip on my wrist—risky move, really. Maybe he was finally starting to trust me. If I were him, I wouldn’t.

“Get on,” he said. “If you end up with a fever from walking barefoot, we’re not gonna get any answers.”

I froze. Excuse me? Was this man out of his mind?

“No way.”

“Don’t piss me off. Get on my damn back. You think I’m enjoying carrying some idiot who decided to walk barefoot in this weather?”

God, he was practically begging me to kick him in the ass. But… fair point.

Grinding my teeth, I wrapped my arms around his neck and let him hook his hands under my knees. The second he got a good hold, he started walking like he wasn’t even carrying another person. Considering his build, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Where are we going?” I asked quietly.

“My office.” he said, his breath warm against my chilled fingers.

We fell into silence. I focused on him instead. He’d definitely grown up since the first time I’d seen him back in his school years in U.A while watching canon. First off, he had to be at least six foot now, broad-shouldered and solid even under his light jacket. Horikoshi knew exactly what he was doing designing this guy.
But his face… it wasn’t the same boyish scowl anymore. His eyes were sharper, his gaze heavier, and his jaw looked like it had been carved out of marble. If he were real, I’d probably be on my knees right now, begging him to look at me. But he’s not. So, oh well. Guys like him in the real world mean trouble, and I plan to keep it that way—even if his back is ridiculously comfortable. And, seriously, he smells like caramel.

“Has anyone ever told you you smell like fudge?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. The absurdity of the whole situation had apparently put me in a good mood, even though I was actively digging my own grave with comments like that.

“Why the hell are you smelling me, first of all?” He glanced back at me with one eye, lifting me slightly higher on his back to get a better grip—probably also to make sure I didn’t bolt.

“I don’t have to smell you to notice. You literally smell like a vat of caramel,” I said truthfully.

“Yeah. People have told me,” he said after short silence, cutting me off, then turned his eyes back to the road.

That only made it worse. The more I thought about it, the funnier it got. Imagine: you wake up in another world, and the guy carrying you on his back is someone you used to have a low-key crush on. And he actually does smell amazing, just like the internet said. This situation was so absurd it almost felt like a waste not to enjoy it.

Yeah. I was definitely getting carried away.

The rest of the walk passed in silence. The streets were nearly empty, even though it wasn’t that late. A quick glance at the watch on his wrist told me it was just before nine.
I didn’t have much sense of time in this world—honestly, I wasn’t even sure what day it was—but judging by the vibe, it had to be Sunday. Which made sense; everyone else was probably holed up at home, dreading the Monday morning hellscape ahead.

Meanwhile, there I was—carried piggyback by one of the most important people in this entire universe—being hauled toward a glass building that glittered under the streetlights. Katsuki stopped in front of it.

The place looked expensive as hell. Sleek, modern design, the kind of office building that screams money before you even walk inside. Judging by the layout, it probably housed several companies, not just his agency. Still, the fact that he had an office here said enough. The rent alone was probably higher than my yearly salary—back when I had one, anyway.

Instead of setting me down like a normal human being, Bakugo shifted me higher, one arm hooking under my knees to pull me tighter against his back. The other hand stayed free, while my hips loudly filed a complaint to the universe.

“Could you, I don’t know, put me down?” I groaned, trying to rub the ache in my side.

“No.”

Short. Flat. Classic Bakugo. I huffed, rolling my eyes as he fished a card key out of his jacket pocket and strode through the glass doors.

We passed through a wide reception area lined with a dark carpet that led toward polished beige walls and sleek wood accents. The whole place had that minimalist luxury vibe—neutral colors, soft lighting, money disguised as good taste. And there was no one here, just me and him.

When we finally reached the elevator, he did put me down… but immediately grabbed my wrist again. Of course. I gave him a look that screamed seriously? but he ignored it, swiping his card across the access panel.

The elevator doors slid open, and we stepped inside. Another card swipe. The panel lit up with the number five, and the doors sealed us in as the lift began to move.

He leaned back against the mirrored wall, crossing his arms over his chest and—finally—letting go of my hand. Oh, so now he trusted me. But only when we were locked together in a metal box the size of a coffin.

Better late than never, I guess.

I leaned my back against the wall opposite him and tore my gaze away, staring instead at the reflection of the elevator panel in the mirror. My reflection grimaced back at me.
Yeah, I didn’t like this situation. Not one bit. I had no idea what he planned to do with me—lock me up? Interrogate me? Hand me over to someone as part of a “lost and found” operation? Great. I’d be the new zoo attraction. Monkey in a cage. Except instead of bananas, I’d get a leash.
Can’t wait. Truly.

The elevator slowed to a stop with the kind of grace the man beside me couldn’t dream of having. He stepped out first—this time not dragging me by the wrist. Tempting as it was, I considered just taking the elevator back down.
Who’d be faster, I wondered—him racing down the stairs, or me in the lift?
Then again… maybe I’d better just follow orders for now. Worst case scenario, I could pretend to need the bathroom and climb out the window. Sure, it might be high up, but honestly, that still sounded safer than pissing off an angry pomeranian.

I trailed behind him, my eyes on the striped carpet that stretched down the hall. The décor didn’t really demand attention—clean, corporate, and cold. We stopped at a door made of dark wood, and he swiped the same card key as before. When he gestured for me to go first, I rolled my eyes. Oh, now he was being a gentleman.

The door shut behind us with a dull click, and I took in the room. Typical office setup: a massive wooden desk, a sleek black leather chair—which he immediately claimed—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, shelves lined with files, and a couch that practically screamed emotional burnout recovery zone.
Classic workaholic energy.

I stood there awkwardly in the middle of the room, like a lost kid at a parent–teacher meeting, watching him set down a protein shake on the desk. When he finally looked up, his eyes locked on me with a kind of analytical precision that made my skin crawl. I hate when people stare like that—like they’re dissecting you, piece by piece, trying to fit you into some kind of equation.
And him? He was the type to connect the dots before you even have a chance to say ‚damn it’.

“I don’t know what you want to talk about, but I’ll start,” I blurted out in one breath. “I know nothing. I wasn’t there, and even if I was, I don’t know why. Whatever this is—it’s not my problem. I just want to go home.”

A crooked smirk tugged at his mouth.
“Anything else?”

“Nope.” I shook my head quickly. He rolled his eyes, which made me lift a brow in response.
And then it hit me—technically, I could do whatever the hell I wanted. It wasn’t my world, after all. So what did I do? I flopped down on the couch next to his desk, sprawled out like a frog on a lily pad.

“Okay, now I can talk,” I said cheerfully, grinning up at the ceiling.

“Comfy enough for you?”

“Nah… could be better. A TV and a microwave for popcorn would make it perfect, though.”

“Do you play guitar?” he asked after a short pause.

I blinked at him, confused. He’d turned his chair to face me, elbows resting lazily on the armrests, legs spread in that annoyingly confident way. His head leaned on one hand, expression calm—at least until I noticed that tiny, pulsing vein at his temple.

“I can’t even play a chord… why?” I asked, swallowing a little too audibly.

“Because you’re a fucking expert at plucking strings and getting on my nerves,” he said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees now. “And for your own good, I’ll tell you—it’s not a great idea.”

His voice dropped low, his gaze slicing straight through me from beneath his lashes. I froze for a second.
Oops. Maybe I had poked the beast one too many times.

Still… teasing him was weirdly fun. What can I say? When I’m stressed, I default to acting like an idiot. Easier to joke than to deal. But clearly, he wasn’t a fan of that coping mechanism. No shock there, Sherlock.

I had no idea how to behave around him. Being serious might’ve worked, sure—but I wasn’t good at that. Well, I could be, but why bother? It’s not like I’m staying here forever. I don’t need to live with the consequences of whatever mess I’m currently brewing… right?

Even if I do, I’m not planning on spending more time with him than absolutely necessary. Minimum contact. Let’s say… five minutes per weekday. That’s my limit.
Anything more, and he’ll have to file a formal request—one I fully intend to deny.

“Alright…” I exhaled, trying to at least pretend I was taking this seriously. I straightened up, crossing one leg over the other, my back pressed firmly against the couch. “What do you want to know?” I asked outright.

“If you’re not who we think you are,” he started, voice even but sharp, “then who are you? And how do you prove you’re not lying?”
Straight to the point. Typical. I arched a brow at that last part — how the hell was I supposed to prove anything?

“Like I said back at the hospital, my name isn’t Reina and my surname sure as hell isn’t Kurosawa. As for my age — you don’t ask a woman about that, so let’s skip it…” I paused, weighing how much I should actually reveal versus what I needed to keep to myself. “Before I woke up in that lab, I was in my room. Asleep. Next thing I know, I’m here, looking like this.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was still truth.

“Where were you living before, then?” he pressed, pen already poised over paper.

“I’m not answering that.” My reply was short and clean. His eyes flicked up from the page at me, a dangerous spark in them. His index finger tapped the desk three times — measured, deliberate — like he was physically keeping himself from lunging across the room and tearing me apart. I met his gaze with the same stubbornness. There are things you just don’t get to know, sweetheart.

“You do realize that by avoiding questions, you’re not exactly making yourself look credible, right?”

“In your eyes I don’t have to. I’m under no obligation to answer everything you throw at me. And frankly, that question adds nothing to the matter at hand. Knowing this isn’t my body should be more than enough for you.” My voice stayed steady. Acting dumb when I’m stressed is one thing. Letting someone try to intimidate me into a confession? That’s another. I’m not here to recite prayers at confession just so he won’t glare at me.

Silence stretched. He drummed his pen a few times against the desk, brow furrowed in thought. Plotting his next move, no doubt.

“Did you know the original owner of this body?” he asked finally.

“No. Never even heard of her.” I shook my head.

“I’m not going to ask if you know why Reina’s body ended up in that lab.” His tone shifted slightly. “But there’s something else I’ve been wondering. How the hell are you using her quirk? According to my intel, Reina never trained it at all — yet you’re out there wielding it.”

I went quiet. Okay, fair question. One I’d love the answer to myself.

“Well…” My fingers fiddled with each other in my lap. I bit the inside of my cheek, then looked up at him with something close to honesty. “Personally, I think she must’ve trained it at least a little. This body reacts instinctively when I use it. Sometimes even if I want to do something, it won’t respond. I had to take time to figure out how it even works — focus hard just to get it to obey me. And even now, I’m barely scratching the surface. My guess? Properly trained, it’d be insanely powerful.”

Because even if I didn’t know the mechanics, the body itself did. And the quirk… it was genuinely useful. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of quirk I would’ve had if I’d been born here. Knowing my luck, it’d be completely useless.

“What was your previous one, then?” he asked after a beat.

My mouth opened—then shut. Not exactly my favorite subject, especially remembering how he used to ride Midoriya back in school. Whether he did it because the kid annoyed him or because he lacked power of his own didn’t matter. He still said the words. Called him useless. Took jabs at the defect that gutted the green-haired kid.
“I didn’t have one,” I said quietly, turning my face a little to the side, though still watching him from the corner of my eye.

He just spun his pen slowly between his fingers, eyes on me. I doubted he was still immature enough to mock something like that, but a tiny part of me braced for it anyway. Instead, there was only silence.

“So basically, you can’t help us in this investigation at all,” he muttered, exhaling as he dropped the pen into a mug and swiveled his chair back toward the desk, angled slightly away from me.

“So I can go back to Mei now?” I blurted, leaning forward, already half-ready to stand and bolt. His eyes flicked to me sideways, delaying his answer.

“No.”
I almost jumped to my feet to start an argument, but he continued before I could.

“I’ll give you the short version of the mess you’re sitting in, so you’ll understand why you don’t get to do whatever the hell you want.” He began, and I wrinkled my nose.
“The body you’re in was part of an experiment. Details are unclear, but one thing’s certain — it failed. Which means they’re going to want the body back. Which means they’ll be looking for you.”

Logical. And painfully cliché. This was the kind of plotline I loved in other series — and now I hated it. Now I knew exactly how those characters felt. Like crap.

“So what am I supposed to do now?” I asked more quietly. I had a pretty good guess, but I wanted to hear it from him.

“You’re staying under our protection. And on top of that, I — maybe with one other person — will be training you to defend yourself.”

Wait. What?

“Wait, what?!”
I’d expected the babysitting part, but not the other.

“You heard me. Even if the quirk isn’t yours, you’re going to train with it. Might be useful down the line. And don’t expect special treatment. You’re gonna get pushed so hard you’ll be begging for death.” A wicked smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Great. Just great. My whole ‘stay out of it’ plan had just gone up in flames. Not only was I going to be babysat by the main cast, but now I had to train this body that, in my opinion, shouldn’t even be trained. Did he even think about what would happen if they took Reina’s body back after I powered it up? Or did he just assume he and the other pro heroes were so badass it’d never happen?
Either way, it was risky. But honestly, did I even want to know his plan? Probably not.

“One more thing…” I started. “Where am I going to live?” Good question, really.

He smiled. And not the good kind. My gut twisted. My bones already knew this was going to end badly.

“In the safest place you can be right now. With me.”

And just like that, I, now, really wanted to die.

Chapter Text

Well, at least I learned something new.
Now I actually understand how Reina’s quirk works — which, of course, isn’t the same as being able to use it. Lucky me.

After my little “chat” with Bakugo in his office, just like he promised, I stayed with him.
And yeah, I was nervous about what that might mean… but surprisingly, I wasn’t treated like a prisoner. Instead, I got a guest room in his apartment.

Small, tidy, two bedrooms, an open living room with a kitchen and a clean, minimalist bathroom. Everything in light, neutral tones — calm, almost sterile.
Considering his hero salary, I expected something flashier, maybe some kind of ego-fueled bachelor pad. Turns out I was slightly off. Slightly — because the ride from the agency to his place was in a black S-Class Mercedes.
Of course.

I barely had time to sit down before he came back with a thick stack of printed papers about kinetic energy, waving them in my face and threatening that if I didn’t learn it by tonight, I wouldn’t get dinner.
So, for the sake of my already starving stomach, I stayed up half the night, trying to wrap my head around physics — and the logic behind this body’s quirk.

It turned out to be surprisingly simple. Reina’s body seems to store kinetic energy and can release it at varying intensities — controlled, theoretically, though I’m nowhere near mastering that part yet.
My theory? Her body acts like a battery. Every tiny movement — every flex of a muscle, every molecular shift — is absorbed and stored. It reminded me of Denki’s quirk, except his deals with electricity. This one’s pure motion.

Both are forms of energy storage, sure, but kinetic energy is more physical. It’s movement itself, compressed and redirected. That would explain why this body can rebound off surfaces like a trampoline — something Kaminari definitely couldn’t pull off.

That’s what I figured out after staying up until nearly five a.m., scribbling theories and questioning my life choices.
At least now I could thank myself for those two chaotic nights at Mei’s place, leaping around her living room like a caffeinated lemur — because apparently, that stupid workout saved my ass during my little escape from Blond Fury.

I still didn’t know how much energy this body could store, or how much movement it took to “charge” it. Honestly, I was starting to feel like one of those crank-powered flashlights from ten years ago. Human edition.

Now it was noon.

I sat alone at the table, eating cereal in complete silence. Bakugo had left — no clue when — and the whole apartment felt eerily empty without him stomping around.
It took me a solid ten minutes to rummage through his kitchen, searching for something edible that wouldn’t require cleanup. That’s when I found a treasure buried deep in one of the drawers:

ALL MIGHT LIKE HONEY cereal.

It took me a full minute to recover from the shock of staring at Toshinori’s grinning face on the box, holding a jar of honey that looked ridiculously tiny in his massive hands. The blinding smile didn’t help either.

Well, the cereal was good. The milk was cold. I was… relatively content.
I’d even been blessed yesterday with my own clothes — meaning Bakugo dug up some old sweatpants and a U.A. t-shirt, tossed them at my face, and grunted that I could keep them since he “didn’t wear that crap anymore.”
Truly heartwarming.

Oh, and the luxury didn’t end there — I got one pair of socks, a towel, and permission to take a shower.
Pure decadence.
Though, to be fair, I probably would’ve gotten the same treatment in a decent prison cell

When I was halfway through chewing, the apartment door opened—only it wasn’t blond hair that appeared, but pink.

“Hey! How’s your day going?”
That voice—light, familiar, and so painfully normal—hit me like sunlight after a storm. The corners of my mouth instantly lifted.
“Mina!”

Having Ashido here, after spending the last twenty-four hours staring at one perpetually annoyed male face, felt like a literal breath of fresh air in my miserable little existence. I never thought I’d be this happy to see her.

“Don’t yell, idiots” came the growl from behind her. My current roommate shut the door behind him, dropping a couple of overstuffed bags in the hallway.

I was just about to get up to greet her when—

I sneezed.

And by sneezed I mean the bowl exploded into pieces, sending a wave of milk and cereal flying across half the kitchen. It splattered over the counter, the floor, me… and the wall.

Silence.

I stared blankly at the empty spot where my breakfast used to be. Mina’s eyebrow was raised so high it was probably in orbit by now, while Bakugo looked like his last ounce of patience had just died a slow, painful death.

“I can’t fucking believe you just used your quirk on a bowl because you sneezed…” he said finally, voice flat with pure resignation.

His eyes drifted to the trail of milk running down the cabinet door.
“And it had to be that bowl. The one I use for protein pancakes.”

Mina snorted with laughter, and I just covered my face with my hand in shame. Seriously? I’d picked the one breakfast that shouldn’t have required any cleanup, and here we were.

“I’ll clean it up…” I muttered, reaching for a roll of paper towels I’d spotted earlier. Mina dropped into the only clean chair left and propped her chin in her hands, watching me with a grin.

“I heard from Bakugo that he caught you,” she said casually, like she was talking about finding a stray puppy. “So I figured you might need some stuff.”

If I’d had cat ears, they’d be standing straight up right now. I paused mid-wipe and looked at her with interest.
“I brought some of my old clothes, skincare, and makeup,” she chirped, pointing at the two giant bags sitting in the entryway. Before I could even thank her, she went on, “Oh! And since you probably need underwear, I dragged Bakugo to the store with me.”

“Wait—you dragged Bakugo to a store to buy me… panties?” I repeated, unsure if I’d heard that correctly.

“Don’t remind me,” he muttered, brushing past me to grab his shaker and protein powder. “I’m still recovering.”

“Not just that!” Mina clapped her hands, positively glowing. Honestly, she looked way too excited—like a kid playing dress-up, and I was the doll. “We also got you a toothbrush, a hairbrush, extra towels, and bath stuff! I picked the blueberry-scented ones—they seemed like your vibe!”

Yup. For her, this was all just a game. Honestly, knowing Mina, I couldn’t even be mad about it. I was just glad she hadn’t changed much over the years.
Still—something about it didn’t sit right with me. And no, it wasn’t the fact that Bakugo apparently helped pick the color of my panties. Not this time.

They bought all of that like I was moving in for good, not for two damn weeks.
Mina knew that was the plan… unless Blondie here “forgot” to mention it. Which, let’s be real, sounds exactly like something he’d do.
If he had told her, there’s no way I’d be sitting on a mountain of supplies like a freshly adopted stray.
So why the hell would he leave that out?

Another thought poked at me.
“You guys do realize I can’t exactly pay you back for any of this, right? I don’t have a single yen to my name.”

I looked over at Bakugo. He was leaning against the fridge, casually shaking his protein drink like this was the most normal conversation in the world. The color of the shaker was the same as the color of the innocent bowl that I broke minutes ago. Light orange. When our eyes met, he raised a brow—slow, deliberate.

“Of course you’ll pay me back,” he said, and that smug little half-smile crept up on his face.

Ah, great. So he’s the one who paid for all this.
Pretty sure the series didn’t have a sugar daddy subplot—especially not starring him.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” I asked, already bracing for whatever bullshit answer was coming.

“With training. And sparring.”

Jesus Christ, thank god. For a second there, I thought he was gonna say something way worse. Like ‚with my body’ Damn… At least this way they wouldn’t have to scrape me off the floor along with the cereal.

“You’ll get paid minimum wage for every hour of training,” he went on, tone as casual as if he were reading weather reports., still shaking his cola flavored snack. “Sparring earns you a bonus. I’m not saying you have to win—because that’s fucking impossible when your opponent is me—but I’ll grade you based on how fast you improve.”

I stared at him, my mouth slightly open.
Wait.
Did I just… get a job?

Also, did he really just tell me straight to my face that I don’t stand a chance?
He’s right, obviously, but damn—he could’ve sugarcoated it just a little.

Before I could shoot back, Bakugo reached into his pocket and dropped something on the table beside me.

Metal hit the wood with a quiet clink, like even the sound itself was scared of his aura.
I blinked, glanced at him, then down at the object.
A black phone.

My eyes narrowed. He didn’t move—just leaned lazily against the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other still holding that damn shaker, like he was debating whether to drink or throw it at me.

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“Are you blind? I’m not buying you glasses too.”

“Then what’s it for?”

“So I can keep tabs on you,” he said simply. “And so you’ve got a way to reach me. But you only call if it’s an emergency. Like, say… you die.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to call if I’m dead.”

“You’ll manage.”

His voice flattened—no sarcasm, no warmth, just that cold certainty that made my stomach twist. Then he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving behind the faint thud of his plastic cup hitting the counter… and the sharp, aggressive yet still sweet scent of protein powder lingering in the air.

⸻

I spent the next hour with Ashido, sitting in my room and talking about everything and nothing. She showed me every piece of clothing she’d brought, adding little stories to each one while I folded them and tried to fit them into the tiny wardrobe I had.
A pink T-shirt with a huge black skull — apparently bought for Bakugo’s birthday back in their third year at U.A. Flip-flops from the training camp in second year. A dress she wore only once, at Ryukyu’s agency welcome party right after graduation.
There were also… other things. The kind of stuff I wouldn’t wear even under duress — like a mini skirt she described as “perfect for nights out.” Sure. Because nothing screams mental stability like hitting a bar in a world where you technically don’t exist. Even if, you know, everyone else here does.

The whole situation still clashed with whatever logic I had left, so being stuck with the duo I had now seemed more than enough social contact for one lifetime.
At least she’d brought me some actually useful stuff too — comfy sweatpants, loose tees, a few pairs of cargo pants in different shades. Mina really had… a unique sense of style. Judging by how many pieces completely clashed with each other, I couldn’t help wondering how she even managed to make any of it work. Not that I was one to talk — my pharmacy run outfit still haunted me in my sleep — but even I could tell some of those combinations were criminal. Like the pink strawberry bucket hat.
Still, I wasn’t complaining. It was free stuff, and as they say — you don’t bite the hand that dresses you.

I was just finishing up when a knock came at the door.
“Come in,” I called, and the door opened to reveal — surprisingly — a calm-looking blond. Hopefully that calm wasn’t just the silence before the explosion.

“Oi, Raccoon Eyes,” he started, and my eyebrows shot up. I didn’t think I’d ever get to hear one of his famous nicknames in real life. “Round Cheeks called. Said she’s been trying to reach you but you’re not picking up.”

Mina immediately grabbed her phone, checking her notifications, while I turned back to the wardrobe to shove in the last folded shirt and close the door.

“Oh, right! Ryukyu needs me for something!” she said quickly, hopping to her feet. Before I could answer, she waved goodbye and rushed out, her perfume lingering faintly in the air.

Bakugo stayed by the doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands in his pockets. He watched me in silence — that kind of sharp, assessing silence that made the air feel heavier.

“Since when do you play messenger boy?” I muttered before I could stop myself. Honestly, just seeing him do something like that felt wrong.

He frowned, jaw tightening. “Got sick of her yappin’. Was gonna call you anyway.”
“Oh? And why’s that?” I arched a brow.
“We’re heading to the gym. Grab something to change into — you’ve got three minutes to be by the door.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and walked out before I could say a word.
Apparently everyone was in a goddamn hurry today.

I grabbed a loose tracksuit and T-shirt, plus a pair of sneakers Mina had brought earlier. Thank god we wore the same size — or rather, she and Reina did, but close enough. I tossed everything into a cloth bag, pulled on the hoodie Katsuki had lent me, and left the room.

Did it bother me that literally everything I owned now came from other people? Hell yes. But I couldn’t do much about it. I just clenched my teeth and accepted it. At least the hoodie smelled good — sharp, confident, a little bit like gunpowder and cedarwood.

Bakugo was already waiting by the door, glaring at his expensive watch like it personally offended him. He looked seconds away from yelling, but I made it in exactly three minutes. He didn’t even scowl — just grabbed his keys and locked the door behind us.

“Don’t forget this,” he muttered as we reached the elevator, holding out the black phone he’d given me earlier. I took it with a nod of thanks and slipped it into my pocket.

The drive to the gym was quiet. It was already past three, so we hit a bit of traffic, but nothing major. His playlist filled the silence — surprisingly good, actually. Given that he played drums, I expected decent taste, but still. The mix of alternative metal and melodic metalcore reminded me a little of Sleep Token — one of the bands I used to listen to back home.
The familiar sound made my chest ache in that quiet, nostalgic way. I leaned back in the seat, watching the buildings slide by through half-lidded eyes.

For a moment, I could almost pretend everything was normal. That I was just driving with friends to our favorite lake spot outside the city — the one with the old wooden dock where we’d sit for hours, playing cards and watching the sunset.
I wondered what they were doing now. If my real body was still alive. If they knew something was wrong.

That was the part that haunted me the most — not how I got here, but what was happening there.
Maybe, if all those stories and fan theories were right, my body was just lying in a hospital bed somewhere. As terrifying as that sounded, it was also… comforting. Because it meant there was still a chance.

I had to go back.
I wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place. I’d left too much behind — my family, my friends, my goals.
And now I was stuck in a world that wasn’t real, surrounded by people who weren’t supposed to exist.
Watching, breathing, living beside someone I was meant to only ever see through a screen.

It was exhausting. Mentally, emotionally — existentially exhausting.

It took us barely half an hour to get there. Bakugo parked in front of a tall, steel-gray building — one of those that looked like it was built purely for the purpose of making people sweat and suffer. My guess? One of the training arenas similar to what U.A. had.

He grabbed a small set of keys from the car’s glove compartment and opened the door. A long corridor stretched ahead, with doors lining both sides — each marked with gendered plaques. He tossed me a short order to go change, then strode off down the hallway toward what I assumed was the main hall.

I did as told, ducking into the small locker room. The place smelled faintly of detergent and metal. I changed quickly into the training clothes I’d brought, tied my hair back, grabbed the locker key and my phone, and followed the same route he’d taken moments earlier.

The hall was massive — and eerily quiet.
It reminded me of the U.A. training grounds I’d seen before: artificial hills, uneven terrain, scattered obstacles. At the back, there was a small storage room and, conveniently, a vending machine humming beside it. But what really drew my eye was the target board mounted on the wall of one of the slopes — mostly because Katsuki was standing right next to it, arms crossed, looking like a boss-level tutorial enemy.

“Are you gonna stand there all day? I don’t have the damn time.” His voice echoed through the empty hall. I rolled my eyes and started walking toward him.

“What’s this supposed to be, anyway?” I nodded toward the target.

“Your training.”
I raised a brow. Great. No warm-up, no briefing — straight to suffering. Classic Bakugo.
“And you’re gonna explain it, or should I just start guessing?” I shot back, a smirk tugging at my lips.

He exhaled sharply, like my very existence was a tax on his patience.
“I went over what you told me about escaping the hospital,” he said flatly. Yeah, I told him the details. It was really dangerous situation. I though i might die there. “So today, you’re practicing your coin trick.”

Fantastic. So this was my personal hell after all.

“You start from ten steps back. Keep shooting until you hit the target. Five hits — move three steps farther. Bag’s got five hundred coins.” He jerked his chin at a duffel by his feet, then gave it a kick in my direction. The clinking inside was the sound of my upcoming misery.

“When you run out, you pick them up and reuse whatever’s left. If none are usable, then you can call me. Not before.”

Right. So he was leaving me alone. Awesome.

“And what if I run out of distance and end up backed against the wall?”
“I don’t expect you’ll hit that many times.”

I blinked. Wow. Not even pretending that wasn’t an insult.
“Thanks, asshole,” I muttered, crossing my arms.

He didn’t even flinch. “Tell you what — if you hit dead center even once, you pick what we’re having for dinner.”

Carrot and stick. Classic motivational technique.

He turned to leave.
“Didn’t you say I’d be safest when you’re around?” I called after him. “You’re supposed to train me!”

“If you think I’ve got time to watch you embarrass yourself with a coin, you’re delusional.” He didn’t even look back. “I learned my quirk on my own — so can you. Use that empty head for once and prove you’re good for something other than sitting on your ass. Nobody’s gonna hand you shit. Least of all me.”

The door shut behind him with a sharp click, leaving me alone — with a bag full of coins and a grudge bigger than his ego.

On one hand, he’d basically admitted he believed I could do it.
On the other… he’d burned me alive in the same breath.

Typical Bakugo.
And he had the nerve to call himself my trainer.

⸻

After half an hour of playing around with those damn coins, I was this close to losing my mind — like, literally stepping out of my own body just to tell myself to quit. It was exactly like that night at Mei’s place: one in twenty tries actually worked. Maybe. Here it was the same story. I managed to activate my quirk a few times, but either the coin dropped halfway or flew off somewhere completely random.

I had no idea how the hell I’d pulled it off back in the hospital — must’ve been pure adrenaline and panic. Same thing when I was running from Bakugo. Back then, I had a reason, pressure, danger. Now? I was just standing in the middle of a training hall with a bag full of coins and no motivation other than mild irritation. No fight-or-flight, no survival instinct. Just boredom and bruised pride.

And being the genre-savvy idiot that I am, I figured — alright, visualization time. That’s what heroes do, right? Feel the power, focus the energy, believe in the nonsense.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, stretched my arm out toward the target, and placed a coin on my thumb. The metal was cold against my skin. I focused on that sensation, trying to remember what it felt like the few times I’d accidentally triggered my quirk. I pictured a battery sitting somewhere in my gut, my veins like a network of copper wires. With every breath, I tried to push that energy toward my fingertips.

A faint tingle spread across my hand. My skin prickled, the hairs on my arms stood on end — like static electricity, only sharper, alive. It didn’t numb me; it fed me.
That was it. I could feel it.

I flicked my thumb.

The coin flew… maybe two meters. Didn’t even make it halfway to the target.

“Are you kidding me?” I muttered under my breath. “I felt that, dammit.”

I tried again. Eyes shut, teeth clenched, channeling every bit of frustration and focus I had left. I flicked.

Same result. Maybe three meters, tops.

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I yelled, throwing my arms up before grabbing my hair in both hands. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Anger buzzed under my skin, hot and uncontrollable. My fingers trembled, my blood roared in my ears, and my heartbeat pounded against my ribs like it was ready to throw hands.

Completely done, I scooped a handful of coins and hurled them across the room with all the force I had.
“I’m done! Screw this shit!”

A heavy boom echoed through the hall, followed by the unmistakable crack of concrete giving way.

I froze.
Wait— what the hell was that?

I looked toward the wall I’d just thrown at.
It was shredded — cratered, even. Chunks of plaster were falling off in slow motion, dust curling up in the air like smoke.

“Oh… shit,” I whispered, swallowing hard as I walked closer.
The floor was littered with bent, warped coins — the same ones I’d tossed a moment ago in blind fury.

So it had worked.
And not just worked — I’d actually blasted a hole in the wall.

But why? I hadn’t wanted to use my quirk that time. I was just pissed off.

And then it clicked.

I spun on my heel, grabbed a chunk of fallen plaster on the way, and sprinted back to the target on the far side of the room.

Dropping to one knee, I started sketching on the rocky surface — jagged, uneven lines forming thick, angry brows, squinted eyes, and a mouth foaming with rage. I added spiky hair sticking out in every direction like a pissed-off explosion. Chalky grit clung to my fingertips.

And above the cartoonish monster, I scrawled in big, uneven letters:

“Bakugo Douchebag Katsuki.”

Pleased with myself, I went back to where I’d been standing. I grabbed another coin from the bag — which, if it could, would probably beg me to set it free — but it had to stay. Because right then I planned to unleash every scrap of frustration bottled up since I’d landed in this mess. Every dumb little thing that had piled up since I arrived here, and the biggest source of all that rage was the guy whose terrible portrait I’d just scrawled across the rock.

I planted my feet, pointed at the blond caricature, and started yelling.
“If it weren’t for your fucking ideas, I wouldn’t even have to be here!” I shot a coin toward his face, but it landed uselessly to the side.

“I could be at Mei’s, chillin’ and watching TV, but no — you had to stick your nose where it didn’t belong and wreck my perfect plan! You always have to butt into things that don’t concern you!” I hurled another. It clanged off the stone beside the drawing. At that point I didn’t even care about hitting the center of his stupid forehead. I just wanted to wreck the wall and the smug face I’d carved into it.

“Fuck your training…” I grabbed another handful of coins. “…and your fucking motivational speeches about choosing dinner…” I threw them. “…and you forcing me to do-anything-for-your-sake!” A torrent of metal pelted the rock, making holes like a colander. Dust rose up, scratching my throat and coating my clothes and skin. But the blood and adrenaline humming through my veins shut out everything else — I barely felt the grit, just kept snatching coin after coin and flinging them, over and over, or slamming them straight into the cliff-face.

The once-neat training hall looked like an apocalypse had marched through it. The bag lay abandoned and empty at my feet. Coins were bent and scattered across the floor or wedged deep into the stone. From my sketch there was only one lonely eye left; I stood in the middle of the mess, breathing hard, fists and teeth clenched. I hadn’t even noticed the hot tears sliding down my cheeks from pure, aching helplessness.

“I want to go home…” I sobbed, my nose rasping as I dragged another breath. “Please, let me go back. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t know what to do, and I don’t know why this happened to me. I don’t belong here…” I said it quiet, to myself, feeling like a foreigner in my own limbs. But they’re wasn’t mine from the start anyway.

I’d just vented all of my frustration on the drawing of someone who hadn’t actually done anything that awful. He’d been annoying — that was it. But he wasn’t to blame.

All I felt then was powerlessness, alienation, and a furious anger at my own fate.

“I’ll do anything…” I started, dragging my feet toward the ruined remains. Exhaustion made my steps heavy. “…whatever it takes to get back to myself. Please.” I begged god knows who, each word thin with fatigue.

I faced what was left of my picture. I bit my lip and inhaled a shaky breath. Nothing was as it should be. And that was the worst part. I wasn’t cut out for this world. Not even close. I only wanted peace and a home. This heroic universe was not mine.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll find the people who put me here,” I said louder, half a vow to the ruined cartoon and half to myself. “I’ll find them and make them send me back. Even if I have to collapse from exhaustion during training. Even if I have to kill them.”

I clenched my fist and, with whatever strength I had left, drove it into the untouched portion of the stone wall. It crushed loudly. My hand sank into the hard surface as if the rock itself had given way; chunks flew outward and dust billowed again, shrouding my vision.

Heat stung my knuckles. I pulled my hand free to find skin split and bleeding — a raw, bloody mess. It didn’t hurt the way it should have. I let my arm drop, and my body followed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

I fell to the gritty floor, breathing hard, head dizzy. I stared at a single point above me, trying to scrape together the energy to stand, but there was none. Heavy lids closed, and my exhausted body relaxed.

I’d burned through every last scrap of strength I’d been storing with my anger. I’d aimed it at the wrong thing, mostly — at a stone caricature and at a guy who was more annoyance than architect of my suffering.

All that was left was emptiness: the spent heat in my veins, the raw throat from shouting and the hollow that comes after everything crashes down.

Chapter Text

I had no idea how long I’d been out, but judging by how my body felt, that nap had been the right call.

Still, I was heavy and drained, my eyelids refusing to cooperate no matter how much I tried to open them. At least I could hear what was going on around me.

Which, apparently, was nothing. Just dead silence and the slow, steady beat of my own heart. But silence was still something—it meant I wasn’t completely gone. Not as bad as I’d thought before I passed out after taking my frustrations out on that poor, ridiculous portrait of a blond pro hero.

Yeah. That.

God, the embarrassment. I was genuinely grateful I’d destroyed every trace of that masterpiece. I didn’t even want to imagine Katsuki’s face if he’d seen it. He’d probably brush it off with that usual indifference, but a tiny part of him might’ve been… hurt.

And after all, despite my endless protests, he’d made sure I had the basics—a roof, clothes, food. Things he didn’t have to do.

I still hated the situation. But he could’ve left me with nothing, or dumped me in some holding cell. Instead, he’d spent his own money, given me a place to stay, and as much freedom as he could justify.

Annoying? Absolutely.

But I understood why. So there wasn’t much left to do except accept it and go with the flow.

The sound of a door opening broke the silence, and I managed to force my eyes open a little.

A blond figure stood in the doorway, blurred around the edges. He didn’t move at first. Well, yeah—most of the room looked like a war zone, so walking into that must’ve been a shock. Especially when the only thing he’d told me to do was shoot at a damn target.

Eventually, he started walking toward me, hands shoved deep into his pockets, scanning the wreckage as he moved. Heavy boots echoed against the wooden floor, and my vision slowly sharpened enough to make him out properly.

He stopped in front of me, looking down. His cargo pants and boots matched his hero gear, but the black hoodie was definitely casual.

When our eyes met, his expression stayed calm—too calm. Like he was trying to figure out whether I was still alive or just a convenient corpse. Then again, if anyone could look perfectly composed while standing in the middle of a disaster zone, it was Katsuki Bakugo.

“What the fuck did you do?” His voice was lower, rougher—probably from work.

I opened my mouth to answer, then immediately shut it again. Not because of my throat, which felt like sandpaper after inhaling all that dust, but because—what the hell was I supposed to say?‘Well, you see, I decided this entire situation was your fault, so I turned your portrait into abstract cheese art’? Yeah, no. I looked away, cheeks burning.

He sighed, turned on his heel, and walked somewhere behind me. I exhaled through my nose, trying to shove down the wave of shame that threatened to creep up. Not the time to fall apart.

When he came back, he was holding a paper cup. Without a word, he crouched down, slipped a hand under my arm, and helped me sit up. I didn’t even have the strength to protest—not that he gave me a chance to. It was oddly… gentle. Suspiciously so.

“Drink.” The command was quiet but firm. He held the cup out, watching me closely.

I took it with my uninjured hand and sipped the water slowly. Cold, clean. Instantly better. I cleared my throat, feeling human again.

“Yeah… better. Thanks,” I muttered, setting the empty cup aside. He didn’t answer, just kept his eyes on me, unreadable as ever.

With a long breath, I tried to gather enough willpower to stand. Bent my knees, braced myself—nope. My battery analogy turned out to be more accurate than I’d thought. When it’s dead, the engine just won’t start.

This time, he sighed.

He stood up, grabbed me under the arms like I was a toddler, and lifted me to my feet before I could even react. Fantastic. New personal low: being hoisted upright like a child.

Of course, the second he let go, I wobbled and instinctively grabbed his forearm to keep from falling. Great. Absolutely dignified moment for me.

“Shit—wait, I’ve got it,” I muttered, half to him, half to myself, gripping his sleeve tighter with one hand while stopping his other hand from helping again. The last thing I needed was for him to decide to carry me.

Not that I was sure he couldn’t—this version of him was older, calmer, definitely stronger—but still. Once was enough. My pride could only take so much.

He frowned, eyes flicking down to my hand. “Forget the wrecked room for a sec—what the hell happened to this?” His gaze landed on my bruised, bloodied knuckles—still gripping the fabric of his hoodie.

“Uh… I might’ve punched a wall?” It came out half-statement, half-question.

“Why?” His tone sharpened, eyes narrowing like he was seconds away from tossing me at the wall to even things out.

I shrugged weakly. “Let’s just say I realized a few things. I’ll explain later.”

He exhaled through his nose and turned toward the hallway that led to the locker rooms, walking slow enough for me to follow. It was his silent way of saying move your ass.

I still held onto his sleeve for balance, but with each step, it got a little easier.

Maybe my theory was right after all—keep moving, keep recharging.

We walked into the locker room—the same one I’d used to change earlier—and I dropped onto one of the benches. The blond, meanwhile, pulled a first-aid kit from a storage cubby and took out a bottle of antiseptic and a pack of bandages. Then, without a word, he sat down beside me.

Wait. Sat down beside me.

And then he—holy shit—grabbed my hand and started pouring the antiseptic straight over my knuckles.

It burned like hell. Sharp, sizzling pain shot through my hand, but I couldn’t even hiss properly because I was too busy staring at him like I’d just seen a ghost. This was so wildly out of character it short-circuited my brain. Bakugo Katsuki, tending to wounds? On someone else? If it didn’t hurt this bad, I’d think I was hallucinating.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, frowning.

“What’re you staring at me for like a dumb cow?” he muttered, pouring more of the stuff directly on my knuckles. I hissed through my teeth. Better. There’s the Bakugo I know. For a second there, I thought they’d replaced him with a clone.

After a moment, he started covering the cuts with small adhesive bandages—each one printed with a different hero design. One of them, very intentionally, was him.

And of course he stuck that one right in the center, over the worst wound.

I looked down at his handiwork, one brow raised, but decided it wasn’t worth commenting on.

“Get changed. You’ve got five minutes,” he said, standing up.

I grimaced. “Does everything in your life run on a damn timer?”

He froze mid-step, turned his head just enough to glance at me sideways. For a second, it looked like he was about to snap, but he took a slow breath instead and walked out. Huh. That was… new. Too calm. Way too calm for Bakugo.

Maybe he really had matured—learned to regulate all that explosive energy instead of setting everyone on fire with it.

Did it bother me? Not really.

Was it weird as hell? Absolutely.

But hey, people change. Fifteen-year-old Bakugo and twenty-something Bakugo were bound to be different eventually.

I reached into the locker and pulled out my phone. Past ten p.m. already.

So I’d been here for over four hours? Who knows how much of that I’d spent face-down on the floor. I shrugged it off and started changing.

The trip back to his apartment went faster than the ride there. Quiet again—no small talk, just the low thrum of his playlist filling the silence. This time it was metal.

No complaints. The music was good, the seat was soft, and the heated cushion was doing wonders for my exhausted ass. Honestly? Five stars. Would ride again.

The second we stepped through the door, I face-planted straight onto the couch. Out cold. Legs hanging off the armrest, groaning like a dying fish.

Bakugo didn’t comment—just walked past me toward the kitchen.

“Hey…” I muttered, turning my head toward him, “…can I pick what’s for dinner?”

Silence. For a moment, I thought he’d frozen in place. No sound, no movement—just the quiet hum of the apartment.

Then:

“You think you earned that?” Why did that sound like a parent asking if their kid deserved a toy?

“Uh… no?” I admitted. Because, yeah—hard to argue after I’d wrecked half the room instead of hitting the target.

“Exactly.” End of discussion.

I buried my face into the couch cushion, cutting off my own airflow—mostly to stop myself from yelling. God, I felt awful. Physically, mentally, existentially.

I lay there for a while, listening to him move around the kitchen. Something sizzled. It smelled good. But I didn’t have the energy to get up or even tease him. So I just let myself drift for a bit.

Too tired to deal with this shit right now.

The clink of a plate on the coffee table woke me. I cracked one eye open.

Bakugo sat across from me, his own plate balanced in one hand, eating quietly without looking my way.

I sighed again—pretty sure I’d set a record for that tonight—then sat up and reached for my plate.

Fried rice with vegetables and egg. Simple. Fast. Very him.

I picked up the chopsticks, took a bite—then froze.

“Oh, holy shit…” I mumbled under my breath, immediately drawing his attention.

He looked at me with one eyebrow raised.

“This is amazing,” I said honestly, grinning as I took another bite. There was nothing better than a soft couch and good food.

He just clicked his tongue, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. But I could see it—the tiniest flicker at the corner of his mouth.

He was pleased.

Simple dish or not, it hit the spot.

 

We ate in silence — every time I tried to say something, he shot me that knife-edge look and spat out lines like, ‚When a dog’s eating, it doesn’t yap, or the bowl’ll run away’. Lovely human. Really. So lovely I half-contemplated using the fact we’re on the seventh floor and testing gravity.

Only after I’d pushed my empty plate away did he ask how the training hall ended up looking like a tornado had passed through. I told him everything — every stupid detail — except the most important one: the life-sized caricature of his face. Some things are better left off the official record.

He actually listened. No interruptions, just the occasional furrowed brow at certain parts, but otherwise fully focused. When I finished there was a beat of silence.

“You’re just as fucked as Izuku,” he finally said.

A vein started thudding in my forehead.

“And that coming from the guy who screams ‘die’ while blowing shit up,” I shot back with a crooked grin.

“Excuse me?”

“Forgiven,” I blurted before I could clamp my mouth shut. Yep — I love digging my own graves. New hobby. Second only to annoying the blond idiot next to me.

“I’m gonna smack you,” he hissed through his teeth, and I just smiled like an idiot. He could be funny when he tried.

“Anyway — what does Deku have to do with it?” I asked once he stopped glaring at me like he wanted to stab me with his eyes.

“You both use your quirks based on emotion,” he said simply. Can’t argue with that — early canon Deku flashed through my head and ugh, yeah, he had a point. “I’ll set you up with a theoretical session with him tomorrow. Hope he doesn’t mush your brain so bad there’s nothing left to collect.”

I nodded. Talking to someone who’d had the same problem might help — well, almost the same. If memory served, Midoriya was teaching at U.A. these days, so maybe he had new techniques that’d actually work. Worth testing.

“And after that, you’re coming with me to the gym. We have to do something about the fact you look like limp noodles,” he added, looking me over.

“Excuse me?!”

“Forgiven,” he repeated my own line back at me, and I just gaped. He used my weapon against me. The audacity.

He stood, smirked, gathered the plates, and went to the kitchen. Sneaky bastard. Quirk learner too.

And for the record, Reina’s body did not look like limp noodles. It was fine. I liked it. Not his call what I felt comfortable in.

I spent the evening in my room testing the skincare Mina had brought — all for sensitive skin, so soft and boringly safe. Typical Mina: ridiculously generous to a complete stranger, but in the best way.

Before I fell asleep in a bed I could call mine for now, I wondered how Mei was doing. Probably the same as before I’d shown up — fine. Still, the apartment felt like home in a tiny, grandma-cozy way. Sure, I was on the couch sometimes, but at least I didn’t feel caged. Maybe I’d imagined all the rules about not leaving or reporting every tiny thing. He’d never actually told me I couldn’t go out — only about trainings, and to keep my phone glued to me. Different kind of control.

I sighed, tucked into the mattress. Maybe it wasn’t as terrible as I’d built it up to be.

 

⸻

 

“Don’t be a wuss. Do five more.”

“You’re trying to kill me! This is premeditated murder, I swear!” I screamed, every muscle protesting.

Turns out “worse” existed. The theoretical morning session became very practical — with Bakugo — in the gym on the lowest floor of his building. From the outside, the place didn’t scream luxury. Inside? Different story.

Midoriya had called early, saying he’d only be free in the afternoon, so plans shifted. I got the gentle wake-up treatment when Bakugo ripped the blanket off and shoved me out of bed.

At fucking eight in the morning.

I had never been so close to committing a homicide in my life.

I sipped a protein shake in the elevator on the way down, half-asleep and clinging to consciousness like a champ. Of course that didn’t stop the blond menace from subjecting me to a fresh round of torture the second we hit the gym. Maybe he deserved that rock portrait after all.

“Quit crying, just do it,” he said from the side, standing there like a statue and knocking out reps with twenty-five kilo dumbbells. Meanwhile I had two kilos per hand and the attention span of a melting popsicle.

I gritted my teeth and did the sets he ordered — five more on each arm — then collapsed onto the mat and wanted to die. I was out of breath, sweating like something you don’t mention at dinner, probably smelled like it too, and every inch of me hurt. If I didn’t come out of this looking like an athlete, I’d go full internet smear campaign on him. I don’t know which sites they have here, but I’d find them and leave the worst review imaginable.

He looked like he cared only about whether his muscles looked right under a tight suit — big sneakers, loose knee-length shorts, a sleeveless compression top so he wouldn’t forget to flex in the mirror. Sure, the beads of sweat were kinda distracting in a guilty way, but given he was currently trying to cast me in new season of Dump ways to die, the vibe was ruined. I wanted to throw one of those heavy-ass weights at his face.

He’d been putting me through the drill all morning — strength, cardio, the whole sadistic circus. He supervised like some hyper-pedantic personal trainer: correcting every tiny mistake, counting my feet placement like it was a crime scene, nagging if my back wasn’t arched perfectly. Of course — what did I expect from the guy who went to bed at eight p.m. as a teenager?

Small mercy: it was eleven, which meant, if I remembered correctly, a thirty-minute break.

“You alive?” he grunted, dropping down nearby and wiping his face with a towel.

“No.” I didn’t bother to look at him, just stared at the soft-purple torture device I’d been holding a minute ago.

“Don’t be dramatic. You know you have to train ‘cause—”

“Fuck, yes! I know how it works!” I snapped. I’d seen how Deku suffered through it, but watching and doing are different things. Also, I wasn’t under threat of spontaneously shredding my body into confetti from a misfiring quirk. At worst I’d sneeze and break a bowl.

I felt him studying me, like he was deciding if I was sufficiently exhausted yet. I lifted my head and met his gaze. Same as always — unreadable.

“Did you ever bother moving your as before today?” he asked, and for once his question threw me off. I blinked, buying myself a second to think.

I racked my brain for something other than school PE—actual things I’d done because I liked them.

“Not long — like, three months tops — but pole dance,” I said, and he arched an eyebrow.

“You were a stripper?” he sneered.

“No, you moron!” I wanted to snap his empty skull. “I took classes. Instructor, studio, the whole thing.”

He tilted his head, a nasty little smile on his face. Great. I could feel future humiliation brewing.

“So what, you couldn’t pull off any moves on the pole and quit?” he mocked.

“Try doing any of the routines once and then we’ll talk,” I rolled my eyes.

“There’s actually a room with a spinning pole,” he tossed out like it was nothing — but I caught that tiny spark in his eye. Oh no you don’t, blondie.

“Wanna bet?” I narrowed my eyes. If I ever had to name my worst habit, it’d be this: challenges and bets. I take almost any wager, and the tiniest sliver of a chance to win is all it takes.

“Maybe…” the corner of his mouth twitched, and I was already on my feet.

“Show me,” I ordered. He snorted and, sure enough, led me to the room.

Two rotating poles stood in the center, mats laid out beneath them and a full wall of mirrors. Classic pole-dance studio.

Before the gym Katsuki made me change into shorts — apparently, “he can’t tell if i’ve doing it right under thick sweatpants.” So I peeled off my shoes and socks, grabbed the hem of my loose shirt, and shrugged it off without a second’s shame, standing there in a sports bra like it was no big thing.

“You sure that wasn’t stripping?” he said, watching me, and I rolled my eyes. His snark was especially sharp today.

“Yeah? Bet you train here shirtless every time you come,” I shot back. “At least I’ve got more on than just shorts.” I flicked my hand like brushing away a fly and stepped up to the silver pole — and then froze.

I hadn’t thought whether this body had ever actually done pole before. It wasn’t about fitness so much as muscle memory — bodies remember how to move. Even if this one did, and even if Ihad some idea, could I actually pull it off right now? Maybe I’d rushed in — damn bets and my inability to say no.

“Give me a minute,” I told him.

“For what?” he asked, already at the other pole, eyebrow raised.

“I forgot this isn’t my body and I don’t know if I can get up on it,” I admitted, rolling the cold metal between my hands.

“Scared now?” He was in one of those moods where he liked to needle me. Does he always do this? Maybe he actually slept good last night.

“Shut up and if you want to play, get on first.” I folded my arms under my chest and raised an eyebrow. Come on then, blondie — show me.

He huffed out a laugh, grabbed the back of his shirt, and yanked it off in one motion.

Well. That’s a low blow.

And judging by that small, infuriating twitch at the corner of his mouth — he knew it.

He gripped the pole with both hands and pulled himself up effortlessly, setting it spinning.

Locked his knees, lifted higher, then shot me that smug, triumphant look that made my blood simmer.

“Hey, blondie!” I called, voice sharp, a grin curling my lips. “You sure you picked the right career? ’Cause you’re killing it up there.”

“Quit your shit and get up there before I drop you on your ass,” he snapped, one hand still gripping metal.

I shrugged and grabbed the pole as high as I could. First, a few test pulls to see how trained these muscles actually were. In theory they were tired, but they should still work. I pulled myself just enough that my toes didn’t leave the mat, several times, feeling my arm strength and clenching my abs. Surprisingly stable. Maybe I could do something with this body.

I turned sideways to the pole, swung my leg to set it in motion, hooked my legs and pulled up — higher this time. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Bakugo slide down and walk toward me, but I ignored him. I squeezed the pole under one knee and crossed the other leg over it, sitting into a basic “chair” hold so I could drop my hands and look down at him.

“Why did you get down? Wasn’t this a bet?” I asked.

“What would i get out of it, huh?” he shrugged, which sounded sketchy.

“Oh, mighty Dynamight at a loss for things to do? Shocking.”

“You seriously think I’ve got nothing better than watching some chick dance on a pole?” he said half-sincere, which I rolled my eyes at. Fair — his head was full of catching crooks and competition, and yelling about it came naturally.

Without answering I gripped the metal tighter, straightened my legs, squeezed my thighs, hooked one leg and grabbed my foot with my hand, then slowly lowered my torso down. When I was fully inverted and my face lined up with his, I twisted my mouth into a small, victorious grin.

“So — I win.”

 

⸻

 

Midoriya walked into the training hall practically glowing with energy — like he hadn’t just spent eight hours wrangling a bunch of screaming kids. Honestly, I admired his patience. If it were me, I’d have probably shot either them or myself by hour three — no in-between.

That was the main difference between us, I guess. Midoriya had a teacher’s heart. I could handle one kid, maybe two, before I started googling “legal methods of disappearing.” So yeah, seeing him walk in all bright-eyed, confident, and smiling with a stack of notes under his arm felt about as natural as saying “Mineta turned out to be a great guy.”

…Actually, scratch that. I don’t even want to imagine what that guy’s up to now.

“I’m here! Sorry I’m late — the kids’ training ran a little long, but I made it,” he said with that easy grin as he stopped in front of me.

“Not only did you move the training, you’re late to it too,” came Bakugo’s voice from the side, dripping with irritation. I shot him a warning look out of the corner of my eye. He had his own training time — this was not his.

“He’s been like that all morning,” I muttered to Midoriya, who chuckled quietly under his breath. Cute. I grabbed his arm and started dragging him toward the center of the room.

“Alright, Blondie — go blow something up or whatever you were doing. We’re off to learn some physics.” I waved dismissively without even looking back. Finally, someone different to talk to.

Don’t get me wrong — Bakugo wasn’t bad company. But spending that many hours around him was exhausting. I needed someone calmer to balance out the chaos. Even if, ironically, I could be just as much of a pain in the ass as he was.

Of course, my temporary roommate didn’t take the hint. He followed us anyway, though he stayed quiet this time. Maybe he realized that this was Izuku’s turn to play teacher.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, and so did my new instructor, settling across from me. He placed a dark green folder between us. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Bakugo sit down not too far away, leaning back against one of the training rocks — silent, for once.

“Okay,” Midoriya began, “I talked to Kacchan about your quirk, and I think it’s remarkably similar to Fa Jin.”

I nodded — he wasn’t wrong. Both abilities revolved around kinetic energy.

“But,” he continued, that telltale excitement creeping into his otherwise serious tone, “after breaking it down, I realized there’s one fundamental difference between the two.”

I almost finished his thought but bit my tongue just in time. No way in hell could I let them know I already understood how Fa Jin worked. I didn’t even want to imagine the kind of interrogation that would follow if I slipped up.

“Kinetic Force is like a constantly charging battery,” he explained, “while Fa Jin is a single burst — all the energy stored and released at once.”

I nodded again, praying my face didn’t scream ‘yeah, I already knew that, nerd.’

He stood, motioning for me to do the same, then hopped lightly on the spot. I raised an eyebrow.

“That’s my normal jump — no Quirk involved,” he said. “Now I’ll show you what it looks like with proper control.”

He crouched, and a red glow pulsed around his legs. The moment hit me like a flashback — seeing Fa Jin in action, in person. I mean, watching it in anime form was one thing, but this? My inner fangirl was silently singing operas in heaven.

He repeated the motion a few times before jumping. And holy hell — he easily touched the ceiling. The ceiling that had to be at least ten meters high. He landed smoothly, barely making a sound, and smiled faintly.

“Yeah, well, I can’t exactly do that,” I said, shrugging. “I burned through everything yesterday — I’m empty.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, eyes narrowing slightly with quiet conviction. “It’s been plenty of time since then. If my theory’s right, you don’t need much to hit the same height. Maybe even higher. You did train a lot today, didn’t you?”

He wasn’t wrong. I’d worked out a ton. Still, I had no clue how long this body took to recharge — or how much it could hold. He clearly had a theory of his own, maybe even something I’d missed. Which, fine, fair. He was the genius type.

The real problem was that I had no emotional anchor to pull from. Just like before. I stood there, staring at the floor, feeling stupidly stuck. Midoriya must’ve noticed, because he gently put a hand on my shoulder.

“Try giving yourself a goal,” he said softly.

…Wow. That was about as helpful as a fortune cookie. Sure, let me just “set a goal” and manifest it into existence.

“He means,” Bakugo cut in, his tone calm but edged with irritation, “turn that goal into the same kind of emotion that made you blow half the damn hall apart yesterday.”

Oh great. I’d almost forgotten he was there. I rolled my eyes without even bothering to look his way.

I knew what they were getting at. But I wasn’t some cartoon character who could magically “channel inner strength” because someone said so. And it pissed me off that I had to somehow make it work anyway.

“If I jump as high as Midoriya, you remove the parental lock from my phone,” I said finally, turning toward Bakugo.

Yeah. He’d locked my damn phone. I could only call or text. Like some overprotective dad.

His mouth twitched into a smirk. “You’ve got three tries.”

Fine. That was enough motivation. If there was one thing I couldn’t resist, it was a bet — especially one I could win.

I focused on that feeling — the rush of victory, the spark that always came with proving someone wrong. Katsuki in particular.

The first jump was… pathetic. I had to take a second just to gather up what was left of my dignity, which had shattered somewhere around the point my feet left the floor. Neither of them said a word, bless them.

The second one was better. I actually managed to use the quirk this time, but still not nearly enough. Maybe a meter and a half up.

One more shot. I exhaled slowly, tapping into that stubborn part of myself that refused to quit. The trick was: no one said how I had to jump. Just that I had to do it.

So I backed up about six meters, then took off running. I thought about that moment in the hospital — running, desperate, almost free. That feeling of survival. Of wanting to win.

And I jumped.

I soared higher than before, certain I was about to hit the ceiling — but just as my fingers reached for it, the momentum faded. Too slow. Too soon.

“Really?” I muttered through gritted teeth as gravity claimed me again.

Falling felt like the right metaphor for this day — maybe if I broke a leg, I’d get to skip the humiliation of landing.

Unfortunately, Midoriya had faster reflexes than I’d hoped. He caught me midair like someone tossing him a sack of potatoes.

“Don’t worry,” he said with that warm, ridiculous smile. “Judging by your potential, I’m sure it won’t be long before you can break right through that ceiling.”

I sighed. He set me back on my feet, still smiling at my unimpressed face.

Yeah, I wasn’t thrilled. I’d crushed the last bet, and now I’d failed this one. Maybe it was time to admit I needed a gambling detox.

“The point wasn’t the height,” Midoriya added gently. “It was to show you the difference between the techniques. You’ll understand it better with time.”

I nodded, tired but listening.

He clapped his hands once, instantly back to teacher mode, and sat down again. “Alright, theory time,” he said cheerfully, pulling a stack of papers from the folder.

I followed his lead, sitting cross-legged again and forcing myself into focus mode. Time to pretend I was a good student.

I spent the next two hours buried under a stack of papers and what basically amounted to a math-fueled monologue. Turns out “nerd” — a word that suddenly gained an entirely new layer of truth — had actually calculated the exact amount of energy I’d used to blow up half the training hall. He’d even estimated my energy storage capacity.

According to him, I could hold around three hundred thousand joules.

Did that mean anything to me? Absolutely not.

Then he compared it to the explosion of about seventy grams of TNT.

Did that help? Also no.

But the way Bakugo’s head turned a little too sharply when he heard that number told me hefound it interesting.

So, in short: I could store a lot of energy. The charging process wasn’t even that long or complicated. Apparently, I also burned through small amounts of it constantly — which meant my little sneeze incident was just the equivalent of an overfilled battery finally overflowing. Midoriya even used a water glass metaphor — “the water’s always there, it just spills when it’s too full.”

He went on about control, about learning to feel how much energy I put into each movement — even the small, everyday ones. The idea was that awareness would make using my quirk feel more natural.

“How much longer are you gonna bore us with this crap?”

Bakugo’s voice cut through the air like a thrown wrench.

He’d clearly gotten tired somewhere between energy calculations and water metaphors, because by the time he spoke up, he was already off to the side doing sit-ups and push-ups like a restless lion. Seriously, why was he still here?

He stopped and stood over us, hands buried in the pockets of his loose joggers, frowning like he had every right to judge the lesson. Again — why was he here?

“I think that’s everything I had prepared,” Midoriya answered, unbothered, starting to gather up his scattered notes.

Apparently, he’d put all this together earlier today, during breaks between his own classes. Which… honestly impressed me.

A quiet warmth spread somewhere in my chest. It wasn’t every day you saw someone that genuinely selfless with their time — though, to be fair, that was very him.

Suddenly, a phone started ringing — the most generic ringtone you could imagine. Midoriya quickly pulled it from the pocket of his suit pants and stood, bowing his head in apology before stepping aside to answer.

I got up too, brushing invisible dust from my pants, and stopped beside Bakugo, who was watching him with a deep frown. Not the usual annoyed one — something tighter. Irritated, but quieter.

“What’s up?” I asked under my breath. The whole thing felt weird. Off.

“Nothing,” he muttered, not taking his eyes off his friend.

Right. Nothing.

“Who is it?” I pressed, because obviously now I had to know.

He gave me a brief sideways glance, then turned back to Midoriya. It took him a few seconds to finally answer — like he was deciding whether to say it at all.

“His girlfriend.”

Oh. So he’d actually ended up with Uraraka? Cute, honestly. I’d always thought those two were perfect for each other. The thought made me smile… for a moment. Because if it was Uraraka — someone Bakugo clearly respected, from wha i remebered — then why did he look like he wanted to bite through his own tongue right now?

“Uraraka?” I whispered, keeping my voice low.

This time he looked at me properly, meeting my gaze instead of brushing it off like before. Something flickered there — understanding, and disappointment all at once.

“Amamiya.”

The name didn’t ring a bell. I tried to dig up any memory of a character with that surname, but came up empty. A non-canon addition, maybe? Sure, why not — this world already bent enough rules. Still, something about it didn’t sit right.

Bakugo finally tore his gaze away from me and fixed it back on Midoriya. I followed his line of sight.

Izuku was still talking, smiling faintly — completely at ease. Happy, even.

Then Bakugo said, low and certain, but the way he said it — quiet, deliberate — left a cold twist in my gut. Like he’d just predicted something we were all going to regret later.

“I don’t trust her.”

Chapter Text

It had been just over a week since I’d moved in with Bakugo — and not even two since I’d woken up in this world.

In that time, I’d… sort of gotten used to my surroundings. But not to everything.

His face still felt out of place, like someone had ripped it out of another scene and pasted it here by accident. And every time I tried to use Reina’s quirk, that weird off sensation crept up my spine — like a giant neon sign in my head flashing careful.

But days kept passing anyway. I’d go to sleep, wake up in the same room, and — surprise, surprise — still hadn’t magically teleported back home.

So, every morning, I dragged myself out of bed and faced another day under the warm, gentle, endlessly encouraging supervision of my oh-so-cheerful, not at all angry roommate — Dynamight.

The faster I get home, the higher I’m gonna jump for joy. The man’s unbearable.

At least there was one upside: I’d actually taken Midoriya’s advice to heart.

Turned out, my body was constantly using the quirk — even for basic movements. Every step, every stretch, every reach for a damn glass of water. Once I noticed it, things started getting easier. My control improved. My training got smoother.

Even the sparring sessions with Bakugo — though calling them “sparring” was generous — had started to make a bit more sense.

The last couple of days, he’d gone easier on me. Sort of. His insults, though? Still unmatched. Sometimes I was genuinely impressed by how creative he could get.

But I was learning. Slowly. Painfully.

And I’d fallen into a routine: up at seven, two hours at the gym, a quick stop at the store for snacks, then solo training at the facility while Bakugo went to work.

When he came back, we’d “review” my progress — which basically meant I got my ass handed to me in increasingly inventive ways.

Most of my time was either spent alone or with him.

I could count on one hand how many times I’d seen Ashido or Midoriya. Three, to be exact.

Once when Mina dropped by to hang out — we watched a movie on her laptop. The other two were when Deku came to help me train.

Meanwhile, time with Bakugo consisted of: arguing, yelling, insulting each other, then pretending nothing happened.

Beautiful domestic harmony, really.

Tonight was no different — except that he’d pushed me even harder than usual.

Instead of the usual three sparring rounds, I was now finishing my sixth. Each previous one lost by either tapping out or yelling “okay, stop, I give up!” at full volume.

He showed zero mercy, even when he wasn’t allowed to use his explosions directly on me.

“Seriously? That’s all you’ve got?”

His voice hit me right after he dodged another one of my swings, watching me stumble forward like an idiot. “Try showing a shred of creativity.”

“You’re just— dangerous! Who the hell even fights like that?” I panted, hands braced on my knees. I was done. And yet, I knew it wasn’t over.

He crossed his arms over his chest, weight shifting to one leg, looking at me like a coach ready to cut someone from the team.

“You’re too damn predictable,” he said flatly. “Your attacks are crap. I don’t even need to use my quirk against you.”

I groaned.

Right — because I could just magically become a martial arts prodigy overnight.

Still, I tried. Every sparring session had me scraping through my mental library of every shounen fight scene I’d ever seen — trying to mimic something. Anything.

Spoiler alert: didn’t work. At all.

I straightened, exhaled, and caught him watching me again, arms loose now, ready for whatever came next.

I let the silence hang just long enough to maybe throw him off — then focused energy in my legs and launched forward.

Right hook — blocked.

Left jab — blocked.

He caught my wrist, so I used his momentum, yanking him toward me and going for a knee strike. Blocked again.

I tore free and jumped back, breathing hard.

He said nothing. Just watched. Waiting.

Fine. You want creativity? I’ll give you creativity.

A smirk crept across my face, mirrored by the faint arch of his brow.

No coins with me today — so long-range attacks were off the table. But there was something else I could use.

We were standing on one of the rocky mounds inside the training hall — the floor here could handle some abuse.

I gathered energy in my leg and drove my heel into the ground.

The rock cracked, splintered — shards flying upward in a sharp burst.

Perfect. Thank you, Toji Fushiguro, for the inspiration.

Every piece I could reach, I brushed with my fingertips — just enough to release a pulse of energy.

A volley of jagged rock fragments shot toward Bakugo in a scatter of kinetic sparks.

It wasn’t much, but it caught him off guard — just enough that he had to react fast.

He twisted aside, detonating a small explosion to propel himself clear.

Small victory for me.

I didn’t let myself celebrate, though — using the smoke to charge in, aiming another strike.

Too slow.

Before I could even blink, his hand clamped around my wrist. He spun me, and in the next instant my arm was pinned behind my back, the other trapped in his iron grip.

I was completely immobilized.

“What the hell was that, huh?”

His voice was right by my ear, low and rough, and I flinched before I could stop myself. The heat radiating off him hit me first — then the faint scent of burnt caramel.

Too damn close.

“I was being creative?” I asked evenly, glancing back just enough to catch his irritated expression.

He’d been pushing me for days to “show some initiative,” but the second I actually did, he was pissed. This man was impossible to please, I swear.

“That?” He snorted. “That was pathetic.”

He yanked my pinned arms downward, forcing me to arch back slightly. Sadistic bastard.

“And yet, it threw you off, didn’t it, Blondie?” I shot back with a smirk — which, given my position, might not have been the smartest idea. One wrong move and I’d fold backward like a flip phone.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” His voice was cold, but there was the faintest trace of amusement hiding under it. So faint that if I hadn’t heard it before, I’d have missed it entirely.

“You get to call me whatever you want, but I can’t do the same? Hypocrisy looks good on you.”

“Don’t cry about it.”

“Hang on, lemme wipe my tears on your shirt.”

This was, without a doubt, a sixth-grade level argument. Beautiful. Just beautiful.

He finally let go. I sprang away, glaring daggers at him — and immediately felt something pop in my shoulder blade. Great. Just perfect.

“I’ll stick with one nickname then,” he said.

I groaned under my breath. “Oh, this should be good.”

“UFO.”

I froze mid-step. “…What?”

“UFO. Unidentified Fucking Object.”

A laugh slipped out before I could stop it.

“With your accent it sounds more like Yufo than UFO. Say it again, nicely this time, come on Katsuki: U-fo.”

I used my best preschool teacher voice — and for the third time since I’d met him, he actually made me laugh. He was on a roll.

“Same goes for my name… You’re fuckin’ impossible,” he muttered, shaking his head like my existence personally offended him. Which, honestly, was fair.

I just smiled wider. Teasing him was becoming my favorite pastime.

“You’ve got two options.” I held up two fingers like it was evidence. “Blondie, or Kats — slash Katsuki. I’m too used to it to stop now.”

“And where the hell did you get used to it, when we’ve only known each other two weeks?”

Oh.

Right. That slipped out faster than I could catch it. Think, think, think—

“In my head?” I blurted. “I curse you out a lot in there.”

A muscle twitched in his forehead, but his mouth stayed tilted in that almost-smile. My survival chances were holding steady at… about five percent. Not bad odds, all things considered.

“Interesting,” he said, taking a slow step forward. “Like what, exactly?”

I narrowed my eyes but didn’t back away. “Like how much of an asshole you can be when you wake me up, even though you know my alarm’s set for five minutes later.”

“The last two times I didn’t, you slept through it ‘til noon.”

Another step.

“Still.” I lifted my chin higher as he stopped in front of me. In this body, I barely reached his collarbone — but I wasn’t about to be intimidated. I’d seen this game before.

“Fucking alien,” he muttered. “Or Yufo, whatever the hell you are.”

“Blondie asshole,” I shot back, deadpan.

Where did he even pull the alien thing from, anyway?

“I fuckin’ dare you,” he growled, narrowing his eyes. “Say that again.”

Oh, he really shouldn’t have said that.

“Blon-die.” I exaggerated both syllables just to watch him twitch. Every muscle in his jaw went tight — like he was fighting the urge to lunge.

But instead, to my mild disappointment, he rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and walked off toward the water bottle propped against a boulder.

“Get moving, Yufo,” he threw over his shoulder without looking back.

I sighed, loud enough for him to hear.

Guess the nickname stuck. Fantastic. I’m officially named after a fucking mispronunciation.

Just like he said, I went to change.

By the time I stepped outside the training hall, he was already there — leaning against the hood of his car, one hand in his pocket, the other scrolling through his phone like he had nothing better to do.

Something about the whole scene felt… off. Not bad, just weirdly quiet for him. Still, I shoved that thought aside. There were more important things to focus on — like pretending this whole “living with Bakugo” thing wasn’t driving me insane.

Without a word, I opened the back door, tossed my training bag onto the seat, and slammed it shut. He didn’t even look up.

“So, are we just standing here waiting for the apocalypse?” I asked, one brow raised.

He gave me a short, unimpressed glance from the corner of his eye, then pushed off the car and walked around to the driver’s side.

I sighed and climbed in too, buckling my seatbelt as he tossed his phone into the cup holder and started the engine.

Something in his face bothered me — not his usual pissed-off expression, but something quieter. Like he was thinking too much. Or hiding something. And I didn’t like not knowing what.

So when he pulled out of the lot and turned left instead of right, my eyebrow went up again.

“Where are we going?”

He didn’t answer right away — just merged into traffic with that typical smooth aggression of his. When he finally spoke, it was so low I almost didn’t catch it.

“Need to get you something.”

Get me something? That didn’t sound ominous at all.

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Don’t feel like explaining,” he muttered, irritation slipping into his tone. “You’ll see when we get there.”

A surprise, then? Great. Because that’s what I signed up for — mystery field trips with my emotionally unavailable roommate.

We weren’t even remotely close to being on ‘surprise gift’ terms, so this whole thing already screamed suspicious.

Fine. If he wanted to play cryptic, I’d play indifferent. I turned up the volume on the radio — classic rock, thankfully — leaned my elbow against the window, and watched the city slide by in gold and neon.

 

⸻

 

“Oh, Bakugo! You’re just in time! I’ve got you my new babies ready!”

That was the first thing I heard after stepping inside the massive lab.

The place looked like chaos and genius had a lovechild — machines, exosuits, and gadgets I couldn’t even begin to name. The air smelled like oil, metal, and caffeine.

And in the middle of it all stood Hatsume Mei — smiling like a gremlin that hadn’t slept in days. Her ponytail was pulled high, her goggles perched crookedly on her head, and there was a black smudge on her cheek that made her look even more unhinged than usual.

I followed Bakugo, keeping close as he approached her workbench with that confident stride that somehow made it look like his lab.

“My babies — the Kinetic Guns!” she announced proudly, pulling two matte-black pistols from a heavy metal case before spinning around to type something on her computer.

The name instantly caught my attention.

Wait… kinetic? As in — related to Reina’s quirk?

I shot Bakugo a look. He was already examining one of the guns, eyes narrowed, jaw set, like he was assessing every atom of it.

“Here. See how it feels,” he said, handing one to me.

The weapon was solid and heavier than I expected. Matte metal, dark wood grip, a subtle gleam under the fluorescent lights — practical, not flashy. On the bottom of the magazine, a small Xwas engraved.

“What’s the occasion?” I asked, not taking my eyes off the gun. After a second, I set it down on the steel table and finally looked at him.

He was watching me — calm, unreadable, like he was waiting for something. Maybe approval. Maybe a reaction.

“They’ll help with your training,” he said quietly.

Hatsume barely looked up, mumbling something about the instructions being in the case before going right back to clicking away on her keyboard.

I narrowed my eyes at him. None of this sat right. Why the hell would I need a weapon? Just because I was learning to use her quirk didn’t mean I planned to join the hero circus in tight pantaloons.

I opened my mouth to say something — but before I could, the door opened.

I turned, already half expecting another surprise. And yeah. There it was. Todoroki Shoto.

“Oh, Bakugo.” His voice was calm as ever. Then his gaze landed on me, and he gave a small nod. I returned it.

He crossed the room, greeted Mei — who waved vaguely without looking up — and set a metal case on her workbench.

“Icy-Hot?” Bakugo finally tore his gaze from me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Finally. The staring contest was over.

I could actually breathe again without feeling like he was trying to pry something out of me just by looking.

“Routine maintenance,” Todoroki said simply, nodding toward his wrist gear. Then his eyes shifted back to me — steady, curious.

And just like that, I knew this day was about to get even weirder.

“How are you feeling? I heard you’ve been training.”

Todoroki’s voice was calm, somewhere between bored and genuinely curious.

Great. Another guy I couldn’t read to save my life.

Not that this was anything new. I’d always liked Todoroki as a character, but seeing him in person was a completely different thing. He was one of those people who seemed permanently detached — like the world spun around him and he just… stood there, unaffected. And now, standing face-to-face with him, I had no idea what was going on behind that poker face. Honestly? I preferred watching him from behind a screen.

“I feel like I got run over by a tractor,” I said dryly. “As for the results, you can ask my personal demon trainer.” I nodded toward said demon, who raised an unimpressed brow.

“She sucks,” Bakugo said flatly.

I shot him a glare that screamed bitch, excuse me?! — deluxe edition.

“The only thing I suck at is math, thanks. Give me a few more days and I’ll have you flat on your back — which, by the way, almost happened today.”

He snorted. “You mean that sad little rock show earlier?”

“Oh, that sad little rock show where you froze like an idiot, not sure if you should lie down or run for your life?”

“The hell did you just—”

“You two get along surprisingly well,” Todoroki cut in, lips curving just slightly upward.

Bakugo clicked his tongue. I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, like a shoe and a pile of shit,” I muttered under my breath. Seriously, from his point of view, this looked like “getting along”? The guy needed glasses. Or therapy. Or both.

“By the way!” Hatsume’s voice made me flinch. She dove under a table and resurfaced with a giant rolled-up sheet of paper. She slapped it onto the metal workbench with a dramatic thud. “I’ve got your costume design ready!”

“My— what?” I almost choked on air.

“Practical and simple, just like Bakugo asked! Dark color palette, compression sleeves calibrated for your quirk, and magnetic holsters on the belt for your Kinetic Guns.” She pointed at different parts of the sketch with wild enthusiasm.

The outfit didn’t look bad — dark body suit, loose joggers, a few accessories. I could almost mistake it for streetwear. But that wasn’t the point.

“There’s no fucking way,” I hissed, snapping my gaze to the blond menace who had apparently orchestrated this. He stared back calmly, completely unbothered. “This isn’t what we agreed on, Blondie.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Yufo—”

“Don’t be dramatic? Are you serious, Katsuki?!” My voice rose, heat rushing to my cheeks. He didn’t even flinch. Just stood there, stone-faced, like I wasn’t two seconds away from throwing something at him.

“It’s just one outfit. Not the end of the world,” he said evenly, like he was reading off a damn script.

“Oh, sure,” I snapped, throwing my hands up. “First your sadistic training, then the fancy guns, and now a full-on hero costume made by the support team? What’s next, provisional license? A desk in your agency?”

Frustration spilled out of me faster than I could stop it.

I felt cornered — used. This wasn’t the deal. I was supposed to cooperate just enough for them to figure out what the hell happened in that lab. Then they’d realize I didn’t know anything, and I’d be free to disappear. Instead, here I was — trapped in something I’d been trying so damn hard to avoid.

“You done?”

He hadn’t raised his voice. And that— that calm tone pissed me off more than anything else.

“Don’t talk to me like—”

“It’s just a costume, Yufo.” He cut me off cleanly, without blinking. “You’re not signing a contract. You’re not fighting villains. But if I’m training you, you’re gonna have gear that doesn’t fall apart after one hit. Got it?”

My hands trembled, anger twisting into something I couldn’t quite name.

“That’s not the point—”

“It is the point.”

He took a slow step toward me, and I instinctively stepped back.

“You’re scared that once you put it on… there’s no going back.”

Silence.

Even Hatsume froze mid-keystroke, and Todoroki finally lifted his head to look at us.

“You know what?” I muttered, my voice shaking slightly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I amscared. But at least I’m not so fucking full of myself that I think I know what’s best for everyone else.”

His eyes flickered — that sharp, molten red — but he didn’t explode. He just exhaled, slow and heavy through his nose.

“I don’t know better,” he said finally, voice low. “I just know that if something happens… I want you to have a fighting chance.”

And that hit harder than I expected.

There was no arrogance in it. No control. Just raw honesty — the kind that sinks in before you can stop it.

Because maybe he was right. Maybe running and hiding wouldn’t be enough this time. Maybe the people who experimented on Reina were smarter than I thought. And maybe all the “meta knowledge” I had wasn’t going to save me when it really counted.

Hatsume cleared her throat gently, sliding the rolled-up design into my hands.

“Just try it on, okay? You don’t have to keep it. Just… see how it feels.”

I stared down at the paper — the lines, the annotations, the name printed in the corner.

Reina Kurosawa.

Not my name. But somehow, I felt the weight of it. Like it was mine to carry.

I let out a quiet sigh, half defeated, half conflicted.

I knew this was coming eventually — the point where I’d have to stop pretending this was temporary. I just didn’t think it’d happen this soon.

“Fine…” I muttered, gripping the edges of the paper a little too tightly. “But I’m not playing hero. Got it?”

I looked at him — really looked — hoping he’d tell me I wouldn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to. But deep down, I already knew the truth.

“No one’s asking you to,” he said softly.

There was something different in his calm this time — something that almost sounded like trust.Like he was asking me to trust him.

I couldn’t. Not fully. But a small part of me wanted to try.

“This outfit’s pretty normal,” Todoroki said suddenly, breaking the tension. “You could just pretend it’s regular clothing.”

I grimaced. Well, at least he was trying.

“Yeah…,” I murmured, not meeting his gaze. Then I turned to Bakugo, holding out my hand. “Give me the keys. I’ll wait in the car while you finish up.”

He didn’t argue — just nodded once and tossed me the keyring.

I said goodbye to Todoroki and Hatsume, mumbling a quick apology for the scene before turning on my heel and heading out of the lab. My steps echoed through the hallway until I reached the familiar car waiting outside.

I sank into the passenger seat with a loud sigh, leaning my head back against the headrest. My fingers toyed with the corner of the costume blueprint resting in my lap.

Everything was getting way too fucked up.

I understood that me ending up here was some kind of cosmic accident, but why the hell did it have to spiral in this direction?

Out of all the people this could’ve happened to, I was probably the worst possible pick. I wasn’t brave, or heroic, or any of that shonen crap. I was just a normal girl who happened to watch anime in her free time — not the main character in one.

Still… I couldn’t help but wonder how Reina had ended up in that lab in the first place. What would she have done if she’d been the one rescued? Would she have been dragged into the same mess? Or would she have made choices that sent everything down a completely different path?

It was hard to imagine — I didn’t even know her personality, or her story. But that didn’t matter anymore, because I was the one in her body now.

My choices would decide what happened to us.

And somehow, that thought weighed heavier than I wanted to admit.

Anyone else in my position would’ve jumped at the chance — done something epic, become a hero, or at least gotten to meet the characters they’d always loved. But me? I wasn’t a hero. The training was exhausting, life here was draining, and dealing with the blond menace definitely wasn’t helping.

I should’ve been focusing on figuring out how to fix all this — how to get back home in one piece, and return Reina’s body to her. But I had no idea where to even start. Everything was happening around me, not because of me. Like I was just a side piece in someone else’s story.

And I hated that more than anything.

A movement outside caught my attention — Bakugo’s shadow emerging from the building. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he crossed the parking lot, his steps heavy but measured. I could feel his gaze even before he reached the car. When he got close, I quickly looked away, staring straight ahead.

 

He climbed in and slammed the door shut — too hard for how calm his face looked.

No words.

He just grabbed the keys I’d left on the dash and started the engine. No music, no usual background noise. Just the low hum of the motor and his slow, steady breathing.

I closed my eyes, trying to relax — or at least pretend to.

We drove in silence.

City lights blurred past the window — streaks of color reflecting off wet asphalt. A soft rain began to fall, tapping against the glass, the wipers moving in rhythm like they were trying to drown out the quiet stretching between us.

I didn’t know if I should say something. Part of me wanted to — anything to cut the tension — but another part knew that whatever I said would probably sound like an excuse.

I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. He sat the same as always — one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the window, gaze locked straight ahead. For him, driving looked like meditation.

“You didn’t have to react like that.”

His voice sliced through the silence so calmly it made me want to punch something.

“I don’t know how else to react,” I muttered.

Rain hammered against the roof, louder now. The car smelled faintly of mint from the old air freshener hanging on the mirror — barely noticeable under the heavier scent of caramel that clung to him.

“You can,” he said simply.

Not as a suggestion. As a statement. Like fact. Like a verdict.

I opened my eyes, looking at him. From the side, he looked composed — almost detached — but I’d learned better by now. That wasn’t indifference. That was control. The kind he clung to so he wouldn’t explode.

“I don’t know if I can handle this,” I said quietly.

He adjusted his grip on the wheel but didn’t look at me.

“We’ll find out.”

The rain picked up, hitting the hood like static.

“Easy for you to say.”

“That’s because I can see it from the outside,” he replied dryly. “No one’s asking you to wear the damn costume yet. But if you’re gonna step into this mess, better not do it barefoot.”

I gave him a sidelong look, unsure if he was trying to comfort me or just piss me off even more.

He didn’t say another word. Eyes still fixed on the road, jaw tight.

There wasn’t warmth in his tone — just logic.

I turned back to the window, watching the rain slide down in crooked paths.

Bakugo turned onto a familiar street. I caught my reflection in the side mirror — Reina’s face, my thoughts behind it.

No point saying anything now. Not after that.

When he parked in front of the apartment building, he didn’t turn off the engine right away. The low hum filled the silence like neither of us wanted it to end.

Finally, he killed the ignition, leaned his elbow against the door, and turned slightly toward me.

“I don’t know what’s going on in your head,” he said, voice even, “but no one’s trying to force you into anything. So stop acting like everyone’s out to get you.”

I squinted at him, half-tired, half-defensive.

“Aren’t they?”

One eyebrow lifted. “Don’t talk bullshit.”

He was right — again — and that pissed me off more than anything.

I rolled my eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of being right out loud.

Of all people, he was the last one I should be inflating the ego of.

Still… somehow, his words landed softer than I expected. So i decided to let it be like that.

Chapter Text

I dreamed I was lying on a beach. Warm sun, salty ocean breeze brushing against my skin. Heavy sunglasses sliding down my nose, a ridiculously sweet piña colada in hand.

Perfect. Peace, quiet, no screaming kids—just me, the water, and the sand. What more could anyone want?

For starters, maybe for that damn ringing next to my ear to stop.

An annoying buzz echoed around me, breaking through the sound of waves like a mosquito that refused to die.

Seriously? Can I not enjoy one peaceful, imaginary drink without someone ruining it? What karmic sin am I paying for here?

I grumbled, half-asleep, fumbling blindly across the bed to find the source of the noise. My hand finally hit something solid, and I dragged the phone out from under a pillow, pressed my thumb somewhere on the screen, and brought it to my ear.

“Please leave a message after the signal. Beep.”

Click. I hung up and shoved the phone back under the pillow, rolling onto my side and burrowing into the blankets up to my nose.

My bliss lasted maybe five seconds before the phone started buzzing again under the pillow.

That was it. I was done.

“What the fuck do you want?” I growled, eyes still closed. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to wake people up before noon?”

“…It’s fucking one in the afternoon, dumbass.”

Ah. Of course. Who else would it be but Bakugo?

“And your point?” I muttered, finally opening my eyes to stare at the blurry ceiling.

“Get ready. Deku’s picking you up in an hour. We’ve got a meeting at the agency.”

I groaned.

“What for?”

It was one p.m., but still way too early for me to deal with hero bullshit. I needed caffeine. Immediately.

“Just get your ass up and move.”

And then—click. No goodbye, no “see you soon,” not even a polite “fuck yourself.” Truly, the pinnacle of manners.

I tossed the phone onto the pillow and let out a dramatic wail straight into it, like a dying pterodactyl in one of those fake Discovery Channel documentaries. That was my entire attitude toward today. I would be screaming.

Eventually, I dragged myself out of bed, shuffling toward the kitchen in oversized sweatpants. A few clicks later, the coffee machine started preparing my fancy caramel latte—because a tragic morning (or technically, afternoon) required heavy artillery.

Sugar with a hint of caffeine. The perfect weapon against goblins, diabetics, and pissed-off Pomeranians.

Still half-asleep, I slumped onto a stool by the kitchen island and took a sip.

Oh god. So sweet it could probably melt my teeth on contact.

But it was exactly what I needed—coffee with a soul. Not the pitch-black, joyless sludge Bakugo drinks every morning. That’s a crime against humanity.

I unlocked my phone and scrolled through messages. Yeah—my lovely, unofficial guardian had finally lifted the parental lock after my first training session with Midoriya, though only because I’d followed him around for an hour straight, begging and complaining until he gave in.

He’d agreed on one condition: that I make him coffee and a protein shake every morning while I stayed with him. Naturally, it only happened twice—because only twice had I managed to wake up before him.

Still counts.

The next minutes passed in a caffeine haze as I scrolled through hero news: which villains got caught, who won which award. I even spotted a photo of Deku and Ochako from their rescue mission two days ago—dust-covered, tired, grinning like idiots.

It made me smile. Just a little.

Then my phone started vibrating again. Unknown number.

I raised an eyebrow.

Sure, Mom always said not to pick up from strangers, but come on—who’s gonna scam me here? It’s not like this world has telemarketers selling loans.

I accepted the call and hit speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Yu, it’s Midoriya. How long until you’re ready to go?”

…what did he just call me?

Oh, perfect. The nickname Bakugo came up with was apparently spreading.

Great. Just great. Now everyone’s calling me that like I don’t have an actual name that doesn’t sound like someone choking on their own saliva.

At least Midoriya made it sound kinda cute.

Unlike its original creator.

“I don’t know. When am I supposed to be ready?” I sighed into the phone. I didn’t have the energy to argue about this kind of thing.

“Preferably in ten minutes, because that’s when I’ll be outside your building.”

I glanced at the clock on the oven—and immediately choked on my own spit.

“You okay?” Midoriya’s worried voice crackled through the line while I tried to breathe again.

“Just failed a natural human skill I’ve been practicing since birth,” I wheezed once the coughing fit passed. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I added, “Give me fifteen, at least. I didn’t even realize I’ve been sitting here for an hour doing nothing.”

“Sure, take your time,” he said, warm and unbothered, clearly expecting this exact scenario. He’d probably prepared himself mentally.

I hung up, bolted to my room, and grabbed the first vaguely clean outfit in sight before darting into the bathroom. After a record-speed shower and some hasty deodorant warfare, I threw on a loose tee, black cargo pants, and tied my hair up into a messy ponytail.

Phone—check. Spare keys—check.

Sneakers, camo jacket—and I was out the door, half-zipping the jacket as I sprinted down the stairs.

When I stepped outside, Izuku was already waiting by the car, scrolling through his phone. He stood with that unintentional hero posture—relaxed, but too perfect to be casual. His green hero suit caught the light, gleaming faintly under the afternoon sun.

For half a second, I thought about the suit Hatsume had made for me… and then quickly decided hell no. If I ever wear that thing, it’ll be on Halloween.

“Did you wait long?” I asked, stepping closer. He looked up, startled out of whatever he’d been reading, and gave me that warm, sunshine smile of his—eyes soft, shoulders easy.

God, he really did look like a golden retriever sometimes. If he had a tail, it’d be wagging right now.

“Barely three minutes,” he said cheerfully, pushing off the car to open the passenger door for me.

My brain short-circuited for a second.

Okay, I knew Izuku was polite, but seeing it in action? That was new. I just… stood there for a moment, blinking at the open door like a total idiot. When his expression turned confused, I quickly slid in and shut the door behind me.

Honestly? I think I preferred the way Bakugo treated me. At least I knew how to react to that. This level of kindness felt dangerous.

“Did Kacchan tell you what this is about?” he asked once he was behind the wheel, starting the engine with practiced ease. His driving was calm, almost delicate—very different from Bakugo’s usual “get out of my lane or die” approach.

“Nope. He spared me the details.” I grimaced, remembering that delightful morning call.

“In short, we’re meeting with the team working on the lab case. And your case.” He gave a small nod, profile soft in the passing light. “Everyone’s already briefed, so you don’t have to worry about anyone calling you by the wrong name.”

Oh—that. He meant Reina’s name. Right.

Honestly, between Ashido and Todoroki calling me by mine, I doubted it’d be an issue. Worst case, I’d just correct someone and move on.

“Cool. So they also know I’m basically useless, right?”

He hesitated for a second, like deciding how much truth I could handle. I appreciated the effort, but really—why bother sugarcoating it?

“Honestly? We’re hoping that if we go over everything with you present, it might… trigger a reaction from Reina’s consciousness.”

His tone was gentle, but his hands tightened around the steering wheel. The muscles in his forearms flexed, betraying a tension he probably didn’t mean to show.

I went quiet for a moment.

The real question wasn’t if her consciousness would react—it was whether it was even there. I’d never felt anything strange. No echoes, no déjà vu. Nothing. Just emptiness. Like the soul that once lived here had evaporated.

“We’ll see, I guess,” I murmured, leaning my temple against the window, watching the blur of passing buildings.

After a few minutes, we pulled into the underground parking lot of a sleek high-rise. I stepped out, closing the door quietly, and followed Izuku toward the elevators. The air smelled like industrial citrus and disinfectant—sharp enough to make me wrinkle my nose. He only smiled, probably used to it by now, and pressed the button for the fourteenth floor.

Oh, great. Fourteen.

Something about that number felt unlucky. Kind of like four, but with a bonus one—extra misfortune, now with added anxiety. I tried not to overthink it, silently begging whatever universe rules applied here to make it just… a normal floor.

The elevator ride up was quiet. Too quiet. I could feel the tension starting to crawl under my skin—the sterile lighting, the hum of machinery, the weight of whatever “meeting” this was going to be.

When the elevator jolted slightly to a stop, my stomach did the same. The doors slid open to reveal a spotless hallway—white walls, pale carpet, and a massive logo at the end:

Hero Public Safety Commission.

Oh, fuck.

Izuku stepped out first. I followed a beat later, scanning the hall. People moved briskly, focused, indifferent to our presence. Thank god for that—I didn’t think I could handle any kind of attention here.

After everything with Hawks… this place made my skin crawl. The idea of being inside the same institution that had turned people into pawns—it made me want to bolt for the nearest window. Fourteenth floor really was cursed.

Izuku knocked on a door, then held it open for me. I stepped inside, and yep—corporate hell incarnate.

A big black polished table. Generic chairs. Floor-to-ceiling window. The most soullessly professional conference room I’d ever seen.

Ashido was the first to greet me—by launching herself into my arms like we hadn’t seen each other in years. Considering we’d only known each other for two weeks, the enthusiasm was… something.

Todoroki gave me a quiet nod from across the table, and Bakugo sat slouched in his chair, boots propped up on the table like he owned the place.

Home sweet home.

“We’re waiting on three more people, then we’ll start,” Izuku said, taking a seat next to Bakugo.

“You nervous?” Mina whispered, leaning close enough that her breath tickled my ear.

“Maybe a little,” I admitted, eyes darting sideways. She squeezed my shoulders in silent encouragement, and I smiled faintly.

“Don’t worry,” she said softly. “You’ll see—they’ve got some real pros on this case. We’re getting there.”

Hearing words like that after everything—it felt like sinking into warm water. For a moment, I was just… grateful. Grateful that she cared enough to comfort me, that someone was still trying to help. But underneath that warmth came the same old truth: I still didn’t know a damn thing, and I had zero control over any of it.

God, I just hoped that would finally change.

Mina led me toward two empty chairs between Bakugo and Todoroki. I sat down just as the door opened again. Three people entered—Tsuakauchi, Best Jeanist, and Ryukyu.

They exchanged polite greetings, the kind that felt rehearsed.

Then—sharp pressure in my side. I glanced sideways. Bakugo, brow furrowed, was staring at me.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered under his breath.

Apparently, my “anxious mess” vibe was that obvious. I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Nothing,” before turning my attention back to the front.

Each hero introduced themselves by name and title and when it came to me, I just shrugged.

“Sorry. Don’t have one.”

Jeanist smiled faintly before taking the floor.

Apparently, he was the mastermind behind the operation.

He started explaining how the first rumor about a man vanishing and then reappearing with a completely different personality surfaced almost two months ago. Since then, there had been three more cases just like it—and the only thing they all had in common was that each one of them had turned into a villain.

They’d decided to leave the last one alone, keeping tabs on him from a distance. That’s when they found their first lead—the guy kept going back to the same location every other day. Turns out the previous two had been spotted there as well. And that place just happened to be the same lab I remembered from two weeks ago—the one where I’d woken up in this body.

A shiver crawled down my spine at the memory of cold water closing around me, and that sterile, metallic smell of disinfectant and blood.

“We had a theory—partly confirmed, partly not—about possible experiments being conducted there,” Jeanist said, nodding toward me. “Every one of those criminals denied it, while the civilian sitting with us today confirmed it.”

His gaze made others look my way too, and I straightened instinctively, back stiff as a wire.

“Unfortunately, every one of them was fully aware of who they were, what they did, where they were born,” Ryukyu continued. “The only difference was behavioral. They were more impulsive, more violent. No signs of memory loss or altered consciousness.”

“Couldn’t it be that they were just assisting with the experiments?” Ashido asked, lifting her hand slightly.

“Possibly, if not for one detail that matches what we found in the police lab,” Tsukauchi cut in. He grabbed a remote and turned on the projector. Charts and a photo appeared—one of a shattered capsule, fluid spilled all around it.

“They told us that the liquid inside Kurosawa’s capsule was nothing but a regenerative solution—a healing compound. Unfortunately, lab analysis confirms that.”

“So for them, it was some kind of freaky healing therapy… while for her, it meant ending up in a completely different body?” Midoriya said, scratching his chin in thought.

“Sounds like a shitty version of a spa day with a happy ending,” I muttered, probably louder than I meant to, because most of the room turned to look at me.

Bakugo exhaled through his nose, pinching the bridge of it in silent resignation, while Ashido snorted, covering her mouth too late to hide her laugh.

“Moving on…” Tsukauchi cleared his throat and clicked again. More photos of the grim-looking lab filled the wall. “We searched every inch of the place. None of the equipment seemed capable of anything remotely close to consciousness transfer.”

Honestly, the consciousness transfer part might’ve been the least impossible thing here—especially in a world full of quirks that can rewrite reality. The real issue was that the transfer had somehow dragged me, a person from another world entirely, into this one. Great. Multiversal body swap. Spiderverse vibes. Where the hell was my Doctor Strange to send me home?

I didn’t know how crucial that detail was, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to say it out loud. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe not. Either way, I wasn’t in the mood for awkward questions. That particular secret could stay mine.

“Were there any people there at all? Someone who could’ve been behind this… spa?” I asked, raising my hand a little.

Tsukauchi looked up at me and nodded once. “No. When we raided the lab, it was empty. Except for you.”

He paused for half a beat before continuing. “Which leads us to believe that if they did have any device capable of consciousness transfer, they took it with them—and still have it.”

I sighed under my breath, leaning back in the chair. Still too many unknowns. Too many holes. In short, I’d learned almost nothing useful.

I tried to sum it up in my head. Okay, so someone had been running a horror-house-style spa, performing god-knows-what kind of experiments on people who later decided to screw it all and start killing for fun. Yeah, makes total sense. Most logical shit I’ve heard all week.

I was more than sure—and everyone else probably was too—that this whole “regenerative therapy” story was complete bullshit. But without proof, they couldn’t do a damn thing.

“And what about Kurosawa herself?”

The low, familiar tone pulled me out of my thoughts. Bakugo. I turned to him, frowning slightly.

“The other suspects disappeared just days before their behavioral shifts. What about her body? Do we have any information on her?”

Before Jeanist answered, he shot me a sharp look—colder than before. What the hell did I do now?

“Kurosawa Reina has been officially missing for over two years.”

Silence. Goosebumps crawled up my arms again. Shit. This was officially getting creepy.

“She attended Ketsubutsu High in the hero course. During her third year, she was transferred to general class. The principal didn’t disclose the reason for the transfer,” he went on. “After graduation, there’s no record of her activities. She moved out from her aunt’s place the same day school ended…”

“Then how do we know she’s been missing for two years, not five?” Midoriya asked, turning toward me with that concerned look that made me want to roll my eyes.

I just raised a brow at him. Not my past, buddy. Not my problem.

“Her aunt filed the missing person report after Kurosawa’s boss from the bookstore contacted her. Apparently, she stopped showing up for work a month prior,” Tsukauchi replied.

“What’s more interesting is why she quit the hero course,” Bakugo muttered, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

Yeah… I could already tell where that thought was going. He’d seen firsthand what this quirk could do during training.

“Maybe she just decided she wasn’t cut out for it?” Todoroki suggested.

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Right. Because people drop out after two damn years with just one left to go.”

Fair point. Even if she didn’t plan to go pro, switching to general studies like that was a drastic move.

“Maybe she was forced to transfer,” Ashido said quietly.

I looked at her. She met my gaze, worry written all over her face—just like Midoriya earlier. I exhaled, feeling the weight of it all pressing against my ribs. Why did Reina’s story have to be such a damn labyrinth?

“Kurosawa was your age,” Ryukyu finally said after a long silence, looking at the former U.A. students. “You might’ve seen her during the provisional license exams. But she never showed up.”

The room went still again, everyone lost in thought. As for me… my brain felt like it was overheating from the sheer amount of why, how, and what the hell for.

Every piece of information they gave me only made things blurrier, like trying to assemble a puzzle from mismatched sets.

Jeanist finally cleared his throat. “Let’s move on to our main point of discussion,” he said, adjusting his collar. “You.”

I blinked, pointing at myself like a confused kid. “Wait—me?”

Yeah, I really didn’t like where this was going.

“What do you mean - me?” My voice came out tighter than I meant it to, and I could feel my hands start to shake. Something in my gut told me this was about to go sideways. “In a couple of days, the two weeks I was supposed to stay at Bakugo’s are up. Then I’m going back to Mei’s.”

“No,” Tsukauchi said flatly.

Just that. No explanation, no pause. And something in me snapped.

I stood so fast my chair screeched against the floor, slamming both palms on the table hard enough for the sting to crawl up my arms.

“The hell I am! You’re not locking me up anywhere!”

He didn’t even flinch. Of course he didn’t.

“Yu, It’s for your own safety—” Midoriya started softly, and that tone—gentle, cautious, almost apologetic—made my irritation flare straight into anger.

“Don’t Yu me right now, Midoriya,” I cut him off sharply. “A deal’s a deal. I made an agreement with Bakugo, and I’m sticking to it.”

I jabbed a finger toward the blond, though I didn’t bother to look at him. My attention was glued to the three people standing across the table—the ones pulling all the strings.

“You would’ve been assigned to Bakugo’s supervision even if he hadn’t found you,” Jeanist said suddenly.

My head snapped toward him. “Huh…?”

He must’ve seen the question written all over my face, because he kept going. “When you were still hospitalized, I made the decision myself. You were to be placed under his watch regardless. Your little escape and whatever arrangement you two made afterward have nothing to do with the official decision.”

I stared at him, completely speechless.

Something twisted in my chest—an ugly mix of anger and disappointment. Yeah, I’d known from the start that Bakugo didn’t take me in out of pure kindness, but hearing that I never had a choice at all… that hit different.

I didn’t expect him to care. Hell, I barely even tolerated him most days. But still—knowing he’d been ordered to watch me, not chosen to… it stung in a way I couldn’t fully explain.

I dropped my gaze, biting down hard on my lip. I couldn’t tell what hurt more—the total lack of control over my own life, or this stupid sense of betrayal I had no right to feel.

I glanced toward him, but he wasn’t looking at me. Of course not. Why would he? Not his problem. Typical.

I sank back into my chair, head down, jaw locked. The room went quiet, heavy. I could feel every heartbeat echoing against my ribs, my throat tightening with anger—or maybe with something dangerously close to tears. No. Not here. Not now.

Then a low sigh broke the silence. I heard a chair scrape beside me, and for a second I thought he was walking out. But then—his hand landed on my head.

Bakugo’s palm was warm, heavy, steady.

“Yufo stays under my protection,” he said, voice calm but iron-tight. “Even if she moves in to Mrs. Mei.”

I didn’t move, just sat there under his hand. Maybe it was his way of grounding me, or maybe it was just a silent I’ve got this. Either way, I was grateful for the curtain of hair hiding my face.

“Dynamight, we can’t just let her roam free,” Tsukauchi objected.

Bakugo’s fingers pressed lightly against my head, as if he was using me to hold himself back from losing his shit.

“The only thing that changes,” he said slowly, “is the address. Training schedule stays the same. She’ll have a tracker and a biometric monitor. If someone tries anything, we’ll find her before they even touch a hair on her head.”

Finally, his hand lifted. I looked up. He stood tall, posture rigid, brows drawn tight—but there was something in his eyes that almost looked like defiance.

I hadn’t expected him to take my side. But he did. And damn, that… actually helped.

“Bakugo, you know that’s risky,” Ryukyu said, her tone calm but firm.

His jaw tightened. “I’ve known Yufo for two weeks, but I can promise she’s not the type to play dumb about her own safety. If something happens, she’ll call us immediately.”

Tsukauchi exhaled, long and tired. “You’re taking responsibility for that?”

Bakugo nodded once. “Yeah.”

That was it. Meeting over. The older heroes filed out, leaving the room oddly hollow behind them.

I just sat there, a little stunned. So—back to Mei’s, as planned. Only difference? I’d be under twenty-four-hour surveillance… and apparently, Bakugo had just told everyone he trusted me.

Okay, maybe “trusted” was a strong word. More like trusted me not to fuck up. But still. That was… something.

Not exactly a heartwarming declaration of faith, but coming from him? It counted.

Too many revelations. Too many emotions. My brain was fried. I just wanted my bed.

Before I could stand, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to see Ashido watching me, worry softening her features.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” she murmured. “I just… didn’t know what to do.”

I blinked at her, genuinely confused. “Mina, it’s not your fault.”

“I just…” she started, but was cut off when the door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.

The sound made me flinch, heartbeat spiking again.

“Izuku!”

The voice was unfamiliar—high, bright, but warm enough to pour over you like honey on toast. I peeked past Mina’s shoulder to see who it belonged to… and yeah, I definitely didn’t recognize her.

Big, soft blue eyes. Hair the color of sunlight, falling in gentle waves down to her waist. Round cheeks, delicate features. She looked like an actual angel that had just tripped out of heaven—and the sweet, effortless smile on her face only made the impression worse.

“Mizue… you were supposed to wait outside,” Midoriya said, his tone sheepish as he quickly moved toward her. She lit up at the sight of him, all fluttery and bright-eyed. Oh. So this was the famous girlfriend. The one Bakugo didn’t trust.

I glanced toward the blond, and yeah—same story as before. The moment he saw her, his whole expression soured. Brows drawn tight, jaw tense. He looked like he was about to bite through his own tongue just to keep from exploding.

So maybe “doesn’t trust her” was an understatement. He looked like he outright despised her.

But why? Sure, I knew the rule: never trust the sweet ones. The ones who look too soft, too kind, too goddamn perfect. But Bakugo? He wasn’t exactly the “shoujo romance sixth sense” type. So was it his instincts, or just my genre-savvy paranoia screaming in sync with his? Because if there’s one thing fiction teaches you, it’s that the cute, innocent ones always have the sharpest teeth.

And right now, the “cute and innocent” girlfriend of the main hero was practically glowing. Poor Deku—he had no idea he was standing in the splash zone of narrative disaster.

Or maybe… not him. Because when our eyes met, her smile froze—and then vanished. Her whole face went blank, like someone had just unplugged her from the power source. A chill ran straight down my spine.

What the hell was that?

“Izuku…” she said softly, and then—just like that—her expression snapped back to normal. Confused, even. “Who’s this? Is she the one under protection you mentioned?”

Midoriya went pale. Oh, nice one, genius. You just gave your innocent girlfriend access to classified info. 

“Ah, that’s—uh—” He grabbed her hand with an awkward laugh and turned to me. “This is Yu. She’s… Yeah we’re protecting her. Yu, this is Amamiya Mizue.”

The girl—Mizue—extended her hand toward me with a warm, practiced smile. Too warm. Like a sunlamp cranked to uncomfortable.

“Pro hero name: Dahlia,” she said lightly. “And also—Izuku’s girlfriend.”

Ah. So that’s what this was. Not murdery, just territorial. Guess she didn’t like hearing her boyfriend use a cute nickname for another girl. Fair enough, but damn, she drew that line like she was planting a neon sign in front of me.

I gave her hand a brief shake. “Right… yeah. Congrats. Or whatever.”

“Yu… was it—” she started, but stopped when broad shoulders suddenly stepped between us.

“For you, it’s Miss.” Bakugo’s tone was so sharp it could’ve cut glass.

I blinked. What the hell crawled up his ass?

“Kacchan,” Midoriya said warningly, his voice low. But Bakugo didn’t move. He stood square between me and Mizue, gaze locked, body language practically radiating try me.

The air went heavy that I could’ve sliced through the tension with a knife. They looked one word away from tearing into each other—and honestly, fine by me. Whatever weird static had just passed between me and that girl, it vanished under the weight of their silent standoff.

“Oh, Dynamight,” Mizue said sweetly. “Forgot you were here for a second.”

Wow. Not even a “Bakugo.” Straight to the hero name. Yeah, these two definitely hated each other.

“I don’t have the patience for your fighting,” Midoriya muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose before giving me an apologetic look.

He said his goodbyes, then led Mizue out by the hand. Just before the door shut, she glanced back at me—her expression oddly neutral this time. Curious, maybe. Like she was trying to figure me out.

Right. Good luck with that.

Still… what the hell was that scene?

I turned to Bakugo, utterly bewildered. Ashido, standing next to me, looked just as stunned. And then Todoroki—of all people—decided to make it worse.

“Wow, Bakugo,” he said casually. “Didn’t know you cared about her that much.”

Oh no.

Because just like that, the calm, matured version of Bakugo I’d been seeing these past days evaporated.

He exploded. “The fuck are you talking about, you half-baked popsicle?! Get your damn eyes checked!”

I rolled my eyes, choosing to ignore the shouting match in favor of turning to Mina, who was already snickering under her breath—clearly used to this routine.

“You think that was weird?” I asked quietly.

“It was,” she admitted, frowning thoughtfully. “Mizue’s… complicated. She’s really sweet, helpful even, but sometimes it’s like she knows more than she should. Like she’s always one step ahead.”

My lips twitched. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“She and Bakugo—” Mina lowered her voice. “—they’ve never gotten along. So if she gave you that weird look, I’m not surprised he stepped in. If I found it off, he probably saw it as an outright threat.”

I nodded slowly. That tracked.

Bakugo, for whatever reason, was the only one who didn’t trust her—and apparently, I was starting to get why. She didn’t mean much to me personally, just somebody’s girlfriend. Pretty, polite, harmless-looking. But that blank stare earlier? Yeah, no. That was something else.

Still, maybe it was nothing. Maybe she was just jealous. Can’t blame her—Deku only uses nicknames like that with Bakugo. Hearing him say it to someone else must’ve hit a nerve.

And that was probably it.

After a short chat, I said goodbye to Mina and Todoroki, and stayed in the room with blond pro hero who was still with that stormy scowl.

Without a word, he muttered, “We’re leaving,” and stalked off toward the exit.

I followed in silence, watching the tension roll off his shoulders as he shoved his hands deep into his jogger pockets. He looked… almost sulky. Which was wild, considering he usually carried himself like he owned the damn air around him. Now he just looked like a pissed-off kid who’d been told he had feelings.

And honestly? Total bullshit. He didn’t care about me. Not really. He just didn’t want our deal broken, because that would’ve meant he failed. Classic Bakugo logic.

As for Amamiya… yeah, I’d prefer not to see her again. Ever. She gave me the same energy as that coworker who offers you coffee with a smile every morning—then rats you out to the boss by lunch.

So yeah. I got it. I didn’t trust her either.

When we stepped into the elevator, I automatically stopped half a step behind him. He threw me a look over his shoulder—irritated, but didn’t say anything. I could live with that. Better my ears suffer from his shouting than my nose deal with that sterile citrus–alcohol stench again. At least from here, I could smell the faint trace of burnt caramel I’d grown used to.

“…Thanks,” I muttered.

His shoulders tensed instantly. “For what?” he asked, quiet but gruff.

“For keeping our deal,” I said honestly.

He didn’t move, didn’t even look at me. Just stood there, stiff and awkward, like he didn’t know what to do with gratitude when it was aimed at him.

He only spoke again when the elevator doors opened to the underground parking lot.

“Don’t get the wrong idea,” he said, stepping out. “I’m just tired of waking your exhausted ass up every morning and dealing with whatever new way you find to piss me off.”

I blinked at the closing doors, then raised my middle finger at his retreating back.

“Oh fuck yourself, Blondie!”