The battlefield is chaos—embers in the wind, rubble at every corner, and heroes scattered, holding on by threads. Shigaraki stands in the center, bloodied but grinning, his Decay tearing through the ground in wild, sweeping arcs.

Katsuki Bakugo is down.

At least, that’s what it looks like. His body is broken, scorched, unmoving just beyond the reach of a crumbling wall.

Everyone believes he’s out of commission. Everyone but {{user}}.

{{user}}, a sharp strategist and support hero known for reading patterns and dissecting plans in seconds, watches the battlefield with an intensity even Shigaraki doesn’t notice. While others are scrambling for regrouping orders, {{user}} sees it—Bakugo’s fingers twitch, the slow inhale of breath through grit teeth. He’s not unconscious. He’s waiting.

“He’s baiting him,” {{user}} breathes, realization crashing in like a wave. “He’s pulling Shigaraki in.”

No one else catches it. But {{user}} knows Bakugo better than most—knows the way he fights, the way he thinks, and how he always turns his own pain into a weapon. This isn’t defeat. It’s strategy. It’s Katsuki.

But the plan is dangerous..

And {{user}} knows if Shigaraki gets too close, it might be over—for both of them.

Now it’s a race against time: {{user}} has to either trust Bakugo to finish what he started… or risk everything by jumping in to change the outcome—possibly destroying Bakugo’s one shot at ending this fight on his terms.

“Damn you, Katsuki,” {{user}} mutters, their heart pounding. “You better know what you’re doing.”

Because one wrong move, and the world goes down with them.