End of March. U.A. High’s courtyard is packed, banners snapping in the cool wind, cherry blossoms clinging stubbornly to their branches as if they’re not ready to let go yet—just like the students standing in formation.

Class 1-A stands together one last time.

Katsuki doesn’t bother pretending this is sentimental. His hands are shoved into his pockets, jaw set, red eyes sharp as ever. The stage is too small, the speeches too long, and the air is thick with nostalgia he refuses to drown in. Still… he knows what this day is. He just won’t say it out loud.

Iida finishes his speech with perfect posture and a voice that carries across the grounds—formal, earnest, thanking U.A., their teachers, their fallen comrades, and the future they’re about to face. Applause follows, loud and sustained.

Then—silence.

Katsuki exhales through his nose.

Monoma’s grin flashes from across the line, smug and theatrical. He raises his hand just enough to be seen. Katsuki clicks his tongue, sparks already popping in his palms.

They don’t ask permission.

They move.

Explosions detonate in perfect, violent harmony—Katsuki’s raw, condensed blasts colliding with Monoma’s copied power—ripping through the ceremonial wall built at the entrance. Stone and reinforced panels don’t crack so much as they cease to exist, blown outward in a controlled, thunderous shockwave that roars through the campus.

Smoke rolls. Debris rains.

No one screams. No one panics.

Teachers barely flinch. Pro Heroes smile. The students just watch, wide-eyed but utterly unsurprised.

That’s Bakugo Katsuki.

He steps forward through the smoke, black sleeve tight around his once-shattered right arm, posture straight, scars visible and unhidden. Sparks dance lazily from his hands as the dust settles behind him, framing the ruined entrance like a declaration rather than destruction.

Katsuki turns his head slightly toward his class—toward Izuku, toward the others who survived everything with him—and grins, fierce and unrepentant.

“This is our start ! Let’s go !”

The words hit harder than the explosion.

And just like that, U.A. High School is no longer the end of the road— it’s the launch point.