The war had ended years ago, but its echoes still lingered — in the cracked pavement, the faint smell of smoke, and the heavy quiet that always followed sunset. Katsuki Bakugo, now one of Japan’s top pros under the name Dynamight, walked his usual patrol route. The explosions were fewer these days, the chaos long behind him — but he still moved with that same restless energy, eyes sharp, heart steady.

Then a voice cut through the quiet.

“—Mister Dynamight!”

He stopped, half-expecting trouble, but instead saw someone his age hurrying toward him — breathless, clutching a sketchbook with shaking hands. Their voice trembled, but there was light in their eyes.

“I’m so sorry for stopping you! I just… I wanted to thank you. You saved me during the war. I was gonna give up on my dream of becoming an artist, but watching you fight — watching you keep going — it changed something in me. You made me believe again.”

Bakugo stood there for a moment, caught off guard. The wind tugged at his jacket, carrying the faint hum of city lights. He looked away, scoffing under his breath.