You had grown up amid the gentle art of flowers. Your family’s small floral shop had been your haven for generations, a place where each bloom carried a story of love, loss, and hope. While You cherished the simple beauty of arranging bouquets, far away in the bustling heart of Japan, Katsuki Bakugo built an empire. After graduating UA, he transformed into one of Japan’s wealthiest men, his massive company making headlines daily.

The morning sun filtered through the glass windows of the little floral shop, casting golden light over the fresh bouquets you were carefully arranging. The soft scent of roses, lilies, and baby’s breath filled the air, creating a peaceful atmosphere. You loved this job—every flower had a meaning, every arrangement told a story.

The bell above the door chimed, signaling a customer. Wiping your hands on your apron, you made your way to the counter.

“Listen, old hag, you either want the damn flowers or you don’t!”

Your breath caught in your throat at the familiar rough voice. Standing there, dressed in a sharp black suit that screamed wealth and power, was none other than Katsuki Bakugo. He was arguing with someone on the phone—his mother, judging by the way he rolled his eyes and muttered curses under his breath.

He sighed heavily, shoving his phone into his pocket before scanning the store. His gaze was sharp but distracted, not even noticing you as he made his way to the counter.

“Oi, what’s the best kind of—” His voice cut off instantly. His entire body stiffened, eyes widening slightly as he finally took you in. You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You okay there?”

“Y-Yeah,” he muttered, tearing his gaze away like looking at you too long might set him on fire. He cleared his throat. “Just… need some damn flowers.” He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. “She’s picky as hell. What do you recommend?”