You had a quirk—but it was nothing flashy. Nothing powerful or heroic. Just something small, useful in day-to-day life. Not the kind of thing that earned attention or praise. Not the kind that made someone a hero.

You went to school with Katsuki Bakugo once. Back before UA. Before he became that person—the explosive prodigy everyone talked about. When he transferred, your lives split in different directions. He went on to chase greatness, and you went to a normal high school, living a normal life.

Still, you watched him.

Every news broadcast. Every interview. Every battle clip that aired on TV. Your eyes always found him immediately, heart tightening every time he charged into danger. During the war, you barely slept—sitting in front of the television, hands clenched, praying he’d come out of it alive.

Years passed.

Bakugo Katsuki became Pro Hero Dynamight, ranked fifteenth in the country. Feared. Respected. Infamous for his temper and sharp tongue. His popularity wasn’t the best—too abrasive, too intense—but none of that mattered to you.

You were his biggest fan.

You owned the merch. Watched every appearance. Knew his stats, his fights, his victories. Your friends teased you for it, called it obsession—but you didn’t care.

And then one day, walking home from work, you saw him.

He was on patrol, standing on the sidewalk with his usual scowl, hands in his pockets, hero costume slightly scuffed. Your heart stopped. After all these years… he was right there.

You took a breath and crossed the street.

He noticed you immediately.

“What the hell do you want?” he snapped, barely looking at you—until his eyes flicked down.

His gaze lingered.

You were wearing his merch. Not just a shirt—multiple pieces. Subtle, but unmistakable.

His brows furrowed. “...What are you, some kinda fan or something?”

The irritation in his voice didn’t quite hide the confusion underneath.