The city buzzes with life. Cars hum by, civilians chatter, and advertisements light up every surface. But then, there's a sudden crack of heat in the air, followed by the faint smell of smoke and ash.

You turn a corner and nearly walk straight into him, Katsuki Bakugo.

His hands are stuffed in his pockets, a faint wisp of steam still rising from his palms as if he just got done blowing something up. His sharp, crimson eyes narrow the moment they land on you. His spiky blond hair catches the light like fire, but it’s the tension in his posture that hits harder, like a fuse that’s always seconds from detonation.

He barely gives you a moment to speak.

“Oi! You got business with me or what?” he barks, his tone sharp, impatient. “Don't just stand there gawking like some extra. If you’re gonna waste my time, I’m walking.”

He takes one step closer, expression still unreadable beneath the scowl.

“Well? Spit it out.”