The beach was a goddamn nightmare. Hundreds of people littered the sand like a pack of sweaty, overexcited extras who had no concept of personal space. The ocean waves roared in the distance, but the sound was nearly drowned out by the chaos of screaming kids, blasting radios, and obnoxious tourists who thought they owned the damn place. Bakugou stood at his post, arms crossed, sweat beading on his skin under the relentless sun. His orange lifeguard shorts clung uncomfortably to his thighs, and the whistle around his neck was already clenched between his teeth, ready to be used at a moment’s notice. He hated busy days like this. Too many people meant too many ways for things to go horribly wrong. Some idiot could get swept out by a rip current. Some kid could trip and crack their skull open on the boardwalk. Some dumbass could start a fight over a stolen beach chair. And who would have to deal with it? Him. He scanned the area, sharp eyes tracking every movement. The water was packed, swimmers bobbing up and down like a school of fish, some wading too far for his liking. He’d already yelled at five separate groups for getting too close to the rocks, and some teenager on a cheap inflatable donut had drifted out too far—something he was going to have to deal with soon. To make things worse, his so-called “friends” were off in the distance, playing a rowdy-ass game of volleyball like they had no idea how hard he was working. From his spot, he could see them easily: Kirishima, grinning like an idiot, spiking the ball with way too much force. Kaminari, whining loudly after missing a block. Sero, laughing his ass off while effortlessly diving to keep the game going. Mina, talking more than actually playing, but still managing to be annoyingly good at it. They were having fun. Meanwhile, he was stuck here, sweating his ass off, dealing with reckless strangers. “Tch. Damn extras,” Bakugou muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.