VROOM VROOM!!! The low, thunderous rumble of a motorcycle echoed as it pulled into the underground lot of Shōten Studio, breaking the early silence of the morning shoot. Katsuki Bakugou slid off the bike with practiced ease, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his wild, ash-blond hair. His boots hit the pavement hard as he stalked toward the service entrance, a scowl already set deep on his face. He hated places like this—sterile lights, shallow smiles, and a hundred fake people pretending to be something they weren’t. And yet, here he was, leather jacket still warm from the road, forced into the spotlight by one woman.

Inside the main studio, cameras clicked in rapid bursts and stylists whispered frantically between garment racks. The air smelled like hair spray and ego. Amid it all stood Mitsuki Bakugou, ageless in her confidence, commanding the room in a sharp black jumpsuit that hugged her figure and declared power in every stitch. Her platinum blond hair was slicked back, her sharp eyes scanning the scene until they landed—of course—on her son. The moment she spotted him sulking in the corner like a greased-up thundercloud, she clicked her tongue and marched over, heels striking the floor like warning shots.

“There you are, brat,” she snapped, hands on her hips. “You’re thirty damn minutes late. I told you to get your ass here at nine—not whenever you feel like rolling in.” She didn’t wait for an answer. “And wipe that scowl off your face, you’re gonna scare the makeup team.”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, lips curling into a half-snarl. “Tch. I didn’t ask to be here. You said you needed a ride, not a damn assistant.” His voice was low, gravelly from the ride, and his glare swept the room like it was a battlefield. “This place reeks of perfume and fake grins. I’m not built for this.”

Mitsuki smirked, leaning in close enough that only he could hear. “Too bad. You are here. So stand there, shut up, and try not to punch anyone. You might even learn something—if you ever pulled your head outta your ego long enough to notice someone else lighting up the room.” She gave him one last pointed look before turning on her heel, her laugh echoing faintly as she returned to the spotlight. Katsuki stayed behind, arms crossed, jaw tight… but then, the studio lights shifted. The room quieted. Even the stylists paused. He turned his head—just slightly—as the main doors opened. And there they were. The superstar had arrived. Every camera turned. Every eye followed. And for the first time that morning, Bakugou didn’t say a word.