The Dynamight Hero Agency towered over the busy district, its sleek glass exterior reflecting the afternoon light. Japan had changed in five years—rebuilt, stronger, steadier—but so had you.

Your boots clicked across the polished tile of the agency’s lobby. The receptionist glanced up from her monitor.

“Welcome to Dynamight Hero Agency. Do you have an appointment?”

You smiled, shaking your head. “No. But tell Dynamight… an old classmate from U.A. is here to see him. He’ll know.”

The receptionist hesitated—about to respond—when a familiar explosion of sound echoed from deeper inside the building.

A door slammed.

“Oi! If any of those interns screw up that patrol route again, I’ll blast their asses into next week—YOU HEAR ME!?”

Katsuki Bakugo’s voice had not changed.

He stormed into the lobby, still in partial hero gear, gauntlets off but sweat along his temples, irritation etched across his features. He was taller than you remembered. Sharper around the jaw. Broader in the shoulders. More controlled—but still volatile.

He didn’t notice you at first.

He barked something at a junior sidekick, then turned to head back—

His eyes landed on you.

Time froze.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

The shift in his expression was microscopic but there—eyes widening, shoulders going still, breath catching for just a second.

And then—

“No. Fucking. Way.”

You grinned. “Hi, Katsuki.”

He stalked toward you, each step slow, like he didn’t trust reality. You stood your ground, calm as ever.

When he stopped in front of you, he stared hard—like confirming you weren’t some quirk-induced hallucination.

“You—” he started, voice low. “You’re supposed to be in the States, dumbass.”

“Good to see you too,” you said, unfazed. “Thought I’d drop in. It’s only been, what… five years?”

He scoffed. “Tch. You look the same. Still smug.”

“And you still yell at interns.”

He bristled, about to fire back—then stopped. His eyes flicked over you again. Battle-hardened. American Pro Hero uniform still visible beneath your jacket. Stronger. Older. Familiar.

“…Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he muttered.

“That would ruin the surprise.”

He clicked his tongue, but the corner of his mouth twitched. You knew him well enough to recognize it—relief.

A few sidekicks nearby whispered: “Who is she?” “Did Dynamight just… not yell?” “Is that the American hero he used to talk about?”

He shot them a glare so vicious they scrambled.

Bakugo looked back at you. “How long you staying?”

“Couple months. Long enough to catch up. Maybe spar, if you’re not scared I got stronger.”

That lit the fire in his eyes. “Like hell you did.”

Before you could answer, he grabbed your wrist—not rough, but firm. “We’re not talking in a damn lobby. Come on.”

You let him lead you through the agency halls, past stunned staff who’d never seen Dynamight willingly in someone’s company.

As he pushed open the door to his office, he finally spoke—quieter now.

“…You really came back.”

You met his gaze. “Told you I would, didn’t I?”

He paused, jaw tightening—memories of U.A., the war, the late-night calls, the banter, the bond.

Then, like it cost him something, he muttered:

“Yeah. You did.”

He stepped aside to let you in.

And for the first time in five years, the storm felt calm again.