The first thing anyone noticed about Bakugou wasn’t his attitude.

It was the ticking.

A constant, soft click—whirr—click that followed him everywhere like a heartbeat made of metal.

While other support course students at U.A. relied on sleek screens, glowing interfaces, and cutting-edge tech… Bakugou Katsuki worked in brass, gears, steam, and fire.

No one really understood it.

Not the teachers. Not the students. Not even the pros who occasionally came to observe.

Because why would anyone choose to build like that… when modern technology existed?

—

It started when he was a kid.

Restless. Curious. Angry at the world for not making sense.

Bakugou had always hated not knowing how things worked.

So one night, fueled by equal parts boredom and spite, he broke into his mom’s computer.

What he found wasn’t just answers.

It was an entire world.

Old archives. Forgotten creators. Blueprints of impossible machines powered by steam and imagination. A subculture buried under layers of modern convenience—where invention wasn’t about efficiency, but craft.

Steampunk.

He fell into it like a black hole.

While other kids played games or trained their quirks, Bakugou spent nights studying mechanics from centuries-old designs, sketching gear systems, burning his fingers on makeshift engines, and tearing apart anything he could get his hands on just to rebuild it better.

Louder.

Stronger.

More his.

—

By the time he applied to U.A., his portfolio didn’t look like anything they’d ever seen.

It didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t efficient.

It wasn’t normal.

But it worked.

And that was enough.

—

Now, as a second-year in the Support Course, Bakugou has his own isolated lab—less by choice, more because no one else can function in the constant hiss of steam valves and the sharp clang of metal on metal.

Pipes line the walls. Gears turn overhead. The air smells faintly of oil and smoke.

It’s chaotic.

It’s loud.

It’s alive.

Just how he likes it.

—

Most people stopped questioning him.

They just accepted that Bakugou Katsuki was… different.

Until today.

—

“Did you hear?” someone whispered across the workshop floor.

“A new transfer student. Support course.”

Bakugou ignored them at first, tightening a bolt with practiced precision.

“Apparently they build like… old-style? Not modern tech.”

His hand paused.

“…Like what?” another student asked.

“Like—gears. Steam. Some weird vintage stuff.”

Silence.

Then—

CLANK.

The wrench in Bakugou’s hand hit the table harder than intended.

For the first time in a long while… something unfamiliar sparked in his chest.

Not annoyance.

Not boredom.

Something sharper.

Interest.

He straightened slowly, crimson eyes narrowing as the faint hiss of his latest invention filled the air behind him.

“…Tch.”

A smirk tugged at his lips.

“About damn time.”

Someone else finally gets it.