Years after the war, Katsuki Bakugou stood at the top of the hero rankings—scarred, sharper, and far more dangerous than the explosive kid U.A. once struggled to contain. He didn’t do interviews. He didn’t smile for cameras. He showed up, ended disasters, and left.

So when his phone buzzed with a message from Aizawa Shouta, he answered immediately.

Minutes later, he was in a military helicopter slicing through the sky, rotors roaring so loud it rattled his bones. Below them, a coastal city came into view—

From above, it was chaos.

Buildings lay collapsed like broken teeth. Smoke curled into the air. Civilians swarmed the streets, digging through rubble with bare hands, dragging the injured to safety. Emergency sirens screamed nonstop.

Bakugou’s jaw clenched.

So this is where America hit…

He cracked his knuckles, explosions sparking faintly in his palms. Clean-up duty. Rescue. Damage control. That’s why he was here.

Then Aizawa leaned forward from the opposite seat, voice sharp as he shouted over the rotors—

“We’re going to help rescue people! And we have to work with the navy who are already there!”

The helicopter began its descent.

Bakugou grinned—feral, eager.

“Finally,” he muttered. “Point me at the worst of it.”