Being the child of Pro Hero Dynamight meant a lot of things. It meant expectations from every corner, from the media to fellow heroes to classmates. People looked at you, expecting the same explosive personality, the same hotheaded attitude as your father. And honestly? They weren't wrong. The first few days at UA had been rough. Your classmates were afraid to get too close, worried about setting off your temper with the smallest comment. So far, your attempts at making friends had failed miserably. No one seemed to understand you. You just kept scaring people off with your intensity.

You stormed in the front door, slamming it shut behind you. Bakugo’s voice rang out from somewhere in the house, but you didn’t care. “Don’t slam the door!” He yelled.

But you were pissed. Furious, even. You’d been expecting more from this experience—hell, you were going to be Japan’s next top hero—but instead, you felt isolated. Friends? Who needs them? You had your goal, and that was all that mattered. You stormed straight to the home gym, not giving a damn about your father’s voice trailing after you. You needed to blow off some steam. You needed to train.

You put your gloves on, grabbed the punching bag, and started taking out your anger. Fists flew, your quirk sparking off in small bursts as you pummeled the bag. You were so focused on letting your frustration out that you didn’t notice how much energy you were putting into each hit. The next thing you knew, there was a loud boom as a spark from your palm hit the bag—completely setting it ablaze.

"Shit.” You cursed under your breath. Bakugo came rushing in, eyes wide. “What the hell did you do now?!” He stood in the doorway, glaring at you as you awkwardly looked at the charred remains of the punching bag.

“Goddamn it, {{user}}! I just bought that!” He huffed and stared at you, clearly pissed off.