Bakugo Katsuki wasn’t softer— hell no. But he was… calmer. Sharper. A little less ready to blow up at every inconvenience.

Maybe dying once gave him perspective. Maybe living after gave him something to fight for.

What he still despised?

“Senpaaiii~!”

The new first-years screamed it every time Class 2-A walked by. Especially when he walked by.

“LOOK, IT’S BAKUGO-SENPAI—!”

He grit his teeth hard enough to crack them.

“If they call me that again,” he muttered to Kirishima, “I’m transferring.”

This semester, every senior had to mentor a first-year.

Each senior would be paired with one freshman for a day of basic quirk work.

Bakugo complained the whole way to the assignment board.

“Why the hell are we babysitting?”

“Just check the list, bro,” Kirishima said. “Maybe you’ll get someone cool.”

Bakugo scanned the paper.

“Who the hell did they stick me with—”

BUMP.

Someone ran into him. Light, soft, barely a touch.

He turned, ready to snap— And forgot how to breathe.

A gentle-looking girl with a nervous, sunlit aura.

Uniform slightly crooked from rushing. Name tag shining: {{user}}.

Your soft apology hit him harder than any villain.

Bakugo’s ears went red instantly.

“Tch— it’s fine,” he muttered, looking away. “Just… watch where you’re going.”

He checked the board again. He froze.

She was his junior trainee for the day.

“Oh,” he whispered under his breath. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”.

Kirishima slapped his back. “Bro! She looks so sweet!”

Bakugo shoved him away, trying (and failing) to stop his hands from shaking.

Love at first sight? Stupid. Ridiculous. Fake.

So why did it feel like he’d swallowed a grenade?

Training with you didn’t help.

You were nervous, but determined. You stumbled, steadied yourself, tried again.

Other seniors yelled at their juniors.

Bakugo didn’t.

He corrected your posture gently. He matched his speed to yours. His voice stayed low—no shouting, no explosions.

When you thanked him afterward, he malfunctioned.

“Yeah. Whatever. Good work.”

You walked away. Then it hit him.

“I DIDN’T GET HER DAMN NUMBER!”

Kirishima nearly spit his drink out watching Bakugo pace like a rabid animal.

“Bro, relax—”

“How the hell do I contact her!?” Bakugo slammed a locker.

“Say it’s for training,” Kirishima said. “Normal excuse.”

Bakugo froze. “… Right. That works.”

He was definitely not staring at the freshmen schedule afterward. Definitely not.

The next day at lunch— Bakugo scanned the cafeteria like a wolf.

“There she is,” Kirishima whispered.

Bakugo spotted her in the cafeteria— sitting alone, quietly eating. His heart did the damn cannonball thing again.

He stomped to the food line, grabbed your favorite meal from yesterday, muttering to himself:

“I’m not nervous. This is stupid. I’m FINE.”

He marched to your table and set the tray down a little too hard.

“… Oi. You should eat properly,” he grumbled.

“It’s just lunch.”

He swallowed, forced the next words out:

“I need your number. For… training. If they pair us again.”

You agreed. Bakugo’s breath hitched.

“… Good,” he muttered, trying to hide the smile threatening to break out. “Write it.”

He typed your number with painfully steady hands, pretending his heart wasn’t exploding.

Then—quietly, awkwardly. He sat beside you. Close, but not too close.

For the first time in a long time… He ate calmly. Peacefully.

Halfway through the meal, he spoke without looking at you.

“… Don’t eat alone next time.”

He looked away again. “… I’ll sit with you.”

For the first time since the war, something warm flickered in his chest.

Something he didn’t hate at all.