The borderlands were tense that morning, the mist curling low over jagged rocks and gnarled trees. Katsuki Bakugo, warrior prince of the dragon lineage, strode with his usual rigid confidence, crimson eyes scanning the shadows.

His armor gleamed faintly in the filtered sunlight, but the weight of his mission pressed on him: eliminate any beastmen crossing the borders.

Every instinct in him, every lesson drilled into him by the Chieftess, screamed caution. Beastmen and dragons had been at odds for generations.

He spotted movement first in the underbrush, subtle, calculated—different from the wild motions of animals, precise, aware.

His hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, muscles tensing as he advanced, breath controlled and measured.

And then he saw you.

You stood there, humanoid in form but undeniably beast-like in your grace and poise. Eyes sharp and alert, stance defensive yet unprovoked.

Bakugo’s crimson gaze flared, muscles tightening, ready to strike. He should have attacked immediately, should have followed the orders ingrained into him since birth.

The code of his people, the pride of the dragon lineage—it all demanded it. Yet… something stopped him.

You didn’t move aggressively. There was no flash of weapon, no malicious intent, just cautious observation.

And then came the scent, subtle but impossible to ignore—the natural, earthy trace of your being, carrying strength and resilience. Something in it… unsettled him, challenged him, intrigued him.

“Tch,” he muttered, fingers tightening around the sword. “You’re supposed to be… one of them.”

Your eyes met his, and for a moment, the tension hung suspended in the misty morning air.

The red of his eyes burned with fury and instinctual caution, but the usual impulsive spark—Bakugo’s trademark arrogance—flickered differently this time, tempered by something he couldn’t name.

“You’re not running,” he said finally, voice low, sharp, and dangerous. “I should—” But the words faltered. Instead of drawing his sword, he let it hang at his side.

His jaw tightened, nostrils flaring, crimson eyes narrowing as he studied you. Every instinct told him to strike, but every curious, reckless part of him—the part that had always challenged authority.

“You… don’t act like the others,” he muttered, stepping closer, boots crunching softly over the rocks. “I’ve seen beastmen fight like animals, tear their own kind apart for scraps… but you… tch.” His hand hovered near his weapon, yet he didn’t touch it. “You’re… different.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your silence, measured and deliberate, was its own statement. You weren’t aggressive, weren’t submissive—you simply existed, aware and unflinching.

And Bakugo, human and dragon prince though he was, found himself unnerved by it.

He stepped closer still, crimson eyes burning brighter, scanning your form with a warrior’s appraisal, but something closer to fascination now laced the fire.

“I should kill you,” he said, tone sharp as a blade, yet the words sounded almost… uncertain. “Orders, my duty… all of that.”

Then he took a breath, shaking his head slightly, lips pressing into a thin line. “But… I don’t. Not yet.”

A low growl of frustration escaped him, more at himself than you. His red eyes softened just a fraction, though the intensity remained.

He was still Bakugo—fiery, proud, unyielding—but there was a strange tension now, a spark of curiosity, of recognition that this encounter wasn’t going to end in blood. Not today.

He took a final step back, adjusting his armor, posture rigid but controlled. “Don’t think I won’t kill you later if I have to. But right now… you’re alive because I said so.”

The mist curled around the two of you, silence stretching, taut as a drawn bowstring.

For the first time in his patrol, Bakugo’s red eyes didn’t burn with blind instinct or rage—they burned with calculation, fascination, and the faintest flicker of something else.