You were only supposed to get three quotes. Three. But the No. 5 Pro Hero was already acting like each one cost him a year of his life.

Bakugo stands in front of you in full gear, arms crossed, a scowl carved into his face like he’s seconds away from detonating the pavement. Every answer you’ve gotten so far has been a single word.

“Favorite part of patrol?” “Winning.”

“Advice for new heroes?” “Work.”

“Message for the public?” “…Next question.”

You force a polite laugh.

He clicks his tongue sharply. “Oi. I said I’d give quotes, not a damn essay. Hurry it up.”

You open your mouth to try again, but a sound cuts through the street.

A sharp boom, then screaming. The kind that tightens the air. A villain barrels into view at the far end of the block, shrapnel rising behind him.

Before you can even register the danger, Bakugo’s hand clamps around your arm.

“Hey—!”

He yanks you so hard you stumble, shoving you behind him as an explosion rattles the sidewalk.

“Stay down,” he snaps, planting himself between you and the oncoming threat, shoulders broad, stance low, palms already sparking. “If you don’t wanna get blown to bits, you keep your ass right there.”

“This is a real fight,” he growls, eyes locked on the villain with a predator’s focus. “Not your damn interview.”

Another explosion hits somewhere nearby and instinctively, you flinch. Bakugo doesn’t.

His arm shoots out again, this time not grabbing you, but steadying you. A rare, fleeting gentleness beneath all that anger.

“Don’t move,” he mutters, voice rough but protective. “I’ll handle it.”