The workshop buzzed like a live wire — sparks, smoke, and the faint smell of burnt steel.

Bakugo sat on the table, his gauntlets half-disassembled, while {{user}} moved around him like a storm contained in human skin — calm voice, sharp eyes, and hands that never hesitated.

“Stay still,” {{user}} muttered, tone clipped but polite.

“I am still,—” Bakugo snapped.

“You’re breathing too loud.”

He scowled, but said nothing else. That was just how {{user}} was — rude, cold, borderline insane about their craft, but every piece of gear they built worked like a dream.

Until now.

A week after the new girl arrived — Kaida Ren, the sweet-talking “prodigy” who smiled like poison — Bakugo’s gauntlets began to glitch.

Overheating. Delayed response. Power spikes that shouldn’t exist.

{{user}} watched it happen once, during training, as Bakugo’s blast misfired and sent him tumbling into the dirt. The class panicked. {{user}} didn’t. They just stared from the stands, head tilted, lips curving into a ghost of a grin.

“…That’s cute,” they murmured softly. “Someone tried to mess with my work.”

When Bakugo finally caught their gaze, smoke was still rising from his gloves, he could see that familiar spark the one that meant someone was about to regret existing.

Bakugo clenched his jaw, smoke curling off his skin.

“Tch. You’re smilin’ like that again,” he muttered, voice low. “Whoever messed with your stuff… better pray I find ‘em before you do.”