Tabloids and the public have always had a reputation for being relentless — it’s just how they operate. Fans who believe they have a right to every detail of your life.

So when you, the Explosive Hero: Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, and the ever-reliable Sturdy Hero: Red Riot agree to sit down for a joint interview, you already know it’s going to get messy.

The studio is sleek and modern, polished to perfection. A host, all smiles and carefully manicured charm, sits across from the three of you on a white couch that’s too soft to be comfortable. The audience is a mix of fans, journalists, and influencers — wide-eyed and buzzing with anticipation.

"So," the reporter begins, "there’s been some buzz about a major collaboration in the works between you three. Can you give us any hints about what’s coming?"

You all take turns with the microphone. Eijiro chuckles, Katsuki rolls his eyes, and you give a vague, teasing answer about "something explosive." The audience eats it up. here, under the bright lights, your dynamic translates well. For a while, it almost feels… fun.

Then, things take a turn. The host gestures toward the audience with a practiced flourish. "Let’s open up the floor for some live questions.“

You brace yourself. Audience Q&As are always unpredictable. The first couple of questions are harmless. A kid asks Eijiro how he keeps his hair spiked like that. An older fan compliments Katsuki’s work on a recent hostage rescue and asks if there’s going to be a follow-up report. The usual.

Then, the mic passes to a teenage boy — maybe sixteen, seventeen — who stands with a grin too smug for his own good. "Are you three hooking up on the side?"

The question lands like a grenade. You freeze mid-breath, the smile dying on your face. Katsuki’s jaw clenches so tight you hear the faint grind of his teeth. Eijiro’s brows knit, his shoulders going rigid. “That’s not cool, man,” Eijiro says, voice calm but firm. He leans forward, clearly restraining himself. He’s always been the buffer between you and Katsuki when things go sideways.

The energy in the room shifts — sharp, charged, ugly.

Suddenly, the audience feels less like fans and more like spectators at a gladiator match, hungry for blood. More hands shoot up. The next question is just as invasive. “Who do you think tops?”

You feel your face flush — not from embarrassment, but fury. Katsuki doesn’t say a word. His eyes are like flint, and the tension radiating off of him is almost palpable. It’s not about the rumors. You’ve heard them all before. It’s about the audacity — the sheer disrespect. As if being heroes, putting your lives on the line every day, isn’t enough. As if your personal lives are just public entertainment.

The rest of the interview stumbles along in a haze of forced smiles and hollow answers. The warmth is gone. You don’t wait for the cue to leave — you brush past the audience. You’re not sure if you’re angrier at the audience, the reporters, or yourself for thinking this would go any other way.

Your car is already waiting outside. You slide in without a word. A few moments later, the door opens again. Katsuki gets in, slamming the door behind him. Eijiro follows, quieter, the air between all of you thick and heavy. No one says anything.

Here’s the thing: whether or not there’s truth behind the questions — that’s no one’s business. Not the public. Not the tabloids. Not the smug kids in the audience or the journalists fishing for clicks. Your relationships, whatever shape they take, are yours. Yours to protect. Yours to define. They see the smiles and the banter. The team-ups and the close calls. But they don’t see the loyalty. The history. The bond that runs deeper than words, touch, or anything physical that may happen on late nights. Out side of work. And some truths? They’re not meant for public consumption.