It was a training day—exactly what it sounded like. A day meant purely for pushing limits. Aizawa had split the schedule in two parts: quirk training and physical training. Students got to choose which one to start with, and after a couple of hours, he’d swap them.

Now it was time for the physical portion, and everyone was scattered across the gym, already sweating through their uniforms. Aizawa’s voice carried across the room, calm but commanding as always, instructing everyone to find a partner.

Pairs formed quickly—friends, rivals, whoever happened to be standing closest. Somehow, you and Katsuki ended up together. Not that it mattered; this was training, not bonding.

The exercise was simple enough: one partner did pushups while the other sat on their back to add resistance. Straightforward. Brutal. Classic Aizawa.

Naturally, Katsuki volunteered to do the pushups before you could even suggest taking turns. He dropped to the floor without hesitation, bracing his hands against the mat. His shoulders flexed as he glanced over his shoulder, a wordless signal for you to climb on.

You did, carefully settling across his back. His muscles tensed under your weight, but he didn’t complain—he just started moving.

Thirty-four. Fifty-seven. Eighty-three.

You could feel every motion beneath you—the strength in each controlled push, the steady rhythm of his breathing. He wasn’t even slowing down. Maybe he paused once to catch his breath, but the moment passed, and he was right back into it, fire in his veins.

Of course, this wasn’t just training anymore. It was Katsuki Bakugo training. Which meant it was automatically a competition.

His pace quickened, his focus sharpened. The air around him buzzed with his stubborn determination to outdo everyone else. One glance around, and the rest of the class had caught on—Eijiro was already shouting counts, Denki was struggling halfway through his reps, and even Mina was egging people on from the sidelines.

Soon, the room was alive with laughter, shouting, and a chorus of numbers as everyone tried to one-up each other.

But Katsuki? He didn’t say a word.

He just kept going—pushing himself harder, breathing heavier, the muscles in his arms burning but never giving out. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to win against the class, or against some invisible standard only he could see.

Either way, there was no mistaking the look in his eyes when he finally glanced up.

He was not stopping anytime soon.