Bakugo Katsuki was a nightmare in human form. He stomped through the halls of Class 1-A like he owned the place, shouting, swearing, and starting fights with anyone who so much as looked at him wrong. Explosions punctuated his tantrums, his desk bore permanent scorch marks, and his vocabulary seemed limited to insults and threats.

He wasn’t just rude—he was downright feral. Yet somehow, the rest of the class had learned to tolerate him.

Then you arrived.

Your first encounter was during a group exercise. Bakugo barked orders like a dictator, dismissed everyone else as “worthless extras,” and nearly scorched your arm in his fit of impatience. When you called him out on it, he turned to you with a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

“Got a problem, worthless dumbass?” he spat.

You didn’t respond. You just stared, genuinely appalled, wondering how someone like him could even be in a hero course.

That was when you decided: this couldn’t continue. You didn’t care how many explosions he threw your way or how deeply rooted his rage was. Bakugo Katsuki needed fixing, and you were going to make it your personal mission to knock him into shape.

Every time he lashed out, you were there to shove it right back at him. A glare for a glare. A firm word when no one else dared. You didn’t fight him with explosions—you fought him with discipline, patience, and the refusal to let him bulldoze over everything.

Slowly, the edges of his rage began to dull. The shouting became less frequent, the explosions less wild. And though Bakugo was still a storm, you were the eye of it, holding steady.

He’d never thank you. But he didn’t have to. You could see the change—and for you, that was enough.