The Support Course workshop wasn’t supposed to be open this late.
Bakugou knew that.
Which was exactly why he chose now.
The halls of U.A. were quiet — too quiet — fluorescent lights humming faintly overhead as he shoved open the heavy workshop door with his shoulder. One gauntlet hung useless at his side, the metal plating cracked along the seam from earlier training. The recoil had misfired mid-blast. Pathetic.
He could’ve waited for repairs.
He didn’t want to.
The room smelled like oil, metal, and overheated wiring. Workbenches lined the walls, half-finished support items scattered under white cloths. Everything looked… modern. Sleek. Polished alloys and digital calibrators.
Except for one corner.
He didn’t notice it at first.
He dropped his damaged gauntlet on a table with a heavy clang and rolled his shoulders, flexing his palm experimentally. A faint spark snapped between his fingers.
Then—
A metallic scrape.
His head snapped toward the sound.
Not from the main work area.
From deeper inside.
Another sound. Something rolling across the floor.
His jaw tightened.
Someone else was here.
His palm heated instantly, skin prickling with the beginning of an explosion. He stepped forward, boots echoing against concrete.
“Oi,” he called, voice sharp as a blade. “Show yourself.”
Silence.
Then—
A soft, rhythmic ticking.
Not electronic.
Mechanical.
Old.
His eyes narrowed.
He rounded the corner.
And that’s when he saw it.
Brass.
Copper piping.
Pressure gauges bolted into a half-built frame. Riveted plating. Coiled tubing looping like veins around a compact cylindrical core. It looked less like hero equipment and more like something dragged out of another century.
Steam hissed quietly from a valve.
Bakugou’s explosion flared brighter.
“Who the hell—”
A wrench rolled out from beneath the worktable and tapped against his boot.
His body reacted before his mind did.
He lunged forward, palm igniting—
And then—
“Don’t.”
The voice came from below him. Calm. Steady. Not panicked.
“If you detonate that in here, you’ll rupture the pressure chamber.”
He didn’t stop.
His hand was already mid-swing—
When the ticking grew louder.
Sharp. Fast. Reversing.
The broken metal of his gauntlet — the one sitting on the table behind him — made a sharp clink.
Another.
Then another.
Like pieces snapping back into place.
He froze.
The ticking stopped.