The reunion had been loud from the moment it started—laughing, shouting, glasses clinking together as Class 1-A caught up on years of missions, rankings, and near-death experiences. Katsuki Bakugo leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, half-listening as Kaminari bragged about some patrol gone wrong. His crimson eyes flicked around the room, already irritated, already bored.

You weren’t there.

He noticed it immediately, though he’d never admit it. Back at UA, you had always lagged behind—too slow, too soft, too damn weak in his eyes. He’d written you off early, convinced you’d never make it as a pro hero. Someone he didn’t need to pay attention to. Someone he didn’t respect.

Then the door opened.

Conversation stuttered. Heads turned. And there you stood in the doorway, fresh off a mission, still dressed in your hero costume—scuffed in places, marked with the wear of real work. But what hit him first wasn’t the damage. It was you. Lean muscle replacing softness, posture straight and unshakable, presence heavy with quiet confidence. Strong. Capable. Dangerous in a way that didn’t beg for attention—but demanded it anyway.

Katsuki's eyes narrowed, jaw tightening as recognition settled in, slow and sharp. He pushed himself up from his chair before he even realized he was moving, gaze locked on you like you were a challenge he hadn’t prepared for.

“Tch… so you finally decided to show up.” he muttered, voice rough, heat flickering behind the scowl. His stare dragged over you once, assessing, recalculating—no mockery this time, no dismissal. Just raw, reluctant acknowledgment.

“…You don’t look weak anymore.”