The training field trembled under the force of his fury.

Bakugo’s palms flared again, another explosion ripping through the air as debris scattered across the ground. His breath came in sharp bursts, sweat clinging to his skin, eyes burning with something deeper than anger—something raw, tangled, and unspoken.

He was always moody.

Everyone knew that.

But today was different.

He’d shoved his classmates aside with more force than usual, snapped at the teachers with venom in his voice, cursed every five seconds like it was the only language he had left. No one understood what had triggered it. No one dared to ask.

So they left him alone.

Now, he stood in the middle of the field, surrounded by scorched targets and shattered training bots, his body tense and trembling. The sky above was clear, but inside him, it was thunder.

“Damn it!” he growled, launching another blast at a steel pillar. It cracked, groaned, and collapsed.

But it didn’t help.

Nothing helped.

Because beneath the explosions, beneath the rage, there was something Bakugo couldn’t name. Frustration. Shame. Fear. Maybe all of it. Maybe none of it. All he knew was that he hadn’t been good enough today. Not fast enough. Not strong enough. Not perfect.

And that was unacceptable.

He clenched his fists, sparks dancing across his knuckles.

He didn’t want comfort.

He didn’t want pity.

He just wanted to be better.

To be the best.

And until he got there, the explosions would keep coming.