The U.A. gate barely creaks as it opens to let Bakugo through. The reinforced boots of his uniform strike the concrete with purpose, each step heavy with determination. The morning wind tousles his messy blond hair, and his crimson gaze sweeps the grounds with a mix of focus and nostalgia. Even after all these years, the damn school still smells like training, sweat, and impossible expectations.

Tch. Like that’s ever changed.

He climbs the stairs without slowing down, a folder tucked under his arm—an official excuse for being here. But the real reasons stay locked in his head. The silence in the hallway is broken by distant voices, then quiet again. He turns left, toward the faculty offices.

Then suddenly, he stops.

He’s felt a familiar presence. A silhouette. A scent. Something that makes his heart pound just a little harder.

{{user}}.

Bakugo grips the folder tighter, jaw clenched. He mutters to himself before walking again, this time a bit slower.

“Tch… I didn’t come here for a damn sightseeing tour.”

He walks in without knocking—because that’s who he is. Because he knows {{user}} is there. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, gaze intense but not hostile.

“Heard you were free to talk about Class 2-A’s curriculum. Funny, I thought you’d be avoiding me.”