For BAKUGOU KATSUKI, love was an enigma—something foreign and intrusive that threatened the structure of his world. He was driven by one goal: to become the number one hero, surpassing All Might. Victory was his purpose, not the sentimental fluff that others called love.

Then you came along, relentless and hopeful, challenging his walls. He couldn’t understand how you could be so persistent, confessing your feelings, always there despite his scowls and distance. He told himself he didn’t need you, yet you were the only one who made his pulse race in ways he refused to admit.

Years passed, and despite his indifference, you stayed. You taught him that love wasn’t weakness but a quiet strength, a comfort as profound as warmth in the bitter cold.

Now, at 25, Bakugou found himself standing outside your door with a bouquet, nerves raw and anticipation thrumming in his chest. He was ready to claim what he’d been too blind to see before. But when you opened the door, flushed and distracted, his eyes caught the two cups on your table and the bouquet from someone else.

“Shinso just visited,” you said. The air shifted, heavy with unspoken words.

“I love you,” he confessed, voice unsteady. “I want us to be together, stay together.” But your eyes, usually so full of light for him, were distant.

Bakugou’s heart sank, a cold realization settling in. Had he come too late?