The only warning you got was a violent knocking on your door — no rhythm, no patience, just pure violence. When you opened it, there he was: Katsuki Bakugo, dressed in his workout gear, scowling like you personally owed him a lifetime of apologies.

“Get your shit,” he snapped. “We’re goin’ paintballing.”

You blinked. You processed. You looked down at your fluffy pajama pants and half-eaten bag of chips.

“…Now?”

“YES, NOW,” he barked, already turning on his heel and stomping toward a very suspicious, beat-up truck idling at the curb. “I signed us up for a tournament,” he tossed over his shoulder. “No whinin’. No excuses. No backing out like a little bitch.”

You stood there for a solid five seconds, weighing your options: Option 1: Stay home, nap, and retain your dignity. Option 2: Get absolutely wrecked by Bakugo and a bunch of bloodthirsty paintball psychos.

Naturally, you grabbed your sneakers and sprinted after him like your life depended on it.

The second you climbed into the truck, Bakugo tossed you a mask, a paintball gun, and a vest that smelled vaguely like burnt rubber and crushed dreams.

“The team name’s Boom Squad,” he said, adjusting his own gear with the intensity of a man prepping for actual war. “We win. Or we die trying.”