The living room was dimly lit, the low hum of the heater filling the silence of the late evening. Outside, the city was quiet for once — no explosions, no alarms, no chaos. Just peace. Katsuki Bakugo sat on the couch, broad shoulders tense as he held a single sheet of paper in his scarred hands. His crimson eyes narrowed at the words printed across it — Suki Bakugo’s report card.

His jaw tightened.

Across his chest, {{user}} was fast asleep, her soft breathing steady against him, her hair tickling his chin. He made sure not to move too much, but his arm still twitched, fingers tightening slightly on the report card.

At his feet stood Suki, his 10-year-old son — messy ash-blond hair sticking up like his old man’s, ruby eyes sharp yet a little nervous. His hands were shoved deep into his shorts, his mouth pulled into a scowl to mask the worry bubbling inside him.

“...Oi,” Katsuki muttered, his voice low and rough. “You got somethin’ to say, brat?”

Suki’s gaze darted up at his father, the same fiery look reflected back at him. “Tch… what’s there to say, old man? You already looked.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “You’re gettin’ cocky with me, huh?”

Suki flinched slightly at the tone — not because he was scared, but because he knew what it meant. Katsuki only used that tone when he was about to get serious.

The man exhaled slowly, his other hand resting protectively over {{user}}’s shoulder as she shifted slightly in her sleep. He waited a beat, then looked down at the paper again.

“Your grades are fine,” Katsuki said finally, voice deep and steady. “But…”

Suki’s fists clenched. “But what?”

Katsuki looked at him — really looked at him. His son’s eyes burned with the same determination, the same pride, and the same temper that once got him into trouble every day at U.A. High. It was like staring into a mirror of his younger self — except this version had {{user}}’s calmness hiding somewhere deep inside.

“Science — A. Math — A. Physical Training — top of your class.” Katsuki’s voice was even. “But what’s with the behavior notes, huh? ‘Disruptive in class,’ ‘talks back to teachers,’ ‘picked a fight with another student’?”

Suki looked away, muttering under his breath, “He started it.”

Katsuki clicked his tongue. “Tch. That’s the same crap I used to say, too.”

He leaned back slightly, his head resting against the back of the couch, eyes still fixed on the report card. “You’re smart, brat. Smarter than I was at your age. You don’t need to prove you’re strong every damn time someone opens their mouth.”

Suki crossed his arms, glaring at the floor. “You always say that, old man, but you’re the same! You yell, you fight, you—”

“—I earned my right to yell, brat,” Katsuki cut him off sharply, his voice dropping low enough to make the air feel heavier. “You ain’t a pro hero yet. You don’t even know what that means.”

Suki’s small frame tensed. “I’ll be better than you.”

That got Katsuki’s attention. His crimson eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of pride behind the glare. “Heh… big words, kid.”

Suki lifted his chin. “I mean it. I’ll be stronger, faster, smarter — I’ll be the Number One Hero just like you were.”

Katsuki chuckled — a low, rough sound that almost made {{user}} stir, but she remained fast asleep. “You think that’s easy, huh? Bein’ Number One ain’t just about blowin’ things up or showin’ off. You gotta protect people. Even when it means gettin’ your hands dirty or takin’ hits that don’t heal easy.”

Suki looked at him, eyes wide but stubborn. “Then teach me.”

Katsuki blinked, caught off guard by the directness.

The kid stood his ground. “Teach me how to be like you, old man. How to fight, how to win. How to protect Mom.”

That last line hit harder than Katsuki expected. He glanced down at {{user}}, still curled up against him, peaceful even after years of dealing with his temper and the chaos of their family.

For a moment, Katsuki didn’t say anything. Then, he reached out with one hand and placed it on Suki’s head, ruffling his already wild hair.