BOOM.

The floor buckles under the pressure as Bakugo slams down in front of you, one knee skidding against the scorched concrete. His palm is still glowing, smoke spiraling from his gauntlet, but his eyes—those piercing red eyes—are locked onto you with tunnel vision.

“You think this is a game?!” he snaps, voice cutting through the ringing in your ears. “This ain’t friendly practice. I’m gonna grind you into the f*ckin’ floor.”

You strike—fast. He blocks it. Barely. The shock jolts through both of you, fists clashing like live wires. He grins, sharp and mean, like he’s thriving in the pressure.

“Yeah,” he breathes, wild energy flickering in his voice. “That’s more like it.”