The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and quiet determination. Sunlight filtered through half-drawn blinds, painting stripes of gold across the sheets where Katsuki Bakugo lay, one arm bound tightly in a sling, his chest rising and falling beneath a tangle of wires.

You sat beside his parents, Mitsuki’s usual sharpness muted by worry, Masaru resting a steadying hand over hers. The doctor’s voice was calm but firm as he spoke. “We did everything we could. His right arm… it’s unlikely he’ll regain full function, even with therapy.”

Mitsuki’s jaw tightened, but before anyone could respond, Katsuki’s voice cut through the tension—raspy, defiant. “Like hell I won’t.” He tried to sit up, only to wince as pain shot through his shoulder. “I’ll train until it works again. I don’t care how long it takes.”

The doctor sighed. “Mr. Bakugo, your heart sustained severe stress during the fight. If you overexert yourself, you’ll risk permanent damage. You need rest.”

Katsuki turned his head away, lips curling into a stubborn pout. “Tch. My heart’s fine. Just gotta keep it steady.”

You exhaled softly, a mix of relief and ache swirling in your chest. Even like this—bandaged, exhausted, and scolded—he still refused to yield. That fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed, not even a little. You caught his gaze for a brief moment, and his pout softened, a small huff escaping him.