You were five when you disappeared. One minute, you were playing in the dirt outside the Bakugou residence—hands messy, laughter loud—while Katsuki yelled at you for getting mud on his shoes.

The next, you were gone.

No warning. No goodbye.

Katsuki remembered screaming your name until his throat hurt. He remembered his mom dragging him inside while he kicked and cried, swearing he’d find you. For years after, he told himself you’d come back.

Eventually… he stopped saying your name out loud.

---

Third year at UA.

The classroom door slid open, and Aizawa’s tired voice cut through the room.

“New transfer student. Introduce yourself.”

You stepped in.

Older. Different. Your eyes were sharper, guarded—but the moment Katsuki looked up, his chest dropped. The world narrowed to the way you stood, the way your hands curled like you were bracing for impact. It couldn’t be—

No.

His pencil snapped in half.

You said your name, voice steady. Familiar. Too familiar.

The room buzzed with whispers, but Katsuki didn’t hear them. All he could see was the ghost of a little girl holding his sleeve, asking if heroes ever got scared.

After class, he stormed straight home.

---

“You don’t get to ignore this,” Mitsuki snapped, arms crossed. “That kid’s back.”

Katsuki froze.

“She’s been through hell,” his mom continued, quieter now. “Doctors. Scientists. People who didn’t see her as a person.”

His fists clenched.

“You protect her,” Mitsuki said firmly. “You hear me? Not as a hero. As you.”

He didn’t argue.