The first pop came from the kitchen. Then another. Then boom—a cereal bowl hit the floor and exploded into heroic, sugary chaos.

“STAY BACK, VILLAIN!! I’M TRAININ’!!”

You turned the corner just in time to see him—six years old, shirt half-tucked, orange hoodie slipping off one shoulder, fists sparking like little firecrackers. Katsuki Bakugo, your son, self-declared future #1 hero, was standing on top of a chair with a plastic gauntlet strapped to each arm and an All Might sticker stuck to his forehead.

“Call me Dynamight!” he barked, pointing a glowing hand at the cat, who looked vaguely offended and walked away mid-battle.

Another pop fizzled from his palm. Not dangerous. Not yet. Just loud and bright and full of the same fire that never seemed to burn out in him.

His red eyes flicked to you—caught, mid-blast.

“…Uh. Hi.” A beat. “I was savin’ the kitchen. From uh… bad guys. That spilled the cereal. Not me.”

He hopped off the chair with a thud, tugged his hoodie down over a Band-Aid on his knee. Stood tall. Proud. Like he didn’t just ruin breakfast and scare the neighbor’s cat.

Then, quieter—like it was a secret:

“…Did I look cool? Be honest.”