The sun glared gently through the trees, throwing gold light across UA's courtyard like the world was trying to look peaceful.
Behind one of those trees?
Aleasha paced.
Slow. Deliberate.
Mumbling to herself like she was rehearsing a one-person stage play with life-altering consequences.
"Hey… so, I've been meaning to tell you something. Or—well—I should've told you before, and it's kinda important, and also not weird, and maybe sort of confusing but also… not scary…?"
Her hands flailed slightly as she winced.
"Nope. That sounded terrifying."
She tried again.
"Okay, Denki, this is gonna sound strange, but—"
Footsteps.
Aleasha spun to leave, flustered but semi-practiced—only to crash straight into Katsuki Bakugo.
Third time.
Direct collision.
Chronically cursed timing.
But this time?
Bakugo had a plate.
Rice.
Sauce.
Possibly chicken.
Now—shirt salad.
A smear of soy ginger streaked across his chest like modern art.
Aleasha gasped. "Oh—OH NO! OH MY GOSH! I—I'm—"
Bakugo blinked. Looked down. Then up.
"…You good?"
Aleasha froze.
He didn't yell.
Didn't ignite.
Didn't even frown aggressively.
Just—asked.
She stared at the mess she'd made. "Your shirt is a war zone."
Bakugo snorted. "Been worse. You okay?"
Aleasha's voice dropped half an octave, soft with disbelief. "You're not mad?"
He shrugged, brushing a grain of rice off his collarbone. "I don't explode every time someone bumps into me, y'know."
Aleasha looked half-relieved, half-convinced she'd stumbled into some alternative universe where Bakugo had a kindness setting.
(He never yelled. Not once.)
Bakugo watched her for a beat longer than usual.
Something was off.
He'd seen her nervous.
Seen her awkward.
But this?
She looked like she was carrying something heavy behind her eyes.
He didn't press.
Yet.
But he did offer her the one thing he could.
"Want the rest of the plate?"
Aleasha blinked.
"Even after the... decorative rice splatter?"
He shrugged. "Still edible. You skipped breakfast again."
Aleasha smiled—genuinely this time.
"…Thanks."
Bakugo handed her the plate, already planning to go wash his shirt—but not forgetting.
He'd been distracted earlier.
Let her slip past.
Villains were a good excuse.
But Aleasha?
She was becoming her own kind of mystery.
And Bakugo never left mysteries unsolved.
Aleasha scrambled like a malfunctioning protocol droid.
Napkins? Got 'em. Wet cloth? Retrieved. Internal shame? Fully loaded.
"I swear, this is the universe punishing me for walking with velocity," she muttered, dabbing Bakugo's shirt with surgical guilt.
Bakugo stood still, mildly annoyed at the sauce stain and deeply confused at how his rage hadn't activated. Normally, by now, the walls would be trembling. But with her?
Nothing.
He told himself it was the cover.
That letting loose around someone who doesn't know your fury is bad strategy.
But he knew better.
There was something else.
Aleasha glanced up nervously. "I owe you, like, five shirts and a rice tax."
Bakugo rolled his eyes. "Just eat already."
"I was going to!" she lied.
"No, you weren't. You were talking to a tree and practicing weird speeches."
Aleasha blinked. "I—I—no I wasn't—who talks to trees?"
Bakugo raised an eyebrow, deadpan. "You."
She groaned. "Fine. Breakfast. Let me heat this. Don't explode."
He didn't.
Still didn't.
And now?
She was sitting across from him with warm rice and the faint aura of disaster.
(Meanwhile, not far away…)
Invisible footsteps padded softly across tile.
Torū Hagakure, UA's own stealth fairy, crouched behind a couch like she was narrating a true crime mystery to herself.
"He didn't yell. He even offered food. He's not fuming. He's—oh my gosh—this is a soft interaction."
She leaned closer, hands over mouth, heart pounding from sheer gossip energy.
"It's awkward! It's weird! It's reeking of development!"
She scribbled imaginary notes into her invisible journal, documenting potential romantic foreshadowing like she was writing fanfic in real time.
Then Bakugo leaned back.
Just a little.
And Torū nearly gasped—because that sigh? That slight tilt of his head toward Aleasha?
Unscripted character growth.
She whispered to herself:
"I'm gonna need extra pages."
Torū crouched behind a bench, scribbling in her mental journal so furiously her invisible fingers were practically burning holes in the page of her imagination.
She had been patient.
She had been noble.
She had watched Aleasha dab a sauce-streaked shirt with clinical remorse for seven and a half minutes.
But now?
Torū wanted action.
Aleasha was muttering apologies, Bakugo was stoically enduring drippy rice chest syndrome, and Torū could practically taste the emotional tension rising off the scene like steam off miso.
So she acted.
Invisible, calculated, mischievous—Classic Torū™.
She silently padded closer, ducking behind bushes and stepping over gravel like a spy in a romcom thriller.
And then, in one clean motion—
She reached out.
Grabbed Aleasha's ankle.
Lifted.
Aleasha yelped. No time to think. No time to brace. Her center of gravity betrayed her, and—
Boom.
Straight into Bakugo's chest.
Chest collision: Full.
Contact: Center mass.
Reaction time: 0.3 seconds.
Impact rating: Legendary.
Bakugo's reflexes kicked in before rational thought.
His arms locked around her waist instinctively, stabilizing her like she were a falling bomb with a safety pin still clinging to hope.
Aleasha gasped, hands planted against his chest, one still holding a napkin like it might save her dignity.
Torū, just feet away, whispered a gasp into the void:
"This is it. This is the moment. He's gonna blow. The explosive king will detonate—"
But he didn't.
Bakugo didn't yell. Didn't snarl. Didn't even twitch with volcanic rage.
In fact—
He held her.
Longer than strictly necessary.
Then muttered, half-embarrassed, half-dry:
"You're really freaking clumsy."
Aleasha's face was crimson.
She scrambled back, sputtering apologies and half-excuses. "I—I'm sorry—I swear I wasn't trying to—you—your shirt—I've destroyed it twice—"
She didn't notice his cheeks.
Lightly red.
Bakugo rubbed the back of his neck, stepping aside like his brain needed a reboot.
Torū silently exploded.
She did an air-pump.
Scribbled an invisible entry titled "Bakugo Emotional Unlock Sequence #3: Accidental Hug + Rice Shirt Trauma"
"Oh, this is canon now."
And like a shadow with gossip superpowers—
Torū vanished from the scene,
But not before catching Bakugo glance back once at Aleasha…
Just long enough to confirm:
He hadn't minded the fall.
Not one bit.
(Midday – The Giant Tree by UA's South Perimeter)
Four figures perched like rebellious squirrels on twisted limbs above the courtyard—dark intent wrapped in hoodie fabric and old trauma.
Shigaraki hunched near the trunk, fingers ghosting across bark as he mapped exit routes through murmurs and quiet menace.
Dabi lounged low, legs swinging off the branch like a bored pyromaniac on vacation. "Security patterns are tight. I vote fire."
Toga dangled upside down from the highest limb, twirling her phone between two fingers, humming something dangerously adorable.
Darkcreasa leaned in shadow, knees tucked, watching—always watching. She didn't interrupt. Just absorbed everything like ink bleeding through paper.
The escape plan was silent, precise, halfway good…
Until—
Toga gasped.
Eyes wide. Smile nuclear.
"GROUP PHOTO!!"
Darkcreasa blinked. "Toga, are you—?"
Dabi groaned. "We're literally plotting prison-break brunch—"
But it was too late.
Toga whipped out her hot pink flip phone, screen glittered with fake gemstones that looked suspiciously stolen from a carnival vending machine. (Don't ask)
She extended the arm.
Everyone leaned in.
Even Shigaraki. Slowly. Grudgingly. Just enough to be in frame.
She pressed the button.
FLASH.
It wasn't just light.
It was an explosion of luminescent betrayal.
The blast was so blinding, Darkcreasa yelped.
Dabi clawed at his eyes, swearing loudly.
Shigaraki recoiled, blinking like someone who'd just seen heaven through a microwave.
Even Toga squinted, stunned by her own power.
"AHHH—MY RETINAS!" Dabi growled. "What the HELL kind of flash setting is that?!"
"It's on maximum sparkle mode~" Toga said proudly, blinking away rainbow dots.
Darkcreasa clutched the branch. "I can see the future. It's… pink and blurry."
Shigaraki squinted down at the screen. "You took that photo with intent to blind."
Toga beamed. "We look like a dysfunctional tree cult!"
They stared at the image, half-shaded by foliage, mostly squinting, heads barely unblurring.
It was chaotic.
It was reckless.
It was… almost warm.
Darkcreasa didn't smile.
But for one flicker of a moment—
She didn't feel like a stranger.
And far below the tree?
Aizawa paused mid-step.
Looked up.
Frowned.
Muttered: "That's the third light anomaly today…"
Aizawa stood at the edge of the courtyard, hands stuffed into his pockets, his tired gaze tilted upward toward the high limbs of UA's ancient perimeter tree. The flash had already drawn his attention—a blinding burst of light clearly not aligned with any sanctioned quirk training. And now? Groaning. Branch-shuffling. Toga's giggles and Dabi's insults echoing from the canopy like a dysfunctional jungle gym.
He sighed. Loudly.
"What's going on up there?" he called, voice dry and threaded with infinite patience running on caffeine and emotional damage.
A hush fell across the tree. Leaves rustled. Dabi cursed under his breath.
Then—
Toga's voice rang out like a confetti cannon.
"GROUP PHOTOOOOO!"
Aizawa blinked.
Darkcreasa cleared her throat. "Toga initiated it. She left the flash on. It was… intense."
Dabi muttered, "I'm still seeing sparkles and I didn't even smile."
Shigaraki's voice joined, completely monotone: "I was nearly blinded. But the photo composition was acceptable."
Aizawa stood still.
Waiting.
Processing.
Then finally said:
"…So. You climbed a tree. Took a photo. Blinded yourselves. And… didn't try to escape?"
A beat.
"Correct," Darkcreasa replied.
Aizawa gave a long, slow blink.
"...Huh."
He turned and walked back toward the building.
Not a word of praise.
Not a hint of encouragement.
But inside?
A tiny flicker of shock passed through his spine.
They did something… normal-ish.
And maybe… just maybe…
Rehabilitation was starting to look like something he could work with.