The explosion echoed across the school like thunder.
Students near windows pressed their faces to the glass, while others in hallways stopped mid-conversation to look around in confusion.
"What was that?"
"Sounded like it came from the classroom block."
"Bakugo again?"
"Probably that quirkless kid."
"Want to go see?"
"And miss Mrs. Yagami's class? Pass."
In Class 3-B, the aftermath was immediate and telling.
Complete silence. Everyone stood frozen—on chairs, on the floor, wherever they'd been when the explosion hit—watching with wide eyes and bated breath.
As the smoke cleared, they saw exactly what they'd expected: Bakugo standing with palms extended, wisps of smoke curling from his hands, face twisted in a satisfied snarl.
What they hadn't expected was me, still sitting calmly in my chair, textbook open in front of me, with Bakugo's hand several inches from my face.
Bakugo's confusion lasted only a split second before returning to a snarl. "That damn shield actually works."
"And you, my friend, just crossed the line by attacking me." All humor was gone from my voice.
Something about my tone seemed to satisfy him—his annoyed expression shifted into a smirk. "Please. If you were taken down that easy, you'd be just like the rest of them. An extra not worth my time."
His eyes narrowed again. "And we aren't friends. That was a long time ago, and you don't have the right to call me that."
"Fair enough. I'm not friends with bullies anyway. Now apologize."
Bakugo's smirk widened. "Make me."
"Seriously?"
"I told you at that family dinner I was gonna kick your ass. Remember? Well, now I'm gonna do it."
"You want to do this here and now?"
That made him pause. He looked around, finally noticing everyone watching their spectacle.
"Damn," someone whispered. "He actually did it."
"That barrier thing again?"
"How is he not hurt at all?"
"Hurt? He wasn't even singed."
The discussions made Bakugo's face darken, but he froze when he saw Mr. Hayashi, who had returned at some point after the explosion and was currently wearing an expression that suggested he was seriously reconsidering his career choices.
"Bakugo," Hayashi said in a voice that could freeze hellfire. "Principal's office. Now."
"But he—"
"NOW."
For a moment, Bakugo looked ready to fight. His hands were still smoking, jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth, something in his eyes suggesting he was two seconds from throwing caution to the wind.
But reason held. He could take his teacher, sure, but he'd get expelled. No school would take a kid with that kind of track record. Even U.A. wouldn't let him in after attacking teachers and classmates.
That was prime villain material.
So he backed down. But not before turning to me.
"After school. Behind the gym."
"Are you asking me on a date, Bakugo? Because I should mention you're not my type."
The tension snapped like a rubber band. Several students choked on laughter, one girl actually snorted, and even the serious types cracked smiles.
Bakugo's face turned fire-engine red. "NOT—THAT'S NOT—I WANT TO FIGHT YOU, MORON!"
"Ah, a different kind of date. How primitive."
"STOP CALLING IT A DATE!"
"Technically, you're the one who keeps using that word."
"I DIDN'T USE THAT WORD AT ALL!"
"Didn't you? Could have sworn..." I tilted my head thoughtfully. "Must be my hearing. Or maybe you're not being clear about your intentions."
Half the class was in stitches. Even Midoriya was fighting back a smile, though he looked worried.
Bakugo looked ready to spontaneously combust. Small explosions popped off his palms rapidly, and the air around him was getting noticeably warmer.
"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "Let me be perfectly clear. After school. Behind the gym. You and me. Fighting. With quirks. Until one of us can't get up."
The laughter died instantly. That was a serious challenge—the kind that could result in severe injuries.
I was quiet for a long moment, studying his face. When I finally spoke, my voice had lost its mocking edge.
"You're really committed to this."
"Dead committed."
"Even though you have no idea what you're getting into?"
"I know exactly what I'm getting into. A fight I'm going to win."
"Most people would consider what happened with the sludge villain demonstration enough."
"That was different. I was caught off guard."
"And you think a fair fight will go differently?"
"I know it will."
Another pause. I glanced around the classroom, taking in the expectant faces, the nervous energy, everyone waiting to see what I'd do.
"Alright," I said finally. "After school. Behind the gym."
The classroom erupted in excited whispers. Bakugo looked viciously satisfied.
"But," I continued, holding up one finger, "I want to make something clear first."
"What?"
"When this is over—when you're lying on the ground wondering what hit you—I don't want to hear any excuses. No 'I wasn't ready' or 'you got lucky' or 'my quirk wasn't working right.' You asked for this."
Bakugo's grin was sharp enough to cut glass. "Trust me, I won't need excuses."
"We'll see."
The bell rang, signaling the end of break. Students reluctantly returned to their seats while Bakugo headed for the principal's office. The air was electric with anticipation—by lunch, the entire school would know about the challenge.
Mr. Hayashi walked back in, took one look at the atmosphere, and sighed deeply.
"Alright, everyone, settle down. Time for English."
---
*Well, that escalated quickly.*
I closed my textbook and leaned back, ignoring the twenty-plus pairs of eyes staring at me like I'd performed a miracle. In reality, what happened was simple—Bakugo lost his temper, threw an explosion at my head, and my infinity barrier did exactly what it was designed to do.
The problem was that "simple" didn't explain why I was completely unharmed after taking a direct hit from a human grenade. To them, I might as well have pulled off magic.
*Mom's going to be disappointed.*
The promise I'd made this morning felt like it belonged to another lifetime: no unnecessary violence, no showing off, no drawing attention. I'd managed to break all three before lunch.
Spectacular failure rate, even by my standards.
The thing was, I understood Bakugo's psychology better than he understood it himself. This wasn't about me being strong or challenging his territory. This was about validation.
Katsuki Bakugo had built his entire identity around being the strongest, best, most talented person in any room. It was a house of cards held up by constant praise and a genuinely impressive quirk. But here I was—someone who'd effortlessly handled a situation that left him helpless, someone who could deflect his attacks without breaking a sweat.
I wasn't just challenging his territory. I was threatening his entire worldview.
*Poor kid probably hasn't slept since the sludge incident.*
The rational part of my mind knew I should de-escalate. Apologize, maybe. Explain that I wasn't trying to show him up or stake a claim on his social hierarchy.
But where was the fun in that?
Plus, Bakugo was asking for it. The territorial posturing, the assumption that I was obligated to bow to his dominance just because this was "his" school—textbook bullying wrapped in the language of pride and strength.
And I'd never been good at tolerating bullies.
There was no backing down now. Bakugo had made it personal and public. Half the school would be watching, and if I tried to avoid it, it would look like cowardice.
Besides, maybe it was time someone taught Bakugo that being strong doesn't give you the right to be an asshole.
---
Meanwhile, word spread through the school like wildfire. By lunch, everyone from first-years to third-years had heard some version of the story. Details varied wildly—some versions had me creating force fields across entire classrooms, others claimed I'd reflected Bakugo's explosion back at him.
What remained consistent was the basic facts: the new transfer student had taken a direct hit from Bakugo's quirk without damage, and there was going to be a real fight after school.
The anticipation was building to a fever pitch.
___
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