The classroom buzzed.
Desks rattled as kids leaned over them, whispering behind cupped hands. Little cliques clustered near the windows and the back wall, trading secrets like they were currency. Rumors stretched and twisted with every retelling—until they barely resembled the truth.
Today's hottest topic was about two boys.
"Did you see how cool Bakugo was with his quirk?" one girl gushed, twirling a pen between her fingers. "He's totally gonna be a powerful hero."
"Yeah, but what about Ryuuki?" her friend replied, kicking her feet under the desk. "He's such a hottie, and his quirk is, like, perfect for rescue. He's definitely gonna be famous."
They giggled, glancing toward the front of the room where two desks sat close together—the class's golden seats, usually occupied by Katsuki Bakugo and Ryuuki Haruhama.
Across the room, Izuku sat hunched over his notebook, quiet as always. His pen moved fast, filling the page with diagrams and frantic little notes: angles, distances, "safe blast radius," "field density," "stability vs speed." He wasn't in the conversation—he was building a world inside his head where effort could compete with power.
Ryuuki rested his cheek against his hand and stared out the window. The sunlight outside looked warm, but his thoughts were still stuck in the gym, still stuck on the moment Ms. Ayaka's smile had faltered when she looked at Izuku.
Bakugo, a row ahead, was loud as ever—bragging to anyone who'd listen that he "almost had him," that the next one would be a crush for sure.
Ryuuki didn't respond. He didn't need to.
He knew what happened earlier.
Everyone did.
"Alright, class!" Ms. Ayaka clapped her hands, her smile bright and teacher-perfect. "Today, we've set up a mock rescue mission."
That got everyone's attention.
Homeroom had been moved into the small gym. Mats lined the floor. At one end, an improvised "hazard zone" had been built: scattered leaves, sand piles, training dummies half-buried or leaning at odd angles, chairs tilted like fallen beams.
Above it all, balls of crumpled paper floated and zigzagged through the air, bobbing and weaving like clumsy birds. Ms. Ayaka's quirk held them aloft, making them dart unpredictably.
She pointed toward the mess.
"Your objective is simple: rescue as many beanbags as you can from the hazard zone."
A pile of small, colorful beanbags had been placed around and under the "debris"—props for trapped civilians.
Excited chatter broke out immediately.
Bakugo's eyes lit up, tiny sparks popping at his palms. Ryuuki bounced on his heels, hands flexing unconsciously, as if he could feel the air currents just looking at the setup.
"This is just a fun exercise some of us teachers put together," Ms. Ayaka continued. "You've all been… very energetic lately." She smiled wryly. "We thought this would help burn off some extra energy. Participation is optional… but we encourage everyone to try."
Her gaze drifted over the class, warm and encouraging—
until it landed on Izuku.
For a split second, her smile faltered. Barely a twitch. A hesitation she corrected instantly.
But three people saw it.
Ryuuki saw it.
Bakugo saw it.
Izuku definitely saw it.
Izuku's shoulders hunched. He took a tiny step back, eyes dropping to the floor.
Optional, he thought. For kids like him, "optional" always meant: It's fine if you don't. We didn't expect you to anyway.
Ryuuki's jaw tightened.
He started to walk toward Izuku, already planning to drag him in with a casual, "C'mon, we'll do it together—"
"Ryuuki, dear," Ms. Ayaka called, her voice bright but firm. "You and Bakugo will go first."
Ryuuki froze mid-step.
When she'd said it was optional, she hadn't meant for everyone. Not really.
Kids with no quirk—or "unimpressive" ones—could sit out quietly. But Bakugo and Ryuuki weren't in that category, and every teacher knew it. They were the ones called first. The ones given extra attention. The ones treated like the future had already chosen them.
Ryuuki glanced back at Izuku.
Izuku tried to smile, but it came out weak and wobbly. His hands were already curling around the strap of his bag, fingernails digging in.
Ryuuki gave him a small, apologetic look—I tried—then turned and walked to the tape line.
Bakugo slid in beside him with a smirk.
"Where'd you think you were going, Ryu?" he snorted. "Scared of losing to me?"
Sparks danced across his palms like they were eager to be seen.
Ryuuki met his gaze, refusing to look away.
"Bakugo," he said calmly, "do you really think you can beat me in a rescue mission? My quirk was built for this."
Ms. Ayaka clapped again, like she was starting a show.
"For you two, this will be a competition," she said. "Whoever collects the most beanbags in one minute wins—and gets extra points toward your next low-grade."
Bakugo's grin sharpened. Ryuuki's eyes narrowed, focus tightening like a drawn string.
They took their places shoulder to shoulder, staring down the hazard zone—dummies, sand, floating paper diving like cheap missiles.
"Three…" Ms. Ayaka counted.
Bakugo bounced lightly on his toes. Ryuuki inhaled slowly, feeling the air brush his fingertips.
"Two…"
The paper balls sped up.
"One…"
"Go!"
Both boys launched forward.
Bakugo charged in like a cannon shot, boots skidding on sand as he swung around a dummy. Ryuuki sprinted in a straighter line, steps precise, body already settling into the rhythm of drills he'd done a hundred times at home.
Ryuuki hit the hazard zone first.
A crumpled paper ball shot toward his face.
He didn't duck.
His hand flicked up—and the paper veered sharply away, smacked aside by an invisible current, spiraling off harmlessly into the gym wall.
He extended his field.
To most of the class, nothing changed.
But Ryuuki felt it: subtle pressure spreading out from him like shallow water filling a basin. Air flowed around his legs, brushed against the dummies, slid over piles of sand. His horn glowed faintly, warm.
Beanbags shifted as his currents slid under them.
He swept his hands outward.
Three beanbags rose at once, half-lifted by air and loosened sand. They drifted into his arms like they belonged there.
"Whoa…" someone whispered from the sidelines.
Bakugo blasted through a cluster of paper balls. Tiny pops of explosion shredded them into confetti bursts.
He ducked under a dummy, grabbed a beanbag, and flung it back—overshooting so hard it bounced off a mat and nearly smacked the wall.
"Watch the throw, Bakugo!" Ms. Ayaka called. "You're rescuing, not launching!"
Bakugo clicked his tongue and kept going, clearing paths with small bursts. Every pop made the watching kids flinch and cheer.
Ryuuki did the opposite.
Instead of breaking the "debris," he flowed around it. When he saw a dummy tipping precariously over a beanbag, he didn't knock it aside; he slid a current under its shoulders, holding it up just enough to reach under safely.
A paper ball streaked toward his back.
His field twitched, caught it midair, and sent it drifting away like a leaf pushed by a breeze.
Izuku couldn't look away.
His muttering started up on reflex.
"Ryu's adjusting field density… prioritizing stability over speed… but it's faster because he's not wasting energy destroying obstacles…"
A few kids shot him odd looks, but nobody told him to shut up. They were too busy watching.
Bakugo found a cluster of beanbags half-buried near a broken chair. He grinned and detonated a small pop under the sand—blasting it away in a burst that sent grit flying.
"Gotcha!"
He scooped up three at once.
Unfortunately, the blast also rocked a nearby dummy hard enough that it tipped.
The dummy lurched and toppled toward the tape line—toward the watching kids pressed up against it.
Gasps rippled.
Ms. Ayaka's eyes widened. She reached for her quirk—
Ryuuki was faster.
His field snapped sideways.
The falling dummy jerked as if hit by an invisible shoulder-check, its trajectory changed mid-fall, and it thudded down safely inside the hazard zone instead of crashing into the kids.
The room erupted.
"Nice save!" someone shouted.
Ryuuki barely registered it. He was already moving—hands tight, controlled—herding beanbags with gentle pushes of air, sliding them up sand ramps and over obstacles into reach.
"Ten seconds!" Ms. Ayaka called.
Ryuuki dug deeper. His field widened a hair.
His horn flared brighter.
Five beanbags rose from different spots, nudged by currents into a loose orbit near him. Sweat pricked his temple. His arms trembled.
Don't overextend, a voice—his mom's—echoed in his head. Breathe with it. Don't fight it.
He exhaled, tightened focus, and pulled them in.
Bakugo raided one last cluster, blasting a path clear and scooping them up with a wild grin.
"Time!"
Both boys skidded to a halt, breathing hard. Paper balls drooped and fell as Ms. Ayaka released her quirk.
A teacher counted quickly.
"Bakugo: nineteen," Ms. Ayaka announced. "Ryuuki: twenty-two."
A cheer went up.
Bakugo's jaw dropped. "No way—!"
Ryuuki straightened slowly, cheeks flushed, horn still faintly warm. He smiled—small, satisfied—then looked to the sidelines until he found Izuku.
Izuku stood near the wall, hands clenched at his sides. His eyes were wide—not with jealousy, but with that burning admiration that made him look like he was watching a hero on TV.
Ryuuki raised a hand in a small wave.
Izuku waved back too fast.
Bakugo caught the exchange and scoffed, but didn't say anything. Not then.
Ms. Ayaka clapped.
"Alright! Next volunteers!"
A few kids stepped forward.
A few others—notably the quirkless—shrunk back, hoping not to be noticed.
And the gym moved on.
But Ryuuki didn't forget the look on Izuku's face.
The boys spilled out of the school gates like they'd been launched from a slingshot—bookbags bouncing, voices loud, afternoon sun warm on their backs.
Bakugo wouldn't shut up.
"I'm telling you, I had you," he snapped, walking backward in front of them like he was addressing a crowd. "One more round and I would've smoked you, Ryu. You lucked out."
Ryuuki didn't even look at him. Kaji perched quietly in his curls, a tiny crown of black scales and red-orange eyes.
Izuku's excitement was barely contained.
"Are you guys excited?" he asked. "They got a new machine at the arcade—apparently it's a racing game where two people can challenge each other head-to-head."
Daichi practically bounced. "I know! I heard about it too. I'm definitely getting the top score."
He shot Bakugo a look like he was daring him.
Bakugo stopped mid-rant, turned slowly, and stared like Daichi had insulted his family.
"Hah?" Bakugo said. "You? A top score? That's funny."
Tsubasa groaned. "Here we go…"
Ryuuki chuckled under his breath and finally spoke.
"C'mon. If anyone's gonna be the best today, it's me."
He tilted his head, side-eyeing Bakugo on purpose.
"I already got a win in class," Ryuuki said lightly, "and my Harbor Current's telling me I'm gonna win again."
Bakugo's whole body stiffened.
He got right in Ryuuki's face, eyes blazing.
"As if! I've got a bone to pick with you," he snapped. "I'm gonna be the future Number One. And Number One doesn't back down from a challenge."
Ryuuki didn't flinch. He smiled like he knew exactly what button he'd pressed.
Bakugo broke into a sprint.
"Smell you later, losers!" he shouted over his shoulder. "I'm reaching the arcade first—and I'm getting more practice time than you!"
He flashed them a smug grin and took off.
The rest of the boys stared for half a beat—
Then instinct kicked in.
"He's trying to cheat!" Tsubasa barked, launching into a run.
Daichi chased too. "GET BACK HERE, BAKUGO!"
Izuku and Ryuuki ran behind them, laughing despite themselves.
Bakugo was fast for a kid.
But he wasn't fast enough to outrun the day.
They were halfway down the block when the world split open.
BOOM!
An explosion erupted from the street to their left.
Heat punched the air. Glass screamed. A column of fire blasted out of a pawn shop, hurling debris into the road like shrapnel.
A heartbeat later, the shockwave hit—slamming into their chests and rattling their bones.
The street became chaos.
People screamed. Someone dropped groceries. A man yelled for kids to get down. Smoke poured out of the storefront like black water, thick and rolling.
Cars swerved hard, tires squealing. One clipped the curb. Another slammed into scattered debris.
And one vehicle lost control completely.
It fishtailed violently, spinning straight toward the boys.
Daichi's face went white.
"GUYS—DUCK!"
The car came skidding at them, metal screeching, headlights bouncing.
Izuku moved without thinking.
He jumped forward, arms out like he could shield all of them with his body.
Bakugo's eyes went wide. "IZUKU, GET OUT OF THE DAMN WAY!"
Tsubasa reacted on adrenaline.
His wings unfurled in a flash and he launched off the ground, grabbing Izuku by the back of his shirt and yanking him up—just enough to clear the car's path.
"HEY—!" Izuku yelped, kicking uselessly in midair.
But the car was still coming.
Still aimed at the sidewalk.
Still aimed at Bakugo, Ryuuki, and Daichi.
Ryuuki didn't have time to think.
His horn flared gold.
The air around the car thickened like the street had turned to syrup. Pressure surged in a wide band—not lifting the car, not stopping it like magic—forcing the space around it to resist movement, bleeding momentum in layers.
The car's skid jerked sideways.
Its trajectory bent away from the boys—angled toward the brick wall of the neighboring building—
Then slowed.
Tires stuttered. The body rocked.
The screeching became a grinding shudder.
And the car stopped.
Inches from the wall.
Silence fell in the boys' little pocket of the world—broken only by crackling fire and distant screams.
Bakugo turned slowly.
Ryuuki stood with one arm outstretched, fingers splayed, hornlight spilling over the sidewalk like calm trying to swallow panic.
Sweat ran down his face. His jaw was clenched so tight it trembled.
Bakugo's mouth opened.
"Ry… Ryuuki…"
His voice came out small. Unfamiliar.
"Y-you saved us."
Daichi stared too, frozen like his brain hadn't caught up to how close they'd been to dying.
Ryuuki's eyes flicked to Bakugo, then away.
"I… always got y-your back," he managed.
His field wavered. The pressure released.
The sudden shift made Ryuuki stumble.
He dropped to one knee, clutching his head, breath coming shallow and uneven.
"Ryu!" Izuku shouted from Tsubasa's arms. "Ryuuki!"
Bakugo took a step forward, hands raised like he didn't know whether to help or fight the air.
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow. Confident. Unhurried.
The boys' heads snapped toward the pawn shop.
Smoke poured from the blown-out entrance, turning the doorway into a black mouth.
And out of that mouth—
Three figures emerged.
Adults. Masked. Calm.
They weren't running.
They weren't panicking.
They carried heavy bags that clinked with a sound even kids recognized.
Jewelry.
Gold.
Stolen sparkle catching the firelight as they stepped into the open.
One villain laughed, low and ugly.
"Clean," he said, tossing a pouch from hand to hand.
Another kicked aside a fallen sign like it was trash. "Told you. Easy money."
The third tilted his head, noticing the street.
Noticing the car stopped inches from the wall.
Noticing the kids.
His gaze locked onto Ryuuki's dim hornlight.
"Yo," he said, amused. "Look at that."
Bakugo clenched his fists.
Tsubasa lowered Izuku back down, wings half-open like a shield.
Daichi's voice shook. "W-we should run."
Ryuuki lifted his head.
His horn was dim now, but his eyes were sharp.
This wasn't training.
This wasn't a mock rescue.
This was real.
The villains stepped forward, bags swinging.
Bakugo moved first—of course he did—stepping in front of the group like his ego could stop grown criminals.
"Back off!" Bakugo snapped, sparks cracking at his palms. "Those bags aren't yours!"
The villains stared.
Then one laughed louder.
"Aww," he said. "Baby heroes."
Izuku grabbed Bakugo's sleeve, terrified. "K-Kacchan—don't—!"
Bakugo didn't look back.
Ryuuki forced himself up beside him, swaying slightly.
"Leave," Ryuuki said, voice quiet but firm.
The villains' eyes flicked between them—Bakugo's sparks, Ryuuki's horn—two kinds of danger wrapped in small bodies.
Then the smoke arrived.
Smoke rolled across the street in thick, dirty waves, crawling low along the ground and clinging to the ruined storefront.
The leader—tall, broad-shouldered, cracked respirator mask—stood at the center of it all. The smoke bent around him unnaturally, curling and folding like it was being breathed into existence.
To his right, a thinner man wore strange headgear strapped tight to his skull—wires, blinking lights—crouched low with one hand on the pavement as if listening to the street itself.
The third cracked his knuckles, wrists rolling. Every time he shifted his weight, the pavement shuddered just enough to make pebbles jump.
Experienced.
Not flashy.
But dangerous.
"Boss," the crouching one said, headgear flickering. "Sirens are still a bit out. We've got a couple minutes."
The leader chuckled.
"A couple minutes, huh?" His gaze settled on the kids. "Plenty of time."
He tilted his head like they were curiosities.
"Let's play around with them."
Izuku's stomach dropped.
Daichi's knees threatened to buckle.
Tsubasa's wings twitched, instinct screaming to grab everyone and fly—but he couldn't carry them all.
Ryuuki didn't move.
His head still pounded, vision swimming, but his mind was terrifyingly clear.
They're testing us.
He leaned slightly toward Daichi, voice barely a breath.
"Daichi," he whispered, eyes on the sensor. "Can you grab that headgear?"
Daichi flinched. Up close, the villains felt real. Not dummies. Not teachers.
Then he looked at Izuku—pale, clutching Kaji.
At Tsubasa—wings shaking.
At Ryuuki—still thinking.
Daichi swallowed.
"…Y-yeah," he whispered. "I… I think I can."
Ryuuki nodded once.
"When I say so, you grab it and run. Don't stop. Don't look back."
Bakugo edged closer, sparks snapping quietly.
"Ryuuki…" he muttered, low—almost uncertain. "Are we actually doing this?"
Ryuuki didn't answer immediately.
He lifted Kaji from his head and placed the small, calm skink into Izuku's arms.
"Hold him," Ryuuki said. "Stay behind Tsubasa. No matter what."
Then he turned back to Bakugo.
His horn flared—not wild, not unstable—bright and steady.
"It's not a choice," Ryuuki said quietly. "We were born strong."
Bakugo stiffened.
"So we protect the weak," Ryuuki finished.
Bakugo stared for a heartbeat.
Then fear burned away, replaced by something sharp and familiar.
A grin split his face.
"Heh," Bakugo said. "Damn right."
The leader noticed.
"Oh?" he said, amused. "Looks like the shiny one wants to play hero."
The sensor's head snapped up.
"Boss," he warned. "Air pressure's shifting."
The leader's smile widened.
"Well then."
Smoke surged outward, thick and blinding.
"Let's see what kind of heroes you kids think you are."
Ryuuki raised his hand.
"Now," he whispered.
Ryuuki's quirk activated behind the sensor.
The air thickened—then slammed into the back of the sensor villain like a giant wave.
WHAM.
The sensor went flying forward, tumbling straight toward the kids.
"NOW, DAICHI!" Ryuuki shouted.
The smoke and shockwave villains looked confused for half a second—
then realized the trick.
"Stop the kid with the fingers!" the smoke leader snapped. "I'll take the horn!"
Daichi's fear hit like a wall.
But he forced his legs to move anyway—because he'd promised.
He ran toward the tumbling sensor, hands up.
His fingers shot out like bullets, stretching long and fast, eager for the headgear.
The shockwave villain flicked his wrist.
A tight ball of compressed air shot toward Daichi like a thrown stone.
Ryuuki reacted instantly.
He increased air pressure around Daichi like a cocoon—thick space, hardened momentum.
The projectile hit the cocoon and burst on contact in a sharp POP, kicking up dust and smoke.
Ryuuki gave the shockwave villain a challenging grin through the haze.
Daichi's fingers hooked the headgear straps.
YANK.
The gadget ripped free with a crackle of wires.
"I GOT IT!" Daichi shouted, disbelief cracking his voice. "I-I GOT IT, RYU!"
And then he ran.
Straight back toward Tsubasa and Izuku like his life depended on it—because it did.
Smoke thickened around him, trying to swallow him whole.
But Tsubasa shifted, wings opening wider like a living barricade.
"Here!" Tsubasa yelled. "MOVE!"
Daichi burst behind the wings, nearly collapsing.
Izuku grabbed the headgear with trembling hands.
"You really did it," Izuku breathed.
Tsubasa shoved Daichi down behind him.
"Stay down," he ordered, voice shaking but stubborn. "All of you. Stay down."
Daichi nodded fast, chest heaving.
But his eyes stayed locked on the street—
on Bakugo and Ryuuki standing up front like a wall made of stubbornness.
⸻
Bakugo didn't wait.
He sprang forward, palms snapping up, sparks popping bright.
The smoke leader laughed.
"Still barking, little firecracker?"
Bakugo snarled. "SHUT UP!"
He fired a blast low—at the ground.
POP!
The explosion cracked pavement and shoved smoke upward, carving a brief window through the haze.
For a second, the leader was visible.
Ryuuki used that second.
His horn flared, and the air in the cleared lane tightened into a narrow corridor—a pressure funnel. A path. The smoke tried to refill it.
Ryuuki forced the air to move where he wanted.
"Bakugo—left lane!" Ryuuki shouted.
Bakugo pivoted and fired—two tight pops, controlled like fireworks.
POP! POP!
The blasts punched through Ryuuki's corridor and slammed into the smoke leader's shoulder and chest.
The leader staggered a step, surprised—not seriously hurt, but forced to respect it.
"Tch," he muttered. "They're coordinating."
Ryuuki tightened his funnel again, trying to keep smoke from collapsing the lane.
Bakugo charged through it like a missile.
It looked cool.
It was also a mistake.
The shockwave villain stepped in calmly.
He raised a hand.
Air compressed.
Ryuuki saw it and braced—thickening the space between Bakugo and the incoming hit, trying to create a cushion.
Bakugo didn't retreat anyway.
The shockwave villain released the pulse.
THUMM—!
The air hit like a hammer.
Bakugo snapped sideways and skidded across grit and glass, breath punched out of him.
"BAKUGO!" Izuku screamed behind Tsubasa.
Bakugo coughed, eyes blazing, forcing himself up on shaking arms.
Ryuuki turned to help—
and the smoke leader surged in.
Fast. Experienced. Close.
A heavy fist came down toward Ryuuki's face.
Ryuuki tried to thicken the air—
but his field was stretched, smoke messed with depth, and his head was already pounding.
The punch clipped him.
Not full force.
Enough.
Ryuuki stumbled, vision sparking white.
He clenched his jaw and forced focus back.
He compressed air at the villain's knees—a pressure pocket meant to trip.
The smoke leader's step hit it.
He staggered.
Bakugo, still on the ground, fired a reflex blast upward.
POP!
It hit the leader's side and forced him to twist away.
Bakugo spit grit. "Get off him…"
The shockwave villain walked forward like none of it mattered.
He wasn't angry.
He looked… bored.
"Kids," he said almost casually, "you've got spirit."
He lifted both hands.
Air vibrated.
"But you don't have bodies for this."
He slammed his palms together and released a wider shockwave.
THUMMMM—!
The sidewalk bucked.
Tsubasa's wings flared as the force rippled toward the group—he dug his feet in, shielding Izuku and Daichi.
Up front, Bakugo and Ryuuki took it raw.
Bakugo got lifted and thrown back.
Ryuuki's field tried to soften it, but the wave punched through anyway.
Ryuuki slammed into a street sign with a metallic CLANG.
Pain exploded across his back.
He slid down, gasping, eyes wide.
The villains closed in.
"Enough," the smoke leader said, voice cool. "We played. Now we leave."
Bakugo pushed up anyway—stubborn, shaking, furious.
He charged again.
The shockwave villain met him halfway.
A blunt hit to the stomach. Another to the shoulder.
Bakugo folded, coughing, dropping to one knee.
The smoke leader grabbed his collar and yanked him up like a ragdoll.
Bakugo's eyes blazed even through pain.
"Let… go…!"
The smoke leader raised his fist.
And Bakugo couldn't dodge.
Ryuuki saw it.
Time slowed.
Bakugo's head was exposed.
His body was twisted wrong.
His pride couldn't save him now.
Ryuuki's quirk activated without permission.
His horn flared violently.
Not a gentle current.
Not a corridor.
A save.
The air between the fist and Bakugo's face thickened into a sudden pressure wall.
The punch deflected at the last instant—glancing Bakugo's cheek instead of breaking his face.
Bakugo's head snapped, but he stayed conscious.
The smoke leader blinked, surprised.
Ryuuki's breath came out in a broken gasp as his field wavered, then snapped back again—instinctive, protective.
"…That," the smoke leader said quietly, voice lowering, "was automatic."
The shockwave villain turned his head to study Ryuuki like he'd found something valuable.
The sensor villain—angry, disoriented, missing his gear—spat blood and pointed.
"That horn kid," he hissed. "That's the problem."
They moved on Ryuuki together.
Bakugo tried to lunge after them—
A shockwave pulse slapped him down again.
Ryuuki braced, trying to widen his field, trying to keep them away—
But his head was splitting, his breathing broke, and the smoke leader's fists landed.
Once.
Twice.
Ryuuki crumpled, arms up, hornlight flickering like a failing bulb.
"STOP!" Izuku screamed, voice cracking.
Tsubasa shook, wings trembling.
"S-sirens—!" he cried. "I hear sirens!"
A gust of wind tore through the smoke like someone ripped open a curtain.
A pro hero landed hard between the villains and the children, boots cracking pavement.
"Alright," the hero said, voice sharp and furious. "That's enough."
The villains froze.
For half a beat, the smoke leader considered fighting.
Then the sensor villain muttered, "Boss—cops are close."
The smoke leader clicked his tongue.
"Yeah," he said, eyes sliding toward Bakugo and Ryuuki. "But I'm gonna remember these two."
He pointed—two fingers, casual, like a promise.
"You kids," he said low. "You're gonna grow up."
The shockwave villain smirked. "And when you do…"
Smoke surged outward in a thick burst.
The hero lunged—
But the villains were already moving, using smoke as cover, slipping between alleys and chaos like ghosts who'd done this before.
When the smoke thinned, they were gone.
Only the burning pawn shop remained.
Only dropped debris.
Only terrified civilians.
And five kids shaking on the sidewalk.
The hero turned fast, scanning the scene—then locked onto Bakugo and Ryuuki.
Bakugo sat upright, bruised and shaking with rage, palms scraped raw.
Ryuuki lay on the ground, barely conscious, horn dim, face bloodied, breathing shallow.
The hero swore and knelt.
"Hey—hey," he said, voice suddenly gentler. "Kid with the horn. Stay with me. Can you hear me?"
Ryuuki's eyes fluttered.
Bakugo tried to speak and coughed instead.
"We… we fought…" Bakugo rasped, furious at how weak his voice sounded. "We didn't—back down…"
The hero's eyes widened. "You fought them?"
Bakugo glared through watery eyes. "Of course we did."
Sirens grew louder.
And then the crowd arrived.
Phones raised. Voices frantic. People pushing forward.
A woman in a blazer shoved through with a cameraman, microphone up like a weapon.
"EXCUSE ME!" she shouted. "Hero! Over here! We have footage—someone got the entire fight on video!"
Another reporter appeared from the opposite side.
"Is it true?" he demanded. "Two elementary students held off villains after a pawn shop bombing?!"
Cameras flashed.
"Look at that kid's horn!"
"Did you see the light?"
"He stopped a car earlier too!"
"Is he some kind of prodigy?"
"That explosion kid—was that Bakugo?!"
The hero stood and spread an arm to block them.
"Back up!" he ordered. "Give them space! They're children!"
But it was too late.
The world had already seen it—grainy video of smoke and sparks, Bakugo's pops lighting up the haze, Ryuuki's horn glowing like a beacon, two kids refusing to run even when they should've.
By nightfall, everyone would be talking.
A headline waiting to happen.
THE DAY THE STREETS REMEMBERED: KIDS STAND AGAINST VILLAINS
And still—
No one knew the truth.
To the world, Ryuuki Haruhama was just—
A kid with a powerful quirk.
And a heart big enough to stand in front of fire.