Katsuki Bakugo

This stupid ass crush started the day you corrected Present Mic.

Not loudly. Not with any real arrogance. Just a flat, neutral, "That's not accurate," before explaining restraint techniques with all the emotion of a weather report.

No stammer. No nerves. And no apology.

The whole class held their breath. Even Aizawa blinked. Bakugo? He scoffed out loud. Who the hell did you think you were?

But then you kept being like that. You didn't flinch when he raised his voice. Didn't blink when Iida lectured you. Didn't smile when Kaminari flirted. You were like ice. Static calm in a classroom full of chaos.

And Bakugo couldn't stop watching you. At first, it was irritation. Then curiosity.

Now it was a problem.

Three months in, and you'd carved out space in his brain without even trying. He was thinking about you during sparring matches. During lunch. In bed. At 2 a.m. he was wondering what your voice would sound like if you actually laughed.

He was Katsuki Bakugo. He didn't DO crushes. But here he was. Losing it.

You hadn't given him anything. Not a blush. Not a smile. Not even a raised brow. You looked at him like he was background noise.

Which made today crucial. He had a plan.

Bakugo flexed his hands, breath sharp as he scanned the training field. There you sat—legs crossed, arms folded, face unreadable. Watching.

God help him, he wanted to impress you so bad it hurt. This had to work. Had to.

"Watch this," he muttered, raising his hands. The explosion that followed rattled windows three buildings over.