Chapter Text
"Real original, Monoma," Katsuki muttered, rolling his eyes as he stepped over the blatantly extended leg. "Thought you'd have at least some creativity."
"Didn’t feel like wasting brainpower on a bottom-feeder like you," Monoma sneered.
Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t exactly popular. That much was clear—whether from the wary glances he got in the hallway or from how his self-appointed nemesis, Neito Monoma, went out of his way to make Katsuki's life that much harder.
The truth had surfaced by the end of last year. Bakugou Katsuki was a bully. A video, leaked by his former middle school “friends,” had shattered any semblance of his already fragile reputation.
Not that anyone cared about the full story.
He and Izuku had worked through their baggage—years of forced proximity creating a kind of uneasy truce. But no one wanted to hear about that, did they? They only remembered the video.
Still, it was a new year. New class. New teacher. Same damn Monoma.
“That’s my seat,” Monoma declared, gesturing to the desk Katsuki had claimed.
“I don’t see your name on it,” Katsuki snapped, slamming his hand down. “You’ll have to drag me out.”
“Don’t start a fight,” Glasses scolded from nearby.
“I’m not starting anything!” Katsuki barked back.
A tense silence fell over the room as Glasses took a cautious step backward.
“Isn’t that the guy from the video?” a girl whispered, just loud enough for Katsuki to hear.
Right. That’s all they saw—a bully.
With a huff, he slung his bag over his shoulder and moved to the back of the room. A redhead was already seated there.
“Hi!” the redhead greeted brightly. “I’m Kirishima!”
“You don’t want to talk to me,” Katsuki muttered, head hitting the desk with a dull thud.
“Is it because of that video?” another voice asked from the seat in front. Katsuki looked up to see a mop of messy blond hair.
“If you're here to ask him pointless questions like why he bullied me and whatnot don't bother,” someone cut in from the front.
Izuku Midoriya stood tall, a quiet confidence in his eyes. “Kac—Katsuki and I moved past all that. If you can’t, that’s your problem.”
“Well, if Midoriya says so…” the blond said, flashing Katsuki a thumbs up. “You’re cool with me. I’m Kaminari, by the way.”
“Bakugou.”
Katsuki leaned back in his chair. Maybe high school wouldn’t be completely awful—even if Deku had sat himself directly in front of him.
“Alright, class,” a new voice drawled as a man strolled in, half-hidden behind an enormous scarf and bags under his eyes that could carry luggage. “I’m Aizawa. I’ll be your teacher this year.”
“Oh, Mr. Aizawa, I’m not comfortable being in class with him,” Monoma whined, pointing at Katsuki like he’d just kicked a puppy.
Aizawa’s tired eyes locked onto Katsuki. He raised an eyebrow. Katsuki rolled his eyes in return. Fantastic. Monoma had already ruined any chance of a decent first impression.
“You’ll just have to learn how to get along,” Aizawa sighed, turning to start the lesson. Monoma huffed in protest. Katsuki smirked—he had a new favorite teacher.
Did that stop him? Of course not. Monoma just moved on to his next victim, tapping the goth dude on the shoulder with the fakest innocent smile Katsuki had ever seen.
“Psst. Heard you’ve got a crush,” he whispered like it was the juiciest gossip in the world.
The guy practically choked. “What? No!”
A few people around them started snickering. Then Monoma’s little sidekick jumped in, loud as ever. “Yeah! Heard it’s... Tsu!”
Monoma gasped like he was in some bad soap opera. “Tsu? Ohh, Tokoya—”
“Silence, class,” Aizawa said, cutting through the noise like a knife.
Did that shut Monoma up? Absolutely not.
Katsuki watched him slide a note over to Tokoya-whatever with a smug little smirk, like he couldn’t help himself.
The goth kid didn’t even blink. He crumpled the paper in one hand, eyes locked on Monoma with a death stare.
Katsuki couldn’t help the grin that crept onto his face. At least it seemed Monoma was at the same level as Katsuki when it comes to popularity.
Class passed in a blur, and when the final bell finally rang, it was time to go home. Unfortunately, Deku had spent the entire day defending him—and it grated on Katsuki's nerves.
“You don’t have to do that,” Katsuki muttered as they walked to the station, cursed to share a route thanks to being neighbors.
“Do what?” Deku asked, playing innocent.
“Be my damn guard dog. We’re not even friends!”
“I don’t like people deciding how I should feel,” Deku said evenly, eyes narrowing. “Not even you.”
“Hmm well I still think you should've been more vindicated about all of this.”
“Well yeah, I hated you for a second there,” Deku said with a faint smile.
“Really?”
“Yeah, like when you trashed my All Might comic!” He shook his head. “Less mad now you've given me your copy.”
Katsuki bumped his shoulder. “You're never gonna give that back, huh?”
“Not a chance.”
Somewhere between the video leak and the long summer afternoons spent in hesitant company, a fragile friendship had taken root—unspoken, but real. Katsuki would never admit it aloud, but Deku had taught him that forgiveness could feel better than guilt or resentment. And in moments like this, it actually did.
Until a scream tore through the peace.
A woman’s cry echoed from an alleyway, turning heads. A masked man stood, arm outstretched, gun pointed directly at her.
People looked away. Moved faster. Pretended they hadn’t seen.
Deku moved first.
Katsuki’s hand shot out, grabbing him. It’s not safe, his grip said.
“There are kids,” Deku hissed.
Katsuki’s eyes found the two small girls clung to the womans' skirt, trembling. Shit.
Deku broke free and sprinted toward the alley.
“Deku, stop!” Katsuki shouted. “Izuku, you’re not in a comic book!”
“I don’t care!” Deku shouted over his shoulder.
The man turned, startled. His gun shifted toward them.
“Stop right there! I’ve got a gun!”
“Thanks for the memo, genius,” Katsuki growled, eyeing Deku trying to sneak toward the children.
He needed a distraction.
“Well, you look broke,” Katsuki called out.
“What did you just say?” the man barked, stepping forward.
“I said you look broke. Try to keep up. And god—you stink.”
“You got a death wish, punk?” the man growled, now just inches away, the barrel of the gun aimed at Katsuki’s chest.
“Maybe I do.”
From the corner of his eye, Katsuki saw Deku guiding the woman and children to safety. But the man's gaze followed his.
“You little shits!” he roared, swinging the gun.
Time slowed.
It felt like a millennium or maybe no time at all.
The gun fired.
The sound echoed.
The bullet hit.
The scream that followed wasn’t Deku’s.
It was Katsuki’s.
He didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. He didn’t run to Deku or for help—he charged at the man.
Fury drowned reason. He tackled him, fists flying, knuckles cracking against bone. The gun clattered away.
Punch after punch. Blood. Sirens. He couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop.
Not until a trembling hand grabbed his arm.
Deku.
Injured. Pale. Needing help.
Katsuki froze.
Guilt slammed into him like a wave. He reached out, gripping Deku’s hand, lifting him to his feet.
“I’m sorry,” Katsuki whispered, voice rough.
Deku didn’t answer.