Chapter Text
The summer air in Munich was unseasonably cold. Heavy clouds clung to the sky like fog refusing to lift, dimming the golden hues of late afternoon. The Class 2-A bus rumbled down a winding path flanked by towering trees and fields of sunflowers long since wilted.
“Dude, can you believe this church is over five hundred years old?” Kaminari said, pointing at the looming silhouette ahead. His voice cracked the silence like a firecracker.
The old church was nestled among thick woods, like it had been buried in time. Stone walls veined with moss. A sharp steeple that pierced the gray clouds. A single black iron door that seemed far too small for something so ancient and heavy.
“I didn’t know we were stopping for mass,” Bakugou muttered under his breath, arms folded, eyes sharp.
“It’s just a tourist stop, Bakugou,” Yaoyorozu said gently. “The guide said the architecture is a rare example of Romanesque-Gothic fusion. One of a kind.”
They filed in, boots echoing on the worn stone floors. The stained-glass windows painted the pews with fractured light—blues and reds that looked like blood in motion. Cold crept in from the floor and settled in their bones.
Then, from the shadows near the altar, a priest emerged.
Old. Paper-white skin. Hair like silver smoke. Eyes clouded with time—but sharp.
He smiled at them. But when his gaze fell on Bakugou Katsuki, his expression changed.
His mouth fell slightly open.
A flicker of recognition—or horror—passed through his eyes.
The others were chatting, wandering. But the priest raised a single trembling hand and pointed directly at Bakugou.
He didn’t shout. He didn’t whisper.
“Death doesn’t like to be cheated.”
The words hung in the air like a curse.
Everyone went quiet.
Bakugou’s stomach dropped.
He didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe.
He knew exactly what the priest meant.
He shut his eyes.
Not out of fear.
But because he understood.