Chapter Text
The high school cafeteria was a loud, chaotic symphony of scraping chairs, echoing laughter, and the dull thud of trays. At a large, central table, the high-status athletes of Aldera High reigned supreme.
Katsuki Bakugo, a hulking figure even when seated, had a mop of ash-blond hair and an expression that hovered permanently between annoyed and explosive. He was the star quarterback, the undeniable alpha of the senior class, dressed in a pristine white t-shirt that stretched taut over his impressive physique.
He was currently spearing a piece of chicken with a disgusted glare, listening with half an ear to the chatter around him.
“Dude, come on, you gotta be bored, right?” Denki Kaminari, the resident class clown and starting wide receiver, leaned over, his grin stretching wide. His eyes were bright with mischief.
Katsuki grunted, pushing his tray away. “Bored is an understatement, Dunce Face. This whole year is a goddamn rerun.”
“Exactly! That’s why I have a proposition!” Denki practically vibrated with excitement. “A game. A little... challenge.”
Eijiro Kirishima, the dependable and equally muscular defensive end, looked up, intrigued. “Ooh, what kind of challenge, man?”
“A bet,” Denki announced, lowering his voice conspiratorially, though the noise level made it unnecessary. “I bet Katsuki five hundred dollars that he can’t pull off the ultimate high school movie cliché.”
Katsuki raised a skeptical eyebrow, a dangerous flicker in his crimson eyes. “I can do anything, you idiot. Spit it out.”
“Okay, here it is,” Denki whispered, gesturing around the cafeteria. “The next single person—and I mean, the very next person—who walks through those main double doors, you have to date them and seal the deal. You've got to get them into bed with you before the last school bell rings on the final day of the semester.”
Katsuki scoffed, a dark smirk playing on his lips. “That’s it? Piece of cake. Five hundred, huh? And if I lose, which won't happen, I’ll fork over the money.”
“Deal!” Denki slapped the table, causing a ripple of spilled soda.
Kirishima shook his head, half-amused, half-concerned. “You guys are insane. But seriously, Katsuki, what if it’s, like, Mr. Aizawa?”
Katsuki snorted. “Aizawa is married. The rules say single. Besides, this whole damn school drools over me. It’ll be a waste of a good grand, honestly.”
They fell silent, all three pairs of eyes fixed on the heavy oak double doors. A minute passed. The doors remained shut. The athletes shared a look of anticipation and growing impatience.
Suddenly, the doors swung inward, revealing a small, green-haired figure struggling to balance a mountainous stack of textbooks.
The air seemed too still.
Izuku Midoriya was the antithesis of the table he was walking toward. He was thin, perpetually dressed in oversized, non-designer clothes, and his face was dominated by a cloud of messy, dark-green curls and a smattering of freckles. He was a quintessential 'nerd,' a fixture of the school's high-achieving academic decathlon team. He often kept to the quieter corners of the cafeteria, usually with his nose buried in a spiral notebook.
He also happened to be the one person Katsuki hadn't spoken more than three words to in five years.
He was their childhood friend.
Katsuki's smirk vanished, replaced by an expression of utter disbelief and a muscle twitching in his jaw.
Denki, however, threw his hands up in victory. “Well, look what the cat dragged in! The universe clearly has a sense of humor!” He leaned in, a triumphant, wicked glint in his eyes. “Pay attention, Bakugo. Rules are rules. That’s your date.”
Izuku, completely oblivious to the scrutiny and the damning bet, finally made it to the edge of the cafeteria, placing his books gently on an empty table before turning to head toward the lunch line.
Katsuki stared at the back of Izuku’s green mop of hair, his fist slowly clenching under the table. He could feel the weight of Kirishima and Kaminari's gazes.
Date Deku? Get him in bed? Before the end of the semester?
The idea was ridiculous. It was a joke. It was also a direct challenge to his pride, and Katsuki Bakugo never backed down from a challenge.
With a heavy sigh that was half-angered and half-resignation, he pushed his chair back, the loud screech cutting through the cafeteria noise.
“Fine,” Katsuki growled, his voice low and dangerous. “Five hundred? You're on, Kaminari. Don’t think you're getting off easy when I win.”
He rose to his full height, adjusting his shirt and looking across the room at his target, the oblivious, sweet, and incredibly complicated boy he hadn't called "Izu" since middle school.
He had a date to secure.