Chapter Text
“Don’t get too comfortable. It’s your turn now.”
Aizawa’s voice was like a blunt instrument, cutting through the haze of your thoughts. You were currently draped over Uraraka’s shoulder, your chin hooked over her collarbone as you watched the dust settle from the previous matches. You had spent the last hour watching your classmates spar against each other for today’s exercise.
"Good luck out there," Uraraka murmured, giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze before you stepped away.
Is her grip stronger?
The encouragement felt a bit embarrassing coming from her. Her training at Gunhead’s agency had done wonders for her close-quarters combat; you had just finished watching her fight with Sero, which ended with him frantically yelling "uncle" while she twisted his arm into a lock. It had actually made you wonder for a fleeting second how Sero’s elbows even worked compared to everyone else’s, given his tape-dispenser physiology.
Does the tape roll interfere with the synovial fluid?
As Aizawa called your name, you had to detach yourself from her warmth and move toward the center of the chalk-lined arena. “Alright.”
The scorching sun was relentless, baking the dirt and making your gym uniform feel like it was lined with lead. Every drop of sweat that rolled down your neck felt heavy, a physical reminder of the heat you couldn't seem to escape.
You hadn't slept last night. Or the night before that, really.
Seventy-two hours. Hallucinations start at ninety-six.
It wasn't that you were some kind of anomaly who required less rest; your body craved the same eight hours as everyone else, but your brain refused to grant the request.
As you reached for your toes, your muscles groaned in protest, stiff and unresponsive. Most of the time, your mind was a runaway train, too awake for its own good and stubbornly out of sync with your physical frame. Even now, your head was filled with a frantic loop of thoughts, mostly revolving around how utterly exhausted your body felt, which only served to keep you more alert.
You prayed for a quick exit. A really unfair matchup.
Maybe the randomiser would pair you with Shoji—one sweep of those massive tentacle arms and you’d be pinned in five seconds flat. Even Mineta would be a fast match, though you’d rather eat dirt.
But dirt is mostly clay and decomposed organic matter here. Not appetizing.
Aizawa looked down at his clipboard, then back at the digital randomiser on the screen.
"Next opponent: Bakugo."
Bakugo wasn't a quick out like the other two.
Still, a small, sleep-deprived part of you knew that it could always be worse. At least it wasn't someone like Aoyama. With his recent improvements, his physical prowess had reached a level that was frustratingly on par with yours. A spar with him would have turned into an indefinite, repetitive cycle of blocks and parries. You needed an ending, not a stalemate.
Bakugo stepped into the ring, his movements sharp and predatory. He popped his knuckles, the sound sharp in the humid air. "Quit stalling and get in damn position! Or are you gonna forfeit now and save me the trouble of blasting you into the dirt?"
Was forfeiting actually an option? You were seriously considering it.
Every muscle in your body was aching, the kind of deep, heavy soreness that made even standing still feel like a struggle. You knew how Bakugo operated; he had zero patience for anyone who didn't give their all, usually exploding into a rage if he felt his opponent was half-assing it. But as you looked at him, you realised he’d hardly interacted with you since the semester started.
He probably didn't even know what your hundred percent looked like. Maybe you could actually just step out of bounds and end this before your legs gave out.
"Bakugo," Aizawa’s voice dropped an octave, warning. "Remember. This is a No-Quirk spar. Purely physical combat. No explosions."
"Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first ten times, Eraser!" Bakugo barked, glancing back at the teacher with a snarl. "Could still make this ten times faster if you just let me blast 'er outta the ring."
"The point of this exercise is to prepare you for situations where your Quirk is unavailable or neutralized," Aizawa replied flatly, his hands shoved deep into his capturing weapon. "If you can't win without your explosions, you aren't a hero. Now, begin."
Bakugo turned back to you, his expression shifting from annoyance to a terrifyingly focused intensity.
Despite his complaints, he didn't relax his posture. He dropped into a low, aggressive stance, his eyes locking onto yours.
"Don't expect me to go easy just because we're not using Quirks," he hissed, beckoning you forward with a jerk of his chin. "Come on then. Show me if there's anything left in that head of yours, Einstein."
The fight began with a sharp, stinging trade of blows. You managed to clip his shoulder with a quick jab, but he countered instantly, a heavy kick catching you in the ribs that sent a dull ache through your core.
Einstein? Then he must be Newton. Force equals mass times acceleration. My ribs are definitely feeling the mass and the loss definitely feels accelerated.
You’ve never figured out what his problem is with that stupid nickname.
You circled him, your feet dragging slightly over the dirt.
It’s definitely not your grades—he ranked higher than you on the last written exam, and he doesn’t strike you as the type to hand out compliments disguised as insults. If anything, it’s probably your quirk. Something about energy, maybe. Though that would require him actually paying attention to how it works, which feels unlikely.
No, looking at the way your unkempt hair was currently sticking to your sweaty forehead in a wild, static mess, you knew exactly why he’d picked it. It was a dig at your appearance, a comparison to the iconic, messy-haired physicist that you really didn’t appreciate under the mid-day sun.
Despite the mockery, Bakugo was treating the fight with a frightening level of respect. It was a different kind of genius.
He was a master of combat geometry, circling you with a predatory patience that felt heavy. He watched the way your center of gravity shifted precariously and how your eyes struggled to track his speed through the haze of your fatigue. You lunged again, catching him with a glancing blow to the jaw, but his eyes never left yours. He was waiting for you to overextend, corralling you toward the edge of the ring with a mathematical precision that was as brilliant as it was terrifying.
You saw his next attack coming. Your mind, still running at a million miles an hour, mapped out the trajectory with precision.
Slide left, parry high, counter-strike to the ribs.
But your body was a machine that was too low on oil. You were a prisoner behind your own eyes, watching the world slow down into stuttering frames as your muscles were too slow for the command.
It was a solid punch to the side of your head. At your usual ability, you would have rolled with it, braced, and countered.
You saw a flash of genuine confusion cross Bakugo's face—his brow furrowing as he realized how easily his knuckles had connected, almost like he hadn't expected you to just take it.
Your vision tilted, the horizon sliding upward as your perspective shifted toward the vast, blue sky. It took a second for your brain to process that you were falling backward. The constant, buzzing chatter in your head suddenly clipped out, replaced by a strange, heavy silence.
Darkness rushed in, cool and inviting. You didn't even feel yourself hit the ground.
***
The first thing you noticed was the smell. It was that sharp, unmistakable scent of sterile white sheets and high-grade antiseptic that only lived in Recovery Girl’s office.
You opened your eyes, bracing for the usual assault of light and noise, but it didn't come. Instead, you felt... refreshed. It was a sensation so foreign it felt almost illegal. The fog that had been clouding your vision for the better part of a week had vanished. You sat up abruptly, your spine cracking in three different places, but the movement was fluid. There was no lead in your limbs, no grit in your joints. You felt like you could walk out of this room and fight a hoard of villains on your own right now.
You raised your hands in front of your face, flexing your fingers one by one. It was like testing the controls of a brand-new video game; the responsiveness was terrifyingly perfect. Even the "brain noise"—that constant, frantic vibration of a million thoughts colliding—had been turned off. For the first time in days, there was a quiet, peaceful vacancy in your skull.
"Oh! You're awake!"
Uraraka’s voice made you jump, though even the startled reaction felt crisp. She was sitting in a chair by the bed, a magazine open in her lap. She let out a soft gasp of relief, leaning forward. "You really went down hard back there. We were worried."
"How long?" you asked, your voice sounding clearer to your own ears. "How long have I been out?"
Uraraka checked her watch, then started counting on her fingers, her brow furrowing. "Well, class ended a while ago. I haven't been here the entire time—I went to grab some food and came back to check on you—but if you just woke up..." she finished her mental math. "It’s been almost four hours. Give or take ten minutes."
Four hours? You stared at her in disbelief. You hadn't managed to stay unconscious for more than forty-five minutes at a stretch in days. The fact that your brain had stayed "off" for that long was baffling.
"Wow," you breathed, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. Your vision stayed perfectly level. "Recovery Girl’s healing is actually miraculous. I feel like I've been rebooted."
Uraraka tilted her head, giving you a small, apologetic smile. "Actually, Recovery Girl didn't use her quirk on you. She checked you over once they brought you in, but she said you didn't really have any big injuries to fix. Just a little bruise from where Bakugo got you, but nothing she thought was worth using your energy to heal."
You paused, your hand mid-air as you went to touch your temple. "She didn't heal me?"
"Nope. She just said you passed out from the heat," Uraraka continued, standing up and stretching. "She mentioned that the sun was particularly brutal today and that you were probably just dehydrated. Most of the class is wiped out, honestly. The heat was really bad, and with Aizawa-sensei pushing us that hard... it was bound to happen to someone."
"Yeah," you said slowly, the word feeling light on your tongue. "The heat. Right."
You weren't exactly satisfied with that explanation. You knew what your limits were, and it definitely wasn't a sun a billion kilometers away that had finally broken you. You were stronger than that. Besides, while the heat had been brutal, it wasn't something you hadn't handled before.
You looked down at your hands again. You were still wearing your gym uniform, minus the shoes. You felt incredible, but the mystery of your sudden insomniac recovery was a nagging itch at the back of your mind.
"Anyway," Uraraka laughed, trying to lighten the mood, "That punch looked like it really hurt! Hey—that makes the two of us to pass out in a spar against him!"
You touched your bruised temple. "Right. Great. Glad my knockout was impressive—"
Then you realise.
That was when it clicked. The clarity, the silence, the four-hour gap of nothingness.
Bakugo had literally knocked you out. That moderate right hook—probably intended as the start of a quick combo or a set-up for a pin—but still. Against your sleep-deprived, weakened body, he had forcibly put you to sleep.
Your eyes widened, and a grin started to pull at your lips. "That's it!" you blurted out, standing up so fast the bed frame groaned. "That’s exactly what I needed!"
Uraraka jumped, her magazine sliding to the floor. She looked at you like you’d finally lost the rest of your marbles. "Wait, what? You needed to get punched in the face? Are you okay? Maybe I should call Recovery Girl back in..."
"No, I'm fine! Better than fine," you said, waving her off as you began to stretch, feeling the effortless strength returning to your limbs.
You kept the realisation about the "noise" to yourself—it was embarrassing enough to explain on a good day, and you didn't want to sound even more insane. Instead, you just beamed at her. "I just needed a really deep sleep, I guess."
Uraraka sighed, though she looked visibly relieved as she picked up her magazine. "Well, if you're sure. You missed the rest of the lecture, though. I took some notes for you since you were out cold. We can exchange them later at the dorms if you want to catch up?"