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The toaster popped, but the bread was already cold. Someone had forgotten to plug the machine in for ten minutes.
"Kacchan, you're staring at the butter again," Izuku said, leaning against the kitchen counter with a sleepy smile. He was barely awake, his green curls a chaotic nest, but he was already wearing his school uniform with a precision that contrasted sharply with his hair.
Katsuki grunted, finally blinking and spreading a thick slab of butter across his toast. He didn't look up, but his posture relaxed, the sharp edges of his shoulders softening in a way that only happened when the two of them were alone. "Shut up, nerd. Some of us actually have a schedule to keep."
"We've been awake for twenty minutes, and the bus doesn't leave for another hour," Izuku pointed out, stepping closer to adjust the collar of Katsuki's shirt.
"Don't touch the collar, you're wrinkling it," Katsuki mumbled, though he didn't pull away. He leaned into the touch, a subconscious surrender that would have shocked his classmates. For years, Katsuki had been the shield between Izuku and the sneers of their peers, a prickly guardian who viewed the world as a series of obstacles to be blasted through. That protection hadn't stopped at the school gates; it had evolved into something steadier, a quiet pact of loyalty that had eventually shifted from protective instinct to something deeper and more permanent.
The transition from childhood protectors to teenage partners had happened in the quiet spaces between middle school exams and late-night study sessions. By the time the final bells of their third year rang, they weren't just the "strongest" and the "quirkless" of their grade; they were a unit. When Izuku finally inherited One For All, the secret wasn't just shared with All Might—it was anchored by Katsuki. The seven months spent hauling rusted refrigerators and rotting tires off the shoreline of Dagobah Beach weren't just a physical trial; they were a shared ritual. Katsuki had been there in the background, pacing the sand and shouting critiques of Izuku's form, acting as the catalyst that pushed Izuku to clean the beach and master the basics faster than any trainer could have expected.
Then came the invitation that changed everything. All Might, recognizing the raw potential and the unique mental fortitude Izuku had developed, suggested something radical: the United States. To truly refine a power of that magnitude without the crushing pressure of the Japanese rankings, Izuku needed a different environment. The goodbye at the airport had been a blur of tearful hugs from Inko, a supportive pat on the back from Uncle Masaru, and a lingering, fierce silence between the two boys. Katsuki hadn't said *I'll miss you*—that wasn't his way—but he had gripped Izuku’s wrist tightly, his thumb pressing against the pulse point as if to memorize the rhythm of his heart.
While Izuku was crossing the ocean to immerse himself in the elite training of American heroics, Katsuki stepped into the gates of UA. He entered the hallowed halls as a powerhouse, though the edges of his personality had been sanded down by his relationship. He was still arrogant, yes, but the blind rage had been replaced by a focused ambition. He navigated the first year of Class 1-A with a level of composure that surprised Aizawa, though he remained a mystery to his peers. He was the explosive blonde who seemed to be texting someone constantly, a small, genuine smile occasionally ghosting his lips when his phone buzzed—a stark contrast to the scowl he reserved for the rest of the world.
The first year at UA had been a blur of high-octane training and escalating danger. While Katsuki carved his way through the curriculum as a top contender, the external world grew volatile. Villain attacks became a weekly occurrence, shifting from disorganized raids to calculated strikes that left the student body on edge. Yet, amidst the chaos of the USJ and the Sports Festival, Katsuki found his anchor in a digital glow. Their relationship lived in the gaps between time zones—midnight video calls where Izuku would show him the skyline of New York or the brutal training gyms of the West Coast, his voice tired but buzzing with excitement. They didn't talk about the distance; they talked about growth. Katsuki would boast about his improved precision, and Izuku would laugh, telling him that he’d better keep up because the American standards were terrifyingly high.
By the time the second year rolled around, the atmosphere in Class 2-A had shifted. The students had grown stronger, but the political tension in Japan was peaking. The government, desperate to stabilize the crumbling public trust and bolster their defenses, reached out to international allies. The announcement came during a Tuesday morning lecture: three top-tier heroes from the United States were being deployed to Japan to aid in strategic operations and offer exclusive internships to a select few students. The classroom erupted in whispers. Shinsou leaned back in his chair with a tired smirk, while others speculated wildly about who these "elite" imports would be.
Katsuki sat at his desk, his boots kicked up and his expression neutral, though his heart hammered against his ribs. He knew. He was the only one in the room who knew exactly who was stepping off that plane. He hadn't spoken a word of it to his classmates, savoring the secret like a prize. He could almost see the look on their faces—the confusion, the shock—when they realized the "surprise guest" wasn't just some seasoned veteran, but a phenomenon.
The arrival was a media circus. The three heroes were escorted into the UA courtyard under a canopy of flashing cameras and screaming fans. Leading the group was a figure who looked less like a sidekick and more like a sovereign. Izuku stepped forward, dressed in a sleek, high-fashion tactical suit that bridged the gap between a pro-hero and a runway model. He had grown taller, his shoulders broader, and his presence carried a gravity that commanded the entire courtyard. He was the youngest Pro Hero in US history, a face plastered on billboards from Tokyo to Los Angeles, and he was walking toward them with a beaming, familiar smile.
The silence that fell over Class 2-A was absolute, a collective vacuum of sound that lasted until the first camera shutter clicked. To the students, Izuku was a legend—a shimmering icon of efficiency and grace they had seen in magazines and high-end ad campaigns. To see him standing ten feet away, breathing the same air, felt like a glitch in reality.
"Everyone, please settle down," Aizawa droned, though his tired eyes flickered with a hint of amusement as he looked at his students' slack-jawed expressions. "These three will be providing strategic support and overseeing a limited number of internships. Please show them the respect their rank deserves."
Izuku didn’t wait for the formal introductions to finish. His eyes scanned the crowd, bypassing the wide-eyed stares of the others until they locked onto a certain spiky blonde. A mischievous glint entered his green eyes. He stepped forward, the polished soles of his boots clicking against the pavement, and stopped directly in front of Katsuki.
"Missed me, Kacchan?" Izuku asked, his voice a smooth, confident hum that vibrated with a hint of a tease.
The collective gasp from Class 2-A was audible. Katsuki didn’t flinch, though the corner of his mouth quirked upward in a way that was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know him. For a heartbeat, he just looked at Izuku—really looked at him—taking in the confidence that radiated off the other boy like a physical heat. The "nerd" who had left as a promising student had returned as a powerhouse.
"You're late, Deku," Katsuki grunted, the words rough but the tone devoid of any real bite. He reached out, grabbing the front of Izuku’s high-fashion tactical suit and yanking him forward.
The movement was sudden, and before the class could process the familiarity, Izuku laughed and leaned into the pull, closing the distance to press a firm, lingering kiss to Katsuki’s cheek. The sound of a dozen students simultaneously choking on their own breath filled the courtyard. Kirishima, who had been leaning forward with an admiring grin, froze mid-motion, his eyes widening as he looked from the famous pro-hero to the explosive blonde. Beside him, Ochako’s jaw dropped, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson as she blinked rapidly, her heart sinking with a sudden, sharp realization.
"Wait—what?!" Kaminari shrieked, waving his arms frantically. "Since when? How? Why is the Top US Pro kissing Bakugo?!"
"Since forever, probably," Katsuki replied, finally letting go of Izuku's collar, though he didn't step back. He looked at his classmates with a smug, triumphant expression, as if he had just won a bet they hadn't even known they were playing.
Izuku chuckled, the sound warm and grounded, contrasting with the high-voltage shock still rippling through the group. He stepped back to address the class, his movements fluid and poised. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. I've heard a lot about Class 2-A," he said, his eyes twinkling. "And while the agency is here for political support, they've granted me a few slots for students who can keep up with a fast-paced, international style of heroism."
The announcement sent a fresh surge of electricity through the crowd. An internship with a US-trained Pro—one who had climbed the ranks at a speed that defied logic—was a golden ticket. Kirishima stepped forward, his chest puffed out, though his eyes were darting nervously between Katsuki and Izuku. He had spent the last year trying to be the one to crack Bakugo’s shell, offering friendly challenges and steady support, only to realize he had been competing with a ghost who had just materialized as a global icon.
"Whoa, wait, you're actually taking students?" Sero asked, glancing at the age gap. "You look like you're... well, our age."
"Age is just a number when you've put in the hours," Izuku replied, his voice carrying a professional weight that didn't quite erase the youthful brightness in his eyes. He shifted his stance, the sunlight catching the metallic accents of his suit. "The US Hero Commission doesn't care about birth dates; they care about results. I’ve spent the last year operating in three different time zones and managing a brand. If you can handle the pace, the age gap won't matter."
Aizawa stepped forward, his scarf shifting slightly. "The commission has allowed Midoriya to reside in the 2-A dorms to facilitate a more immersive mentorship. He'll be acting as a guest instructor and a liaison for the other two Pros. Try not to swarm him the moment the cameras are off."
The "cameras being off" happened the moment the students were ushered back into the building, but the swarm didn't stop—it just changed form. The walk back to the Heights Alliance was a chaotic interrogation. Kaminari and Sero were practically vibrating, asking about the American hero scene, while Shoto and Iida walked beside Izuku with a level of reserved respect. Shoto, in particular, looked at Izuku with a keen interest, recognizing the refined discipline in his posture—a discipline that mirrored the high-tier training of the world's elite.
As they entered the common area, the atmosphere shifted. The initial shock had evolved into a frantic, buzzing curiosity. Kirishima was trailing slightly behind, his expression a mix of genuine admiration and a strange, hollow ache. He had always seen Katsuki as a mountain to climb, a prickly peak that would be rewarding to conquer with friendship and strength. But seeing the way Katsuki looked at Izuku—not with a challenge, but with a quiet, possessive contentment—made Kirishima realize there was a territory he had never even known existed, let alone tried to claim.
The common room of the Heights Alliance was usually a cacophony of shouting and crashing, but for the first ten minutes of Izuku’s arrival, it was unnervingly quiet. Everyone was treating him like a fragile piece of art, stepping carefully around him as if he might suddenly vanish back to the States. Izuku, however, seemed entirely unfazed by the tension. He moved with a relaxed, feline grace, chatting effortlessly with Iida and Shoto about the structural differences between the Japanese and American hero academies, his voice a comforting hum that filled the gaps in the conversation.
Katsuki, meanwhile, had reclaimed his usual spot on the sofa, though he didn't let go of Izuku’s hand for a single second. He watched his classmates with a sharp, knowing gaze, enjoying the way they hovered. He knew exactly how much they wanted to ask—about the fame, the money, the sheer absurdity of a teenager becoming a global icon—but he also knew they were too intimidated to push. Only Ochako remained stubbornly silent, her gaze flickering from Izuku’s polished demeanor to the way he leaned instinctively toward Katsuki, as if the blonde were the only fixed point in a spinning room.
"So, the internship," Mina chimed in, finally breaking the spell as she bounced on her heels. "You only have two slots? Who gets them? Is there a test? An audition? Do we have to model for a brand?"
Izuku laughed, the sound bright and genuine. "No auditions, Mina. The agency handles the public relations; the internship is strictly about combat efficiency and strategic adaptability. I’m looking for people who can think three steps ahead when the plan falls apart." He paused, his eyes scanning the room, lingering for a moment on the bewildered faces of his peers. "I'll announce the selection process tomorrow morning. For now, I think I’ve had enough 'official' time. I’m starving."
The first few days of Izuku’s residency in the 2-A dorms were a masterclass in cognitive dissonance. The class watched as the global icon, a boy who graced the covers of *Vogue* and *Hero Weekly* alike, navigated the mundane chaos of student life. He would wake up at 4:00 AM to maintain a grueling American training regimen, his movements precise and lethal in the gym, only to return to the common room and spend an hour helping Kaminari with his English homework. The transition was seamless, as if Izuku were simply shifting gears between two different versions of himself: the polished professional and the boy who still liked to ramble about quirk statistics until he fell asleep.
The tension in the room remained thick, though it had shifted from shock to a simmering curiosity. Kirishima tried to play it off with his usual boisterous energy, but the jealousy was a physical weight in his chest. He found himself constantly comparing his own "manliness" to Izuku’s effortless charisma. Whenever he saw Katsuki lean in to whisper something to Izuku, or saw Izuku instinctively reach out to brush a stray spark of ash off Katsuki’s shoulder, Kirishima felt a sharp pinch of longing. He didn’t just want that kind of power; he wanted the kind of intimacy that made Katsuki—the most guarded person in the building—look soft.
Ochako wasn't faring much better. She spent her evenings staring at Izuku from across the room, her heart hammering a rhythm of frustration. She had always admired his kindness, but seeing him as a Pro had added a layer of magnetism that was almost overwhelming. She tried to engage him in conversations about his time in the States, hoping to find a crack in the professional veneer, but every time she did, she found Izuku’s gaze drifting back to Katsuki. It wasn't that Izuku was ignoring her; he was perfectly polite, but the way he looked at Katsuki was a language she didn't speak—a private, ancient dialogue that excluded everyone else.
The announcement of the internship selections came on a Friday afternoon, delivered with a suddenness that left the class breathless. Izuku stood in the center of the room, his posture straight, the "Pro Hero" mask sliding back into place. "The selection process was based on your performance in the last three combat trials and your ability to adapt under pressure," he announced, his voice echoing through the quiet room. "The two students who will be joining my agency for this rotation are Shoto Todoroki and Tenya Iida."
The announcement left a vacuum of stunned silence. Shoto didn't look surprised—he simply nodded, a flicker of recognition passing between him and Izuku—while Iida stood up straight, his arm chopping the air in a sharp, disciplined salute. The rest of the class, however, felt a collective jolt of disappointment. They had expected the selection to be based on raw power or perhaps a grueling trial, but Izuku had chosen based on lineage and strategic compatibility. He knew the weight of the names Todoroki and Iida; he knew that pairing them with his own international experience would create a triad of efficiency that the Japanese government desperately needed for the current crisis.
"Wait, that's it?" Kaminari groaned, sliding down in his chair. "No 'try-out' battle? No 'prove your worth' montage? We just get the two most famous guys in class?"
Izuku smiled, though it was the poised, professional smile of a man who had dealt with corporate boards and press scrums. "Efficiency is the priority. Shoto and Iida possess the foundation and the familial understanding of high-stakes heroics that this specific internship requires. If the others feel they weren't considered, my door is always open for a strategy review."
As the room devolved into a flurry of questions and complaints, Katsuki felt a surge of pride so intense it felt like a physical pressure in his chest. He didn't care about the politics of the internship; he cared about the way Izuku handled the room. The boy who used to mutter into a notebook was now the one setting the tempo. He stood up, walking over to Izuku with a deliberate slowness, and draped an arm over the Pro Hero's shoulders, pulling him close enough that their sides were flushed.
"You're too stiff, Deku," Katsuki murmured, his voice barely audible over the din of the classroom, though his grip on Izuku’s shoulder was firm and possessive. "You're acting like you're still in a boardroom in Manhattan. Relax your shoulders before you give yourself a cramp."
Izuku let out a soft, genuine laugh, the polished "Pro" facade crumbling instantly as he leaned his head against Katsuki’s chest. The shift was jarring to the rest of the class; one moment he was a beacon of international authority, and the next, he was just a boy who looked like he wanted to take a nap. "I can't help it, Kacchan. The habit is hard to break. It feels weird not having a handler telling me where to stand every five seconds."
"Tch. You don't need a handler here," Katsuki grunted, though he didn't move his arm. He cast a sharp glance toward the others, noticing Kirishima’s lingering, pained expression and Ochako’s frustrated frown. He didn't care about their confusion, but he did care about the way they were staring at *his* nerd. "Stop gawking, you idiots! Go start your homework or something!"
The room snapped back into motion, though the energy remained frantic. As the students dispersed, Shoto and Iida approached, their expressions mirrored in a level of solemnity that only the elite of the class could maintain. Iida bowed deeply, his movements mechanical. "Midoriya-san, it is a profound honor to be selected. I shall strive to uphold the standards of your agency and the reputation of the international hero community."
Izuku chuckled, gently patting Iida’s shoulder to ease the intensity of the bow. "Please, just call me Izuku. We're the same age, and the agency's culture is a bit more fluid than the traditional Japanese system. Just bring your focus and your drive; I'll handle the bureaucracy."
As Shoto and Iida stepped away to begin coordinating their schedules, the atmosphere in the common room shifted. The initial shock of the announcement had settled into a buzzing undercurrent of tension. For the rest of Class 2-A, Izuku was a paradox—a boy who could command a room of world leaders by morning and cuddle into Katsuki’s side by evening. This duality didn't go unnoticed, especially by those who felt the sting of being overlooked.
Kirishima lingered by the snack table, his fingers drumming a restless beat against the plastic. He watched as Izuku naturally shifted his weight, his gaze softening as he looked at Katsuki. There was a magnetic pull between them, a gravity that seemed to warp the space around them, making everyone else feel like an intruder. Kirishima had always prided himself on being the "heart" of the group, the one who could bridge any gap with a smile and a fist-bump, but he found himself unable to bridge the distance between him and the couple. He felt like a spectator at a play where he didn't know the script.
Nearby, Ochako leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her eyes were fixed on the way Izuku’s hand had found the small of Katsuki’s back, a subconscious gesture of grounding. She felt a flicker of irritation that tasted like salt. It wasn't just that Izuku was a Pro or a celebrity; it was the way he looked at Katsuki as if the explosive blonde were the only person in the world who truly saw him. She had spent months imagining a version of Izuku that was a gentle, shining star, but the reality was more complex. He was a warrior, a brand, and a partner—and he was entirely taken.
The heavy double doors of the common room swung open, announcing the arrival of the other two American Pros. They walked in with a swagger that spoke of high-altitude missions and redacted dossiers. First was Sarah "Apex" Sterling, a woman whose presence felt like a sudden drop in barometric pressure. Her quirk, *Atmospheric Command*, allowed her to manipulate the air density in a hundred-yard radius, meaning she could effectively flatten a villain or create a vacuum with a flick of her wrist. Beside her strolled Marcus "Ironclad" Thorne, a mountain of a man with skin that shimmered like polished obsidian. His quirk, *Kinetic Absorption*, turned any physical impact against him into a stored reserve of raw power that he could discharge through his fists, making him a living battering ram.
"Is this the brood we're babysitting?" Sarah asked, her voice a smoky drawl as she surveyed the room. She didn't look at the students so much as she scanned them for tactical weaknesses, her eyes sharp and calculating.
"They're a bit louder than the kids in the States, Sarah," Izuku joked, sliding out of Katsuki’s hold to greet his colleagues. The transition was instant; the softness in his eyes vanished, replaced by the professional alertness of a seasoned operative. "But they've got heart. And a few of them have quirks that would make the top ten in New York sweat."
Marcus let out a booming laugh that rattled the windows. "As long as they can take a hit and follow an order, I don't care if they're loud. Now, where’s the coffee? I’ve been on a plane for fourteen hours and I’m about two seconds away from absorbing the building."
The arrival of the other Pros shifted the energy in the room from curiosity to a sudden, sharp sense of intimidation. While Izuku was the face of the operation—the polished, charismatic icon—Sarah and Marcus were the grit and the muscle. They didn't offer smiles or gentle introductions. They stood as a wall of international expertise, a reminder that the "internship" wasn't going to be a series of photo ops and light sparring. The students of 2-A, usually so boisterous, found themselves shrinking slightly under the weight of that raw, unfiltered professionalism.
Katsuki, however, just scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He liked the air around the other two; it smelled of gunpowder and ozone, the scent of people who had actually seen the worst the world had to offer. He looked at Izuku, seeing the way the green-haired boy shifted seamlessly between the role of a teammate to the elites and a partner to a student. The duality was mesmerizing.
"Don't let them intimidate you, you losers," Katsuki shouted, though his voice lacked its usual venom. "They're just loud. Now get out of the way, the nerd is probably going to start rambling about their combat stats and I can't stand the sound of it."
Izuku beamed, leaning into Katsuki’s space with a playful nudge. "I wouldn't be rambling, Kacchan! I'd be analyzing! There's a difference." He turned back to his colleagues, his voice regaining that professional clip. "Sarah, Marcus, the dorms have been prepped. Aizawa-sensei has already coordinated the briefing rooms. I suggest we settle in before the Commission starts calling for the first official report."
As the three Pros moved toward the designated guest quarters, the silence in the common room finally shattered. The students descended upon the remaining space like a tidal wave. Kaminari and Sero were frantically whispering about the "obsidian skin" of Marcus, while Mina tried to piece together the power scaling of *Atmospheric Command*. But the most palpable tension remained with Kirishima and Ochako. They watched the retreating backs of the Pros, but their eyes were fixed on the way Izuku’s hand lingered on the small of Katsuki's back, a silent, possessive anchor.
For Kirishima, the realization was sinking in: he wasn't just competing with a Pro Hero; he was competing with a history. He had seen the way Izuku looked at Katsuki—not as a fan looks at a star, or a student looks at a rival, but as a home. It was a level of intimacy that felt impenetrable, a fortress built over years of secret protections and long-distance longing. He felt a surge of admiration that fought with his jealousy, leaving him feeling adrift in a room full of people he had known for a year, yet feeling like the only one who didn't understand the real dynamic at play.
Ochako sighed, her shoulders slumping as she watched them disappear down the hall. She had spent the last few minutes trying to imagine a way into Izuku's orbit, but the gravitational pull between him and Katsuki was too strong. She looked at the explosive blonde, who was now wearing a look of smug satisfaction, and realized that while the rest of the class was trying to figure out who Izuku Midoriya was, Katsuki had always known. And that knowledge was a prize more valuable than any internship slot.
The following Monday, the atmosphere at UA shifted from academic to militaristic. Sarah "Apex" Sterling didn't believe in "warm-up laps." She began the week by stripping the 2-A students of their comfort zones, utilizing her *Atmospheric Command* to create localized high-pressure zones that made every step feel like wading through wet concrete. Beside her, Marcus "Ironclad" Thorne acted as a living obstacle, his *Kinetic Absorption* making him an immovable wall that sent students bouncing back with twice the force they had attacked with. It was a brutal introduction to the "international style"—aggressive, efficient, and utterly devoid of mercy.
Amidst the chaos of the training ground, Izuku moved like a ghost. He wasn't just observing; he was correcting. He would appear beside a struggling student in a flash of green electricity, his voice calm and clinical. "Your center of gravity is too high, Sero. Drop your hip or Sarah will flatten you in three seconds," he’d murmur, before vanishing again to offer a strategic correction to Shoto. He was the bridge between the raw power of the American Pros and the untapped potential of the students, navigating the field with a poise that made the others realize that his "model" exterior was merely a shell for a weapon of surgical precision.
As the sun began to set over the training grounds, the class collapsed in heaps of exhaustion. In the cooling air, Izuku approached Katsuki, who was breathing hard, his palms still smoking from a clash with Marcus. Without a word, Izuku reached into his tactical gear and handed Katsuki a chilled bottle of water, his fingers brushing against Katsuki's calloused skin. The look they exchanged—a brief, silent understanding of effort and respect—spoke louder than any public declaration. The class watched, breathless and bewildered, as the world's most famous teenager leaned in and whispered something that made the fiercest boy in UA actually blush.
The tension peaked during the first official mentorship dinner in the dorms. The table was crowded, the air thick with the smell of katsudon and the low hum of Sarah and Marcus recounting war stories from the New York skyline. Kirishima sat across from the couple, his gaze drifting from Izuku’s refined posture to the way he naturally leaned his shoulder against Katsuki’s. He felt a sharp, familiar pinch of envy. He had tried to be the "manly" anchor for Katsuki for a year, but he was realizing that he was playing a game whose rules had been written before he even entered the room.
Ochako, sitting beside him, mirrored the feeling. She watched Izuku laugh at one of Marcus's jokes, the sound warm and genuine, before he turned to Katsuki and subtly adjusted the blonde's collar, a gesture of such effortless intimacy that it felt like a punch to the gut. She realized then that Izuku wasn't just a Pro or a celebrity; he was the missing piece of a puzzle that Katsuki had been carrying in secret. The "angry blonde" they all knew was merely a fragment of a whole, and that whole only existed when Izuku was within arm's reach.
The conversation shifted toward the upcoming joint operations, and Sarah "Apex" Sterling leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "The Japanese system is too soft on the fundamentals," she remarked, her voice cutting through the chatter. "The kids have the power, but they lack the grit. That’s why the Commission sent us. We aren't here to be idols; we're here to turn you into assets." Marcus chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated the plates on the table. "She means she's going to make your lives miserable for the next month. Get used to it."
As the dinner wound down, Izuku stood up to help clear the table, but Katsuki caught his wrist, pulling him back down. "Stop being a damn servant, Deku. You're the one who's supposed to be the 'boss' here," Katsuki grumbled, though the way he held Izuku's hand—fingers interlaced and squeezing tight—betrayed the softness in his voice. The class watched as the "youngest Pro Hero in US history" beamed, leaning his head on Katsuki's shoulder with a sigh of contentment. In that moment, the mystery of their relationship was solved for everyone: Izuku Midoriya was a powerhouse to the world, but to Katsuki Bakugo, he was simply the boy he loved, and that was the only title that truly mattered.
The following morning, the "internship" reality hit with the force of a landslide. Izuku didn't greet the class with a smile; he greeted them with a stopwatch and a list of coordinates. He stood in the center of the training field, flanked by Sarah and Marcus, his expression focused and cold. "The first phase of the rotation starts now," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of a commanding officer. "Shoto, Iida—you're with me. The rest of you are with Sterling and Thorne. If you fail to maintain a perimeter, you're doing laps until you vomit."
The division of the class created a frantic energy. Shoto and Iida followed Izuku into the forest, their faces set in grim determination, while the rest of 2-A braced themselves for the onslaught of the other two Pros. As they marched toward the training zone, Kirishima glanced back at the couple. He saw Izuku give Katsuki a quick, secret wink—a tiny spark of the old "Deku" beneath the Pro Hero facade. It was a reminder that despite the fame, the money, and the international prestige, the core of their bond remained unchanged.
As the week progressed, the class began to see the true nature of the training. It wasn't just about combat; it was about psychological endurance. Izuku pushed Shoto and Iida to their absolute limits, forcing them to synthesize their quirks in ways that required split-second communication and absolute trust. Meanwhile, Sarah and Marcus worked the rest of the class over, breaking their reliance on raw power and teaching them how to fight when their quirks were neutralized. The dormitory became a place of exhausted silence, punctuated only by the sound of Izuku and Katsuki whispering in the corners, their shared quietude a sanctuary in the middle of the storm.
One evening, while the class was recovering in the common room, the tension between the students and the couple reached a boiling point. Ochako, unable to hold back her curiosity, finally spoke up. "Izuku-kun, how... how did you guys actually manage it? The distance, the time zones, the fame? It seems like it would be impossible."
Izuku looked at Katsuki, who was leaning back in a chair with his eyes closed, looking more relaxed than he ever had in his life. "It wasn't easy," Izuku admitted, his voice soft. "There were nights when the time difference meant one of us was waking up just as the other was falling asleep. There were press events where I had to pretend I wasn't thinking about a certain angry blonde in Japan. But that's the thing about Katsuki—he doesn't do 'halfway.' When he decided we were worth it, he made every second of that distance count."
Katsuki opened one eye, glancing at the group of wide-eyed students. "He's too sentimental," he grumbled, though he reached out and squeezed Izuku's hand. "The nerd just knows how to annoy me across an ocean. It's a talent."
The room fell silent as the students looked at them—not as a celebrity and his boyfriend, or a Pro and a student, but as two people who had weathered a storm and come out stronger. Even Kirishima felt the jealousy fade, replaced by a profound sense of respect. He realized that the "gap" he had felt wasn't one of power or status, but of history. He sighed and leaned back, finally accepting that some bonds were forged in fires that no one else could ever truly understand.
Nearby, Sarah "Apex" Sterling and Marcus "Ironclad" Thorne were watching the scene with amused expressions. Sarah was leaning against a pillar, her *Atmospheric Command* causing a slight, cooling breeze to swirl around her ankles, while Marcus rested his massive, obsidian-skinned arms across his chest. They had spent the last few days treating the students like raw recruits, but seeing the vulnerability in the room made the American Pros soften, if only slightly.
"Love is a great motivator," Sarah commented, her voice a dry drawl. "But it's a terrible tactical decision if it makes you hesitate in the field. Which is why tomorrow, we're introducing 'Stress-Induced Coordination.' Since you're all so fascinated by the couple's dynamic, we'll see how your 'dynamics' hold up when Marcus is chasing you through a simulated urban wasteland."
Marcus let out a booming laugh that made the glasses on the table rattle. "I've already picked the route. It involves three swamps and a lot of mud. I suggest you all get some sleep, because by tomorrow afternoon, you'll wish you had stayed in your beds."
The students groaned in unison, the romantic atmosphere instantly replaced by the dread of imminent physical exhaustion. Yet, as the class began to disperse, there was a new sense of unity. They weren't just watching a star return to his home; they were learning how to be heroes under the guidance of the world's most elite.
As the common room cleared, Izuku felt the familiar weight of Katsuki’s shoulder against his. The laughts and the noise had faded, leaving only the soft hum of the dorm's ventilation and the rhythmic thumping of their hearts. Katsuki didn't say anything—he rarely did when the moment was this quiet—but he leaned in, his forehead resting against Izuku's.
"You're still a bit too soft on them," Katsuki murmured, his eyes searching Izuku's. "You're acting like a mentor, not a commander. If you keep giving them 'strategic corrections' instead of just making them fail until they get it right, they'll never have the grit Sarah's talking about."
Izuku chuckled, the sound vibrating in his chest. "Maybe. But that's why we're a team, Kacchan. You provide the fire, and I provide the blueprint. Besides," he added, his voice dropping to a playful whisper, "seeing you try to be 'soft' is my favorite part of this whole trip."
Katsuki scoffed, though he didn't pull away. Instead, he tightened his grip on Izuku's waist, pulling him closer. For a few minutes, the world of Pro Hero rankings, American agencies, and looming villain threats ceased to exist. There was no "youngest Pro" and no "explosive student"—there were only two boys who had grown up together, surviving the distance through letters and late-night calls, and who now finally had the luxury of breathing the same air.
The quiet was shattered by the heavy thud of combat boots. Sarah "Apex" Sterling and Marcus "Ironclad" Thorne strolled back into the common room, their presence bringing with them the scent of ozone and old leather. Sarah was flipping through a digital tablet, her expression one of professional boredom, while Marcus was chewing on a piece of dried jerky, his obsidian skin glimmering under the fluorescent lights.
"Alright, lovebirds, break it up," Sarah drawled, not looking up from her screen. "The Commission just sent over the updated intel. There's a surge in quirk-enhanced activity in the warehouse district. The government wants us to run a live-fire exercise with the students tomorrow to 'test their readiness.' Which is just a polite way of saying we're going to throw them into a controlled chaos zone and see who panics first."
Marcus let out a rumbling laugh, the sound vibrating in his chest like a landslide. "I've already got the perimeter mapped out. I'm thinking we use the old shipping yards. Plenty of cover for the kids to hide, and plenty of space for me to knock a few walls down to keep them on their toes."
Izuku shifted instantly, his posture snapping back into that of the professional leader. The warmth in his eyes didn't vanish, but it was now tempered by a sharp, analytical focus. "The shipping yards are risky. The terrain is unstable, and if the wind picks up, Sarah's pressure zones will overlap with the harbor gusts. We'll need to coordinate the extraction points with precision."
"That's why we have the 'Golden Boy' for the logistics, isn't it?" Sarah remarked, finally glancing up with a smirk. She stepped closer, her eyes scanning the room. "But let's be real. These kids are still thinking in terms of 'school.' They think a villain attack has a bell and a scheduled lunch break. If we want them to survive the real thing, we need to stop treating this like a class and start treating it like a deployment."
Katsuki stepped forward, his expression hardening. The softness he reserved for Izuku was gone, replaced by the fierce competitiveness that defined him. "Who says they aren't ready? They've been training under you three for a week. If they can't handle a few warehouses, they don't deserve to be in the hero course."
"Confidence. I like it," Marcus said, clapping a massive hand on Katsuki’s shoulder, nearly knocking the boy off balance. "But confidence without coordination is just a fast way to get a concussion. Tomorrow, the rules change. We aren't your teachers; we're your commanding officers. If you don't follow the chain of command, you're out. Simple as that."
The room fell silent as the weight of the announcement settled over the students. The novelty of Izuku’s return and the romance of the "power couple" had been a welcome distraction, but the reality of their situation was crashing back down. They weren't just students anymore; they were assets being molded by the best in the business.
The next morning, the group arrived at the shipping yards under a bruised, gray sky. The air was thick with the scent of salt and rusted iron. Sarah "Apex" Sterling didn't waste a second of their time. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she sent a localized pressure wave crashing through a stack of empty containers, the screech of metal on metal echoing like a gunshot. "Listen up! This isn't a game of hide-and-seek. Marcus is the 'Behemoth.' Your goal is to secure the designated crates without him touching you. If he touches you, you're 'captured.' Izuku and the two interns will be the 'Extraction Team.' If you can make it to them without getting caught by me or Marcus, you pass."
The students scrambled into position, their faces masks of concentration. Kirishima hardened his skin, his eyes locked on the obsidian giant that was Marcus, while Ochako floated slightly off the ground, searching for a vantage point. Even the usually calm Shoto and Iida were on high alert, moving in tandem with Izuku, who navigated the ruins with a predatory grace.
As the exercise began, the chaos was immediate. Sarah’s wind currents whipped through the alleys, throwing the students off balance, while Marcus moved with a surprising, terrifying speed, his footsteps shaking the ground. It was a symphony of destruction and precision. Amidst the noise, Katsuki launched himself into the air, his explosions propelling him forward like a missile. He tore through the shipping containers, creating a path for his classmates, his eyes darting toward Izuku.
In the heat of the battle, their eyes met for a fraction of a second. In that look, there was no need for words—just a mutual understanding of power and trust. Izuku shifted his momentum, his green lightning flashing as he swooped in to save a struggling Kirishima from Marcus’s grasp, his movement so fluid it looked like dance.
"Too slow, Behemoth!" Izuku shouted, his voice ringing out with a confidence that made the other students cheer. He didn't just save Kirishima; he used the momentum to launch the red-haired boy toward the extraction point, turning a potential failure into a strategic win.
As the timer hit zero and the "exercise" ended, the class collapsed in a heap of mud and exhaustion. Sarah sighed, the air around her finally settling. "Pathetic. Half of you were breathing like fish out of water, and the other half forgot how to communicate." Marcus let out a booming laugh, shaking the dust off his obsidian skin. "But they've got spirit. I'll give them that much."
As the students began to gather their things, the atmosphere shifted from intensity to a quiet, exhausted camaraderie. The gap between the "pro" and the "student" had blurred, replaced by a shared sense of struggle. Kirishima looked at Izuku and Katsuki, who were now standing side-by-side, shoulders brushing. He finally smiled, a genuine one this time. The jealousy hadn't completely vanished, but it had transformed into a profound respect for the kind of strength that could only be built through years of mutual support.
Ochako walked over to them, wiping a smudge of grease from her forehead. "You know, I still can't believe you actually did the long-distance thing," she admitted, her voice soft. "I can't imagine waiting months just to see someone, let alone dealing with a time zone that makes your head spin."
Izuku smiled, his gaze drifting to Katsuki. "It was hard, yes. But it made the quiet moments more valuable. Every letter, every short phone call... it was like a lifeline. It reminded me that no matter how loud the world got in New York, there was one place where I was just Izuku."
Katsuki clicked his tongue, though he didn't pull away when Izuku reached for his hand. "Stop being so damn sappy, nerd. You're making the others look at us like we're in a shoujo manga." Despite the grumbling, he squeezed Izuku's hand firmly, a silent confirmation of everything they had endured to be back together.
The moment was interrupted by the crackle of a radio on Sarah’s belt. Her expression sharpened instantly. "Change of plans, people. The Commission just got a hit. It’s not a drill anymore. There's a quirk-enhanced breach three blocks from the harbor. Actual villains, mid-tier but aggressive. We're transitioning to live operation."
The shift in the air was instantaneous. The tired students snapped awake, their eyes widening. This wasn't a simulation; it was the real thing. Izuku’s professional mask slid back into place, his eyes scanning the perimeter with a terrifyingly precise efficiency. He didn't need to give a command; the students instinctively fell into formation behind him.
"Marcus, take the flank. Sarah, get the high ground and suppress the wind—don't let them use the harbor gusts for cover," Izuku commanded, his voice cutting through the sudden tension like a knife. Marcus let out a low, hungry rumble, his obsidian skin shimmering as he absorbed the ambient energy of the city, transforming himself into a living fortress. Sarah didn't wait for a second order; she vanished in a blur of compressed air, ascending toward the rooftops in a silent, violent burst of pressure.
As they moved toward the breach, the synergy between the three Pros was a masterclass in coordination. Marcus acted as the anvil, drawing the villains' heavy attacks toward his unbreakable frame, while Sarah acted as the hammer, raining down precise atmospheric strikes from above to herd the enemies into a kill zone. Izuku moved between them like a ghost, using his superior speed and strategic foresight to neutralize threats before they even realized he was there.
For Class 2-A, watching from the wings as support and retrieval, it was a revelation. They had seen the pieces of the puzzle—Izuku's brilliance, Sarah's power, and Marcus's strength—but seeing them as a singular unit was different. It was a machine. Every move was calculated, every gap filled. They weren't just three heroes from different backgrounds; they were a cohesive force of nature.
Amidst the chaos of the fight, Katsuki found himself fighting side-by-side with Izuku. He launched a massive explosion to clear a path, and without even looking, Izuku used the recoil of that blast to propel himself forward, delivering a precise strike to a villain's pressure point. They moved in a rhythmic, unspoken dance, a level of synchronicity that only years of trust and love could forge.
"Stay focused, Kacchan!" Izuku shouted over the roar of a crumbling building, his eyes flashing with intensity.
"Don't tell me what to do, nerd!" Katsuki roared back, though his grin was wide and fierce. He lunged forward, his palms sparking with an intensity that mirrored the fire in his chest.
As the last of the villains were subdued and the perimeter secured, the adrenaline began to fade, leaving the students breathless and awestruck. They stood in the wreckage of the harbor, watching the three Pros stand together, their chests heaving but their spirits triumphant.
In the quiet aftermath, as the police arrived to take the culprits away, Izuku leaned against a piece of twisted metal, his gaze softening as he looked at his classmates. He saw the awe in their eyes, the newfound respect in Kirishima's expression, and the quiet acceptance in Ochako's gaze. He realized that while the training had been grueling, it had bridged the gap between them. They weren't just students and teachers anymore; they were comrades in arms.
Sarah "Apex" Sterling descended from the sky, her boots clicking softly on the pavement. "Not bad, kids. Your footwork is still sloppy, and half of you forgot to check your six, but you didn't panic. That's the first step toward becoming a real hero."
Marcus "Ironclad" Thorne let out a booming laugh, slapping a hand on the shoulder of a trembling Kaminari. "You've got guts, little sparky! Now, let's get out of here before the press smells the ozone and descends upon us like vultures."
As they walked back toward the UA dorms, the mood was lighter. The tension that had simmered throughout the week had finally boiled over into a shared sense of accomplishment. For the first time, the students felt like they were truly a part of something larger than themselves—a global network of heroes dedicated to protecting the innocent.
Throughout the journey home, Izuku and Katsuki walked close together, their hands occasionally brushing, a silent confirmation of the bond that had weathered every storm. They knew the path ahead would be challenging, with the threat of villains ever-present and the pressures of fame and responsibility weighing heavily on their shoulders. But as they looked at each other, they knew that as long as they had each other, they could face anything the world threw at them.
The following morning, the dorms were buzzing with a different kind of energy. The students of Class 2-A were no longer just students; they were aspirants, their eyes shining with a newfound determination. They spent their free time discussing the strategies they'd learned from the Pros, their voices filled with an excitement that was contagious. Even Kirishima and Ochako found themselves drawn into the conversation, their jealousy replaced by a hunger for growth.
Izuku, for his part, enjoyed every moment of it. He loved seeing the growth in his classmates, the way they were beginning to think beyond their own quirks and consider the broader tactical landscape. He knew that his time in America had given him a unique perspective, and he was more than happy to share it with the people who mattered most to him.
As the sun set over the UA campus, casting long shadows across the training grounds, Izuku found himself sitting on the rooftop with Katsuki, the two of them watching the stars emerge in the twilight sky. They didn't say much, the silence between them comfortable and full of meaning. They had come a long way from the two boys who had once played in the parks of Musutafu, and while the road ahead was still long and uncertain, they were walking it together.
"You know," Katsuki murmured, his voice soft and barely audible over the breeze. "You're not half-bad for a nerd."
Izuku chuckled, leaning his head on Katsuki's shoulder. "Coming from you, that's practically a love confession, Kacchan."
"Shut up," Katsuki replied, but he wrapped an arm around Izuku, pulling him closer. "Just shut up and stay here for a while."
Down below, Sarah "Apex" Sterling and Marcus "Ironclad" Thorne were already planning their next move. Sarah was pacing the courtyard, her voice a sharp staccato as she detailed the flaws in the current perimeter security to a very attentive Aizawa. Marcus was simply leaning against a wall, his obsidian skin reflecting the moonlight as he chewed on a piece of jerky, his presence a silent, powerful sentinel. They were the grit and the muscle, the experienced veterans who knew that the real battle was always just one mistake away.
As the days turned into weeks, the presence of the American Pros became a cornerstone of Class 2-A's development. Sarah’s relentless pressure and Marcus’s immovable strength pushed the students to their absolute limits, forcing them to innovate and adapt in ways they never could have imagined. And at the center of it all was Izuku, the bridge between the raw power of the Pros and the untapped potential of the students.
For Kirishima, the transition was gradual but profound. He began to notice that the bond between Izuku and Katsuki wasn't just about romance; it was a partnership of mutual growth. He saw the way Izuku challenged Katsuki’s stubbornness and the way Katsuki pushed Izuku to be less tentative. It was a synergy that transcended the simple attraction he had felt for the blonde. He started to realize that the "exclusive bond" he had felt alienated by was actually a blueprint for the kind of partnership he wanted for himself—one built on honesty, resilience, and an unwavering belief in the other person.
Ochako, too, found a new perspective. She stopped looking at Izuku as a shimmering star on a pedestal and started seeing him as a man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and still found time to be gentle. She watched him balance the demands of a Pro career, the expectations of a global celebrity, and the emotional needs of his partner. The jealousy didn't vanish overnight, but it transformed into a deep, abiding respect. She realized that loving someone like Izuku meant loving the complexity of his life, and seeing how happy he was with Katsuki made her want to find a love that felt just as certain.
The dorms, once a place of chaotic curiosity, settled into a rhythmic harmony. The "American Style" training sessions became the highlight of the week, followed by late-night strategy sessions where the students would crowd around Izuku, eager to pick his brain about New York's hero culture. Even the most reserved students found themselves opening up, drawn in by Izuku's genuine warmth and Katsuki's begrudging but honest encouragement.