Chapter Text
The front door to the Bakugo household slammed open with a bone-rattling crack, the frame shuddering on its hinges. Late afternoon sun spilled into the entryway, casting long shadows across the floor as Katsuki Bakugo stormed inside, sneakers caked in dust and dirt from the city streets. His face was thunderous—eyes sharp with fury, mouth drawn in a tight, angry line.
He was still in his U.A. uniform—blazer open, collar askew, backpack slung haphazardly over one shoulder.
They expelled him. Him. Katsuki Bakugo, a future top hero.
The door slammed shut behind him with another thud, echoing down the hall. He didn’t even make it past the genkan before a familiar voice rang out like a warning shot.
"Oi, Brat! The hell is your problem slamming my door like that, huh?!"
Mitsuki Bakugo’s voice was sharp as glass, and she stormed into view from the living room, hair swept up in a messy clip and arms still damp from washing dishes. She looked ready to throw something.
But then she got a proper look at his face.
Her eyes narrowed, fury turning into wary confusion. "What the hell happened?" she demanded. "Don’t tell me you got into another fight. I swear to god, Katsuki—"
"They expelled me."
The words cut through the air. There was a beat of stunned silence. And then
Mitsuki blinked once. “...what?!”
"I said," Katsuki growled, ripping the backpack from his shoulder and hurling it across the hall, "U.A. fucking kicked me out."
It thudded to the floor, half-unzipped, contents spilling out—textbooks, notebooks, a cracked pencil case.
Mitsuki stared at her son, stunned for half a second. Then she exploded.
"Are you shitting me right now, you brat?!" she shrieked, stomping forward. "You got kicked out of U.A.?! The hell did you do?!"
Her words hit like a rapid-fire barrage. "You’ve been there less than a year and already blew it? I busted my ass to get you into that school, and you go and screw it all up?!"
"It’s not my fault!" he snapped, voice raw. His fists trembled at his sides. "Those extras didn’t even give me a chance to—"
"You mean to tell me you got fucking expelled from the top hero school in Japan and it wasn’t your fault? Bullshit! Don’t you dare try that crap with me!"
"It’s not my goddamn fault!" he roared, voice ricocheting off the walls. "They basically called me a villain and told me to fuck off! The hell do they mean, ‘not heroic,’ huh?!"
Mitsuki jabbed a finger at his chest. Her eyes were blazing, but there was something else underneath—fear, maybe. Or disappointment. "Guess what, brat? You’re now a liability! You know what people are going to say when they find out my only son got the boot from U.A.?"
She started pacing, hands tugging at her hair. "I’ve got clients, Katsuki. A reputation. Your father and I worked so hard to keep your record clean. And you can’t even manage to behave for one goddamn year? First you get restrained at the Sports Festival, then you get kidnapped by villains, and now this? It’s just one thing after another, Katsuki!"
"Then maybe those extras should all go fuck themselves!" Katsuki snapped, voice cracking from strain. "Everyone should just get off my back for two fucking seconds and stop acting like I ruined the goddamn world!"
"You did ruin something!" Mitsuki fired back. "You ruined your one chance at being a hero!"
Silence followed. For a moment, all the fight drained out of her. She looked at him—really looked—and Katsuki saw something worse than anger in her eyes.
Resignation.
She turned away.
"We’ll start looking into schools," she said flatly. "Whatever school will take you. I’ll talk to your father, but moving might be the only option. If your heart’s still set on being a hero… maybe there’s something overseas. America, maybe."
Katsuki blinked. America?
Mitsuki rubbed her temples. "Just… get out of my sight."
Katsuki stood there, stunned. Then without a word, he turned on his heel and stomped down the hallway, not even bothering to remove his shoes. His bedroom door slammed behind him with a hollow crack.
Inside, nothing had changed.
Trophies still gleamed on the shelf. His workout gear sat untouched in the corner. The All Might poster tacked to the wall felt like it was mocking him now.
He paced once, twice, then yanked a dumbbell off the floor and hurled it against the wall, leaving a crater in the drywall. His hands were shaking. His breath came in short, angry bursts.
He flexed his palm, feeling the usual snap of nitroglycerin, but no explosions came. Just a hot fizz under his skin.
“Fucking bullshit,” he hissed under his breath. “Fucking… hypocrites.”
He collapsed onto the bed, still fully clothed, eyes burning holes in the ceiling.
They expelled me.
Not for failure. Not for weakness. Not even for the Kamino incident.
For bullying. For being violent. For Middle School.
His throat clenched. Deku’s dumb face flashed in his mind—nervous, twitchy, sincere to a fault.
“Fucking idiot,” he muttered, voice hoarse.
A part of him wanted to believe Midoriya meant to sabotage him. That he finally got tired of forgiving and told the truth to ruin Katsuki’s life. But that wasn’t Deku. That wasn’t how he worked.
He probably let it slip. Maybe in one of those therapy sessions they made him go to after Kamino. Maybe he said it while crying, saying something like “Kacchan used to be so mean, but I always believed in him.”
Katsuki curled his hands into fists again, nails biting into his palms.
Even after everything. Even after Katsuki had shoved him, mocked him, told him to jump off a building, the damn nerd still smiled at him. Still admired him.
And Katsuki…
He hated it. He hated that look. That trust. That blind, idiotic faith.
He sat up sharply, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The evening light stretched long over the floor. His phone buzzed near his bag—notifications piling in. Messages. Missed calls.
He ignored them.
He remembered the meeting in Nezu’s office. The way Aizawa had looked at him—not with anger, but with disappointment. The kind that cut deeper.
They didn’t even give him a chance to explain. Aizawa wouldn’t look him in the eye. Nezu’s face stayed neutral the entire time, but there was this coldness under it. Like Katsuki had already been tried and sentenced before he even walked into the room.
“We have a responsibility to our students’ safety and mental health. We cannot in good conscience continue to enroll someone with a history of repeated harassment, especially toward a fellow classmate.”
Those words wouldn’t leave his head. “History of harassment.” Like he was some kind of predator. A villain in the making.
His vision blurred, and for a terrifying second, Katsuki realized he was crying.
He sat up fast, scrubbing his face with the heel of his hand. No. He wasn’t doing that. He didn’t cry. He wasn’t weak.
But he couldn’t stop the thoughts from racing, spinning, choking him from the inside
What now?
Even if he went abroad, even if they enrolled him in some American school, what then? It would only be a matter of time before someone dug up his past, landing him in the same predicament.
What kind of hero gets expelled before even making it to their second year?
He couldn't think of a single school that would take him. He imagined he'd be blacklisted by every agency in the country. He was a walking PR nightmare.
He remembered Kamino. Smoke. Fire. The ground crumbling beneath his feet. All Might standing tall—broken, bleeding—fighting because Bakugo couldn’t fight his way free. Katsuki had looked up to that man his whole life. Even now. Even when he had been the one to end All Might's career, forcing him into retirement.
A weak, hollow laugh escaped his throat.
Some hero.
He curled up on the bed, back to the wall, and stared out the window. Outside, the sun slipped below the horizon. His phone buzzed again.
He didn’t pick it up.
-Earlier That Day-
The UA faculty lounge was quiet, save for the gentle clink of porcelain as Principal Nezu sipped his tea. Steam curled up in soft spirals from the cup, disappearing into the artificial light. A faint hum came from the air vents, but the office was otherwise silent.
Aizawa stood at the far end of the room, his arms folded tight across his chest. His gaze was fixed out the window, trained on the training fields below—but his eyes were distant, unfocused. He wasn’t seeing the students sparring or the leaves being stirred by the breeze. His thoughts were elsewhere. Behind him, the table was cluttered with papers. Here were disciplinary reports, performance reviews, candid security footage of sparring sessions, and one sheet set apart from the others, as if it weighed more than all the rest.
“You’ve seen the footage?” Nezu asked. His voice was calm, but there was a tightness to it.
“I have. It lines up with what Midoriya said…” Aizawa trailed off, jaw tight. “He didn’t mean to say it. I could tell the slip was unintentional.”
Nezu’s ears flicked.“Which makes it all the more credible. Sometimes the truth finds its way out whether we want it to or not.”
Aizawa exhaled slowly through his nose, feeling the weight of years pressing down on his shoulders. He finally turned from the window, eyes shadowed. “We missed it. All the signs. His temper, his pride, the way he zeroed in on Midoriya. We thought discipline and guidance would be enough.”
“We underestimated the damage already done,” Nezu said gently. “We hoped structure would reform him. That being among peers, real competition, might soften his edges. Instead, it sharpened them.”
Aizawa’s fingers curled into fists. “We gave him every chance.”
“We did,” Nezu said. “And he is capable. But there’s a difference between strength and heroism. Between victory and virtue.”
Aizawa’s voice was quieter now. “He’s still a kid.”
“And that’s exactly why this hurts,” Nezu said, eyes sad. “But this environment isn’t helping him anymore. It’s feeding the wrong parts of him. Letting him stay would only reinforce his worst instincts.”
Aizawa looked down. “He needs to face this now—before it’s too late.”
Nezu nodded. “Which is why we’re making this decision.”
- - - - -
The principal’s office was bright. Afternoon sun pooled on the floor like liquid gold. The room was filled with the quiet ticking of a wall clock, and the faint rustle of leaves outside.
Katsuki Bakugo sat across from Nezu’s desk. His arms were crossed, his chin jutted out defiantly. The faint scowl that lived permanently on his face seemed etched a little deeper today. His eyes flicked from the principal to the man standing behind him—Aizawa, his homeroom teacher. His mentor. Or he had been, until now.
Katsuki’s leg bounced, heel tapping against the floor in an uneven rhythm. The silence in the room wasn’t oppressive, but it felt unnatural, like something important was about to snap.
“So what is this?” he asked finally. His voice was sharp, brittle. “Another warning? You gonna lecture me again about ‘teamwork’ or whatever?”
Nezu didn’t smile. He folded his paws together, resting them atop the polished surface of his desk.
“No, Bakugo. This is your expulsion hearing.”
For a second, the words didn’t compute.
Katsuki’s brow furrowed. His mouth opened, then closed again. He blinked.
Then he scoffed. “Bullshit. That’s a load of crap.”
Aizawa didn’t flinch. His arms stayed crossed, but his shoulders rose slightly with the effort of holding back everything he wanted to say.
“You’re not here to be disciplined. You’re here to be informed.”
Katsuki’s voice spiked. “I haven’t failed a single damn thing. I’m top of the rankings, top of the entrance exam. You’re gonna kick me out over what exactly?”
“This isn’t about academics,” Nezu said evenly. “This is about character.”
Something flickered in Katsuki’s eyes—confusion, maybe. Or fear. It vanished quickly behind the usual scowl.
Nezu continued, “Your behavior towards your classmates—especially Midoriya—has been a concern since the beginning. But what truly cemented our decision was your unwillingness to reflect. To grow. You lead through intimidation. That isn’t heroism.”
Katsuki pushed to his feet. The chair screeched against the floor.
“You think I don’t care about being a hero? That I don’t get it?”
Aizawa stepped forward, his voice steady. “We think you’ve never stopped to consider what heroism really is. It’s not about dominance. It’s about protection. It’s about putting yourself second. You refuse to grow,” Aizawa continued. His voice wasn’t angry—just tired. “You’ve had every opportunity to reflect and change since entering UA, but there’s no accountability for your actions. Heroism isn’t about winning fights or conquering villains. It’s about protecting people and lifting them up. You’ve shown us that you view vulnerability as a weakness—and that mindset is poisonous.”
“I lead because I’m strong!” Katsuki snapped. “Because I win!”
“But at what cost?” Nezu asked.
Katsuki didn’t answer. His fists trembled.
Nezu took a sip from the cup in his paw, “We have a responsibility to our students’ safety and mental health. We cannot in good conscience continue to enroll someone with a history of repeated harassment, especially toward a fellow classmate.”
Nezu delicately sets his teacup off the side and folds his paws on the table, his eyes unblinking. “Effective immediately, you are expelled from U.A. High School.”
Katsuki's breath caught in his throat.
“This is not punishment,” Aizawa added. “It’s a wake-up call. We hope you’ll look into it and choose what you want to become. Because the path you’re on now leads to nowhere heroic. We’re telling you that what you’re doing is not working. And it won’t work in the real world either.”
Katsuki’s mouth opened—then closed. For a moment, Katsuki looked like he might explode. Like all the pressure inside him would ignite.
But it didn’t.
He just stood there.
Then, slowly, he turned.
And walked out without another word, his hands trembling.
The dormitory hallway was eerily quiet. Katsuki’s boots echoed against the linoleum as he trudged through the space that had once felt like the center of his universe.
Katsuki's duffel bag hit the ground with a heavy thunk. The others were probably in class. Maybe they already knew. Maybe they’d cheer.
He walked past the common room, past the training gym, past the place where they’d all laughed and shouted and pretended they were invincible.
At the gate, he stopped. The wind was biting, colder than it had any right to be. The city loomed ahead, and behind him, U.A. stood tall and unflinching.
He turned back once, just once.
His voice was low, but it carried.
“I’ll prove all of you wrong,” he spat. “Just watch me.”
Then he walked away.