Chapter 1: A Fresh Start
Chapter Text
UA was supposed to be a clean slate.
That was the lie Bakugo told himself all summer.
A brand-new school, the most prestigious hero academy in the country. No more cramped, dingy classrooms with peeling paint. No more teachers who looked at him like he was one loud word away from detention. No more classmates he’d known since they were drooling toddlers, following the same dull routine through elementary and middle school.
And most importantly—no one here knew him.
Well.
No one who mattered.
Two people had been accepted from Aldera Middle this year. That was the rare statistic they’d all obsessed over in March: two names called out in the principal’s office, two sets of acceptance papers handed over with a smug handshake. Two seats at UA, one in the first-year hero course, one in… the other one.
Only one person actually showed up.
Bakugo adjusted his bag higher on his shoulder, taking the steps up to UA’s main gate two at a time. His shoes thudded against the concrete, sharp and quick, drowning out the murmur of other students ahead of him. They were all too busy gawking at the massive building, the glass panels that caught the early morning light, the wide green lawns. First-day energy.
He didn’t look at any of them. He didn’t have to. He’d be at the top of the class before the week was out; he’d make sure of it.
Inside the main hall, students shuffled toward a board with room assignments posted in neat rows. Bakugo scanned it until he saw his own name: Bakugo Katsuki — Class 1-A.
There were other names, unfamiliar ones, clustered around it. Kirishima Eijirou. Ashido Mina. Todoroki Shouto. A whole list of fresh faces that meant nothing to him yet. Perfect.
The walk to his classroom felt too long. Every set of shoes squeaking on the polished floor seemed too loud. He got there early—before most of the class—and took a seat near the back by the window, dumping his bag on the floor with a dull thud.
The desk felt different from Aldera’s—smooth edges, no carved initials or gum stuck to the underside. He ran his thumb over the surface without thinking, eyes drifting to the window.
Outside, the sky was painfully blue. It looked like the first day of anything should: open, clean, full of possibility. He hated it.
Kirishima Eijirou walked in like he’d just stepped into a sports festival. Loud, grinning, tossing a casual “Yo!” to everyone. He slid into the seat in front of Bakugo and spun halfway around.
“You’re Bakugo, right? From Aldera?”
Bakugo scowled. “Yeah. So?”
Kirishima’s grin didn’t falter. “Nothing, man, just—figured I’d say hey. I’m Kirishima. We’re in the same class.”
“Congratulations,” Bakugo muttered, looking past him out the window again.
A short silence. Then a chuckle. “Alright, cool. I’ll leave you be.”
He turned back around, pulling out a notebook, humming to himself. Bakugo stared at the back of his head for a beat, then let his eyes unfocus.
Two from Aldera got in.
The phrase stuck, uninvited, in his mind.
The first half of the day passed in a blur of introductions, lectures about hero ethics, course expectations, and rules. Bakugo answered questions when called on—sharp, precise, no wasted words. He wasn’t here to make friends.
By lunch, the cafeteria buzzed with cliques already forming. Bakugo ate alone at the end of a table, ignoring the curious glances from other students. His phone stayed in his pocket. He didn’t check messages.
After the final bell, he left the building fast, cutting through the gates before anyone could stop him. The train ride home was packed, all elbows and shuffling feet, the air thick with overheard conversations about quirk assessments and hero rankings.
Two older students in the corner were talking about UA’s acceptance rate.
“Yeah, man, some people apply like, three times and never get in.”
“Bet they just don’t have the guts for it.”
Bakugo’s jaw tightened. He stared at the window’s reflection—his own face looking back, eyes sharp, mouth set. The words echoed, twisting.
Some people never get in.
Some people never even make it to the first day.
By the time he reached home, the sun was dipping low, shadows stretching across the street. He kicked his shoes off in the entryway, muttered a flat “I’m back” toward the kitchen. Mitsuki’s voice called back something about dinner in an hour.
He didn’t answer. Just climbed the stairs, opened his bedroom door, and tossed his bag onto the desk chair.
Against the far wall, a small bookshelf sagged under the weight of old notebooks, comics, and random junk from middle school. Propped on the top shelf was a graduation photo—rows of kids in ill-fitting uniforms, some smiling, some not.
He didn’t look at it.
He didn’t have to. He knew exactly where he was standing in that photo. He knew exactly who was standing next to him.
And he knew, without turning his head, that the space on the shelf felt heavier than it should.
Bakugo sat on his bed, staring at the wall, and told himself again that UA was a fresh start.
He almost believed it.
Chapter 2: The Name
Chapter Text
Bakugo didn’t look at the photo the next morning either.
It sat in the same place on the shelf, catching the light through the blinds like it was waiting to be noticed. He shoved his UA blazer on, grabbed his bag, and left his room without a glance.
The kitchen smelled faintly of miso soup and coffee. Mitsuki was already halfway through a slice of toast, scrolling on her phone with one hand. She glanced up when he came in.
“Morning.”
He grunted in return, pouring himself tea.
“Gonna need you to pick up something after school,” she said. “We’re out of eggs and—” She stopped mid-sentence, eyes flicking down at her phone again. Her expression shifted, just a fraction. “Huh. That’s weird.”
“What.”
“Ran into someone yesterday at the store. Didn’t think she’d still be living in the area.”
He didn’t answer.
“Inko Midoriya.” Mitsuki said the name like she was testing the weight of it. “You remember her, right?”
Bakugo’s grip on the teacup tightened. “Yeah.”
“She looks… tired. I mean, she was always kind of soft-spoken, but now she—” Mitsuki caught herself, frowning. “Anyway. She said to tell you hi.”
“I don’t need to hear that crap,” he muttered, slamming the cup down a little harder than necessary. Tea sloshed onto the counter.
Mitsuki raised an eyebrow. “Alright, geez. Just passing the message.”
He grabbed his bag and left before she could say anything else.
The walk to the station felt longer than usual. Every voice in the crowd seemed too loud, every step too slow. The air carried that faint chill that meant summer was giving up, mornings shifting toward autumn.
The name sat in his head, heavy and stubborn. Midoriya.
It had been months—half a year, maybe more—since anyone said it to him directly. It landed differently when Mitsuki said it. Not like gossip, not like a teacher’s forced sympathy. Just matter-of-fact. Casual, even.
He hated it.
By the time he got to UA, his mood was already sharp enough to cut glass. Kirishima greeted him with a too-cheerful “Morning!” as he walked into class. Bakugo ignored him and dropped into his seat by the window, shoving his bag down.
The lessons blurred together again—quirk theory, battle history, the start of basic hero training. Every so often, his brain would stutter over the sound of his own name when a teacher called on him, as if expecting the other one to follow.
Bakugo and—
No. Not anymore.
After school, he didn’t take the train straight home. His route wound past the main shopping street, the one lined with bakeries, convenience stores, and small clothing shops.
Halfway down the block, he spotted her.
Inko Midoriya stood outside the grocery store, a plastic bag hanging heavy from each hand. She was smaller than he remembered, her shoulders a little stooped, hair pinned back loosely. She looked both exactly the same and completely different.
For a second, he thought she might not notice him. He could keep walking, pass like a stranger. But she turned—eyes catching on him like she’d been waiting.
Bakugo’s stomach tightened.
Her face softened, and she smiled. It wasn’t bright—it barely lifted the corners of her mouth—but it was the kind of smile people give when they recognize you from a long way back.
He looked away. Kept walking.
That night, Mitsuki made curry for dinner. The smell filled the kitchen, clinging to the air. Bakugo ate fast, barely tasting it, and retreated upstairs.
He sat on his bed in the dim light, the window cracked open to let in the cool evening air. Somewhere outside, a neighbor’s TV murmured through the walls.
His phone sat face-down on the desk. The photo on the shelf caught the streetlight from outside, glinting faintly.
Bakugo closed his eyes.
The name was still there, lodged under his skin like a splinter.
Chapter 3: Ghost at the Gate
Chapter Text
Bakugo was the first to arrive that morning.
Not because he wanted to be.
The train had been too quiet, the sidewalks too empty, and the ache in his jaw from clenching his teeth had started before sunrise. The kind of restlessness that made him feel like he had to keep moving or he’d just… stop.
The UA gates loomed taller in the morning light. Gold paint catching the sun like they were something holy. They weren’t. They were just metal and polish, pretending to be something more.
Still, he stopped there.
The rest of Class 1-A wouldn’t trickle in for another ten, fifteen minutes. Which meant he had time to himself—except the second his shoes scuffed against the pavement, it wasn’t quiet anymore.
He heard it.
Or thought he did.
A voice—faint, too faint—caught somewhere between air and memory. It said his name the way no one at this school said it. Not “Bakugo.” Not “Kacchan.” Not in the clean, cutting tone of a teacher.
It sounded like a question, or maybe a warning.
He turned so fast his shoulder cracked.
No one was there. The street was empty, just the gates and the shadow they cast across the asphalt.
UA wasn’t supposed to feel like this.
It was supposed to be training and progress and forward momentum.
Not… standing still with the hair on the back of his neck rising, not imagining phantom footsteps behind him.
He forced himself inside, scanning the main walkway. No one. Not even that idiot from 1-B who always managed to loiter around like he owned the place.
The day’s schedule was already gnawing at his nerves—Basic Heroics in the morning, combat drills in the afternoon, followed by gym cleanup duty because someone had shattered a training bot last week and he’d been the closest student when it happened. That someone had been him, obviously.
Combat drills at UA weren’t like Aldera’s pathetic excuses for gym class. Here, you trained until your bones felt hollow. Dodging hits, countering attacks, pushing quirks until your vision blurred. They’d drilled into him that “control” mattered more than destruction. Which was hilarious, considering how they’d picked him.
He shoved the thought away.
His hands itched to go off, palms sparking faintly in warning. Not from anger—at least, not the kind that needed a target—but from the tension building behind his ribs.
Halfway to the main building, he caught it again.
His name.
Clearer this time.
He froze so suddenly his shoes scraped. He could almost place where it came from—off to the right, near the shade under the old tree that sat just outside the path.
He told himself not to look.
And then, of course, he did.
Someone was standing there.
Too far to make out clearly, but the shape was wrong. Not a student, not a teacher. The posture was familiar in a way that made his stomach knot. Leaning just slightly forward, like they were about to take a step.
The figure didn’t move.
He blinked—and it was gone.
Bakugo stood there longer than he should have, jaw tight, staring at empty air like an idiot. Then the front doors opened and Kirishima’s voice cut through the morning.
“Yo! You good?”
Bakugo didn’t answer.
Not because he didn’t want to—because he couldn’t.
He walked past Kirishima without a word, straight into the building.
And for the rest of the morning, no matter how many punches he threw or how loud the sparring arena got, the sound of his name at the gate followed him.
Blue_color_of_control on Chapter 1 Sat 30 Aug 2025 05:53PM UTC
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