The hallway of the Heights Alliance was too narrow for the two of them. It felt like the air itself was tightening, pressurized by the unresolved violence and the grief that Izuku carried like a lead weight in his stomach.
Izuku was walking toward the elevators when a familiar, explosive presence rounded the corner.
"Get out of my way, you damn nerd!" Bakugo barked. He was walking stiffly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched in a way that screamed he was looking for a target.
Izuku didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He didn't flinch or look at the floor. He kept his stride, his emerald eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind Bakugo's head.
"I was never in your way, Bakugo," Izuku said. His voice was flat, a low, dangerous monotone that lacked any of the stuttering warmth he usually offered.
Bakugo stopped dead. He pivoted on his heel, his face contorting into a mask of pure, jagged agitation. He stepped back into Izuku's personal space, his chest nearly bumping against Izuku's. "What did you just say to me, you freak?"
Izuku stopped. He finally looked at Bakugo, and the look in his eyes made even Bakugo's sneer flicker for a millisecond. There was no fear there. There was only a vast, exhausting hollowness.
"I said I wasn't in your way," Izuku repeated, his voice vibrating with a sudden, sharp edge. "Move. I'm not in the mood for this today."
He tried to sidestep him, but Bakugo's hand shot out, grabbing the collar of Izuku's shirt and wrenching him back. "I don't care about your mood! What gives you the balls to talk to me like..."
Izuku didn't wait for the finish.
In a blur of motion that was too fast for Bakugo to anticipate, Izuku's hands came up. He didn't just break the grip, he slammed his palms into Bakugo's chest and shoved. The force of it, fuelled by the raw, unrefined stress of the last forty-eight hours, sent Bakugo flying backward until his spine hit the concrete wall with a heavy thud.
Bakugo's eyes widened in genuine, momentary shock. He stared at Izuku, his mouth falling open slightly as he processed the fact that Deku had just put hands on him.
Then, the shock was replaced by a roaring, incandescent fury.
"YOU'RE DEAD!" Bakugo screamed.
A massive, orange explosion erupted from his right palm, the shockwave shattering the glass of a nearby fire extinguisher cabinet. Izuku didn't retreat. He leaned into the blast, the green sparks of One For All, Full Cowling, exploding around his body like a cage of lightning. He ducked beneath the heat, his movement a jagged, low-to-the-ground slide he had learned from Gran Torino.
He surged upward, his boot snapping out in a vertical arc that caught Bakugo square under the chin.
Bakugo's head snapped back, but he was a combat genius even when he was enraged. He used the momentum of the kick to perform a backwards flip, his palms firing small, tactical bursts to stabilize himself in mid-air. He landed in a crouch and instantly lunged, his fist, charged with a concentrated heat, burying itself deep into Izuku's ribcage.
Izuku wheezed, the air leaving his lungs in a sharp huff, but he didn't fall. He grabbed Bakugo's arm, his fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve, his eyes burning with an unnatural, cold intensity.
"Is that it?" Izuku hissed, his voice sounding hauntingly like Yoshi's for just a second.
Bakugo yanked his arm back, a jagged, murderous smirk spreading across his face. He ignored the pull of the stitches in his gut, the adrenaline of the fight finally silencing the phantom pain of his injury. "There it is. That's the look. We finally get to finish the fight those villains interrupted at the festival. I'm going to blast that smug look off your face and put you back where you belong!"
Izuku dropped into a low, predatory stance. His hands were curled into claws, the green electricity crackling so loudly it sounded like the air was tearing.
"I told you I wasn't in the mood," Izuku said, his voice dropping into a terrifyingly calm register. "But I realized something, Bakugo. I've spent ten years letting you win. I've spent ten years being the 'pebble.' I don't mind getting you back for every second of the hell you put me through. Not today."
They both tensed ready to collide in a burst of violence that would have levelled the hallway.
"STOP IT!"
Tenya Iida lunged between them, his arms outstretched, his engines giving a low, warning hum. His face was a mask of rigid, disciplined fury. "Have you both lost your minds?! Look at the state of the world! Look at what our families are going through! And you're brawling in the dormitory hallway like animals?!"
Behind him, the heavy, rhythmic sound of combat boots echoed on the linoleum.
"That's enough."
Aizawa stood at the end of the hall. His eyes were glowing a lethal, brilliant red, and his capture scarf was already hovering in the air like a sentient serpent. The green sparks around Izuku and the smoke from Bakugo's hands vanished instantly as their quirks were erased.
"Sensei..." Izuku whispered, his shoulders slumping as the adrenaline began to bleed away, leaving only the crushing weight of his grief.
Aizawa walked toward them, his presence like a cold shadow. He looked at the scorched wall, the shattered glass, and the two boys who looked ready to kill one another.
"Iida, get to your room," Aizawa commanded.
"But Sensei..."
"Now."
Iida bowed stiffly and walked away, his head down. Aizawa turned his gaze to Izuku and Bakugo.
"The country is falling apart. Your mother are in the hospital. Your classmates are terrified," Aizawa said, his voice vibrating with a deep, weary disappointment. "And you two decided to settle a playground grudge in the middle of a war."
He pointed toward the common room. "Detention. Both of you. After classes every day for the next week. You'll be cleaning the training grounds by hand. If I hear so much as a growl from either of you, I'll have you suspended from the special exams."
Bakugo spat on the floor, his eyes still fixed on Izuku with a lingering, lethal promise. Izuku didn't say anything. He just looked at his hands, his knuckles bruised and red.
___
The air in the room was stagnant, the only sound the distant, muffled whir of the security drones outside. Izuku lay face-down on his bed, his face pressed so hard into his pillow that the fabric felt like it was bruising his skin. He didn't scream, he didn't have the energy for it. Instead, he let out a long, jagged breath that vibrated against the pillowcase, a slow-burning, silent rage that felt like hot lead in his veins.
Detention.
The word tasted like ash. In all his years, Izuku had never truly been a "troublemaker." In Aldera, his record had been spotted with disciplinary notes, but they were always lies, disrupting the peace,inciting conflict,disturbing other students. They were the labels teachers gave him when Bakugo burned his notebooks or shoved him into lockers, and the school needed someone to blame who wouldn't fight back, that wouldn't be remembered. But this was different. This was UA. This was his dream. And once again, because of Katsuki Bakugo's inability to exist without violence, Izuku was being punished for finally standing his ground.
A week of manual labour. A week of being tied to his tormentor.
Bzz-bzz.
His phone vibrated on the nightstand, the sound grating against his raw nerves. He wanted to throw it against the wall. He wanted to ignore the world until it stopped bleeding. But he saw the name on the lock screen.
Iida-kun.
Izuku rolled over, staring at the ceiling for a long beat before picking up the device.
Iida: Midoriya-kun, I am checking in. Are you in your room? Aizawa-sensei mentioned the detention. I am deeply concerned.
Izuku: Yeah. I'm here. I'm fine, Iida-kun. You don't need to worry about me.
Iida: It is difficult not to worry. The tension in the hallway was palpable. I have never seen you look at Bakugo-kun with such intensity. What happened, Midoriya-kun? This is not like you, especially given the current state of our families.
Izuku stared at the screen, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to spill it. He wanted to tell Iida about the years of bullying, about the way Bakugo had just called him a "freak" while his mother lay in a coma. He wanted to tell him that his body wasn't just his anymore.
Instead, he typed:
Izuku: It was just a misunderstanding. We were both on edge. He said something he shouldn't have, and I didn't handle it well. It's nothing to be concerned about.
Iida: A misunderstanding that led to quirk usage in a residential hallway? Midoriya-kun, you are usually the pillar of restraint. If there is a deeper issue, as your Class Representative, I must advise you to speak with a counsellor or Aizawa-sensei. We cannot afford internal fractures right now.
Izuku: (types and deletes)
Izuku: I know. I'm sorry for the trouble it caused you. I'll be more careful. Thanks for checking in.
Iida: There is no need for apologies to me. I simply want my classmates to be safe. After Hosu... after everything. I cannot stand the thought of us turning on each other when the world is already trying to tear us down. It is only natural that I check on you. It is my role, and you are my friend.
Izuku: I appreciate it. Really. Get some rest, Iida-kun.
Iida: I shall. And Midoriya-kun? Please, try to find some peace tonight. We have the special exams approaching. We need you at your best.
Izuku locked the phone and dropped it onto his chest. Peace. The word felt like a joke. He closed his eyes, and for a split second, he didn't see the ceiling of his dorm. He saw the grey, endless hallways of Yoshi's hospital. He felt the phantom itch of the mouth on his hand.
He wasn't "turning" on his classmates. He was just finally stopping the turn that had been happening for a decade.
He rolled back onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow once more. He had a week of detention and a comatose mother. But as he drifted into a fitful, shallow sleep, one thought remained clear and cold in his mind.
He wasn't going to let Bakugo win. Not this time. Not ever again.
___
The yellow light of the faculty lounge flickered, a dying bulb buzzing in rhythm with the distant hum of the security drones outside. Shota Aizawa stood by the coffee machine, watching the dark liquid drip slowly into his mug. He hadn't slept more than three hours in the last four days.
"Hey, Shota. You're staring at that pot like you're trying to erase its existence," Present Mic said, leaning against the doorway. His usual boisterous energy was dampened, his signature tall hair slightly wilted. "Rough night?"
Aizawa didn't look up. "Every night is rough lately, Hizashi." He took a sip of the black coffee, the bitterness doing little to cut through his fatigue. "Tell me something. You've had the first-years for English and general studies. How do you think Bakugo and Midoriya actually get along?"
Mic pulled up a chair, spinning it around to sit backward. He hummed thoughtfully. "Get along? They don't. At least, not in any way I'd call 'friendly.' Honestly, they don't even interact much. It's more like two magnets with the same polarity, they just push each other to opposite sides of the room. Midoriya stays in his head, and Bakugo stays in everyone's face. Why? Something happen in detention?"
"They were more than just 'pushing away' a couple nights ago," Aizawa said, his eyes narrowing as he remembered the scorch marks on the dorm walls. "It was aggressive. More so than the usual teenage posturing. Midoriya wasn't just defending himself, he was looking to land a hit. And Bakugo... he looked like he was genuinely trying to put him down."
Mic sighed, his expression softening. "Can you blame them? Especially the kid. You know his mom is in the hospital? It's bad, Shota. I heard she's still on the ventilator."
Aizawa nodded slowly. "I know. The stress is turning them into powder kegs. Midoriya is carrying a weight he's not equipped for, and Bakugo... Bakugo most likely grew up at the center of everything and now he doesn't know how to handle a world where he isn't the center of gravity anymore."
"It's a bad mix," Mic agreed. "You think they'll be okay for the special exams? If they're at each other's throats now, putting them in a high-stress test might just make them snap."
Aizawa set his mug down on the counter with a definitive thud. He looked out the window at the dark silhouette of the campus, thinking of the "Champion" and the "King" sitting in silent, angry detention.
"They have to be," Aizawa said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly rasp. "Nezu has specific plans for those two in the exams. He wants to see if they can bridge the gap between them, or if the pressure is going to force them to break. With the League's 'Harvest' target on their backs, they don't have the luxury of a grudge anymore."
"Nezu's plans usually involve a lot of pain before the progress," Mic muttered, standing up and heading for the door. "Hope they're ready for it."
"I hope so too," Aizawa whispered to the empty room. "Because if they aren't, the League won't just take their points. They'll take their lives."