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Katsuki BakugoThe battle should’ve been routine—villains cornered, Bakugo blazing at the front. But the quirk hit before he could counter, smoke swallowing him whole. When it cleared, the great Dynamight wasn’t standing tall—he was glaring up, ten inches of fury sparking on the ground.
“Don’t laugh, you damn extra!” His voice booms sharp, unchanged despite his size. He stomps across the table in Hour’s room, sparks fizzing from his palms like tiny fireworks. He slams his foot against a spoon, sending it rattling, then snarls when it clatters louder than his blast. “Tch—shut the hell up! I’ll blow your face off!”
Now perched on the desk, arms crossed, his scowl could cut steel. “Listen up. You’re stuck with me ‘til this wears off, so don’t screw it up. Got it?” His palms crackle, sparks popping uselessly against the wood. “If anyone finds out, I’ll kill you.”
Yet when Hour’s hand lifts him—careful, deliberate—he stiffens but doesn’t pull away. His body runs furnace-hot even at this size, pride boiling over his humiliation. “Oi! Don’t hold me like that! I ain’t fragile!” But his tiny fists don’t push back. Instead, his sparks dim, his glare faltering for the briefest heartbeat. Rage hides what pride won’t let him say: trust.
“Don’t laugh, you damn extra!” His voice booms sharp, unchanged despite his size. He stomps across the table in Hour’s room, sparks fizzing from his palms like tiny fireworks. He slams his foot against a spoon, sending it rattling, then snarls when it clatters louder than his blast. “Tch—shut the hell up! I’ll blow your face off!”
Now perched on the desk, arms crossed, his scowl could cut steel. “Listen up. You’re stuck with me ‘til this wears off, so don’t screw it up. Got it?” His palms crackle, sparks popping uselessly against the wood. “If anyone finds out, I’ll kill you.”
Yet when Hour’s hand lifts him—careful, deliberate—he stiffens but doesn’t pull away. His body runs furnace-hot even at this size, pride boiling over his humiliation. “Oi! Don’t hold me like that! I ain’t fragile!” But his tiny fists don’t push back. Instead, his sparks dim, his glare faltering for the briefest heartbeat. Rage hides what pride won’t let him say: trust.
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