Chapter Text
« But you were just a kid when they told you
You'd been born to bleed, little soldier » Isimo – Bleachers
TW : panic attack, mention of death, depression
The first thing he heard was that laugh, that same voice that haunted him.
He felt it, that feeling of impending doom.
Death was out to get him.
He saw the devil, but it wasn’t real, right?
He couldn’t die now; he had a war to fight, a life to live, someone he needed to love.
He could do it, he would fucking win.
Then the blast came, unexpected, fast, and cruel.
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, that’s it,” the child thought.
Extras always say that when you die, you start seeing all the people that mattered to you. What bullshit, he thought. The memories came flooding in.
He saw Pinky — that damn woman would cry too many tears, annoy him even in his fucking grave. Then came Dunce Face, Soy Sauce, and after what felt like ages, came Shitty Hair.
Maybe he would miss them.
Would they miss him?
Would they move on?
He could make out the hag and his old man. God, that annoying woman —
she’d throw a fit when she will findd out.
Her only son.
The baby she carried for nine months. The woman who felt every single kick, who took him to his first day of school. The pregnancy hadn’t been easy — it was a war in itself. Every day they prayed their miracle baby would live. When he finally came, he was their angel.
They loved him unconditionally, admired every milestone: his first laugh, his first steps, his first award. His father made him food, watched him outgrow every pair of jeans within two weeks.
And now they had to learn to live in a world where he was only a memory — a single chapter that should have been longer. So much longer. No parents should have to live in a world where their baby is gone, taken by war, by adults who only cared about power, money, pride…
Such a waste.
He could never reach his full potential.
The Fates came to separate the strands of his life, but just before the cut, the boy saw light.
Green filled his mind —
green hair, green eyes, those damn freckles.
The life they shared flashed before him — the anger, the love, the things he’d forgotten.
His light.
His lighthouse, guiding him through the Acheron.
Hope.
That was what he last felt. And regret.
“So, Izuku… can I still catch up to you?”
Life left Katsuki, leaving only darkness behind.
Bakugou woke up with a jolt.
That was just a nightmare.
A goddamn nightmare.
His heart ached — a cruel reminder that it wasn’t just a dream.
It was a memory.
An awful one.
It had already been a year, and Bakugou Katsuki still seemed trapped in time.
He always felt like he wasn’t really there.
Every day passed in a blur.
His body moved like a machine.
Sleep. Train. Eat.
Repeat.
Every single fucking day.
It was like only the image of him existed — but not him.
Nothing seemed to matter anymore.
He was stuck in a long, dark tunnel, where the light at the end was faint — too faint, too damn far.
Some days, it felt like the light came closer.
But other days… the monster in his head won.
On those days, there was no light.
No hope.
Just emptiness.
“I came back. I fucking came back.”
He repeated it again and again in his head — a desperate prayer, fighting to breathe.
His vision blurred.
The world spun.
A bitter taste filled his mouth — every breath felt like it was cutting him from the inside.
Lightheaded.
Dizzy. Lost.
A panic attack.
That’s what it was.
His therapist had warned him about them — had even asked if they’d been happening.
“’Course not. I’m not a fucking weakling,” he’d said.
A lie.
Fucking awesome.
“Breathe. Just fucking breathe,” he told himself — or at least, to the part of his mind that was still trapped, frozen in time.
An eternity seemed to pass before the blond finally calmed down.
It was still dark outside. Peaceful — almost like the world was mocking the storm raging in his head.
The alarm clock beside him read 5 a.m.
“Well, since I still have two hours before class fucking starts… I’m going to train.”
That was the better option.
When he trained, the memories didn’t bother him.
Everything was replaced by sharp focus.
Every movement was deliberate — nothing left to chance.
It was the only thing he still had control over.
Fifteen minutes later, Bakugou was downstairs, heading toward the door.
But just before his hand touched the handle, he heard footsteps approaching.
A figure appeared near the kitchen.
The boy standing a few feet away wore black shorts and an All Might shirt that said “I Am Here.”
The goddamn nerd.
As if his day couldn’t get any worse.
“What are you doing here, nerd?” Bakugou growled.
The other boy looked about as wrecked as he felt.
Hair messy.
Dark circles under his eyes.
His eyes.
Those green eyes.
Hope — that’s what they were.
A beacon of hope.
A symbol.
Something people could worship.
Bakugou was sure others would go to war for those eyes, tear down armies just to see the light return to them.
But Katsuki Bakugou — Dynamight — wasn’t like those people.
He’d never be one of them.
“I’m just getting a glass of water,” Deku said, voice flat and empty.
Nothing.
That was the word both boys seemed to have in mind.
“Well, get the fuck moving,” Bakugou barked, already annoyed by the nerd’s presence. Even after the war his “anger issues” were still there. Some days it was all he felt—too scared to try to feel anything else.
“Yes, yes, I’m going now,” the other boy said, starting to move. “See you in class, Bakugou.”
Bakugo.
The war had done so much damage. But this was damage Katsuki hadn’t seen coming. When he came back, it seemed only Katsuki Bakugou returned — not Kacchan.
There was no more Kacchan.
Even when Deku had been the cockroach Bakugo used to bully, he still called him “Kacchan.”
Not anymore.
The war had not only stolen nights of sleep; it had shattered whatever their relationship used to be into millions of pieces that no longer fit.
They were rogue stars — not part of any galaxy, not meant to stay near each other.
Bakugo opened the door and stepped outside.
It was still dark. After all, it was October; a year had already passed since the cataclysm. The class was in their final year of high school; they were starting to think about the future. They would soon take their first steps toward pro hero life.
The world had moved on fast, eager to forget. History doesn’t wait — if you trip, it won’t stop for you. Only a few get to stay on earth; bodies turn to ash but what matters is what you leave behind. What stone will you add to the monument of mankind? Dust, or marble?
That choice was yours. That’s what Katsuki told himself every day. He needed to be remembered.
He would fucking be remembered.
He ran along the UA buildings at a steady pace — not too fast, not too slow. He wasn’t a loser like most of his classmates. Some were decent. Some more than others, especially a green-haired boy. But no. Bakugo never allowed himself to think about him. If the idiot was avoiding him, then so would he.
Katsuki Bakugo would never chase Izuku Midoriya.
Never.
The buildings faded, giving way to the forest. He always came here — it was quiet, and no assholes ever showed up. The only sounds were his footsteps and the forest waking around him. He could finally breathe; the weight on his shoulders eased.
After an hour of running, Bakugou returned to the dorms. He needed a shower, clean clothes, class. He hoped he wouldn’t run into anyone — especially not the nerd. If he crossed paths with him, he thought, he’d blast him to the North Pole. Thankfully, he didn’t see anyone before he reached his room.
His bedroom hadn’t changed much in a year
Messy, but under control.
Nothing to worry about.
Absolutely nothing.
He would be fine. He was always fine. A lie.
He knew it, but it was easier that way.
He went through the routine: shower, brush his teeth, put on his uniform. He took his bag. Just before he opened the door, he took a deep breath — bracing for the tsunami that was the extras. He would get through this day. He would.
And so another day at UA began.