He didn't care.
No matter what that four-eyed, overbearing, private-schooled elitist said, he did not care.
He didn't care that people were sitting there, bawling their fucking eyes out like their dog had died, ignoring the fact that they were training to be heroes. He didn't care that the mood had become so fucking somber, practically a thick woolen blanket, threatening to suffocate him in the pitiful remorse that hung in the air like fog. And he definitely didn't care about Deku.
He didn't.
Deku wasn't his problem. If the nerd wanted to get himself captured by a bunch of weak ass, wannabe villains, it wasn't his problem. He had better things to do than patrol the fucking sidewalk that Deku decided to frolic on.
"Oi, Bakugou!" The blonde-haired teen kept walking. He'd acknowledge whoever said his voice; but only if they came up to him. He wasn't going to stop for anyone. From behind him, frantic footsteps grew louder as someone approached - the identity of whoever it was remained a mystery. He hadn't bothered to identify voices to names, and as such, he waited for some type of visual factor to help key him in.
A figure appeared to his left, panting slightly, but far from out of breath, adorning a wide smile as he slowly back down to a regular pace. He had two standout features. Red hair and sharp teeth. "You're heading to that café you always go to, right?"
"What's it to you, shitty hair?" His voice lacked venom, but it did carry some heat - a likely result from the encounter he'd had with Iida earlier.
The red-haired hardening user was hardly deterred, however, and just laughed off the remark like it was just a standard greeting between friends. "You wanna sit with us?" He cocked his thumb back, gesturing to the small, and vaguely familiar, group of students wearing the U.A. uniform. Fortunately, and unfortunately, he didn't quite recognize everyone - not that he cared, at least.
From the group, only the girl with raccoon eyes, the guy that had been frozen in the tournament, Flat Face, and the one that went stupid after he attacked were identifiable. The rest were beyond side-characters to him.
He snorted. "No."
With that, he entered the café he'd been walking to, and deftly took a seat at a table. He hadn't exactly become a regular, however, everyone at the waiter station knew exactly who he was because of his temper, and the table he had slipped into had somewhat become 'his table'. Close to the door so he could leave immediately, and it was also isolated. There was only one other booth that was next to it, so it kept him relatively far from any loud conversations that might end up annoying him.
He didn't bother looking over the menu - he knew exactly what he was here for, and so did those that had seen him come in. Their curry was... good. Admirably, good, in fact. Paired with the drinks they had, it made for a weekly trip, and it gave him a breather before he went to the gym for weight-training. Plus, on particular days like today, he was able to release some of his anger through eating something spicy - and that always made him feel a little better.
The door opened behind him - something he'd become ignorant to, thanks to his booth's position - but it was the arrival of his classmates that made him aware the door had even opened in the first place. Mostly because they sat down.
In his booth.
He blinked. "Did I fucking miss something?"
"You weren't gonna sit with us, so we decided to sit with you!" Kaminari said with a toothy grin.
Admittedly, it took some serious balls to just sit down like they did. That didn't mean he respected it.
"This is my table; get your own!" Bakugou barked in reply.
Kirishima, however, was not phased, and it seemed like the rest of the group was barely bothered, either - minus Kaminari, who was suddenly regretting opening his mouth. The red-haired teen simply shook his head and folded his arms with a disapproving look. "C'mon, you can't just isolate yourself. We're gonna be classmates for three years - you might as well get used to us."
"I don't need to get used to shit!"
"Well, it's a good thing we aren't shit," Sero muttered under his breath, eliciting a snort from Ashido.
Kirshima refused to settle, however. He didn't raise his voice - something that likely would've simply drawn out more of Bakugou's ire - but he didn't relent; a true testimony to his personality, as well as his quirk. "It's been a rough while; you don't have to welcome us with open arms, but everyone is suffering a little."
And, somehow, they were right back to Deku. He didn't get it; he really didn't. What was everyone's obsession over the green-haired runt? Why did everyone care so much about him and his fucking condition? He was hurt; big deal! If he really did have a quirk - and that was an entirely separate issue - then why the fuck was someone able to beat him up so badly? It wasn't anyone else's problem. Deku lost a fight - several of them, in fact.
So why the fuck was everyone so worked up?
Heroes got kidnapped. It happened. Anyone naïve enough to believe that the life of a hero was glamorous and safe was delusional. Heroes fought - and they fought a lot. The best heroes were the ones who won - that was it. When you win fights, you make enemies, and you fight more. The best heroes keep winning, despite the strength of their opponent.
That's why Deku wouldn't be a good hero. Even before he got his shitty quirk. He wouldn't win the fights. He couldn't. He was a liability.
Just like he was now.
"I really hope Midoriya gets better soon..." Sero mumbled, the mood having shifted heavily with the mention of their injured classmate.
Ashido set her phone down, eyes turning downcast. "Yeah... class doesn't feel the same without him..."
Kaminari was silent, merely casting his gaze downward, and to his side, Jirou squeezed his bicep wordlessly - Bakugou hadn't even heard her presence, to his surprise - before leaning into him carefully, like he might break. There was a bit of amusement in Ashido's gaze, but otherwise, no one reacted to her movement, and ultimately, Bakugou didn't care what anyone else did if it didn't affect him.
And before Bakugou could say anything about their intrusion - and he had plenty to say - a waiter slipped over and quickly interrupted the blond-haired boy's strained response, jotting down his (and everyone else's) orders, before bounding away, like he wanted to be anywhere but at the table.
The conversation had shifted from there. While he didn't remember their names - he swore to himself that he didn't - he found themselves repeating the names outloud over and over, as if trying to send him a message. Ashido kept fooling around with the sugar packets on the table, and nonchalantly playing on her phone, snapping pictures every so often. He wasn't sure, but from the corner of his eye, he thought she snapped a picture of him with a snarky smile.
Honestly, he didn't care for their bland conversations, so he turned his gaze out the window, and dropped his jaw on his hand, using his elbow to prop himself up. A discontent look settled onto his face, judging by the reflection from the glass window, but he didn't care about that, either. Let people think what they thought - he was stronger than them, and if they knew better, they'd wait to formulate their thoughts.
"You were great during the Sports Festival!" Kirishima said to him. Lazily, Bakugou turned his eye toward the hardening teen and snorted lightly.
He was great, that was true. However...
"I didn't get to fight that half-and-half bastard at full strength. So for me, it was a loss."
It was true, too. The son of Endeavor had turned his nose to his power; he'd shunned Bakugou's challenge... and obliged only one.
Deku.
"Hey shitty hair, answer something for me." The table went quiet, all attention rapidly shifting to Bakugou, who was now fully focused on Kirishima's surprised expression. "Why the fuck is everyone so preoccupied with Deku, huh?"
Kirishima's face twisted as confusion took over. "You mean because he's hurt or-"
"I mean because everyone's so fuckin' impressed all the time, even though he's barely getting by."
"Oh." Kirishima was silent. "I guess... because he kinda embodies what it means to be a hero."
"He doesn't win. Didn't win. He lost to that half-and-half bastard... and yet, that fucker decided to make him his rival." His hands clenched. From the moment that Todoroki had issued the personal challenge to Midoriya, Bakugou had felt a sharp stab of rage rush through him every single time he looked at either one of them. He didn't get it - he was stronger than Deku. He was faster. Smarter. He was in, every single conceivable way, a superior opponent.
Between their quirks, Deku's held power, but it lacked everything else - and it could only be used once. It wasn't versatile. Correction. HE wasn't versatile. He couldn't use it like he could use his.
But, for some reason, that half-and-half bastard had gone out of his way to deliver Deku a personal challenge... with a personal message attached. When it came time for their fight, those two had gone all-out. But then, the fight directly after, that fire-wielding prick hadn't given him the same curtesy.
That pissed him off. But it confused him, too, and that pissed him off more.
"It isn't because of strength..." Ashido mumbled. Red eyes turned to lock with hers, but she didn't shudder, nor did she back down. "Midori is... yeah, he's strong, of course, but he also draws out your best. He makes you want to be better."
"And what, I don't?!"
Sero snorted, drawing another spike of rage to rush through Katsuki's body. The flat-faced teen decided to rectify his mistake. "I-it's not that you don't... you just, don't really... inspire anyone. And... heroes... I mean, they kinda inspire people."
Just like that, the rage was gone.
"Heroes and villains are two sides of the same coin... I can see it in that glare of yours. So what is it that really makes someone a hero?"
Best Jeanist's words echoed through his brain, numbing the boiling rage that had been building up the more Katsuki had thought about the situation from the Sports Festival. At the time, it hadn't meant a thing. It was just another perspective that, ultimately, the blonde-haired teen had chalked up to being misguided and weak. It was a waste of an internship. He hadn't learned anything more about combat, and he hadn't even gotten an opportunity to fight a villain. The jean-wearing hero had wasted his time by preaching all about looks, demeanor and behavior - things that heroes didn't really need to concern themselves with.
That's what he'd thought.
But his mind kept coming back to the coin analogy. What in the fuck did the jean-wearing hero mean in the first place?
He would've been able to think about it more had Jirou's breathing not gone completely erratic. Kaminari, in an instant, was giving her space, but gently rubbing circles on the tops of her hands, whispering something under his breath. With as curt as Bakugou could be, he also understood delicacy and the signs of anxiety - and clearly, this was a panic attack. He'd seen it a few times, whether he wanted to or not. His mother had made it clear that his abrasive attitude needed to be put on hold during these moments, otherwise he'd only make things worse. And heroes didn't make things worse.
There was a range of reactions, mostly shushed questions as Kaminari desperately tried to calm the panicking girl, but nobody actually had an idea of what was going on, until Jirou leaned forward and began whispering in frantic exhales, "t-those men..."
"W-what men?" Mina asked.
"Th-those men. Uniforms. Our uniforms. They know."
Kirishima looked around, failing to remain discreet, though at this point, Bakugou could tell he didn't particular care for stealth. He snorted; he could respect that. Answers first.
It wasn't until Jirou locked eyes with him, did Bakugou understand exactly what she meant. And when her terrified eyes met his, he felt his heart quicken just a tad, and the uncaring edge he'd worn thus far, weakened at her look. "The men who hurt Midoriya."
Then he heard it.
"You know, we wouldn't have to toil away if you hadn't let the kid go."
"Shut up...! Don't talk about it here."
"We lost out on our only dose, and we lost the kid." The first man obviously didn't care about what his comrade was saying - he just wanted to gripe. He threw himself in the booth, bordering Bakugou's, and sighed as he flipped through the menu. He wasn't big, burly, or tough looking. He was average-sized, a bit unkempt, but definitely strange. Still; he blended in with anyone else.
His body language, however, gave something away. He was not a pleasant person. He was...
"I said shut up! Those U.A. kids will hear!" The second man hissed. He was even smaller - possibly just below average on height, and he was skinny. He sighed heavily, and the irritation that had colored his face, faded as he took a seat. "Look; it sucks, okay? We'll find another. Strength-enhancement quirks aren't that hard to find.
It couldn't be.
There was no fucking way. It was too coincidental. The world didn't work like that.
But yet, there they were. Two out of... an unknown number of men. Two that had obviously had a hand in capturing Deku. Two men that, somehow or another, had wound up in the same diner as other U.A. students. They, obviously, knew that they were next to U.A. students, because they'd commented on the uniforms, according to the hearing girl. But they also didn't care - at least, one of them didn't.
And here they were. Acting like nothing was wrong, minus the fact that their big break had escaped.
"You aren't involved, got it?" Was all Bakugou said to Kirishima, prompting a confused look from the red-haired teen. But before he could ask anything, Bakugou was climbing out of the booth, ignoring the protests from anyone he bumped into or squished as he clawed his way free (after all, it had been his booth, not theirs) before he halted in a standing position.
Time seemed to slow. A waiter was walking with a platter of drinks, and, an idea formed in the explosive boy's head. He couldn't just attack the men - unfortunately, U.A. was rather strict, and the law was even more strict. Unauthorized use of quirks in a public setting was considered vigilantism, if used in combative measures. Otherwise, it was aggravated assault - and in either case, it was not a pretty court sentence. At the very least, U.A. would be breathing down his back. At the worst, he was facing immediate expulsion.
So... he just had to make it seem like a regular fight. Easy enough.
With just the right measure of strength, the blonde-haired teenager bumped into the waiter, sending the young man crashing into the table housing the two criminals, and dousing them in a flurry of liquid. The waiter immediately got to his feet and ushered out multiple apologies, but Bakugou had put the men directly where he wanted them. They snapped at the man, throwing profanities onto the table like it was their meal, clamoring about being soaked from head to toe.
"Hey! Would you shut up?! I'm trying to eat, not listen to a bunch of bitching!" Technically, he didn't even have to pretend - he hated people that complained. And, for the record, he was there to eat.
Still, it did the trick. The men, momentarily flabbergasted by the crude language displayed toward them, immediately got to their feet, and tried to look ominous as the sized up the singular U.A. student like a piece of meat. Bakugou was hardly affected; not only did the men lack size and strength, but they lacked any sort of mystery. They didn't give off waves of danger. They didn't emit power.
They were weak. And he'd show them just how weak they were.
"Well, well, tough guy, huh?" The short second grunt said, an excited look crossing his ugly face.
"Better sit down and shut up, before we sit you down, U.A. brat."
Bakugou sneered. "Fuck off; you two came in crying like a bunch of bitches. Boo-hoo, you got wet. Fucking crybabies."
The restaurant had gone silent; people paused mid-bite and began to watch with rapt fascination at the developing scene. Some parents were rearranging the table so that they were shielding their kids - other tables had their phones out, with their cameras set to record. It would only help Bakugou's case if they caught the verbal exchange - he wasn't serving out justice, in anyone's eyes. He was just putting down rabid dogs.
All he needed to do was wait for them to attack first. Then he'd put them in their place - on the ground.
"Wanna take this outside?" The taller man provoked.
"That's the first thing you've said that actually sounded smart," Bakugou retorted, a wild look in his eyes.
"Tell ya what," The short man said, a sickening grin on his face. He reached forward, slowly, and grabbed Bakugou's shoulder, his grin only growing as he dug his nails into the teenager's uniform. "If you can even muster the strength to go outside, then we'll oblige ya."
A sudden wave of pain struck the explosive-user like a tidal wave, almost throwing him to the ground. His arms felt like they were being shred from the inside. A strained grunt forcefully escaped Bakugou's mouth, despite his clenched jaw. He breathed furiously, trying to fight off the relentless waves of pain that surged through his arms. It reminded him of when he surpassed his quirk's limits.
"Like it...? My quirk is pretty simple. All I do is reproduce the sensation that occurs when you overexert your quirk. Simple... but effective."
"Hey." The man blinked, and turned his head to the side to meet the voice, only to be met with a rock-hard fist. Chaos immediately fell over the restaurant. People began to clamor, cheer and holler as Kirishima launched himself at the shorter man, a battle-cry filling the aisle, forcing the short man to let go, and release Bakugou from the pain he was feeling. His breath came rushing back as the pain ebbed away, and a feeling of rage sparked within the blonde boy's emotions.
How dare he...?
"WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!" Bakugou roared, reeling off an explosion into the chest of the larger man. He was sent sprawling backward, and just like that, Bakugou leapt on top of him, drilling him with several haymakers, egged on by the raucous chants of the crowd behind him. Faintly, he recognized they had no idea why the fight was going on, but knowing they were on his side made him feel just a bit more eager to lay into the ugly-looking man.
He didn't particularly care if anyone was on his side, in all honesty. The world could be against him, but who gave a shit? They weren't him - they didn't understand his reasons for doing what he did. The only things they saw was what he let them see. Everything else was his own damn business, not theirs. And beating up these men?
It felt right. He wasn't doing this for Deku. He wasn't doing this for his classmates. He was doing this because these fuckers earned this ass kicking.
To his right, Kirishima drilled the short man in the stomach, knocking the wind - and appetite - out of him, despite the man greedily grabbing his arm.
"W-what?" The man wheezed, releasing the hardened arm as Kirishima hit him again in the side.
"I don't have a drawback! My quirk's only drawback is my own will! If I don't get hard enough, that's my own problem!"
The fight was short-lived, if it could even be called a fight.
Kirishima was more than a match for the short man, and even if he hadn't been, the red-head doubted that Bakugou would take long with the other criminal. It was always entertaining to watch Bakugou in a fight - although, in cases like this, it was also a bit worrisome, considering the ferocious temper that the blonde-haired teen housed.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!"
There it was.
Death Arms, a hero that Bakugou was unwillingly familiar with, was standing in the lobby of the diner, arms folded and an unpleasant expression written all over his face. He wasn't known for being patient, let alone reasonable, though this was a side that, admittedly, Bakugou hadn't seen yet. His growl only accented his frustration, and the crowd quickly sorted back to their tables, unwilling to match the glare that the professional hero had leveled with anyone in his vicinity.
"Well? I don't have all day." The man said gruffly, staring directly at the hardened and explosive teens. Kirishima spared a quick glance at Bakugou, before he swallowed his fear and stood upright.
"I-it's my fault, sir!"
Death Arms raised an eyebrow, but didn't seem amused. He stood in judging silence, awaiting the young man's next words. Kirishima felt the weight of the man's stare, but refused to back down - Bakugou had, for all intensive purposes, stood up for his classmates. To return the favor was the least he could do.
"I... I fo-"
"I fought these guys."
"Oh?" Death Arms said lowly. "Your friend said otherwise."
"He doesn't know what he's talking about," Bakugou claimed idly. "These fuckers had it coming."
Dearth Arms snorted; it was clear that the muscular hero was mildly amused by the colorful language that he used, but it was also up to the hero's public image to be above such actions. He took a few steps forward, crudely muttering for the duo to relinquish their holds on their respective enemies, before he gruffly grabbed the two men and yanked them to their feet. His eyes widened - not at the bruising or injuries - but at the faces he was staring at.
"Well, well, well... it seems you two accidentally apprehended some wanted thugs." The grin on Death Arm's face grew rapidly, and he pressed a button on his belt, which began flashing red repeatedly. He looked at the two men, who now seemed very apprehensive, realizing they were probably in the wrong place, at the wrong time. "You guys have a pretty large bounty on your head, you know."
"N-no... th-that ain't us," the smaller man said shakily.
The other man seemed to agree. "Yeah, you must have us confused!"
Death Arms was not readily convinced. "Sure, but you're coming with me, anyways. Fighting with teenagers hardly seems like an appropriate pastime." He turned to Bakugou - who could give less of a shit - and Kirishima, and judged them silently, before... "You two. I'll be speaking with your principle. U.A. students ought to hold themselves to a higher standard in public."
Despite his scoldings, Bakugou spied out the grin in his word, and he snorted. Fucking softie...
As everyone sorted out of the restaurant, and Ashido comforted Kaminari and Jirou, Bakugou stuffed his hands in his pockets, and scowled toward the direction of the men as they were loaded into police cars, plenty of authorities watching their every move. He wasn't sure what their fate would be - nor was he particularly sure of his own - but it satisfied him to come out on top. Criminals had no place in his world.
"Hey, Bakugou?" He'd turn - this time - for his spiky haired classmate, because anyone who was willing to throw down for no reason, was okay in his book. "That was... pretty manly back there."
"Tch. Whatever." But Kirishima would smile all the same, and even Sero wore a grin. He didn't care - they could do whatever they wanted.
He didn't do it for anyone.
Despite what anyone said...
He would be a hero.
Well that's another chapter. Short, again, but significantly less angst than normal. It's not much, but it's a bit of insight on Bakugou's view(s). Next is Uraraka's chapter, then... well, we'll see!
Response(s):
Guest: Sorry to leave you like that, but I felt it earned the dramatic end!
HephaestusBuilds: You know... I might have been thinking that. I mean, it's been a hectic time for everyone, MAYBE something good should happen, hmm? Thanks for the review, have a great week!
DevilTito : I'm pretty excited for their interactions with Izuku, but for now, this will just have to do.
Guest : I dunno, cause sometimes, I'm evil.
Dragon Courage: I'll try to be more fair in the future.
inFamousSlyMonkey : Thank you! :)
Sakura245: Wow, I feel terrible for the diversion then :( But next chapter, no lies!
Guest : I'm glad I was able to help your thirst for more! And yeah, sometimes I try to get messages across faster, and other times, a bit slower. I'm glad they're able to be picked up on!
LordAzrael1 : Thank you!