Bakugou Katsuki stalked down the dimly lit hallway of the Hero Commission Headquarters, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, vibrating with a familiar anger that sat just beneath his skin. He didn't need to check his reflection in one of the sleek, reflective windows to know his eyes were narrowed, his mouth set into a sharp, scowling line. It was how he always looked when he was being called in for a last-minute briefing.

An important mission, they'd said.

Like hell they needed him. He knew it.

They always need me, he reminded himself. After all, Bakugou wasn't just a hero. He was one of the best. Scratch that—he was the best. Even if these assholes at the Hero Commission forgot that once in a while.

The way his boots echoed off the marble floor irritated him, the sound too hollow and empty, grating on his nerves. The hallway felt too long, like the people waiting for him in the meeting room had somehow arranged this on purpose, forcing him to simmer in his own frustration before he even got to hear the damn details. Tch. As if that would make him any less explosive.

His mind ran through the possibilities of what they could want this time. He'd just gotten back from a mission yesterday—a clean takedown of a villain ring operating out of Yokohama. A brutal, exhausting mission, sure, but he'd handled it. Alone. As usual. And they knew better than to send him off on something insignificant.

"Better be something worth my fucking time," Bakugou muttered under his breath, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. His red eyes flickered toward the double doors at the end of the hall as he neared, a surge of adrenaline already coursing through his veins.

He was ready for whatever this was. Always ready.

The door opened just before he could slam his foot into it.

"Bakugou! You're just in time."

The voice belonged to Shimizu, the Commission's liaison for high-stakes operations. He was the kind of guy who always looked too calm for Bakugou's liking, like everything was a goddamn chess game to him. Today was no different. Shimizu stood at the head of the room with a bland smile on his face, his arms folded across his chest as though he didn't care that Bakugou looked like he was two seconds away from blowing the whole place sky-high.

"Cut the shit," Bakugou growled, stomping into the room. "What's the job?"

Shimizu's smile didn't falter. If anything, it widened slightly, which only fueled Bakugou's desire to wipe it off his face with an explosion or two. But he held back. Barely.

"The mission, right," Shimizu said, tapping a button on the wall. The lights dimmed, and a holographic map of a cityscape materialized in the air between them. "We've received intel on a villain group targeting several influential figures at an upcoming gala in Musutafu. You'll be going undercover."

Bakugou's eyes narrowed at the map, his sharp gaze flicking over the highlighted areas. He could already see potential ambush points, routes to take in case of a confrontation, and the best locations for setting traps. His mind worked at a breakneck pace, but something in Shimizu's tone dragged him out of his tactical analysis.

"Undercover?" Bakugou barked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why the hell would I go undercover? Just let me blow the bastards up and get it over with."

Shimizu chuckled, a sound that grated on Bakugou's ears like nails on a chalkboard. "This particular group is too smart for that approach. They've been flying under the radar, and we don't have a clear enough idea of who they're working with or how many of them there are. We need more intel, and that means going in quietly, gathering evidence, and then striking."

Quietly.

The word sat in Bakugou's mind like a bad taste. That wasn't his style. He didn't do things quietly, and he sure as hell didn't sneak around like some kind of coward. He fought head-on, overpowering anyone in his way with sheer strength and skill. But the look on Shimizu's face told him he wasn't going to get out of this one easily.

"Fine," Bakugou bit out, teeth clenched. "But I'm not going alone. Not for some damn gala."

Shimizu's smile widened again, this time with a hint of smug satisfaction. Bakugou hated it. Hated how he could already tell the bastard was about to spring some bullshit on him.

"You're right," Shimizu said, turning to a door at the side of the room. "You won't be going alone. Meet your partner for this mission."

The door opened, and Bakugou's scowl deepened.

Standing in the doorway was a woman—tall, with an athletic build that looked like she could keep up in a fight. Her long, dark hair was tied back into a high ponytail, and her sharp eyes took in the room with a cool, calculating gaze that immediately set off alarms in Bakugou's head. He knew that look. The look of someone who didn't take shit from anyone. Someone who thought they were smarter than everyone else in the room.

Bakugou hated her already.

"This is Akiyama Yui," Shimizu continued, oblivious to the sparks practically shooting from Bakugou's glare. "She's been working with us on several covert operations. She'll be posing as your partner at the gala."

Bakugou's arms tightened across his chest, his body thrumming with barely contained anger. A partner? Someone like her? His first instinct was to tell Shimizu where to shove it, but something in Akiyama's stance, the way she met his fiery gaze without flinching, held him back. Barely.

"You think I need help?" Bakugou snapped, his voice low and dangerous.

"Think of it more as… additional support," Shimizu replied smoothly. "This mission requires more than brute force, Bakugou. You'll need someone with her expertise to help gather the necessary intel."

"Bullshit," Bakugou growled. "I can handle it myself."

"I'm sure you can," Akiyama said, her voice calm, steady. "But the Commission wants this done right. Not messy."

The challenge in her tone was clear, and Bakugou's eyes narrowed further. He wasn't about to let some stranger waltz in and imply he was too reckless for a job like this. He was the best hero in Japan. He didn't need some no-name backup to help him take down a group of villains.

But…

There was a part of him—buried deep beneath his pride—that understood the stakes. If the Commission wanted it done clean, he'd play their stupid game. For now.

"Tch," Bakugou spat, turning away. "Fine. But if you slow me down, I'll—"

"You won't have to worry about that," Akiyama interrupted, cutting him off before he could finish the threat. Her tone was cool, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—amusement, maybe?—that pissed him off even more.

Bakugou's fists clenched at his sides, the need to lash out building, but he bit it back. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing him lose control. Not yet.

"Good," Shimizu said, clearly pleased with himself. "Now, about the details—"

"I don't need the damn details," Bakugou interrupted, his voice harsh. "Just tell me where and when."

Shimizu paused, his smile faltering slightly at Bakugou's impatience, but he recovered quickly. "The gala is tomorrow night. You'll be posing as high-profile attendees, blending in with the elite while keeping an eye on any suspicious activity. We'll have backup on standby, but your job is to get close enough to—"

"Yeah, yeah," Bakugou cut him off again, waving a hand dismissively. "I get it. Find the bastards, blow them up later. Easy."

Akiyama gave him a sharp look, her lips twitching like she was about to say something, but she held her tongue. Smart move.

Bakugou glanced at her, the irritation still simmering beneath his skin. Undercover work. It wasn't his style, but if this was what it took to prove he could handle anything the Commission threw at him, he'd do it.

Unfortunately, that meant listening to a lot of boring details. Shimizu droned on about intel gathering and protocols as Bakugou leaned against the wall. He tuned most of it out, already forming his own plan in his head. He didn't need some tedious briefing to tell him how to handle things. As long as he kept his eyes sharp and his fists ready, the job would get done. It always did.

"Bakugou," Shimizu's voice cut through his thoughts, dragging him back to the moment. "Did you catch that?"

"Yeah, yeah," Bakugou growled, pushing off the wall. "Get in, get close, find the assholes. I got it."

Shimizu's expression remained neutral, but Bakugou could see the hint of annoyance in his eyes. Good. At least something I said got under his skin.

"Make sure you both stick to your cover stories," Shimizu continued, glancing at Akiyama, who nodded without hesitation. "You'll be arriving as high-profile guests. The villain group is likely monitoring for unusual behavior, so anything out of the ordinary could tip them off."

Bakugou rolled his eyes. As if they'd be able to catch me slipping.

"Got it, boss," Akiyama said smoothly, her voice calm but with an edge of sarcasm that immediately caught Bakugou's attention. He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow. She caught his gaze and smirked—just the tiniest twitch of her lips, but it was enough to make his blood boil.

He didn't like people thinking they were clever. He especially didn't like it when they smirked at him like that.

"Tch," Bakugou spat, glaring at her. "Just stay out of my way and maybe we won't have a problem."

Akiyama's smirk grew a fraction wider. "Don't worry. I have no intention of holding you back."

Bakugou narrowed his eyes at her, his fists tightening at his nerve of this woman. He was used to people respecting his abilities, fearing his temper, or at the very least staying out of his way. But she looked at him like he was just another obstacle she had already calculated and dealt with in her head. Like she had him all figured out.

It pissed him off.

"Good," he said, voice low. "Because I won't hesitate to leave your ass behind if you slow me down."

"Likewise," Akiyama shot back smoothly, her voice like ice. For a split second, Bakugou wondered how she managed to keep so calm, how nothing about his attitude seemed to faze her. Most people backed off after a glare like that, but Akiyama didn't flinch.

Shimizu cleared his throat, clearly sensing the rising tension between them. "You'll need to work together on this one. The targets won't wait for personal disagreements. Understood?"

Bakugou scoffed but nodded. He wasn't about to let some stiff like Shimizu think he couldn't handle a mission just because of some tension with his partner. He'd handle this, like he always did.

"Understood," Akiyama responded, her voice losing its edge. "We'll keep it professional."

Shimizu looked between the two of them for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to assess whether they'd actually follow through. After a moment, he nodded. "Good. You leave tomorrow. Be ready by 1800 hours."

Bakugou didn't need to hear anything else. He pushed off the wall and turned to leave the room, his patience for bureaucratic bullshit long since worn thin. As he stomped out, he could feel Akiyama's eyes on his back, but he refused to give her the satisfaction of turning around. She'd find out soon enough who she was dealing with.

Bakugou spent the rest of the evening preparing in his own way. He didn't need fancy clothes or some complicated cover story to deal with the scum at the gala. He needed to be sharp, focused, and ready for anything. If they thought they could slip past him just because it was some high-society event, they were dead wrong.

As he stood in front of his wardrobe, pulling out his gear, his mind wandered back to Akiyama. The way she'd stood there, cool and composed, like nothing could touch her. It bothered him more than he wanted to admit. He didn't trust her, didn't like the way she seemed to take everything in stride, like she'd already figured out how to handle him before they even started the mission.

But that didn't matter. She was just another variable. Another obstacle in the way of the mission.

Bakugou's eyes narrowed as he zipped up his gear bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He wouldn't let anyone—especially not some icy, know-it-all partner—get in the way of his success.

The next evening, Bakugou arrived at the rendezvous point exactly at 1800 hours, his usual scowl firmly in place. He'd changed into the formal suit the Commission had sent him—black, tailored, and suffocating in a way that only high-end clothes could be. He hated it. The fabric felt restrictive, like it was meant to stifle his movements. He longed for his hero gear, the familiar weight of his gauntlets and armor, the freedom to move the way he needed to.

But he'd deal with it. For now.

Akiyama was already there, standing near the sleek black car that would take them to the gala. She was dressed in a simple but elegant gown, black with a high slit on the side that looked both functional and stylish. Her long hair was swept over one shoulder, and Bakugou noticed—grudgingly—that she looked more like she belonged at a gala than he did. She gave him a once-over as he approached, her expression unreadable.

"You clean up nicely," she remarked, her voice light, but Bakugou could sense the hint of mockery underneath it.

"Shut it," he snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Let's just get this over with."

Akiyama raised an eyebrow but didn't respond. Instead, she turned and opened the car door, sliding into the backseat with practiced ease. Bakugou followed, slamming the door behind him as he sank into the leather seat, already hating every second of this assignment.

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Preview of Next Chapter:
"Relax," she whispered under her breath, her voice suddenly steady again. "We're just a pair of drunk partygoers. They'll never suspect us."

He grit his teeth, the whole situation making him feel like an idiot. He hated pretending, hated this whole undercover charade. But if it got them closer to their targets without raising alarms, he'd deal with it.

With a low growl of frustration, Bakugou wrapped an arm around Akiyama's waist, supporting her as she leaned against him. He could feel the warmth of her body pressed against his side, and the faint scent of something floral drifted off her, mixing with the sharpness of his own adrenaline. The closeness was uncomfortable—intimate in a way he wasn't used to—and it only added to his irritation.

"Fine," he muttered, his voice low and tense. "But if this doesn't work, I'm blowing them to hell."

Akiyama smirked, her head lolling onto his shoulder as they staggered forward. She leaned heavily into him, her voice loud and obnoxious as she continued her drunken act. "Katsuki, you're soooo strong~! I can't even walk straight!"