The sports hall of U.A. High School vibrated that morning with excited murmurs. Usually, disciplined concentration prevailed during training—but today, a special tension filled the air. Students from classes 1-A, 1-B, 1-C, and 1-D stood together in groups, whispering, glancing at their teachers, and trying to figure out what their expressions meant. When almost the entire first year was summoned together, it meant one thing: something big was about to happen.

Aizawa-sensei, with his usual "I-need-coffee" look, stood next to Recovery Girl and Principal Nezu, who had organized today's training. While the tiny principal sat on a podium with his typically mischievous smile, Recovery Girl examined the students with a sharp gaze, as if she could already assess who would need a kiss by the end of the day.

"We have decided to conduct cross-class training," Aizawa-sensei began with a long sigh—which probably consumed more energy than he wanted to invest in this day. "You will work in teams of two. Your task is to develop a joint technique and figure out how you can benefit from each other."

"Your teams have been carefully put together by us," Recovery Girl took over as Aizawa took a breather. "We've made sure that you complement each other's strengths and can learn from one another."

Nezu giggled softly—a sound that, coming from the mouth of a small furry principal, sounded surprisingly ominous. "Some of your teams may seem random, but rest assured—nothing is coincidental."

Aizawa grabbed the list and began rattling off the names of the teams with the elegance of an official reading a tax return. One by one, students raised their hands, exchanged appreciative glances, or nodded politely to each other. Everything was running smoothly—until the moment when Aizawa announced in his characteristically dry voice:

"Bakugo Katsuki and Aokawa Emiko."

Aizawa cleared his throat. The hall fell into an abrupt silence. For a second, nothing could be heard but the soft squeak of a sneaker on the hall floor. Then suddenly a single hand shot up—Emiko's. Her strawberry blonde hair bobbed slightly back and forth as she looked around in the crowd, apparently searching for her partner.

But he made no effort to respond.

Instead, Bakugo demonstratively put his hands in his pockets and fixed her with a stare that could have set entire forests on fire. The veins at his temples pulsed tellingly as he let out a disgruntled "Tch. This has got to be a joke."

Emiko, however, wasn't intimidated by his gaze. She suddenly smiled—not mockingly, not challengingly, but simply friendly. Her look seemed to say: I have no idea what I'm getting myself into here, but it will certainly be fun. Fortunately, she was already familiar with Bakugo's unbridled energy from the sports festival, otherwise she would have wondered why he was looking at her as if she had just kidnapped his dog and demanded ransom.

As more teams were announced, the remaining students huddled together, exchanging quiet comments and trying not to giggle too conspicuously. Nobody showed nearly as much resistance as Bakugo—and this was by far not his first protest against a team assignment.

Finally, Aizawa lowered the list, looked around with another exhausted sigh, and concluded the briefing with a dry: "We expect all of you back here at the end of the day. Good luck—and don't kill each other." His gaze inconspicuously flitted to a certain explosive blond head.

Slowly, the students headed outside in their assigned teams, exchanging first words and ideas. Only Bakugo did not approach his partner, but continued to glare at her as if trying to figure out what this nonsense was all about. Emiko seemed little impressed by this. With a mixture of calmness and curiosity, she set herself in motion, caught up with Bakugo and followed him like a shadow after he abruptly turned around and stomped toward the exit.

This was going to be fun!

The training ground lay in the gentle light of the morning sun, surrounded by massive concrete walls and a variety of obstacles—perfect for playing out all possible combat scenarios. While the other teams were already forging plans or warming up with initial training exercises, Bakugo trudged stubbornly straight ahead, as if he didn't even notice Emiko.

She followed him in perfect serenity. Her steps were light, almost silent, and her facial expression radiated an absurd cheerfulness—as if this were not mandatory training but a relaxed excursion into the countryside. Minutes passed until Bakugo finally snorted, abruptly stopped, and turned to her as if he had seriously expected her to disappear miraculously.

But she was still there. Quiet, patient, not intrusive. And that's exactly what bothered him. "You're really damn persistent, aren't you?" he finally growled, his eyes narrowed.

Emiko tilted her head slightly as if she didn't quite understand him. "Well, what else can I do? We're supposed to spend the day together. We were chosen as a team, and the principal explicitly said it's no coincidence." Her voice was quiet, a hint of uncertainty resonated—who could blame her? After all, Bakugo was glaring at her as if she had eaten his breakfast.

"Teams of two, what crap..." He ran his hand through his hair as if he could free himself from the situation, but it didn't help. Finally, he folded his arms and gave her an appraising look. "All right then. If you're absolutely determined to play my shadow, then at least keep your distance. And—damn it, don't get on my nerves!"

Emiko nodded with a seriousness as if she had just received an official mission. "Got it." And she continued to follow him. Calmly, quietly, unshakably.

Bakugo sighed irritably. What kind of person was this? No contradiction, no unnecessary questions—just quiet, persistent following and accepting the situation. That was almost worse than someone who provoked him with stupid comments! Team training with her? A combination technique or some such crap? No, he really had no desire for that. What could she even do? He could ask, but... why should he? He wasn't interested.

He stomped on without a concrete goal, while Emiko unwaveringly followed him—like a small planet that stayed exactly in his orbit and permanently circled. Which, fortunately for Bakugo's explosive nerves, she didn't do literally, or he would have flung her out of orbit. And just as he thought she would remain silent, he suddenly heard her voice. "Tch." He flinched unwillingly and turned around with an annoyed look.

"I know your abilities quite well. Maybe we should brainstorm a bit? My ability—"

"Don't care." Bakugo immediately interrupted her, his voice rough and defensive. "Your abilities don't interest me one bit." He built himself up in front of her, muscles tense, but Emiko just looked at him—friendly, almost relaxed. She had no idea why he was reacting so defensively to her. Whether it was his basic attitude or a personal hatred. "Yes, but... we're supposed to complete the task—", she murmured, because in her eyes there was no way out.

"Tch." Bakugo sighed irritably and ran his hand through his hair. He already had enough stress because of Midoriya, and now he had to work with someone he didn't even know? That was sickening. But then his mouth twitched barely noticeably. Aizawa would surely test them later, and bad grades? No. Those were out of the question. He was the best—at everything. Bakugo sighed resignedly.

"Fine," he finally murmured, so quietly that it almost was carried away from them with the wind.

And there it was again—that gentle, satisfied smile from Emiko. Annoying.