"AGGHH!"
The sun shone brightly on a Monday morning, piercing the window of the town's angriest kid.
"MOM! I told you to stop opening the blinds!"
Katsuki Bakugo, Explosion Quirk wielder, and UA student.
Bakugo sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes furiously. The light had poured into his room and hit his eyes, disturbing his satisfying slumber. Once he had readjusted to the brightness, he scowled at his mother, Mitsuki.
"Damn it, old hag! You almost blinded me!" He yelled angrily, as his mother responded by giving him one across the cheek.
"Hush! Today's a very special day! I will NOT have you acting like some gremlin!" Mitsuki yelled back, with her hands on her hips.
Bakugo scoffed as he laid back in bed, tuning her out. Special day? The hell was that supposed to mean?
"Now get dressed, and come down for breakfast." Mitsuki commanded as she left his room and shut the door.
Bakugo groaned, and slowly rolled out of bed. He rubbed his eyes as he stretched, standing up and walking over to his dresser. He lazily pulled the drawer out, and grabbed whatever would be deemed acceptable as a school uniform. Underwear, pants, all that crap.
He put on the shirt and jacket, his exhausted brain not even bothering to consider the tie. He then slipped on his pants, letting them run loose and baggy, as he refused to pull them up. He then slipped on some socks and stomped his feet into his shoes, allowing them to go untied. Bakugo didn't mind how he looked when going to UA, he just followed the bare minimum of what could be considered the 'dress code'.
"KATSUKI! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE! THE EGGS ARE GETTING COLD!"
Bakugo didn't even so much as blink as his mother's voice thundered throughout the house. Was he really taking that long? It hadn't felt like it. He groaned as he looked to the bedroom door and raised his own voice in response.
"ALRIGHT, YOU DAMN WITCH! I'M COMING!" Bakugo screamed angrily, his voice cracking a little.
He lazily put his shoes on and headed out of his room, walking downstairs. His mother was just at the kitchen entrance, with a scowl on her face.
What was the ogre mad about this time? The yelling?
"I think you forgot something, young man." Mitsuki said with a quieter tone, ceasing her yells from prior.
"What?" Bakugo scoffed in annoyance, trying to get past her.
"What?" Mitsuki mockingly repeated, stepping in front of her son's way, "Say that again."
Bakugo groaned, as he forced out, "What was it that I forgot, Mom?"
His mother didn't give an answer, at least not a verbal one. Instead, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and pointed to her teeth, before waving her fist back-and-forth in front of her mouth.
Bakugo groaned, and attempted to push past her, but his mother wouldn't budge. She stood there, feet firmly planted right in front of the kitchen entrance. "Ah, ah, ah! Brush your teeth!" Mitsuki commanded, wagging her finger at her annoyed son.
Bakugo groaned again, louder this time. He turned on his heel and slowly trudged back up the stairs, his mother watching him the entire time.
Mitsuki sighed and turned to her husband, Masaru, who was sitting at the sofa and scrolling through a news app on his phone. "I swear… the kid gets harder to control every day…" She commented to her husband.
Masaru chuckled, replying, "Katsuki's getting older… he's not the same little boy he used to be."
"Yeah, you can say that again…" Mitsuki mumbled, sitting next to Masaru. She snuggled up to him, finding comfort in the shield that protected her against the hurricane that she reluctantly gave birth to. "For one day, just for one day the whole year, I get to pretend that I love him…" Mitsuki quietly commented to her husband, who turned to her with a look of both shock and amusement.
"Pretend?" Masaru chuckled, putting an arm around his wife, "Katsuki's our boy, how could you not love him?"
Mitsuki stayed suspiciously silent, looking away from Marasu towards the ground, fidgeting with her hands as she tried to think of a response. "Honey, he's your son, do you love him?" Masaru said, much more firmly this time.
Crap, he was going to force her to answer, wasn't he? Mitsuki looked Masaru dead in the eye, breathing heavily as she tried to take as much time as she could with an answer, her husband emitting fierce levels of anticipation as she opened her mouth to speak. "I guess?"
"You guess? He's your son, this shouldn't be a question!" Masaru laughed, as he returned to reading the news, until one article headline freaked him out, his face going pale as he tapped on it.
Mitsuki was confused, her husband was pressing the phone so close to his face that she couldn't even see what he was looking at when she tried leaning over him. "Hey, what's wrong? What are you looking at?"
Masaru ignored her, reading further, mumbling to himself. "Happy Mask Salesman… masked cult… riots in the streets…"
"The Hell are you reading?" Mitsuki grumbled, snapping her fingers, which didn't grab his attention either. She huffed, reaching her hand out to just take the phone, wanting to read whatever-
"DIE!" Screamed a pissed-off voice from upstairs, startling both Mitsuki and Masaru as they jumped a little in unison, Mitsuki dropping the phone out of shock, which was picked up by her husband. Mitsuki then rushed to the stairs, looking up through the railing to only faintly see her son violently brushing his teeth, so much that his gums were bleeding.
"GO TO HELL, YOU STUPID GERMS!" Bakugo screamed again, as Mitsuki huffed and prepared to raise her own voice to counter the walking hurricane that was her son.
"KATSUKI! I am NOT having you yell so early in the morning! Come down and eat breakfast!" Mitsuki coughed, grabbing at her increasingly sore throat.
Bakugo, with his mouth full of toothpaste and blood, could only grumble back.
After a while, Bakugo finally came back downstairs. When he got to the kitchen this time, he was confused as his mother seemed to try her best to smile at him, his father doing the same as well. What were they so happy about? He ignored it initially, stepping into the kitchen and sitting down at the counter.
The kitchen looked remarkably clean for a house like the Bakugo's. The counter was completely stainless, all the dirt and crumbs on the floor were gone, and the nest of spiders that once lived in the corner of the ceiling had been completely removed.
Furthermore, all the food and drinks were organized. Junk food that used to be strewn about wherever we're now neatly placed in crates next to the sink. Cereal was put in the drawers above the stove, and anything else was either in the fridge or the other counter.
That's when a delicious smell hit Bakugo's nose. He noticed something heating up in a pan over by the stove, but it was too far away for him to recognize what it was. His mother entered the kitchen, and carefully took the pan off the stove, scooping the contents onto a plate.
Mitsuki then approached Bakugo with his breakfast, setting a plate of rice and eggs down in front of him. She still had that smile, why?
The moment he laid eyes on his breakfast, his brain short-circuited. The eggs looked beautiful, the yolk and the white perfectly distinct and separated, rather than disgustingly mixed. If he looked hard enough, he could notice small specks of seasonings. The rice also looked unbelievably delicious, a brilliant golden color rather than the look of sewage he was used to.
Bakugo silently picked up his chopsticks and grabbed onto one of the eggs, then hastily stuffed it into his mouth. Unlike the usual cringing he would feel at his mother's cooking, Bakugo instead was greeted by a hot, rich taste. The egg wasn't wet and slimy like it normally was, instead more firm and… juicy? Also, instead of being drowned in every seasoning the kitchen had to offer, his taste buds were instead delighted at the light pinches of salt and pepper.
The hell kinda spell did that witch put on the food!?
Bakugo eyed his mother, trying to search for the answer in her expression. He didn't want to ask outright, he was gonna solve this himself. However, as he searched his mother's face, he noticed something incredibly peculiar. It was unmistakably, painfully forced. Mitsuki had not put on a natural smile by any means, she had simply pretended to keep a positive attitude for whatever reason.
However, before he could question it any further, his father came into the kitchen holding a large cardboard box. He set the box down in front of Bakugo, and opened it, revealing a vanilla-flavored cake with red and blue sprinkles, shaped in the image of All Might's head.
"Happy birthday, sweetheart~" Mitsuki beamed, giving Bakugo a kiss on the cheek.
Oh, it's his birthday, yay…
Bakugo groaned, this was the 'special day' his parents were making such a big deal about? Bakugo looked at the cake. He wasn't really in a sugar mood, not that he ate a lot of sugary treats to begin with. Even worse, it was almost time for him to go to school, and his father was already bringing in presents and setting them on the kitchen counter.
He grabbed his fork, poking at the All Might cake with the same energy as a sloth in the Olympics. An All Might birthday cake, of course, his parents couldn't have been more predictable if they tried. It wasn't even a good cake, the icing was cheap, the cake itself was strangely hard, and it looked so little like All Might that Bakugo was almost offended. Clearly, in a rush to cram his birthday into a single Monday morning, this was the best they could do. Well, not "best", this was obviously a budget birthday.
Bakugo scowled at the presents, they were All Might-themed just like the cake. He didn't have to guess too much as to what was in it, ever since he was a kid, it was like his parents didn't know he had any other interests. He loved All Might, definitely, but he couldn't stand 15 consecutive years of the hero being plastered all over the house for every birthday. He glared at his parents, Marasu was bringing in more presents, and Mitsuki was fiddling with the lighter, hitting the device so she could light the candles.
Why did they insist on treating him like he was a kid?
"Do we really have to do this now? I gotta get to school!" Bakugo grumbled, impatiently squirming in his seat.
Mitsuki's fake cheer cracked for a moment, as she fired back. "If we don't have it now, then if you get detention today, we'll miss having your birthday party, and we don't want that do we?"
"Oh, believe me, I would love that…" Bakugo mumbled back, as his mother started lighting the candles on the cake. His father had also finished bringing in all the presents, setting some of them down on the table alongside the cake, which his mother had now finished lighting. Bakugo's parents then stepped back a bit, smiling at him, before taking a deep breath. Bakugo braced himself, slinking into his chair, as his parents began to sing that God-forbidden song.
"Happy birthday to you…"
Bakugo rolled his eyes as far as they would go, almost being able to see inside his own head.
"Happy birthday to you…"
His foot tapped impatiently, as he scanned the clock on the wall, Homeroom Period at UA was starting in 30 minutes!
"Happy birthday, dear Katsuki…"
He loudly grumbled, his temper and patience on the verge of breaking down. The song had barely 20 words in it, but it always felt like an eternity whenever it was sung to him.
"Happy bir-"
"I'm gonna be late, damn it!" Bakugo snapped, cutting their singing off, albeit later than he usually does.
WHACK!
With a clean smack across the face, Mitsuki silenced her son. "Don't you dare keep a tone like that, young man!"
The two started arguing again, yelling back and forth, neither caring for how sore their throats were, or how lost their voices would become after this. Watching his wife and son argue, Masaru decided to split the party, because Bakugo needed to head to school urgently. "Hey, school starts in-"
"SHUT UP, OLD MAN!" Both Bakugo and Mitsuki yelled, causing Masaru to flinch in shock.
Later…
Bakugo sat in the passenger seat next to his father in the car, and thankfully, there didn't seem to be any traffic on the roads. He rested his head against the window, exhausted from a lack of sleep, and irritation at how much time his parents had wasted. He looked out the window, watching houses pass by, remaining silent thanks to all the painful yelling he did today.
As Masaru turned on an intersection, he turned to his son, and tried to start up a conversation. "So uh… Katsuki, how is school going?"
"It's alright…" Bakugo grumbled, leaving his father with a skeptical face.
"Alright? You seemed to be in a hurry to get there this morning, why rush if it's only 'alright'?" Masaru asked, annoying Bakugo, his father having a tendency to find ways to use his words against him. Bakugo didn't reply, he stayed quiet, still staring out the car window as his father drove him to school.
Masaru didn't try to push him, he knew that his son had been through a lot this morning, so he thought it would be best to give him some space for now. He continued down the road, still no traffic, at least not yet anyway. Once he had stopped at a red light, he turned over to his son, noticing that he had fallen asleep. "Grandpa wanted to come over tonight for your birthday, but he couldn't make it." Masaru commented, getting no response. He put his foot on the gas as the green light came, accelerating a bit rather than he should have, the weight of his son's disregard getting heavier.
As he drove up the hill to UA, Bakugo finally looked at his father and opened his mouth. "Why do you always have to hold me back?"
Masaru was surprised, not knowing what to say, or even how to respond. After a while, he turned to his son and asked, "How are we holding you back?"
"Because all you do is waste my time, like today!" Bakugo grumbled back, looking out the window again.
"Katsuki, we needed to have your birthday this morning, your mother and I worked very hard on it." Masaru replied, his tone getting sharper, the car speeding up as he started to lose focus.
Bakugo turned to his father, using a smart-ass tone. "Oh yeah, you definitely worked hard, at doing the absolute bare minimum!"
"Katsuki, it's not like the other years, we can't afford all the gifts we used to get you, things aren't getting any cheaper!" Masaru said, his temper cracking, as the car continued to speed up.
Bakugo pretended to laugh, but it was clear that the last comment made him even more pissed. "There it is folks! Daddy pulled the 'expensive card' again!"
"Katsuki, I swear to God!" Masaru yelled, just barely noticing the man he was about to drive into, as he looked forward and exclaimed "Holy shit!". Masaru slammed his foot on the brakes, the car skidding to a stop right on the curb. The man stumbled backward, nearly falling onto someone's lawn, before he quickly walked away.
It took a long time for the adrenaline to die down, both father and son breathing heavily as they slowly processed what had almost happened: Running a man over with a car and killing him. Masaru took a bunch of deep breaths, as he turned to his son and said, "Let's get you to school…"
Later…
As his father pulled the car up to the parking lot, Bakugo huffed as he unbuckled his seat belt and got out immediately, not even looking back or saying goodbye, barely even bothering to let the thought cross his mind.
"Katsuki!" Marasu called out, making Bakugo grumble as he turned around.
"What?" Bakugo asked, annoyed.
Masaru reached his arms out and pulled his son into a half-hug, the car door keeping the two separate. "I love you." Bakugo rolled his eyes in response, mumbling, as his father held him in place.
"Well? Anything to say?" Masaru asked, his eyebrows raising, expecting his son to repeat his declaration.
"Ugh, love you too-"
BRRRIIIIIINNNGGG!
The scream of the bell could be heard from the school, as Bakugo groaned loudly and complained. "Damn it, dad…" He mumbled before running off to get to class.
Crowds of students yelped and tumbled as Bakugo barreled through the halls, knocking all of them over as if they were bowling pins. Bakugo shoved them out of the way as if he were sifting through vines in a jungle, internally laughing as they all crumpled to the floor. Then, he saw it, the door to Class 1-A's homeroom. Bolting as fast as he could, he crashed through the door frame, narrowly missing having his body slam into the teacher's desk, as he quickly shimmied between the other seats to get to his. Bakugo panted as he tried to catch his breath, setting his bag down, and waiting for the inevitable lecture from the teacher.
"Bakugo…"
Yep, there it is.
Bakugo sighed as he looked over at Mr. Aizawa. Scowl? Check. Eye contact? Check. Aura of overwhelming disappointment? No, actually! Instead it was the aura of crushing resentment.
"Care to explain why you're late?" Mr. Aizawa asked, crossing his arms.
Bakugo remained silent, trying to think of an answer that would satisfy his teacher. Everyone else stared at him as he grumbled, and Mr. Aizawa's glare was only getting harder, burning through his mental shield.
"Someone's in trouble~" Ashido whispered in a sing-song tone, causing Bakugo to quickly shoot her a nasty look, but Mr. Aizawa caught him.
"Fine, that's two detentions."
Bakugo's head snapped toward the teacher, as he furiously yelled "WHAT!?"
"Three detentions…" Mr. Aizawa muttered, writing each infraction in a notepad he kept on his desk.
Bakugo grumbled, making sure to keep his mouth shut this time, as he opened his backpack to get ready for today's class. He never really found UA's classes to be all that tough, even with how strict Mr. Aizawa could be, the sleep-deprived hardass didn't detriment the difficulty of the work all too much. No no, the issue was all the BS on top of the work. Besides everything already in the curriculum, Mr. Aizawa would hand out extra assignments if you breathed the wrong way, or another thing he could do was force you to spend an extra half hour in class eating crappy cafeteria food from a school that was miles away, while everyone else got the gourmet cuisine from UA's personal chef, Lunch Rush.
Bakugo suffered through that school day like any other, and by the moment the bell finally shrieked, he was more than happy to leave. Bakugo practically exploded out of his seat, eager to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the classroom. He shoved his way through the lingering students, a familiar scowl plastered on his face.
"Hey, Bakugo!" Kirishima's voice boomed, cutting through the chatter. "You see this?"
Bakugo grunted, turning to see the red-haired teen holding out his phone, a news article glaring from the screen. Sero and Kaminari were huddled around him, their faces a mixture of confusion and unease.
"What the hell is it now?" Bakugo snapped, his patience already thinned after the morning's 'celebrations' and Mr. Aizawa's lectures.
"It's… weird, man," Kaminari stammered, pointing a shaky finger at the screen. "Something's going down in Shirokawa."
Bakugo reluctantly leaned closer, his eyes scanning the headline: "Masked Mayhem in Shirokawa: City Quarantined as Masked Individuals Riot Against Unmasked." The accompanying image showed blurry figures in ornate, unsettling masks clashing with what looked like police officers in riot gear.
"Some kinda villain attack?" Bakugo scoffed, already losing interest. "Probably just some loser with a flashy Quirk."
Kirishima's eyebrows shot up. "Just some Quirk? Dude, that's one hell of a Quirk."
Sero nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah, and they've quarantined the whole city. No one in, no one out."
Bakugo reluctantly focused on the text, skimming through the details. Reports of mass hysteria, coordinated violence by the masked individuals, and the desperate attempts by authorities to contain the situation. He snorted. "So? Some brainwashing Quirk. Happens all the time."
The others exchanged bewildered glances. "Brainwashing Quirk on this scale?" Ashido exclaimed, snatching Sero's phone from Kirishima's grasp. "Listen to this!" She scrolled down, her eyes widening as she read aloud.
"'…Eyewitness accounts and emerging theories point towards a mysterious figure known only as 'The Happy Mask Salesman.' This individual is reported to have been seen distributing a variety of intricately designed masks throughout Shirokawa in the days leading up to the outbreak. Authorities are currently investigating the possibility of these masks being the source of the widespread behavioral changes.'"
Ashido's voice trailed off, her usual bubbly energy replaced by a nervous tremor. "The Happy Mask Salesman? What kind of villain name is that?"
"Sounds like a damn carnival freak," Bakugo grumbled, crossing his arms. "Still doesn't mean it's not some Quirk gone wild."
"But Bakugo," Kirishima argued, his brow furrowed, "think about it. A whole city? Acting like this? There's never been a Quirk like that"
"Yeah!" Kaminari chimed in, his usual goofy grin absent. "I can't think of any Quirk that could control that many people, that fast."
Bakugo scoffed again. "You damn extras have seen weirder. Remember that slime villain from the first day? Or Eraser Head's creepy stare? Quirks can be a pain in the ass, and some are just ridiculously strong." He stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Anyway, not my problem. I got better things to do than worry about some masked idiots in another city."
He started to walk away, but Ashido's voice stopped him. "But Bakugo… it sounds really serious. What if it spreads?"
Bakugo paused, his back still to them. He briefly considered the chaos, the sheer destructive potential of thousands of brainwashed people running rampant. A flicker of something – not quite concerned, maybe just a grudging acknowledgment of a potential threat – crossed his mind. But he quickly suppressed it.
"Then the damn heroes can deal with it," he said dismissively, finally turning and giving them a hard glare. "That's their job, isn't it? Now get out of my way."
He shouldered past them, leaving the bewildered trio staring at his retreating figure, the unsettling news of Shirokawa hanging heavy in the air. The Happy Mask Salesman… it did sound a little strange, even for the world of Quirks. But Bakugo wasn't about to let some distant problem ruin his already shitty birthday. He had enough explosions to deal with in his own life.
The low murmur of concern rippled through the remaining students as Bakugo stomped off. From the doorway, Mr. Aizawa's tired eyes had observed the exchange, his scarf slightly obscuring his expression. He'd been reviewing the preliminary reports from Shirokawa – a situation rapidly spiraling out of control. The local heroes were overwhelmed, and the national hero commission was scrambling.
He cleared his throat, the sudden sound cutting through the anxious whispers. "Alright, settle down." His voice, though quiet, held its usual weight, instantly commanding attention.
The students turned, their faces etched with worry. Ashido was still clutching Sero's phone, the unsettling image of masked rioters a stark contrast to her usual bright demeanor.
"Sir," Yaoyorozu began, her voice laced with concern, "what's happening in Shirokawa? It sounds… serious."
Aizawa sighed, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair. "The city of Shirokawa is facing a… complicated situation. A large number of civilians have been behaving erratically, exhibiting violent tendencies towards unmasked individuals. They are, as the news reports suggest, wearing distinctive masks."
A collective gasp went through the class. "Brainwashing?" Jiro murmured, her earphone jacks twitching.
"The exact cause is still under investigation," Aizawa continued, his gaze sweeping over the worried faces. "However, the sheer scale of the incident, combined with the coordinated nature of the rioting, has stretched the available Pro Hero resources thin. The Shirokawa authorities have requested assistance, and given the circumstances…" He paused, his eyes briefly flicking towards the empty space where Bakugo had been standing. "…UA will be sending a contingent of students to assist."
A wave of nervous murmurs washed over the class. Even the usually stoic Todoroki's brow furrowed slightly. "Students? Sensei, is that safe?"
"It's a necessary measure," Aizawa stated flatly. "Your training has progressed to a point where you can provide meaningful support under supervision. You will be working alongside Pro Heroes, and your safety will be the priority."
Bakugo, who had been halfway out the door, froze at Aizawa's words. He slowly turned back, his usual sneer firmly in place. "The hell you say? Send us? I ain't got time for some damn mask parade!"
Aizawa's gaze locked onto Bakugo's. "Your 'time,' Bakugo, will be spent contributing to a situation that threatens public safety. Unless you have a pressing engagement involving… What was it? More explosive self-pity?"
Bakugo's fists clenched. "Tch! I got better things to do than babysit a bunch of mask-wearing weirdos!"
Aizawa's lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "Consider it an… opportunity for practical application of your combat skills." He paused, a hint of dry amusement in his voice. "From what the reports indicate, these masked individuals are… aggressive. You're perfectly within your rights to subdue any who attempt to attack you."
A slow smirk spread across Bakugo's face, his crimson eyes gleaming with a predatory light. "So you're saying… I can beat the crap out of anyone wearing one of those stupid masks?"
"If they pose a direct threat, yes," Aizawa confirmed, his tone utterly deadpan. "Think of it as… stress relief."
A low chuckle rumbled in Bakugo's chest. The earlier annoyance seemed to melt away, replaced by a familiar, battle-hungry grin. "Alright then, you got my attention. Lead the way, teach."
The rest of Class 1-A stared at Bakugo in a mixture of shock and disbelief. Kirishima exchanged a bewildered look with Kaminari. "Did… did he just agree because he gets to fight people?"
"It seems so," Yaoyorozu said slowly, adjusting her uniform. "Sensei… you knew he would react that way, didn't you?"
Aizawa simply sighed again, the corners of his mouth barely hinting at a smile. "Sometimes, you have to appeal to a student's… unique motivations." He turned to the rest of the class, his usual stern expression returning. "Now, listen carefully. You will all be briefed on the situation before deployment. This is not a field trip. This is a serious crisis, and you will act accordingly. Understood?"
A chorus of nervous but determined "Yes, sir!" echoed through the classroom. As the reality of the situation began to sink in, the initial fear started to give way to a sense of duty, even for those who weren't quite as… enthusiastically violent as Bakugo. The prospect of facing an unknown threat in a quarantined city was daunting, but they were students of UA. They were training to be heroes. And even if one of them was only excited about the punching part, they were all in this together.
"Alright, that's all for today's core classes," Aizawa droned, already halfway zipped into his sleeping bag. "Be prepared for departure on Tuesday morning. Buses will leave UA early in the morning. Don't be late." With a final, dismissive grunt, he rolled onto his side, effectively ending the school day.
A wave of hushed conversations broke out as the students began packing their bags, the earlier tension about Shirokawa still lingering beneath the surface. Bakugo, however, was determined to ignore it all. He pulled out his phone, thumbing through a mindless puzzle game, the flashing colors and simple mechanics a welcome distraction from the day's annoyances and the looming mission.
Unfortunately, his attempts at solitude were quickly thwarted by the ever-energetic Kaminari. The electric blonde bounced over to Bakugo's desk, a wide, oblivious grin plastered on his face.
"Yo, Bakugo! You seem kinda… down today. Everything alright?" Kaminari chirped, leaning in close enough to almost see Bakugo's phone screen.
Bakugo grunted, his thumbs furiously swiping across the screen. "Shut your damn trap, Dunce Face. I'm busy." Kaminari's relentless cheerfulness was grating on his already frayed nerves.
"Whoa, harsh! Usually you're all fired up and yelling. What gives?" Kaminari persisted, completely unfazed by Bakugo's rudeness. "Did Aizawa give you extra detention or something?"
"None of your damn business," Bakugo snapped, his voice tight. He just wanted to be left alone. The memory of his parents' forced cheerfulness and the godawful All Might cake was still a bitter taste in his mouth.
"Come on, man, spill it! Maybe talking about it will make you feel better," Kaminari pressed, his curiosity clearly outweighing his sense of self-preservation.
Without thinking, the words just tumbled out, fueled by irritation and a lack of sleep. "My damn parents were being extra annoying this morning, that's why I was late. Had to deal with their stupid… birthday crap."
Kaminari's eyes widened, his jaw practically hitting the floor. "Birthday?! Dude! It's your birthday today?! Why didn't you say anything?!" His voice boomed through the classroom, cutting through the remaining chatter like a poorly tuned electric guitar.
Bakugo's head snapped up, his eyes widening in horror as he realized what he'd just blurted out. "No! No!" He slammed his forehead onto his desk with a loud thud, a strangled groan escaping his lips. "Damn it, shut up before they hear you!"
Predictably, Kaminari's exclamation had alerted the rest of the class. Heads swiveled, and a wave of surprised and curious faces turned towards Bakugo's desk. Ashido, ever the social butterfly, was the first to approach, her eyes sparkling with mischievous delight.
"Bakugo the birthday boy!" she exclaimed, her hands clasped together.
Soon, the entire class was crowding around his desk, their previous anxieties about Shirokawa momentarily forgotten in the face of this unexpected revelation.
"No way, Bakugo! Happy birthday!" Kirishima grinned, clapping him on the back, a little too enthusiastically.
"You're a Leo, right? Explains a lot!" Sero chuckled, nudging him with his elbow.
Bakugo just groaned louder, burying his face in his arms. "Just shut up, you damn extras! It's nothing!"
But his protests were drowned out as Uraraka, her usual cheerful demeanor amplified by the celebratory news, started to sing.
"Happy birthday to you…"
One by one, the rest of the class joined in, their voices a surprisingly harmonious, if slightly off-key, rendition of the dreaded song. Bakugo's body stiffened, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the edge of his desk. This was it. This was his personal hell. The universe was clearly conspiring against him.
"Happy birthday to you…"
His teeth were gritted so tightly his jaw ached. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and pure, unadulterated rage.
"Happy birthday, dear Katsuki…"
He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing he could just detonate and blast everyone back to their seats. The irony wasn't lost on him – the one day he wanted to be left alone, the one day his explosive temper was at its peak due to morning annoyances, was the one day his classmates decided to shower him with unwanted attention and… that song.
"Happy bir-"
Bakugo finally snapped. He shot up from his desk, his eyes blazing, a raw, strangled yell ripping from his throat. "SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU DAMN NERDS!"
The sudden, explosive outburst from Bakugo momentarily silenced the singing, leaving a slightly awkward silence hanging in the air. Bakugo stood there, chest heaving, glaring daggers at his classmates, who were now looking at him with a mix of surprise and amusement.
Then, a dry chuckle echoed from the doorway. Mr. Aizawa, still mostly cocooned in his sleeping bag, had a rare, almost mischievous grin stretching across his usually stoic face. He drew out the final words of the song in a deliberately off-key manner: "…and many more."
Bakugo's glare instantly swiveled towards his homeroom teacher, his jaw dropping in disbelief. "The hell, Teach?! You too?!"
Aizawa simply shrugged, the corner of his lip still twitching upwards. "Consider it a… belated birthday serenade. Though your vocal accompaniment was less than appreciated."
Before Bakugo could unleash another torrent of angry protests, Aizawa continued, his tone shifting back to its usual flat monotony. "Now, for a more pertinent matter. Given your… enthusiastic reaction to your classmates' well-intentioned gesture, and your overall disruptive behavior today, Bakugo…" He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes narrowing slightly. "…you will also be serving a bonus detention upon our return from Shirokawa."
Bakugo's eyes widened in disbelief, his fists clenching again. "WHAT?! That's bullcrap! What'd I even do?!"
"Disturbing the peace, blatant disrespect for your classmates' attempt at camaraderie, and general… Bakugo-ness," Aizawa listed, as if reading from a mental checklist. "Consider it a lesson in… social etiquette."
A collective snicker rippled through the class, even some of the more serious students unable to suppress a smile at Bakugo's predicament. Ashido even let out a giggle, earning her a sharp glare from the ash-blonde.
"This is insane!" Bakugo roared, pointing an accusing finger at Aizawa. "You're punishing me for them singing that stupid song?!"
"I'm punishing you for your explosive reaction to it," Aizawa corrected calmly. "Control your temper, Bakugo. It's unbecoming of a future hero. And it earns you extra chores." He zipped his sleeping bag up a little further, as if trying to physically distance himself from Bakugo's impending eruption.
Bakugo sputtered, his face a mask of incandescent fury. He wanted to argue, to scream, to unleash a full-scale explosion right there in the classroom. But the knowledge that Aizawa wouldn't budge, and would likely tack on even more detentions, kept his Quirk reluctantly contained.
He let out a frustrated growl, turning back to his classmates, who were now trying their best to look innocent while still fighting back smiles. "Damn you all," he muttered under his breath, grabbing his bag with a violent jerk. "This whole damn day has been a complete waste of my time!"
He stomped out of the classroom, leaving behind a class trying to stifle their laughter and a teacher who seemed strangely… content. The prospect of facing masked lunatics in Shirokawa tomorrow suddenly seemed almost appealing compared to the double dose of birthday humiliation and impending detention. At least in Shirokawa, he was allowed to blow things up.
The familiar, aggressive rhythm of Bakugo's footsteps echoed on the pavement as he trudged home, the setting sun casting long, distorted shadows ahead of him. Usually, the frustrations of the school day – the lectures, the annoying extras, even the impending bonus detention – would be enough to occupy his volatile thoughts. He'd replay arguments in his head, mentally refine his fighting techniques, or just stew in a general state of pissed-offness.
But today was different. Despite his best efforts to focus on the injustice of the double detention and the lingering embarrassment of the impromptu birthday serenade, a different thought kept worming its way into his consciousness. Shirokawa. The masked rioters. The unsettling images from the news article that Kirishima had shown him.
He tried to shake it off. It wasn't his problem. It was some other city, filled with a bunch of weaklings getting mind-controlled by some clown in a mask. Heroes would handle it. That's what they were for. He was training to be a hero, sure, but he wasn't one yet. He had his own training, his own goals to focus on. The UA Sports Festival was still a burning ambition, a stepping stone to the top. He couldn't afford to get sidetracked by some local disturbance.
Yet, the image of those distorted, unsettling masks kept flashing in his mind. There was something about the sheer scale of it, the idea of an entire city turning against itself, that felt… different. He'd seen villains with powerful Quirks before, Quirks that could control minds or cause widespread destruction. But the article had emphasized the masks. It wasn't just some invisible wave of influence; it was a physical object, seemingly imbued with this strange power.
He scoffed internally. He was probably just annoyed that he was being dragged into it tomorrow. That was it. He hated being told what to do, especially when it interfered with his own plans. This whole Shirokawa mess was just another obstacle, another annoyance to add to his already shitty day.
But even as he tried to rationalize his preoccupation, a small, unfamiliar seed of unease began to sprout in the back of his mind. What if it wasn't just some simple Quirk? What if it was something… else? The way his classmates had reacted, the genuine fear in their eyes – even the usually unflappable Todoroki had seemed concerned. They weren't easily spooked.
He clenched his jaw, quickening his pace. He needed to clear his head. Maybe a few rounds of explosive training in the backyard would do the trick. Anything to drown out the nagging feeling that this Shirokawa situation wasn't just another Tuesday villain attack. There was something… off about it. And for the first time in a long time, Bakugo found himself unable to completely dismiss it. The image of those blank, masked faces lingered, a silent, unsettling question mark in the usually loud and self-assured landscape of his mind.
Later…
The moment Bakugo shoved the front door open, the familiar chaotic energy of his household washed over him, though today it felt distinctly… strained. His father, Masaru, was hunched over the coffee table, a roll of brightly colored wrapping paper askew, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he fumbled with tape and a lopsided bow. Several wrapped presents sat precariously stacked beside him, looking like they might topple over at any moment. He offered Bakugo a weak, slightly manic smile.
"Ah, Katsuki! You're home! Just… uh… finishing up here!" Masaru's voice was a little too bright, a little too enthusiastic, like he was trying to single-handedly inject cheerfulness into a very resistant atmosphere.
Standing near the kitchen entrance, arms crossed and a thunderous expression etched onto her features, was Mitsuki. Her red eyes narrowed the second they landed on her son, and the air around her seemed to crackle with barely suppressed fury. The pleasant aroma of whatever she might have been cooking earlier had vanished, replaced by a palpable tension.
"Well, look who finally decided to grace us with his presence," Mitsuki snapped, her voice dangerously low. "I've been waiting."
Bakugo braced himself. He knew that tone. It was the calm before the storm, the lull before she unleashed a verbal barrage that could rival one of his explosions. He avoided eye contact, tossing his bag unceremoniously onto the floor.
Masaru, sensing the impending conflict, cleared his throat nervously. "So, Katsuki, how was… school?" He punctuated the question with a frantic rip of wrapping paper that tore unevenly.
Bakugo grunted, not even bothering to look at his father. "Fine."
Mitsuki took a step closer, her gaze unwavering. "Fine? Is that what you have to say after the tantrum you threw this morning? And don't think your father didn't tell me about your little joyride to school. Almost running someone over? What the hell is wrong with you two?"
Masaru winced, shrinking slightly under his wife's glare. "Now, Mitsuki, it wasn't exactly like that…"
"Oh really, Masaru?" Mitsuki's voice rose an octave, her attention momentarily shifting to her husband. "So he didn't almost kill some innocent bystander because you two were busy having another one of your delightful screaming matches?"
Bakugo winced internally. He should have known his old man wouldn't be able to keep that under wraps. Now he was in for a double dose of his mother's wrath.
He finally met Mitsuki's gaze, his own hardening defensively. "It wasn't my fault, old hag! He was the one being a damn nag!"
"Oh, daddy's a nag now?" Mitsuki's eyes flashed dangerously. "After the way you acted this morning? After all the trouble we went through for your… ungrateful birthday?"
The word "birthday" hung in the air, heavy with unspoken resentment. Bakugo felt a fresh wave of irritation wash over him. This was exactly why he hated his birthday. It just gave his parents another excuse to be… his parents.
Masaru, ever the peacemaker (and terrified of his wife's full fury), stepped between them, holding up a clumsily wrapped present. "Alright, alright, let's not dwell on the morning. Katsuki's home now. How about… how about we have some dinner? I'm sure Mitsuki made something delicious." He shot his wife a pleading look.
Mitsuki's expression softened infinitesimally as she glanced at Masaru, then back at Bakugo, her anger still simmering. "Dinner will be ready in an hour. And Katsuki," she said, her voice still sharp, "we'll be having a discussion later. About your attitude, your behavior, and almost committing vehicular manslaughter."
Bakugo just scoffed, pushing past his father and heading towards the stairs. He could feel their eyes on his back, the unspoken disappointment and simmering anger radiating from them. He just wanted to escape, to retreat to the relative sanctuary of his room and try to block out the noise – both internal and external. But even as he climbed the stairs, the unsettling feeling about Shirokawa still lingered, a discordant note in the usual symphony of his teenage angst. He just couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow was going to be more than just another annoying mission.
Bakugo ripped away the last of the wrapping paper, a sliver of hopeful anticipation flickering within him despite his earlier cynicism. He really, really hoped his grandfather, at the very least, had managed to get him something that wasn't plastered with that damn All Might grin.
He opened the box… and his heart sank.
Nestled within the tissue paper was an All Might action figure, but not even a good one. It was probably one of those knockoffs, regurgitated into stores from Chinese factories, a cheap toy his parents bought probably just to fill a bullet point on the gifts list.
Next to it was an All Might-themed hoodie, complete with the hero's signature hair spikes rendered in disgustingly itchy fabric. And beneath that… an All Might-emblazoned baseball cap, for a dead team that disbanded years ago.
Bakugo stared at the contents of the box, his face slowly morphing from a flicker of hope to utter resignation. He let out a long, weary sigh.
"Oh, wow, Katsuki! Isn't it great?" his father beamed, completely missing the lack of enthusiasm on his son's face. "I know how much you admire that Symbol of Peace!"
Ever eager to smooth things over, Masaru continued, "It's a really nice figure, son! Very… high quality!" He avoided looking at Mitsuki, who was watching Bakugo with a smug, knowing expression.
Mitsuki couldn't resist. "Well, Katsuki? Don't you have anything to say? Seems your father really put some thought into your… interests." Her tone was dripping with sarcasm, subtly referencing his earlier dismissal of their efforts.
Bakugo picked up the action figure, turning it over in his hands. It was a crappy figure. Any other kid obsessed with All Might would be ecstatic. But after fifteen years of the same hero plastered on every birthday gift, every cake, every damn celebratory item, it had lost its appeal. It felt less like a thoughtful gift and more like his family just couldn't be bothered to learn anything else about him.
He forced a small, tight smile. "Yeah, it's… great. Thanks." The words felt hollow even to his own ears.
His father, thankfully, seemed satisfied with the lukewarm response. "Glad you like it, son! Now, how about that cake?" He gestured enthusiastically towards the All Might head sitting forlornly on the kitchen counter, its cheap icing already starting to sweat under the room's ambient temperature.
Bakugo's eyes twitched. The thought of another slice of that dry, flavorless cake with its offensively cheerful design made his stomach churn. He glanced at his mother, who was still smirking. This was just perfect. The morning had been a disaster, the school day had ended with an impending mission and a bonus detention, and now his birthday evening was shaping up to be a predictable parade of All Might overkill and passive-aggressive commentary from his parents.
He really hoped to God that tomorrow in Shirokawa would at least offer him the satisfying release of punching some masked maniacs. Because right now, the urge to unleash an explosion was directed squarely at the well-meaning, oblivious people in his own living room. Cracking, Bakugo eventually lost control.
"I'm done with this crap!" Bakugo roared, his voice thick with anger and a raw edge of something else he couldn't quite identify. He turned sharply, stomping towards the stairs, each footfall heavy and deliberate. "And for the record, old hag? I hate you!"
Mitsuki's breath hitched, her hands flying to her hips, her face a mask of disbelief and fury. "Katsuki Bakugo! You take that back right now! You do not talk to your mother like that!"
Bakugo paused on the first step, his back still to her. He clenched his fists, his entire body trembling with rage. Without turning, he repeated, his voice even louder and more venomous this time, "I said I hate you!"
A strangled cry escaped Mitsuki's throat. "No… no, you don't! Don't you ever say that to me! After everything I've done for you!" Her voice cracked, the anger starting to give way to a raw, wounded disbelief. She refused to accept those words, the venomous rejection from her own son.
Bakugo finally turned, his face contorted with a fury that seemed to blind him to everything else. "Oh, I do! I really damn do! You never listen! You never understand! All you ever do is push that stupid All Might crap on me!"
"Look at me when you say that!" Mitsuki screamed, her voice raw with pain and rage. "Look me in the eye and say you hate me, you ungrateful brat!"
Bakugo's vision was swimming with red. He saw his mother's enraged face, the tears welling in her eyes, the years of pent-up frustration and misunderstanding crashing down around him. He didn't think. He didn't process. All he felt was a burning, all-consuming rage.
In a swift, brutal motion, he lunged forward, his fist connecting with his mother's face with a sickening thud.
Mitsuki gasped, her hand flying to her cheek, her eyes widening in shock and pain. Tears spilled over, tracking down her now-reddened skin. A small whimper escaped her lips.
Bakugo, momentarily stunned by his own action, barely registered the sound. He saw the shock in her eyes, the sudden shift from rage to pain, but it didn't register. The red haze in his mind hadn't cleared. He felt a twisted sense of satisfaction, a primal release of the anger that had been building all day, all his life.
Without a word, without a flicker of remorse, he turned back to the stairs and continued his ascent, his heavy footsteps echoing in the stunned silence of the living room. He didn't see the tears streaming down his mother's face, didn't hear the choked sob that escaped her lips as she cradled her injured cheek. He just kept climbing, the adrenaline and fury propelling him upwards, away from the wreckage of his birthday and the shattered look on his mother's face. He needed to get to his room, to shut the door, to try and make the roaring in his head stop. He'd deal with the consequences later. Or maybe he wouldn't. Right now, all he wanted was to be alone. Clambering into bed, Bakugo didn't even take off his shoes, as he quickly fell asleep, trying to desperately ignore this night.
The Next Day…
The following morning dawned with a heavy, unspoken tension hanging in the Bakugo household. The usual cacophony of Mitsuki's booming voice and Bakugo's explosive retorts was replaced by a chilling silence.
Bakugo rose before either of his parents, the lingering ache of sleep deprivation compounded by the gnawing weight of the previous night. He moved through the house like a ghost, avoiding the living room where the remnants of his disastrous birthday still lay scattered. He made his own breakfast – a hastily prepared bowl of plain rice – the clatter of the dishes the loudest sound in the otherwise silent house.
He could feel their presence, the distinct auras of his mother's simmering anger and his father's palpable anxiety, but no one ventured into the kitchen. There were no demands for him to hurry, no sarcastic remarks about his appearance, no forced birthday wishes. The air was thick with unspoken words, the aftermath of the violent outburst creating a chasm between them.
When it was time to leave for UA, Bakugo grabbed his bag and headed for the door without a word. He didn't look towards the living room, didn't even allow his gaze to flicker towards the kitchen. He could sense his parents in the periphery, their silent figures like statues in the muted morning light. There was no "goodbye," no "have a good day," not even a cursory glance. The simple act of leaving for school felt like an escape from a suffocating atmosphere.
Mitsuki stood in the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed tightly, her face still bearing the faint discoloration of his punch. Her eyes followed his retreating figure, a complex mix of anger, hurt, and something akin to disappointment swirling within them. She didn't call out, and didn't try to stop him. The raw pain of his words and his actions had created a wall, one that neither of them seemed willing or able to breach.
Masaru sat hunched on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the blank television screen. He looked pale and drawn, the events of the previous night clearly weighing heavily on him. He didn't look up as Bakugo left, the silence in the house feeling safer, in a strange way, than another potential confrontation.
Bakugo stepped out into the cool morning air, the silence of the street a welcome change from the oppressive quiet of his home. He didn't dwell on the lack of interaction, the coldness of their departure. He had his own problems to deal with – the unsettling news of Shirokawa, the impending mission, the bonus detention looming over him. His family's fractured state was just another layer of unwelcome baggage he was carrying. He just kept walking, his steps firm and determined, trying to outpace the lingering bitterness of his birthday and the heavy silence he left behind.
The familiar chaos of UA High was a stark contrast to the icy silence of his home. Usually, Bakugo thrived in this environment, the competitive energy and the constant striving for dominance a welcome distraction. But today, even the boisterous greetings of his classmates felt muted, distant.
He found himself actually paying attention as Mr. Aizawa stood at the front of the classroom, his usual sleep-deprived demeanor somehow even more pronounced. The teacher was detailing their upcoming deployment to Shirokawa, explaining the situation with the masked civilians, the strain on the Pro Heroes, and the protocols they would need to follow.
Bakugo listened, not with his usual dismissive arrogance, but with a strange sort of focused intensity. He absorbed the information about the potential dangers, the need for caution, the importance of working with the Pros. It wasn't a surge of heroic duty that compelled him; it was something else entirely.
He realized, with a detached sort of clarity, that he was trying to fill the void inside him with boredom. The meticulous details of the mission, the dry, monotonous tone of Aizawa's explanation – it was all a dulling agent, a way to smother the raw, unpleasant feelings that had been churning within him since last night.
What were those feelings? He'd said he hated his mother. The words had been fueled by a lifetime of frustration and the explosive culmination of a truly awful birthday. Yet, the act of punching her… it hadn't brought any satisfaction. There was no triumphant surge of release, no sense of vindication. Instead, there was a hollow ache, a cold emptiness that mirrored the silence in his house this morning.
He felt… awful. A heavy, uncomfortable weight settled in his chest, a confusing mix of shame and a lingering, stubborn anger. He was angry at her, for always pushing him, for never truly understanding. But beneath the anger, there was something else, a knot of something dark and unfamiliar.
He hadn't meant to hit her. Not really. It had been a blind, impulsive act, a physical manifestation of the rage that had consumed him. And the immediate aftermath, the sight of her tears, the choked sob… it replayed in his mind with a sickening clarity.
The boredom of Aizawa's explanation offered a temporary reprieve from this internal turmoil. Focusing on the logistics of the Shirokawa mission, the potential threats of the masked population, the strategies they might need to employ – it was a way to avoid confronting the uncomfortable truth of his own actions and the confusing mess of emotions they had unleashed. He just wanted to be numb, to replace the awful, twisting feeling in his gut with the dull ache of disinterest. Whether it would work, he didn't know. But right now, it was the only strategy he had.
Later…
The bus ride to Shirokawa was a stark departure from the usual boisterous energy of Class 1-A. While a low hum of nervous chatter filled the vehicle, fueled by a mixture of apprehension and the inherent social nature of teenagers, Bakugo remained a silent island in the sea of hushed conversations.
Normally, the incessant jabbering of Kaminari and Ashido, the quiet strategizing of Yaoyorozu and Todoroki, even Kirishima's well-meaning attempts at camaraderie, would have grated on Bakugo's last nerve. He'd be barking out insults, demanding silence, or at the very least, sporting a thunderous scowl and pointedly ignoring everyone.
But today, he did none of that. He sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the passing scenery, his expression unreadable. He wasn't playing on his phone, wasn't listening to music, wasn't even subtly flexing his hands in anticipation of a fight. He was simply… there.
The usual playful banter and nervous jokes of his classmates seemed to flow around him, barely registering. Kaminari tried a few of his usual goofy remarks in his direction, but when met with a blank stare, he shrugged and turned back to Sero. Ashido, ever observant, shot a curious glance at Bakugo, her usual bright smile faltering slightly, but then got caught up in a hushed discussion with Uraraka about what they might encounter in Shirokawa.
Even Kirishima, his self-proclaimed best bro, sensed the unusual stillness radiating from Bakugo and decided to give him space. He exchanged a worried look with Midoriya, who was also uncharacteristically quiet, his gaze fixed on the news updates on his phone. Midoriya, however, seemed preoccupied with the gravity of the situation itself, his usual analytical mind already dissecting the potential threats and rescue strategies.
The general consensus among the rest of the class was that Bakugo was probably just in a particularly foul mood, likely still stewing over his birthday or Aizawa's bonus detention. While his silence was atypical, his general aura of brooding intensity was not. They figured he'd likely unleash his usual explosive personality once they arrived in Shirokawa and the fighting started.
So, the bus ride continued, a strange mix of nervous anticipation and quiet contemplation. Bakugo remained lost in his own thoughts, the landscape blurring into an indistinguishable stream of colors outside the window. The dull ache in his chest hadn't lessened, the confusing mix of anger and shame still a heavy weight. He wasn't seeking boredom anymore; he was simply… numb. The usual fire that burned so brightly within him felt strangely subdued, replaced by a quiet, unsettling emptiness. He just wanted to get to Shirokawa and focus on the mission, hoping that the chaos and the fighting would somehow drown out the persistent, awful feeling inside.
By the time the buses pulled into Shirokawa, the atmosphere was immediately thick with a palpable tension that even the usually oblivious Kaminari seemed to sense. The once-bustling city streets were eerily deserted, punctuated only by the heavy presence of Pro Heroes and the occasional distant wail of a siren. Sections of the city were visibly cordoned off with hastily erected barriers and the unmistakable grey, blocky structures of Cementoss's Quirk – makeshift prisons dotting the landscape.
Standing amidst a group of Pro Heroes, his imposing figure radiating an almost suffocating intensity, was Endeavor. His fiery mustache twitched as he addressed the arriving UA students, his voice booming and authoritative, brooking no argument.
"Listen up, brats," he barked, his gaze sweeping over Class 1-A, lingering for a moment on Bakugo with a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "The situation here is… contained, for the most part. Cementoss has done commendable work in isolating the majority of the afflicted within designated zones." He gestured towards the large, rough-hewn stone enclosures scattered throughout the area.
"Your role will be threefold," Endeavor continued, his tone grudgingly educational. "First, you will sweep the outer perimeters and any unaffected zones for stragglers – masked individuals who have managed to evade capture. Exercise caution; these people are irrational and potentially violent."
"Second," he emphasized, his gaze hardening, "intelligence suggests a single individual is likely responsible for this… madness. The so-called 'Happy Mask Salesman.' Your mission includes assisting in the search for this individual. He is to be apprehended immediately."
"Finally," Endeavor stated, his tone shifting slightly, acknowledging the educational aspect, "this situation presents a valuable learning opportunity. You will observe and, where appropriate and under direct supervision, assist in crowd control and managing the widespread panic and mania that often accompanies large-scale Quirk-induced incidents, both during and after the immediate threat is neutralized."
He scanned their faces, his expression demanding understanding and obedience. "This is not a game. These are civilians, albeit ones currently under the influence of… something. Lethal force is a last resort. Understand?"
A chorus of "Yes, sir!" echoed from the class, even Bakugo offering a curt nod, his usual rebellious spirit seemingly subdued by the gravity of the situation and his own internal turmoil. The sight of the deserted city and the imposing figure of Endeavor drove home the seriousness of their task. This wasn't just another training exercise; this was a real crisis, and they were on the front lines. The search for a bizarre mask salesman and the management of a city gripped by a strange mania – it was a far cry from the usual villain attacks they'd encountered.
TO BE CONTINUED...