The Master's gentle reassurances, his talk of bonds and an internal mark, did little to soothe the raging tempest of Katsuki's core frustration. The immediate physical agony was being dulled by the healers' efforts, but the existential pain, the sheer, infuriating wrongness of his situation, surged to the forefront. He wasn't just lost; he was unwillingly displaced, a pawn in some cosmic game he hadn't asked to play.
His voice, though still weak and raspy, gained a desperate, raw edge. His crimson eyes, fixed on Makarov, burned with a renewed anguish that was almost painful to behold.
"Then… why me?" he choked out, the question a ragged cry torn from the depths of his confusion and resentment. "Why did fate… or whatever the hell it was… bring me to this world?! I didn't ask for this! I didn't ask to be brought to another goddamn world!"
The admission, stark and unfiltered, hung heavy in the air, heavier even than the lingering smoke from his Oppenheimer Smash. This wasn't just the lament of a lost traveler; it was the furious protest of a will violated, a destiny derailed. Katsuki Bakugo, a young man who prided himself on forging his own path through sheer force and ambition, had been reduced to a piece of flotsam, washed up on an alien shore by a tide he couldn't control. And he was, true to his nature, entirely unconcerned with who knew it. There was no shame in his predicament, only a burning, righteous anger at the injustice of it all.
Team Natsu, who had been maintaining a respectful but concerned distance, exchanged uneasy glances. Natsu looked particularly bewildered; the concept of being unwillingly transported to a new, exciting world filled with strong opponents was clearly alien to him. Lucy, however, looked thoughtful, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as she recalled her own initial feelings of displacement, albeit on a far less traumatic scale. Erza's expression remained unreadable, but her gaze on Katsuki intensified, as if she were trying to piece together a very complex, very explosive puzzle.
Makarov's wise old eyes, which had seen so much joy and sorrow, so many strange twists of fate, held Katsuki's tormented gaze. He didn't offer platitudes, no easy answers to a question that likely had none. Instead, his expression softened with a profound, almost sorrowful empathy.
"Why you, Katsuki?" he repeated softly, his voice a gentle anchor in the storm of the boy's emotions. "That is a question that has echoed through the ages, asked by countless souls touched by the unpredictable currents of destiny. Why is one chosen for hardship, another for ease? Why does one path lead to glory, another to despair? Why are some plucked from their lives and set adrift in unfamiliar seas?"
He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. "I do not have the answer to that, my boy. No one does. The tapestry of fate is woven with threads we cannot see, by hands we cannot comprehend. Sometimes, there is a grand design, a purpose hidden within the chaos. Other times…" He paused, his gaze drifting for a moment towards the ravaged landscape around them, a testament to uncontrolled power and unchanneled pain. "…Other times, it seems the universe simply… acts. Without reason, without malice, but with consequences that ripple through lives like the shockwave from your terrible Smash."
Porlyusica, ever the pragmatist, grunted without looking up from her meticulous work on Katsuki's leg. "Fate. Hmph. More likely some fool mage meddled with powers beyond their ken and tore a hole between worlds. It's happened before. Usually ends badly for everyone involved, especially the poor sods who get pulled through."
Wendy winced at Porlyusica's bluntness but continued her healing, her gentle light a stark contrast to the older healer's gruff demeanor.
Makarov acknowledged Porlyusica's point with a slight inclination of his head. "Perhaps Porlyusica is right. The 'why' may be as mundane as a miscast spell, or as grand as the whim of a forgotten god. But dwelling on the unanswerable 'why' can become a cage, Katsuki. A prison of resentment that blinds you to the 'what now'."
He leaned closer again, his voice earnest. "You are here, Katsuki Bakugo. That is the undeniable, inescapable truth of your present. You did not ask for it. You did not choose it. And your anger, your frustration, your grief at being torn from your home – those feelings are valid. They are real. Do not let anyone, not even yourself, tell you otherwise."
Katsuki's jaw tightened, but he listened, held captive by the old man's unwavering gaze and the quiet authority in his voice.
"But what you do with this unwelcome truth," Makarov continued, "that, Katsuki, is where your choice still lies. You can let the injustice of it consume you, let it turn your power into a purely destructive force that ultimately devours you from within, as it nearly did today. You can rail against a fate you cannot change until you are nothing but ash and bitterness."
His eyes softened, but his voice remained firm. "Or… you can choose to live. To fight, yes, for that is clearly in your nature. But to fight for something more than just the release of your own pain. To find a new purpose, a new path, even here, in this world you never asked for." He gestured around them, not at the destruction, but at the concerned faces of Team Natsu, at Wendy and Porlyusica working to save him. "There are connections to be made here, Katsuki. Battles to be won that might mean something. A life to be forged, even from the wreckage of another."
Makarov smiled sadly. "I cannot tell you why fate brought you to Fiore, son. But I can tell you this: even the most unwelcome journeys can lead to unexpected destinations. And sometimes, the strength we discover in navigating the storm is a strength we never knew we possessed." He patted Katsuki's arm, his touch surprisingly firm. "The 'why' may elude you forever. But the 'what now'… that is a question only you can answer, with every choice you make, every battle you fight, every step you take from this day forward. And Fairy Tail… Fairy Tail will be here, to witness your answer, and perhaps, to help you find it, if you'll let us."
The words settled into the silence, heavy with unspoken possibilities. Katsuki didn't have an answer. He was still lost, still angry, still grieving. But the old Master's words had planted a seed, a tiny, almost imperceptible notion that perhaps, just perhaps, being here wasn't solely a cruel cosmic joke. It was still a nightmare, but maybe, just maybe, it was a nightmare he could find a way to navigate, to survive, to even… shape. The thought was terrifying, daunting, but it was also the first flicker of something other than pure, destructive despair he'd felt since the world had shattered beneath his feet.
The words were barely a whisper, forced out through a throat raw with pain and emotion, through teeth still clenched against the agony of his battered body. Katsuki's gaze was downcast, fixed on some indeterminate point on the scorched earth beside him, unable to meet Makarov's steady, knowing eyes. The admission felt like a monumental concession, a surrender of a part of his fiercely guarded independence, a crack in the fortress of his rage.
"Fine…" he breathed, the sound almost lost amidst the crackling of nearby embers and Wendy's soft healing incantations. He took a ragged breath, the effort sending fresh tremors through his frame. "…I'll give… this 'family' thing… a try…"
The reluctance in his voice was palpable, thick as the sulfurous air. It wasn't a joyous acceptance, not a heartfelt embrace of their offered camaraderie. It was the grudging, almost resentful concession of a cornered animal, an acknowledgment that perhaps, just perhaps, his own path of solitary, explosive defiance had led him to this broken, bleeding precipice, and that another way, however alien and uncomfortable, might be worth… considering. It was the smallest of openings, a hairline fracture in the armor he'd wrapped around himself.
A profound silence fell over the small group gathered around him. Wendy's healing hands paused for a heartbeat, her eyes widening slightly before she quickly resumed her work, a soft, almost imperceptible smile touching her lips. Porlyusica emitted a noncommittal grunt, but even her stern expression seemed to soften, just a fraction, around the edges.
Team Natsu, who had been listening with bated breath, exchanged glances that were a complex mixture of surprise, relief, and a dawning, cautious optimism. Natsu's fist, which had been unconsciously clenching and unclenching, relaxed, and a slow, wide grin – a genuine Natsu grin, full of unadulterated, uncomplicated warmth – began to spread across his face. Lucy's eyes welled up again, but this time, the tears were ones of relief, and she quickly wiped them away with the back of a dirty hand. Gray actually let out a small, surprised chuckle, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd heard. Erza's expression remained composed, but a discernible warmth entered her eyes, a silent acknowledgment of a significant, if fragile, step forward.
Makarov Dreyar's smile was gentle, profound, like a grandfather witnessing a beloved, stubborn grandchild finally taking a difficult but necessary first step. He didn't crow, didn't push, didn't say 'I told you so.' He simply placed his hand on Katsuki's forehead, a gesture that was surprisingly tender, brushing away a few strands of sweat-soaked, ash-caked blond hair.
"That," the Guild Master said softly, his voice filled with a quiet, unwavering approval, "is all anyone can ask, Katsuki. Take your time. There is no rush. Family is not a race to be won, nor a contract to be signed under duress." He patted Katsuki's head gently. "It is a path walked together, sometimes stumbling, sometimes disagreeing, sometimes even fighting like mad dogs…" (Here, he shot a pointed, affectionate glare towards Natsu and Gray, who both had the grace to look momentarily sheepish.) "…but always, ultimately, with the understanding that you are not alone on that path."
He withdrew his hand. "Rest now, my boy. Heal. That is your only task for the moment. The 'trying' can begin when you are back on your feet. And know this," Makarov's eyes twinkled, a spark of his usual mischievous energy returning, "Fairy Tail is… remarkably persistent. We have a way of wearing down even the most formidable defenses."
Katsuki just grunted, a weak, noncommittal sound. He was too exhausted, too broken, too emotionally raw to offer any further resistance or articulate the maelstrom of conflicting emotions still churning within him. He had uttered the words, a concession forced by pain and a dawning, terrifying realization of his own limitations in this alien world. What they meant, what they would entail, he couldn't yet fathom. But for now, under the combined healing magic of Wendy and Porlyusica, and the unexpectedly gentle regard of the old Guild Master, a sliver of his monumental burden felt… fractionally lighter.
The pain was still immense, the future still a terrifying unknown, his anger and grief still potent forces within him. But amidst the wreckage of Lake Sciliora, under a sky stained orange by his own destructive power, Katsuki Bakugo had, however reluctantly, however provisionally, taken the first, hesitant step away from the abyss of his solitude. The path ahead was uncertain, likely fraught with more conflict and internal turmoil, but for the first time, it didn't feel entirely, hopelessly, his alone to walk. And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying and hopeful realization of all.
As Wendy's gentle sky magic and Porlyusica's potent, earthy healing continued to mend Katsuki's shattered body, a fragile truce settled over the devastated lakeshore. The immediate crisis of his life-threatening injuries was slowly abating, leaving room for the heavy questions that still hung in the air. Team Natsu, emboldened by his reluctant concession to "try" their family thing, and perhaps driven by an insatiable curiosity about the enigmatic newcomer, began to cautiously probe.
It was Lucy, predictably, who voiced the question first, her tone hesitant, mindful of his fragile state but unable to contain her writer's curiosity about other worlds. "Bakugo-san… you said… you said you couldn't go home. That you were brought here from… another world?" She looked at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and trepidation. "What… what was your world like?"
Natsu leaned forward, his earlier shock replaced by an almost childlike fascination. "Yeah! Was it full of strong guys? Did they have awesome magic like ours? Did you fight dragons there too?!"
Gray, more reserved but equally intrigued, added, "And this 'Quirk' thing you mentioned before… the sweat explosions… is that, like, your world's version of magic?"
Even Erza, usually so stoic, seemed to be listening with rapt attention, her gaze fixed on Katsuki, clearly eager to understand the origins of such a unique and powerful individual.
Katsuki lay there, his eyes closed for a moment, the questions washing over him. A part of him wanted to snarl, to tell them to mind their own damn business. But the fight had been leached out of him, replaced by a profound weariness and the lingering echo of Makarov's words. He had agreed to try. And maybe… maybe talking about it, verbalizing the reality of what he'd lost, wouldn't be as painful as keeping it all bottled up inside, festering like a wound. He was still Katsuki Bakugo; he wouldn't sugarcoat it, wouldn't embellish. He'd tell them the truth, his truth, as bluntly and honestly as he always did.
He let out a slow, ragged breath. Porlyusica grunted, adjusting a bandage on his arm. "Don't overtire him with your incessant chattering, you brats. He needs to conserve his energy." But there was less venom in her tone than usual; even she seemed to sense that this might be a necessary part of his healing.
"My world…" Katsuki began, his voice still hoarse, raspy, but surprisingly steady. He opened his eyes, his crimson gaze distant, as if looking through them, back to a place they couldn't see. "It's… different. No magic, not like yours. Not the way you use it here."
He paused, gathering his thoughts, trying to find the words to describe a reality so fundamentally different from Fiore. "We have… Quirks. Special abilities. Powers. Most people are born with them. Some are strong, some are weak, some are just… weird." He thought of Mineta's pop-off balls, of Sero's tape. "Mine… my Quirk lets me secrete nitroglycerin-like sweat from my palms. I can ignite it. Make explosions." He flexed his fingers slightly, a phantom tingle there. "That's all it is. My power. My sweat."
Natsu's eyes widened. "Sweat explosions?! That's so cool! And weird! So, everyone can do stuff like that?"
"Not like that," Katsuki corrected, a hint of his old arrogance flaring. "My explosions are top-tier. But yeah, most people have something. Some can control elements, like that Half 'n Half bastard I knew… ice and fire." (Gray unconsciously touched his own chest at the mention of ice and fire.) "Some can change their bodies, some have mental powers. It's… a world of superpowers."
Lucy's eyes were shining. "A world of superpowers… like in storybooks! And what about… heroes? With so many powers, do you have… heroes like in our tales?"
A shadow crossed Katsuki's face, a flicker of pain too deep for them to fully comprehend. "Yeah," he said, his voice tight. "We have heroes. It's a profession. They fight villains, save people. It's… what I was training to be." He thought of U.A., of All Might, of his own burning ambition to be Number One. The words tasted like ash in his mouth now. "I just graduated from the top hero academy. U.A. High."
Erza leaned forward slightly. "A hero academy? So, your world has structured systems for training those with abilities to protect others?"
"Damn right it does," Katsuki said, a touch of pride in his voice despite everything. "U.A. is the best. Brutal training. High stakes. They forge you into a weapon, ready for anything." He almost scoffed. Ready for anything except being randomly yanked into another dimension, apparently.
"And villains?" Gray asked, his tone serious. "If you have heroes, you must have some serious bad guys."
Katsuki's expression darkened further. He thought of the League of Villains, of Shigaraki, of All For One. Of the wars, the sacrifices. "Yeah. We have villains. Real ones. Not just… monsters on a request board." The distinction was sharp in his mind. The threats in his world felt more personal, more ideologically driven, more… human, in their capacity for cruelty. "They want to tear down society, remake it in their own twisted image. We fought them. A lot."
He fell silent for a moment, the memories heavy. The others waited, sensing the depth of his unspoken experiences.
"No dragons, though, Flame-brain," Katsuki said, his gaze flicking to Natsu, a ghost of his usual condescension in his tone. "Or talking cats that fly." He looked at Happy, who puffed out his chest. "Or… whatever the hell that wobbly snowman thing is." (Plue, still clutched by Lucy, let out a sad "Puun…")
"So… it's a world of incredible power, of heroes and villains locked in constant struggle," Lucy summarized, her voice soft with awe. "And you were… a top prospect. About to become a full-fledged hero." She looked at him with a new understanding. "No wonder… no wonder you're so…" She trailed off, not wanting to say 'angry' or 'driven.'
"…pissed off all the time?" Katsuki finished for her, a humorless smirk touching his lips. "Yeah. I had a path. A destiny I was carving out with my own damn hands. And then… this." He gestured vaguely at the devastated landscape, at himself. "One minute, I'm graduating, on top of the goddamn world. The next, I'm here. No explanation. No way back. Everything I worked for, everyone I knew… gone."
The raw honesty of his words, stripped of his usual bluster, resonated deeply with them. They saw past the arrogance, past the explosive rage, to the core of the young man who had lost everything, whose entire future had been stolen from him in an instant.
Makarov, who had been listening silently, nodded slowly. "A world of heroes and Quirks… It sounds both wondrous and perilous, Katsuki. And you stood on the cusp of achieving your dream within it." He sighed. "To have that snatched away… it is a grief few can imagine."
Katsuki didn't respond, just stared up at the smoke-filled sky, his expression unreadable. He had told them. He had laid bare the truth of his lost world, his shattered ambitions. He felt… strangely empty, but also a fraction lighter, as if speaking the words aloud had released some of the pressure that had been threatening to consume him. He still didn't know why they cared, why these strangers from a world of magic and talking cats would bother with a broken, angry outsider like him. But they had listened. And for now, that was… something.
As the weight of his confession settled, a fragile silence enveloped the group, broken only by the soft crackling of distant fires and the gentle hum of Wendy's healing magic. Katsuki lay there, the raw ache of his memories mingling with the slowly receding physical pain. He had spoken his truth, laid bare the foundations of his rage and despair. It hadn't fixed anything, hadn't brought his world any closer, but the act of sharing, however blunt and unvarnished, had subtly shifted the atmosphere.
His gaze, still somewhat unfocused, drifted downwards, over his own battered form. Wendy and Porlyusica had done remarkable work; the searing agony had lessened to a dull, throbbing ache, and he could feel a faint strength returning to his limbs, though movement was still a distant prospect. But then, his eyes fell upon the tattered remnants of his clothing.
The dark grey, explosion-resistant attire he'd acquired from Heart Kreuz, the gear he'd been so grimly satisfied with just hours before, was now a ruin. The Oppenheimer Smash had pushed it far beyond even its robust enchantments. The jacket was shredded, great rents torn through the resilient fabric, its surface scorched and melted in places, exposing patches of his raw, healing skin beneath. The pants were in even worse condition, one leg almost entirely blown away, the other hanging in charred strips. What had once been a symbol of his preparedness, his adaptation to this new world, was now just another testament to the devastating, self-destructive power he'd unleashed.
A low, frustrated groan escaped Katsuki's lips. It was a small sound, almost lost in the aftermath of his earlier emotional outburst, but it was laden with a fresh wave of irritation. It was one thing to be physically broken, another to have his hard-earned, expensive gear trashed so thoroughly.
"Damn it," he muttered, his voice still hoarse. He tried to lift a hand to inspect a particularly large tear in his sleeve, but even that small movement sent a jolt of protest through his shoulder. He scowled. "My clothes… fucking obliterated."
It was a mundane concern, almost comically so, after the existential angst and world-shattering explosions that had preceded it. But for Katsuki, it was a tangible, immediate problem, a reminder of the practical consequences of his actions. He'd spent nearly all his earnings on this outfit, confident in its durability. And he'd wrecked it in less than a day.
Natsu, ever literal, peered at the tattered remains. "Whoa, you really did a number on 'em, Bakugo! Looks like Igneel used 'em for a chew toy!"
Lucy winced. "Natsu! Not helping!" She then looked at Katsuki with a sympathetic sigh. "They… they do look pretty bad, Bakugo-san. Heart Kreuz might be able to repair them, but…" She trailed off, looking at the extent of the damage. It seemed beyond simple repair.
Katsuki let out another frustrated sigh, which turned into a cough. "Cost a damn fortune… Supposed to withstand… explosions…" He glared at the shredded fabric as if it had personally betrayed him. He was broke again, and now, practically naked and in no condition to go on another high-stakes monster hunt to earn more Jewel. The practicalities of his situation were beginning to assert themselves through the fog of pain and existential dread.
Erza, who had been observing him with her usual keen intensity, spoke up, her tone practical. "The force of that last attack, Bakugo, would have disintegrated almost any mundane material, and severely tested even the most powerfully enchanted armor. While Heart Kreuz's craftsmanship is excellent, there are limits to what any fabric can endure against such… cataclysmic energy." She paused. "Perhaps when you are recovered, we can consult with them again. They might be able to salvage some of the enchantments, or at least use the remains as a template for something even more… robust, though the cost would likely be significant."
Katsuki just grunted, the thought of having to go through the process of acquiring new gear, of shelling out more non-existent money, adding another layer to his already foul mood. It was a small thing, a triviality in the grand scheme of interdimensional displacement and near-death experiences, but it was an annoying thing. And Katsuki Bakugo had very little patience for annoyances.
Makarov, who had been quietly observing the exchange, chuckled softly. "First, we focus on getting you whole again, young man. Clothing can be replaced. Lives, not so easily." He gave Katsuki a reassuring look. "Fairy Tail has resources. When the time comes, we'll see to it that you are properly outfitted once more. Consider it… an investment in a promising, if somewhat hazardous, new recruit."
The offer, though practical, still felt like charity to Katsuki, and he scowled reflexively. But he was too weak, too tired, and too acutely aware of his current state of undress beneath the tattered rags to argue. He just wanted to be whole, to be strong again, and to not have to worry about his ass hanging out every time he unleashed an explosion. The road to recovery, and re-outfitting, was going to be long and, undoubtedly, infuriating.