Chapter 1: The Mask
The hallways of UA Academy were loud, crowded, and chaotic—exactly how they were supposed to be. And yet, for me, they felt empty. Every laugh, every shout, every careless chatter around me was like white noise I didn't want to hear.
I walked through them all the same, shoulders squared, fists clenched. Eyes forward. Mouth set in that usual scowl everyone recognized. Kacchan wasn't one to smile without reason, wasn't one to show weakness, wasn't one to—God, I hated admitting it—feel.
That's the mask, the one everyone saw. Rage, pride, confidence, defiance. The unstoppable Kacchan who never broke.
Inside, though… inside, the storm had been brewing for months. Maybe years.
At first, it was little things. A twitch in my jaw I didn't notice. Hands shaking after practice. Nights where sleep felt impossible. I shoved it down. Every time. I'm not weak. I don't need anyone. Weakness is something losers show.
But the cracks? They were starting to show.
I slammed my locker shut, letting it reverberate through the quiet corridor. I didn't care who heard. Sparks of frustration danced at my fingertips, tiny flashes of what I used to rely on to calm myself. Not today. Today even that felt… hollow.
I shoved my bag onto my shoulder, forcing my chest to stay straight. Everyone else was talking, laughing, heading to class. I was just… there. My mask still in place. And maybe it was working—maybe nobody could see what was really happening inside.
Or maybe I was lying to myself.
By the time I got to the practice fields, my hands were shaking more than usual. My chest was tight, like it was being squeezed from all sides. I forced myself to throw punches, kicks, explosions. Anything to feel normal. Anything to feel in control.
But after a while, even explosions didn't work.
I threw a punch, the fist connecting with the dummy, sparks flying. Normally, that hit would have satisfied something deep inside. Today, it just… echoed. Empty. Like nothing could fill the pit growing in my chest.
I gritted my teeth, dropped to my knees, and glared at the dummy like it had personally offended me. "I'm fine," I muttered, my voice tight and harsh. "I'm—fucking—fine!"
And yeah. Nobody was there to see me. I let the words fall flat. No one was coming to check. No one cared enough to notice I was falling apart under the surface.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something harder than steel. But I didn't. I couldn't.
Because that's the rule. Don't break. Don't show fear. Don't cry. Don't ask for help. That's Kacchan. That's who I am.
Or at least, that's who I told everyone I was.
By the time I walked back to the dorms, the first tiny drops of sweat from my panic—or maybe tears—I couldn't tell—were sliding down my face. I brushed them off. Nobody had to know. Nobody could know.
I'm fine.
Yeah… fine. Chapter 2: Cracks in the Armor
I woke up to the sound of my alarm like I always did. The shrill, annoying tone that nobody else could tolerate—I loved it. It was orderly. Predictable. Safe.
Except this morning, even that sound felt wrong. My chest was tight, my stomach twisted. My hands trembled when I reached out to turn it off.
"Get it together," I muttered, gritting my teeth. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, only to sway slightly. My vision wobbled. My body felt like it belonged to someone else—someone weak.
I shoved that thought away, hard. I am not weak.
I went through the motions: brushing my teeth, throwing on my UA uniform, stuffing breakfast into my mouth without tasting it. The mask, as always, was in place. No one could see the storm inside me. And God, I hated that. I hated that it was there, bubbling, trying to break free, and I had no way to stop it.
By the time I got to class, my fists were shaking under my sleeves. My vision blurred at the edges when Izuku smiled at me.
"Hey, Kacchan! You okay?"
I wanted to say I wasn't. I wanted to scream it. But I didn't. Couldn't.
"Yeah," I said sharply, turning away. "I'm fine. Go bother someone else."
Deku didn't argue. He never did. Not today. And I was grateful and angry at the same time.
Class dragged on. Teachers talked. Students scribbled notes. Everyone was busy living their normal, happy little lives, and I—God, I—was barely holding it together. Every movement, every word, every smile I forced felt like dragging concrete behind me.
And it didn't stop.
During lunch, I sat alone. Kirishima waved at me, but I shook my head. My appetite was gone. My hands trembled slightly as I pushed food around my tray. Everyone else laughed. Talked. Ate. I stared at the ceiling.
I couldn't take it anymore.
I clenched my fists, ignoring the stares of nearby students. "Shut up," I muttered under my breath. "All of you shut the hell up."
My voice cracked. I didn't even care.
I left the cafeteria without finishing my meal. I didn't go to the dorms either. I wandered the hallways until I found somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one could see me. I pressed my back against the wall and sank down, knees to chest.
And finally… the dam broke.
Tears came, jagged and sudden. They burned my eyes, streaked down my face, and I didn't try to stop them. Sobs shook my body like I'd been holding them in for years—because I had.
I wanted to scream at the world, at everyone who thought I was fine. I wanted to punch something until my knuckles bled. But there was nothing. Nothing to hit. Nothing to throw. Nothing to do except sit there, broken, hating myself for letting it get this far.
"I'm not weak," I whispered through my sobs. "I'm not weak. I… I'm not…"
The words fell apart like me.
I didn't notice the hand on my shoulder at first.
"Kacchan…" Deku's voice was quiet, steady. "You're scaring me. Please… talk to me."
I shook my head violently. "I… I'm fine! Leave me alone!"
But the tears didn't stop. The shaking didn't stop. The storm inside me wasn't going anywhere.
Deku didn't leave. He just stayed there, waiting, not saying anything more. And in a strange, uncomfortable way, it was… comforting.
I hated that too.
For the first time in a long time, I realized the mask I'd been wearing was cracking. Not slightly, not in a corner, but everywhere. And I didn't know if I could ever put it back together again. Chapter 3: Isolation
The next few days were a blur.
I went through the motions of class, of training, of life, but everything felt heavier. Every step, every word, every explosion I created to mask my anxiety felt hollow. The mask I wore—the one I had perfected over years—was cracking more and more. And the pieces were starting to fall.
I avoided Deku. Avoided Kirishima. Avoided Todoroki. Even Kaminari and Jirou, who normally tried to joke with me, got a cold shoulder. I buried myself in solo training, blasting targets over and over again, until my arms burned and my lungs screamed. Nothing worked. Nothing ever worked anymore.
"Hey, Kacchan! You doing okay?" Kirishima asked one morning, his usual bright grin in place.
I didn't answer. I just turned, glaring harder than usual. "Mind your own damn business," I spat.
He flinched, but didn't push further. He never did. Nobody dared push. Not when I looked like this—burned out, angry, frayed at the edges. But inside, I was screaming for someone to notice. For someone to care.
And yet, I couldn't let them. That was weakness. Asking for help? Weak. Showing fear? Weak. Letting anyone in? Absolutely unacceptable.
So I hid.
Even at lunch, I sat alone. I barely touched my food. Watching everyone else laugh, joking, enjoying life—they didn't have this… storm. This gnawing, twisting pressure inside that I couldn't shake. I clenched my fists under the table, wishing I could explode and let everything out at once, but even that felt… impossible.
By the end of the day, I was exhausted. Not from training or classes—but from pretending. Pretending that I was fine. Pretending that nothing was wrong. Pretending that I wasn't on the verge of… breaking.
I retreated to the practice fields after everyone left. The sun was low, painting the sky in streaks of red and gold. I let my explosions fly, letting the sparks light up the empty field. Each blast was violent, uncontrolled. I hit the targets harder than ever. I shouted at the wind, at the dummies, at myself.
But it didn't help. Not really.
I sank to my knees, panting, tears mixing with sweat. My hands were raw from gripping the controls too tight. My chest hurt. My head hurt. My mind hurt.
And for the first time in a long time, I whispered it out loud:
"I… can't… do this… anymore…"
The words felt alien, foreign. They weren't supposed to leave my mouth. I was Kacchan. Explosive. Strong. Unbreakable. Yet here I was, broken and alone, saying the one thing I had tried to hide from everyone—and myself.
I didn't notice Deku standing at the edge of the field at first. He didn't run up screaming. Didn't yell. Didn't demand I explain. He just watched, quiet, steady.
"Kacchan… you don't have to do this alone," he said softly.
I shook my head violently, still on my knees. "I said leave me alone!"
But the storm inside me, the storm I had hidden for so long, was louder than my anger now. And the truth was… I didn't know if I could stop it from consuming me.
I wanted someone—anyone—to tell me it would be okay. But I couldn't let them. Weakness wasn't allowed.
So I stayed there. Knees to the ground. Fists clenched. Mask cracking. And for the first time, I realized just how far gone I might be. Chapter 4: Flashbacks
I couldn't sleep that night.
Lying in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I felt the weight of everything pressing down on me. The silence of the dorm room was deafening. Each creak, each breath, each tick of the clock was louder than normal—reminders of the chaos I had been running from.
And then the memories came.
The first one hit like a punch to the gut.
Training camp. We were kids, barely knowing what we were doing. Deku had hesitated—he always did—but I… I didn't help him. I yelled, I pushed, I left him behind for my own pride. He had fallen, stumbled, and I walked away. I thought I was strong. I thought I was right.
But he had been hurt. And I—what the hell was I thinking? I was supposed to be strong. I was supposed to protect.
I buried my face in my hands.
And then the next memory.
Class 1-A vs. villains simulation. I had gone too hard, reckless, angry, and someone got caught in the crossfire. I saved them eventually—but the look on their face… the fear, the confusion, the hurt… it stayed with me. I had almost broken them because I couldn't control my own rage.
And then… every time I pushed someone away. Every time I pretended I was fine. Every lie I told myself.
All the words I never said. "I'm scared." "I don't know what to do." "I need help."
I had never said any of them. Not to Deku. Not to Kirishima. Not even to myself.
And now they were screaming inside me, like a chorus of ghosts.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to shut them out, but it didn't work. The memories only grew sharper.
The times I cried alone after a training fight, pretending no one would notice.
The times I yelled at friends just to push them away before they could see the cracks.
The times I blamed myself for everything and let it rot inside me.
I could feel it in my chest, a fire I couldn't control. Not an explosion of quirk, not a punch or a scream. Something worse—pure panic, guilt, and shame.
I tried to breathe through it. I tried to ground myself. Nothing worked.
And in the quiet of the dorm, I realized the truth I had been hiding from everyone—and myself:
I couldn't do this alone.
Not anymore.
I wanted to scream, to break something, to burn everything down just to make the fire inside me match the fire I felt in my chest. But even that didn't help. I was trapped inside my own head, suffocating under years of hidden pain.
And yet… in the middle of all that chaos, a small, quiet voice reminded me:
"Kacchan… you don't have to do this alone."
Deku's words from the practice field earlier echoed in my mind. I hated him for being right. Hated myself for thinking I could handle this without anyone.
I curled up on my bed, shaking, hot tears streaming down my face, and whispered to no one:
"I'm… so tired."
The flashbacks didn't stop. They wouldn't stop. But for the first time, I didn't try to fight them. I let them wash over me, raw and ugly, because pretending to be fine hadn't worked for years.
And maybe… maybe letting it all out was the only way to survive. Chapter 5: The First Crack
The next training session was supposed to be routine. Drill after drill, repetition after repetition, building control, precision, speed. The instructors expected focus, discipline, and perfect execution.
I was ready… or at least I thought I was.
The moment I stepped onto the field, I felt the pressure. Not the usual weight of expectation, not the adrenaline I thrived on—but something heavier. Something insidious, like a shadow pressing on my chest.
I clenched my fists, sparks dancing at my fingertips. "Focus," I muttered under my breath. "Just… focus."
But I couldn't.
Every strike, every explosion, every movement was sloppy. I overcompensated with too much power, too much aggression. The targets I usually destroyed effortlessly barely budged.
And when I missed a shot entirely, my fists shook—not from exertion, but from frustration, anger, and something darker. Panic? Fear? I didn't know. I didn't care. I just knew I had to hit harder, faster, better. Anything to drown out the storm inside me.
"Kacchan! Watch your footing!" Kirishima's voice called from the sidelines.
I ignored him.
Then came the mistake. A miscalculated blast. A target shifted unexpectedly, and my explosion went too far. Shrapnel flew, narrowly missing a training dummy—and it could have hit a student if someone had been standing there.
I froze. My chest tightened. My hands shook uncontrollably.
The instructors' shouts barely registered. The other students' voices were drowned out by the screaming in my head.
I wanted to explode. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch something until it broke. But the energy inside me… it wasn't working right. My quirk faltered like it had betrayed me.
I fell to my knees, gasping. The world spun. Sparks from my last failed explosion smoldered around me. My chest hurt. My head hurt. My lungs burned.
I couldn't do it. I couldn't control it. I couldn't… keep pretending.
"Kacchan!" Deku was there in an instant, reaching for me, steady and calm amidst my chaos. "You're okay! Breathe! You've got this! Just breathe!"
I shook my head violently, tears blurring my vision. "I'm… fine!" I barked, but it came out jagged, broken. It wasn't fine. It had never been fine.
The first real crack had appeared, and I couldn't cover it up anymore. My mask, my pride, my rage—they weren't enough.
For the first time, I realized the danger. Not from the training. Not from the physical mistakes. But from me. My own mind. My own body. The way I had been pushing, suppressing, hiding—it was unraveling.
I gasped, collapsing fully to the ground, fists digging into the dirt. Tears streamed freely. Sparks flickered weakly around me, sputtering out. I tried to push them out, tried to channel the energy, but my body refused.
I was alone. Or at least, I felt like it.
And even though Deku's hand rested on my shoulder, even though he whispered my name, even though he stayed by my side, I felt the terrifying truth: I had been carrying too much alone for too long.
And now… it was all coming apart. Chapter 6: Breaking Point
I don't even remember how I got to the ground.
One moment, I was standing, trying to force control, trying to make the explosions obey me. The next, my knees were digging into dirt, my chest heaving, my fists useless. Sparks sputtered weakly from my palms before fading entirely.
Everything I had been hiding—every fear, every doubt, every shred of pain—was screaming out of me now. I couldn't stop it. Couldn't push it down. Couldn't mask it anymore.
I screamed.
A raw, guttural scream that didn't care about pride or strength. My voice cracked, shattering like glass. It was anger. It was fear. It was pain. It was shame. It was everything I had refused to let anyone see.
I hit the ground, the dirt and gravel biting into my palms. I clawed at it, wishing I could tear open the world and let the pain out, but it didn't work. It was inside me, and no amount of force could reach it.
"Bakugo!"
Deku's voice cut through the chaos. Calm, steady, insistent. He grabbed my shoulder, grounding me in ways I didn't know I needed.
"Breathe! Just breathe, Kacchan! You're not alone!"
I shook violently, sobbing now, gasping for air I couldn't catch. I wanted to tell him to go away. I wanted to hide. I wanted to disappear. But my body refused.
"I… can't… I can't…" I choked, words faltering, voice breaking. "I… I'm… weak…"
The words tasted like poison in my mouth. I had never said them aloud before. I had never let anyone hear them. And now, there was no escape.
Deku didn't argue. He didn't scold. He just stayed there, steadying me, letting me collapse against him like a storm I couldn't control.
"I'm… so tired…" I whispered, barely audible. "So… fucking… tired…"
For what felt like hours, I sat there, shaking, crying, letting everything I had buried for years pour out. Every missed explosion, every fight, every time I pushed someone away, every tear I had hidden—they all came out at once.
Deku murmured my name softly, letting me lean on him. Not judging. Not shouting. Not forcing me to be strong. Just… there.
And for the first time, I let myself feel it all.
I hated it. I hated that I needed someone. I hated that I was broken. But at the same time… I didn't want to fight it anymore.
When I finally lifted my head, my face streaked with tears and dirt, my chest still heaving, I saw Deku's calm, steady eyes.
"You're okay," he said softly. "It's okay. You're not weak, Kacchan. You just… needed to let it out."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to roar that I wasn't weak. But all that came out was another choked sob.
And for the first time in a long time, I let someone see me—really see me.
Not the mask. Not the explosions. Not the rage.
Me.
Broken, trembling, terrified—but alive. Chapter 7: Confrontation with Self
I didn't sleep that night.
Not really. Not since I had collapsed on the training field. Not since Deku had stayed by my side while I shook and cried like some weak, pathetic kid. I hated that I had needed him. Hated that I had broken. Hated that I had let anyone see me like that.
But worse… I hated myself.
I stared at the ceiling, cold sweat clinging to my skin, muscles sore from crying and trembling. I couldn't escape the memories, the flashes, the words I had said aloud that I'd buried for so long.
I'm weak.
I can't do this anymore.
I'm tired… so fucking tired.
Every syllable echoed in my mind like a hammer against stone.
I hated it. Hated myself for saying it. Hated myself for needing someone. Hated myself for failing.
And yet… deep down, a part of me knew I hadn't failed. Not completely. I had finally let it out. I had finally admitted, even if just in whispers, that I couldn't handle everything alone.
I rolled onto my side, curling up. My hands clenched the blanket, my knuckles white. I replayed every memory that had come back to me in the past days:
The fights where I almost hurt my classmates because I couldn't control my rage.
The moments I left Deku behind, thinking it was strength.
The nights I cried alone, letting pride mask my fear.
The times I pushed friends away to protect them from my own mess.
And I realized… I had been running from myself for years.
I had been hiding behind my anger, my explosions, my mask of perfection—but inside, I was terrified. Afraid of being weak. Afraid of being vulnerable. Afraid of needing someone.
The realization hit me like a punch I couldn't dodge.
I didn't just hide my emotions from everyone else. I hid them from myself. I didn't just build a mask for the world to see—I built a cage to trap myself in. And now… that cage was breaking.
I pressed my face into the pillow, choking on the weight of it all. "I… don't know how to… fix it…" I whispered, voice muffled.
A small, stubborn part of me—the part that had always survived through sheer force and rage—refused to give up. "You… can… start," I muttered, barely audible. "You… can try…"
Try. The word felt foreign on my tongue. Fragile. Dangerous. But also… hopeful.
For the first time in years, I admitted to myself that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to do it all alone.
I didn't reach out. I didn't call anyone. I didn't even sit up. I just lay there, trembling, letting the truth sink in:
I was broken. I was scared. I was weak.
And it was okay to feel that way.
Because tomorrow… maybe tomorrow I could try again. Chapter 8: Reaching Out
The morning sunlight cut through the dorm window, harsh and unforgiving. I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor. The previous days' breakdown still lingered in my body, a dull ache that no explosion could fix. My hands shook slightly as I tied my shoes, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest.
"Yo, Kacchan," a voice called softly.
I froze. Deku stood in the doorway, quiet, gentle, no judgment in his eyes. He didn't push, didn't ask questions, didn't expect me to act strong. He just… waited.
I wanted to tell him to go away. I wanted to yell. I wanted to hide. But I didn't. Not this time.
"…What?" I muttered, voice rough.
"I just wanted to check on you," he said simply. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just… sit with me for a minute?"
I blinked. No one had ever asked me to sit with them without expecting me to perform, to act tough, to be explosive. It was… strange. And part of me hated it. Part of me wanted to run. But another, smaller part… didn't.
I gestured vaguely to the floor beside me. Deku sat down, careful not to crowd me. We were silent at first. Just the faint sound of our breathing.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," he said after a few minutes. His voice was calm, patient. "You can let people in, Kacchan. You don't have to carry everything alone."
I wanted to argue. I wanted to yell that I wasn't weak. But instead, I swallowed, staring at my hands. "…I don't know if I can," I admitted quietly. The words felt foreign, jagged. They tasted bitter. But they were out.
Deku didn't flinch. Didn't scold. Just nodded. "That's okay. You can start small. I'll be here. We'll figure it out together."
Something inside me tightened. Pride, fear, and relief all tangled together. I wanted to push him away, wanted to tell him to leave—but I didn't. I just… let myself sit there.
Later that day, during training, I made another small step. I let Kirishima watch me. I didn't shout or glare when he asked if I was okay. I nodded. Small. Quiet. Enough. It wasn't perfect, but it was something.
Even Todoroki noticed. "You've been… different lately," he said, voice low, but not teasing.
I wanted to snap, to tell him I didn't need anyone. But the words didn't come. Instead, I just grunted and focused on my training. I could feel them watching me, quietly, supportively. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't hate it.
By the end of the day, exhaustion hit me—not just from training, but from… being seen. Being vulnerable. Being human.
But there was a strange warmth too. A quiet reassurance that maybe… maybe I could start letting people in. Maybe I didn't have to face everything alone.
That night, as I lay in bed, I stared at the ceiling again. My fists were still tight, but they weren't trembling as badly. My chest still ached, but it wasn't as heavy.
Deku had stayed with me, even for a little while. And somehow, that made all the difference.
I didn't know if I was healed. Hell, I knew I wasn't. But I had started. And sometimes… starting was enough. Chapter 9: First Steps of Healing
The next week was… different.
I still trained like hell, still pushed myself harder than anyone else—but now, there was a quiet awareness in the back of my mind. The storm inside me hadn't disappeared. It hadn't gone anywhere. But now I knew I wasn't completely alone with it.
It started small.
I let Deku walk with me between classes. At first, I said nothing, just kept my scowl in place. But his presence was… grounding. Not in a "I need you" way—not yet—but in a way that reminded me the world didn't have to be a battlefield I faced entirely alone.
Kirishima noticed too. "Hey, Kacchan… you okay?"
I flinched at first. Wanted to snap. But then… I nodded. Just a little. Enough for him to see. Not weak. Not begging for attention. Just… seen.
Even during training, I started experimenting. I let myself rely on others for a second, a moment, a fraction of a fight. Todoroki covered me during a simulation I knew I'd struggle with. I felt the heat of pride and shame swirl inside me—I hated needing help—but I didn't recoil. I didn't explode.
By the end of the day, I could feel the weight of the past few weeks starting to lift. The mask was still there, yes. I wasn't "fixed" by any means. But the cracks weren't completely jagged anymore. Some of them were… manageable.
That evening, I caught myself laughing. Not loud, not explosive. Just a small, quiet laugh at something Deku had said about one of his failed training moves. My chest tightened, but not with panic or anger—just… something else. Relief? Contentment? I didn't know. I hadn't felt it in years.
I was learning that maybe vulnerability didn't have to be weakness. That maybe asking for help didn't erase strength. That maybe letting someone see me—and me really seeing them—wasn't something to fear.
It was still scary. Every time I let someone in, even just a little, my chest felt tight. My hands trembled. My mind screamed at me to push them away, to put the mask back on. But I didn't. I kept going. One step. One conversation. One small moment at a time.
By the time I went to bed that night, exhaustion had settled into my bones. But it was a good kind of exhaustion. The kind that comes after effort, after growth, after facing something hard and surviving.
I stared at the ceiling, thinking about the last few days. Thinking about Deku. Thinking about Kirishima. Thinking about the first time I let myself… just be seen.
I wasn't healed. I wasn't okay. But I was moving forward.
And maybe that was enough for now. Chapter 10: Learning to Let Go
The next morning, I woke up to the faint sounds of the dorm stirring—footsteps, voices, the distant clatter of dishes. Normally, I would have groaned, slammed the wall, or left everyone alone. But today… I stayed in bed a few extra minutes, letting the quiet soak in.
By the time I got to breakfast, Deku was already there, quietly eating and watching me with that careful, steady look of his. I didn't meet his eyes at first. Didn't need to. But I didn't push him away either.
It was small. Insignificant, almost. But it meant something.
During class, I started noticing the little things I'd been avoiding before. The way Kirishima checked on me without asking. The way Todoroki offered a hand in combat practice without judgment. The way everyone else gave me space but still kept me close.
I realized… I didn't have to shoulder everything alone. I could let them help. And that didn't make me weak. Not really.
In training, I tested it. I let Deku cover me when I miscalculated a blast. I let Kirishima step in when I misjudged a move. Every time I did, a little of the tightness in my chest eased. The fear was still there—hell, it was screaming—but I didn't explode. I didn't lash out. I adapted. I trusted.
By the afternoon, I caught myself smiling—slightly, subtly—after a successful spar with Todoroki. Not loud, not over the top. Just a small recognition of progress.
Later, Deku cornered me after practice. "Kacchan… you're doing really well," he said, voice quiet but firm. "You're letting people in, step by step. That's progress."
I wanted to snap. Wanted to roar, "I don't need your approval!" But instead… I just nodded. Just a little. Enough for him to see.
Walking back to the dorm, I realized something: letting go didn't mean losing myself. I could still be Kacchan—explosive, angry, relentless—while letting someone help. I could still fight, still push myself, still be who I am… without being alone.
That night, I lay in bed thinking about the past weeks. About the breakdown, the tears, the nights I thought I'd never be okay. I hated myself for needing help, hated myself for letting anyone see me broken… but a small part of me—the stubborn, burning part that had always survived—was proud.
I had survived it. And for the first time in a long time, I could feel something besides anger. Relief. Quiet satisfaction. The sense that maybe, just maybe, I could be stronger—not because I was alone, but because I had others by my side.
The mask was still there. Of course it was. But now, it wasn't a prison. Not entirely.
I could breathe.
And for Kacchan… that was enough. Chapter 11: Facing the Past
The rain hit the windows of the dorm softly, a steady rhythm that matched the thrum in my chest. I didn't want to move. Didn't want to think. Didn't want to face myself. But I had to.
Because hiding hadn't worked. Pretending I was fine hadn't worked. Exploding at everything hadn't worked.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the floor, thinking about all the times I had failed—not just in battle, not just in training, but as… as me.
I remembered the first time I had yelled at Deku in middle school, trying to push him away, trying to "make him stronger" in my own messed-up way. I remembered how he had stayed anyway, quiet, stubborn, never letting me fully win. And I had hated that. Hated that he cared.
I thought about the simulations at UA, the moments I had gone too far, gone reckless, hurt people I cared about. And the nights afterward, when I sat alone, pretending I wasn't afraid, pretending I wasn't guilty. Pretending I didn't need someone to pull me out of the mess I made of myself.
Every time I had pushed people away, every time I had screamed at friends, every time I had let my pride dictate my actions—it had left scars. Not on them. On me.
I clenched my fists, knuckles white, and whispered through gritted teeth: "I… I was wrong. I… I hurt people. I… I—"
The words broke off. I couldn't finish. Not yet. Not fully.
I took a shaky breath. "But I… I can try to fix it. I can… start."
It was humiliating. Excruciating. Every part of me wanted to deny it, to explode, to lash out and pretend I was fine. But the truth was undeniable. I had been carrying too much for too long. My pride, my rage, my obsession with being "strong" alone—it had nearly destroyed me.
I closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me like a storm I couldn't fight. And for the first time, I didn't resist.
I remembered the look in Deku's eyes when he stayed with me on the training field. The way Kirishima had quietly supported me without asking. Todoroki, just present, steady, watching. Everyone who had cared, even when I tried to push them away—they hadn't left.
And maybe… maybe I didn't have to leave myself behind either.
I let myself cry. Long, shaky sobs that rattled my chest and tore at my pride. I hated it. Hated every second. But I didn't stop. I couldn't stop.
By the time the storm inside me faded, replaced by exhaustion and something that felt like… acceptance, I realized something:
I could face my past. I could acknowledge my mistakes. I could carry the guilt, yes—but I didn't have to let it define me.
For the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to hope.
Not for everything to be perfect. Not for the pain to vanish. But for the chance to be… better. Stronger. Not alone.
I opened my eyes and stared at the rain outside. Cold, relentless, and honest. Much like the truth I had faced within myself.
And I knew, deep down, that I could survive it.
I could survive me. Chapter 12: Rekindled Bonds
It was weird.
That was the only word I had for it.
I was standing in the common room, arms crossed, watching Kaminari and Sero argue about something stupid—probably games or food—and instead of yelling at them to shut up, I just… watched. And then, without thinking, I snorted.
They both froze.
"Did… did Bakugo just laugh?" Kaminari whispered.
"I will kill you," I snapped immediately, face heating up. But it wasn't the usual sharp anger. It was… lighter.
Kirishima grinned like he'd just won something. "Dude, you're finally acting like you're alive again."
I scoffed. "Shut up. I've always been alive."
But even as I said it, I knew what he meant. I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was actually… there.
Training changed too. Not in how hard I pushed—that never stopped—but in how I fought. I listened more. I reacted to my teammates instead of bulldozing ahead. When Deku called out a warning, I moved instead of ignoring him. When Todoroki covered my blind spot, I didn't pretend I didn't need it.
And when we won a team exercise cleanly, without anyone getting hurt, I felt something in my chest that wasn't rage or pride.
It was… connection.
Later that night, we all ended up in the kitchen, eating way too much junk food. I sat at the table, arms crossed like always, but I didn't leave. I stayed.
Mina started teasing me about my hair. I threatened her life. She laughed anyway.
Kirishima bumped my shoulder. "Glad you're still here, man."
I looked away. "…Idiot."
But I didn't deny it.
Deku sat across from me, smiling softly. Not that annoying hero-smile. Just… proud. Like he knew how hard this was for me.
I hated that he knew.
And I was grateful he did.
Later, back in my room, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. The silence didn't feel as heavy anymore. The memories didn't claw at me the way they used to.
I wasn't "fixed." I still got angry. I still snapped. I still struggled.
But now… when I walked into a room, I didn't feel invisible. And I didn't feel like I had to fight the world alone.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I belonged.
Not as a weapon.
Not as a mask.
But as me. Chapter 13: Acceptance
I used to think emotions were weaknesses.
Anger was fine—that was power. Fear was disgusting. Sadness was pointless. Needing people was pathetic. That's what I told myself for years. That's what I lived by.
But now… now I knew better.
I was sitting alone on the field after everyone had left, staring at my hands. They were scarred, rough, strong. They'd destroyed things. Saved people. Hurt people. Held people up.
They weren't just weapons. They were proof I was human.
I closed my fists and let a small explosion pop in my palm—not violent, not wild. Controlled. Steady. Just like my breathing.
I still got angry. Hell, I always would. Anger was part of me. But it wasn't everything anymore. It didn't have to be the only thing I showed the world.
I thought about the breakdown. The screaming. The tears. The way I'd fallen apart in front of Deku. The way I'd said I was weak.
I wasn't weak.
I was hurting.
I was scared.
I was exhausted.
And that didn't make me less. It made me real.
I stood up and looked at the sky. Clouds drifting slow. Wind brushing past my face. Simple things I never noticed before because I was always too busy fighting something—others, the world, myself.
I didn't hate the part of me that cried anymore.
I didn't hate the part of me that needed people.
I didn't even hate the part of me that broke.
Because that part is what forced me to change.
When I walked back toward the dorms, I didn't feel like I was dragging a weight behind me. I felt… balanced. Still heavy. Still rough around the edges. But not shattered.
I was Katsuki Bakugo.
Explosive. Loud. Stubborn.
But also scared sometimes. Lonely sometimes. Tired sometimes.
And all of it was allowed to exist.
I didn't need to erase any part of myself to be strong.
I just needed to carry it honestly.
And for the first time, I could. Final Chapter: Glimmer of Hope
The sun was setting when I found myself walking beside Deku.
We weren't talking. We didn't need to. The air between us wasn't awkward anymore—it was calm. Comfortable. Like two people who had been through hell and somehow made it out the other side.
I watched the sky burn orange and gold and thought about how close I'd come to disappearing inside myself. How close I'd come to letting the storm swallow me whole.
I didn't know if Deku understood how bad it had been. How every night felt like drowning. How every day felt like pretending I wasn't sinking. But he had stayed anyway. Even when I screamed. Even when I cried. Even when I tried to push him away.
"…Thanks," I muttered suddenly.
He blinked. "For what?"
I looked away, jaw tight. "For not leaving."
He smiled—not big, not dramatic. Just real. "I never would."
We stopped near the training field, the place where everything had finally fallen apart. The dirt was smooth again now. Clean. Like nothing had ever happened there.
But I remembered.
I remembered screaming. Crying. Breaking.
And I remembered being caught before I hit the bottom.
"I used to think being strong meant being alone," I said quietly. The words surprised even me. "Like… if I needed anyone, it meant I'd already lost."
Deku shook his head. "You're stronger now than you were before."
"Yeah," I said. "Because now I know when to fight… and when to lean."
The wind brushed past us. The world felt big—but not crushing anymore.
I wasn't cured.
I wasn't perfect.
I still got angry. Still messed up. Still had nights where my chest felt too tight and my head got too loud.
But now… I didn't hide it.
I didn't pretend it didn't exist.
And I didn't face it alone.
I took a breath and felt it go all the way in—no panic, no pressure, no mask. Just air. Just me.
"I'm not broken anymore," I said.
Deku looked at me. "You never were."
I smirked. "Shut up."
But this time, there was no venom in it. Just warmth.
I turned back toward the dorms, toward my friends, toward the life I almost lost to silence.
I wasn't the same Bakugo I used to be.
And I didn't want to be.
I was louder in some ways.
Softer in others.
Still explosive.
But no longer alone.
And for the first time in my life, that felt like real strength.