SYPNOSIS. Trust is the hardest thing to build, especially when you've spent your whole life perfecting the art of pushing people away.
When you publicly humiliate UA University's resident explosive golden boy, you become Katsuki Bakugou's newest obsession. Fueled by a dare to make you fall for him, Bakugou forces his way into your isolated orbit. He expects a challenge; he doesn't expect to find someone just as damaged, guarded, and entirely real as he is. As the lines between a fake bet and real feelings blur, you both cross boundaries you swore you'd never touch. But when the truth of his initial motives comes to light, it will take a grand, uncomfortable, and devastatingly honest gesture to prove that the mess of loving you is the only thing he actually wants to win.
TROPES: College AU, 10 Things I Hate About You inspired, Bet Trope, Enemies to Lovers, OC has a backbone
CHAPTER ONE — THE PARTY (2/18/26)
SYPNOSIS. Friday nights are for true crime documentaries and avoidance, not frat parties and socializing. But when Kendo drags you out for "just one hour," you end up face-to-face with UA’s loudest ego, Katsuki Bakugo. He thinks he can make you the punchline. You decide to make him the example
CHAPTER TWO — BET ON IT (2/24/26)
SYPNOSIS. The aftermath of the party leaves Bakugou reeling. Unable to shake the memory of your dismissal, he spirals into a week of obsessive "reconnaissance" (aka stalking) trying to figure you out. When his friends finally call him out on his misery, Kaminari proposes a solution that might just be the worst idea in history: a bet.
CHAPTER THREE — THE ETHICS OF INTERVENTION (3/25/26)
SYPNOSIS. After a disastrous forced partnership in ethics class and a brutal reality check in the library, Bakugou realizes that breaking down your walls isn't just about winning Kaminari's stupid bet anymore. It's about proving you wrong. But to do that, he has to stop chasing, back off, and wait for a real opening. The clock is ticking.
CHAPTER FOUR — THE OPENING (4/22/26)
SYPNOSIS. Bakugou spends a grueling week respecting your boundaries, culminating in a single cup of coffee that proves he's actually been paying attention. But just as you're trying to ignore the weird, unfamiliar feeling in your chest, fate steps in and pairs you up for the Hero Ethics midterm. You have three weeks to analyze a moral dilemma, and Bakugou has three weeks to prove he isn't just performing. Let the library study dates begin.
SYPNOSIS. The aftermath of the party leaves Bakugou reeling. Unable to shake the memory of your dismissal, he spirals into a week of obsessive "reconnaissance" (aka stalking) trying to figure you out. When his friends finally call him out on his misery, Kaminari proposes a solution that might just be the worst idea in history: a bet.
TROPES: College AU, 10 Things I Hate About You inspired, Bet Trope, Enemies to Lovers, OC has a backbone
TAGS: bakusquad being supportive but also roasting him, kirishima is the voice of reason, kaminari is chaotic evil, bakugo katsuki has never been rejected in his life and it shows, he is spiraling, DOWN horrendous, downright stalker behavior, if this wasn't fiction i would call the police, scary dog privilege is the only reason he hasn't been reported, sero almost died for this 😔, aizawa is tired, kaminari definitely started this bet just to watch the world burn, you remain unbothered as usual, quirk is a metaphor for your heart (🙂↕️), she ordered black coffee and he fell in love instantly, kaminari denki is the villain of this story actually (still love my boy though), kirishima is the only one sharing a brain cell with logic, mina is just here for the tea, men will literally enter a high stakes bet instead of going to therapy
WC: 9.7K words
Bet On It
Monday morning hit like a sledgehammer wrapped in bureaucracy.
Bakugou Katsuki had been awake since five—earlier than usual, which was saying something—staring at his ceiling and mentally cataloging every reason why the past three days had been absolute shit.
The party was Friday.
It was now Monday.
Seventy-two hours.
And he was still thinking about it.
Still replaying the moment in his head like some kind of fucked-up highlight reel he couldn't turn off. Your face. Your voice. The way you'd looked at him like he was background noise you'd already learned to tune out.
"You think being loud makes you right. It just makes you easier to ignore."
He'd heard worse. Had people scream at him, curse him out, throw actual punches. He'd been called every name in the book and a few that probably weren't even in print yet.
But no one—no one—had ever looked at him the way you did.
Like he wasn't worth the energy to hate.
Like he was just... tiresome.
His alarm went off at 5:30. He didn't need it. He was already up, already dressed in his training gear, already lacing his boots with more aggression than the task required.
He needed to move. Needed to hit something. Needed to do literally anything that wasn't lying in bed thinking about some girl whose name he didn't even fucking know.
The fact that he didn't know your name was eating at him.
He knew everyone. Or at least, everyone knew him. That was how it worked. He was Bakugou Katsuki—top of the class, one of the strongest quirk users in their year, future number one hero. People paid attention. People cared.
But you didn't.
And that was the problem.
By the time he made it to the Class A common room, the sun was barely up. The space was empty, silent except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of someone's alarm going off on one of the upper floors.
He made coffee. Black. No sugar. The bitter burn was grounding, familiar.
He sat on the couch, mug in hand, and stared at nothing.
His phone was on the table in front of him. He'd been checking it more than usual the past few days—scrolling through social media, the Class A group chat, anywhere that might give him information.
Because people were still talking about the party.
Of course they were.
It wasn't every day that someone verbally dismantled Bakugou Katsuki in front of half the third-year hero studies and walked away without a scratch.
The comments ranged from amused to shocked to a few that were uncomfortably close to impressed.
Mina (Saturday, 11:47 PM): okay but that girl ATE him alive and I kind of respect it????
Sero (Saturday, 11:52 PM): Bakugou's been real quiet since then 👀
Kaminari (Sunday, 2:14 AM): i still can't believe she just LEFT. didn't even wait to see his reaction. BRUTAL.
Bakugou had read every message. Hadn't responded to a single one.
Because what the hell was he supposed to say?
Yeah, some random girl I don't know completely owned me and now I can't stop thinking about her?
Fuck that.
His jaw clenched. He took another sip of coffee, the heat scalding his tongue.
He wasn't supposed to care. That was the whole point of his entire personality—he didn't give a shit what people thought. He knew he was good. Knew he was going to be the best. Other people's opinions were just noise.
But this wasn't about opinions.
This was about the fact that someone had looked him in the eye and decided he wasn't worth their time.
And he couldn't let that go.
The door to the common room opened. Bakugou didn't look up.
"Morning," came Kirishima's voice, cautious. Testing the waters.
Bakugou grunted in response.
Kirishima crossed to the kitchen, poured himself some coffee, and sat on the opposite end of the couch. Far enough away that it didn't feel confrontational. Close enough that Bakugou knew he was there on purpose.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything.
Then:
"You okay, man?"
Bakugou's grip tightened on his mug. "Fine."
"You've been kinda... off. Since Friday."
"I'm fine," Bakugou repeated, his voice flat.
Kirishima nodded slowly, like he didn't believe that for a second but wasn't stupid enough to push. "Okay. Cool. Just checking."
Silence again.
Bakugou could feel Kirishima's eyes on him. That concerned, overly-earnest look that Kirishima always had when he thought one of his friends was going through something.
"Don't," Bakugou said.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're about to do. Don't."
Kirishima held up his hands in surrender. "Wasn't gonna do anything."
"Bullshit."
Kirishima grinned despite himself. "Alright, fine. I was gonna ask if you wanted to talk about—"
"No."
"—but clearly you don't, so I'll just sit here and drink my coffee like a good friend."
"You're an annoying friend."
"Yeah, but I'm your annoying friend."
Bakugou didn't respond to that. Just drank his coffee and tried to ignore the fact that Kirishima was probably right.
Training started at seven.
Aizawa's Tactical Combat Strategies class was always first thing Monday mornings, which meant everyone showed up still half-asleep and resentful of the early hour.
Everyone except Bakugou.
He was the first one in the locker room, the first one changed, the first one out on the training field.
The air was crisp, cold enough that his breath fogged slightly. The sky was overcast, threatening rain but not quite delivering. Perfect.
He started his warm-up routine—stretches, footwork drills, a few small-scale explosions to get his quirk firing properly. His movements were sharp, precise, controlled.
On the surface.
Underneath, he was vibrating with the kind of pent-up aggression that usually only surfaced mid-fight.
The rest of the class trickled in over the next ten minutes. Kirishima, Kaminari, Sero, Mina. Todoroki, Midoriya, Iida. The usual suspects, all in various states of wakefulness.
Aizawa appeared last, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. His capture weapon hung loose around his shoulders, and his expression was the standard level of "done with everything."
"Pair up," he said, his voice flat. "Combat drills. Quirk use allowed but keep it controlled. I don't want to file any incident reports today."
The class shuffled into pairs. Bakugou usually ended up with Kirishima or Midoriya—people who could actually take a hit and give one back.
Today, he got Sero.
Sero, to his credit, didn't look thrilled about it.
"Uh, hey man," Sero said, stretching his arms. "Let's keep it clean, yeah? I've got a quiz in hero law later and I'd like to be conscious for it."
Bakugou didn't respond. Just rolled his shoulders and settled into a fighting stance.
Aizawa blew the whistle.
Bakugou moved.
It wasn't a fight.
It was an execution.
Sero barely got his tape out before Bakugou was on him, closing the distance in a burst of explosive speed. Palm strike to the ribs—pulled, but hard enough to knock the air out. Sero stumbled back, tried to fire tape to create distance, but Bakugou twisted out of range and came in low, sweeping his leg.
Sero hit the ground.
"Shit—okay, okay—" Sero started, but Bakugou didn't let up.
He wasn't being malicious. Wasn't trying to hurt him. But he wasn't holding back the way he normally would in a practice match either.
Every movement was harder than it needed to be. Faster. More aggressive.
Sero managed to get his tape around Bakugou's wrist, tried to yank him off balance, but Bakugou just let off a controlled explosion that burned through the tape like it was paper.
"Dude—"
Another palm strike. Sero blocked, barely, and tried to counter with a sweep of his own.
Bakugou saw it coming a mile away. Dodged. Countered. Sero hit the ground again, harder this time.
"Bakugou, ease up!" Kirishima called from across the field, mid-match with Kaminari.
Bakugou ignored him.
Sero was back on his feet, hands up, breathing hard. "Okay, what the hell, man? This is supposed to be a drill—"
Bakugou came at him again.
This time, Sero actually looked pissed. He fired tape in three directions at once—ceiling, floor, walls—trying to create a web that would trap Bakugou in place.
Bakugou blasted through it.
Literally.
Explosions tore through the tape, and he was moving before the smoke even cleared, closing the distance, palm already glowing with heat—
"Bakugou."
Aizawa's voice cut through the noise like a blade.
Bakugou froze.
His hand was inches from Sero's face, an explosion primed and ready. Sero was on the ground, one arm up defensively, eyes wide.
The entire field had gone quiet.
Bakugou looked around. Everyone was staring. Kirishima looked worried. Kaminari looked alarmed. Even Midoriya—who was used to Bakugou's aggression—looked concerned.
Aizawa was standing a few feet away, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.
"Match is over," Aizawa said flatly. "Sero wins by default due to excessive force."
"That's bullshit—" Bakugou started.
"It's a drill," Aizawa interrupted, his voice sharp now. "Not a death match. Control your quirk or sit out."
Bakugou's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
He let the explosion in his palm fizzle out. Stepped back. Offered Sero a hand up without looking at him.
Sero took it, still breathing hard, and gave Bakugou a look that was equal parts confused and wary. "You good?"
"Fine," Bakugou bit out.
"You sure? Because that was—"
"I said I'm fine."
Sero held up his hands and backed off.
Aizawa watched the exchange, then turned to address the rest of the class. "Switch partners. Next round in two minutes."
Bakugou walked to the edge of the field, hands shoved in his pockets, and tried to get his breathing under control.
He could feel eyes on him. Hear the whispers.
What's his problem?
He's always aggressive, but that was—
Think he's okay?
He wasn't okay.
He was pissed. At himself. At Sero. At the entire fucking situation.
But mostly, he was pissed because he knew exactly why he'd gone too hard.
Because he was thinking about you.
About the way you'd looked at him. The way you'd dismissed him. The way you'd walked away like he was nothing.
And it was eating him alive.
The rest of the session passed in a blur.
Bakugou rotated through partners—Kirishima, then Kaminari, then Todoroki. He dialed it back, kept his hits controlled, his explosions measured. Did exactly what Aizawa wanted.
But his head wasn't in it.
His head was three days ago, standing in a crowded living room, listening to a girl he didn't know tell him exactly who he was.
And the worst part?
She'd been right.
Not about everything. But about enough.
About the cruelty disguised as honesty. About needing an audience. About performing.
He'd built his entire identity on being the best, the loudest, the most undeniable person in any room.
And you'd looked at that and called it exhausting.
Called him exhausting.
And then left.
By the time Aizawa dismissed them, Bakugou's hands were shaking. Not from exertion. From the effort of keeping himself in check.
He was the first one off the field. Didn't wait for Kirishima or anyone else. Just headed straight for the locker room, changed, and left.
He needed to be alone.
Needed to think.
Needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do about this.
Because he couldn't let it go.
Couldn't let you go.
Not until he understood why.
Why you'd looked at him like that.
Why you'd walked away.
Why, three days later, he still couldn't get your face out of his head.
Back in his dorm room, door locked, Bakugou sat on the edge of his bed and stared at his hands.
They were still shaking.
He clenched them into fists.
Get it together, he told himself. It's just some girl. Just some random girl who said some shit at a party. It doesn't matter.
But it did.
It mattered because no one had ever made him feel like this before.
Small. Dismissible. Ignorable.
And he hated it.
Hated that you had that power over him.
Hated that he'd given you that power without even realizing it.
His phone buzzed.
Group chat. Kirishima.
Kirishima: You sure you're good? That training session was intense.
Kaminari: Yeah dude you almost took Sero's head off
Sero: I'm fine btw. Thanks for asking.
Kaminari: we know you're fine. Bakugou's the one acting weird.
Bakugou stared at the messages.
He should respond. Say something dismissive. Tell them to fuck off and mind their own business.
But he didn't.
Because they were right.
He was acting weird.
And he didn't know how to stop.
He tossed his phone onto the bed and leaned back, closing his eyes.
Your voice echoed in his head.
"Keep performing. They'll laugh as long as you're useful."
His chest tightened.
He needed to know your name.
Needed to find you.
Needed to prove—to you, to himself, to everyone—that you were wrong about him.
That he was more than just noise.
More than just performance.
That he was worth knowing.
Even if you didn't think so.
Especially because you didn't think so.
He opened his eyes.
Made a decision.
He was going to find you.
And he was going to make you see him.
Really see him.
Whatever it took.
Lunch period at UA University was organized chaos.
The massive dining hall was separated into unofficial territories—Class A claimed the tables near the windows, Class B had the corner by the serving stations, support students dominated the center, and everyone else filled in the gaps. It wasn't an official rule, just one of those unspoken social contracts that developed over time.
Bakugou sat at his usual spot, tray in front of him, food untouched.
He'd made it through morning classes on autopilot. Hero ethics, quirk theory, some bullshit elective about media relations that he'd only signed up for because it fit his schedule. He'd taken notes, answered when called on, and hadn't blown up at anyone.
A personal record, considering the past three days.
But now, sitting here surrounded by the noise of hundreds of students all talking at once, he couldn't focus on anything except the problem he'd been trying to solve since Friday night.
He needed information.
And he was done pretending he didn't.
Kirishima was across from him, halfway through some story about a training mishap that morning. Kaminari was next to him, laughing at all the wrong parts. Sero was scrolling through his phone, occasionally showing Mina something that made her either laugh or groan.
Normal. Easy. The kind of lunch period they'd had a hundred times before.
Except Bakugou wasn't listening to any of it.
He was staring at his rice like it had personally offended him, jaw tight, fingers drumming against the table in a pattern that was just this side of aggressive.
"—and then he just face-planted into the wall. I'm talking full speed, no brakes, just smack—Bakugou, you listening?"
Bakugou's eyes flicked up. "What?"
Kirishima blinked. "I asked if you were listening."
"No."
"Cool. Cool cool cool." Kirishima exchanged a look with Kaminari. "You've been weird all day, man. Actually, you've been weird since—"
"That girl from the party," Bakugou interrupted, his voice flat. "The mouthy one. Did you find out who she was?"
The table went quiet.
Not silent—there was still the noise of the dining hall around them, the clatter of trays and the hum of conversation—but their little section of it had gone very, very still.
Bakugou's glare could've melted steel. "Did you or didn't you?"
"I mean, yeah, obviously." Kaminari pulled out his phone, swiping through screens with the kind of confidence that said he'd been waiting for this moment. "Dude, I looked her up like two seconds after you stormed out of the party. You literally demanded we find out who she was."
"I didn't demand—"
"You absolutely did," Sero cut in. "You looked like you were gonna commit murder if we didn't give you a name."
Bakugou's jaw clenched. "Just show me."
Kaminari turned his phone around, displaying what looked like a student profile page. The kind that was technically private but everyone knew how to access if they had the right app and zero respect for boundaries.
There you were.
Your student ID photo stared back at him—neutral expression, no smile, eyes that looked like you were already annoyed at having to sit for the picture. Your hair was pulled back, and you weren't wearing any makeup. You looked... exactly like someone who didn't give a shit about student photos.
Bakugou's eyes scanned the information next to the image.
Name: [Your Full Name]
Year: Third
Class: 3-B (Hero Studies)
Quirk: Forcefield Generation
He stopped there, reading the description more carefully.
Forcefield Generation: User can generate a field of force, which can be used for a variety of effects. Most commonly, user generates near-indestructible fields around herself or other targets. By generating additional force behind force shields, user can convert defense into offense—shields can be propelled forward as battering rams at devastating speed. User is capable of generating and manipulating multiple force fields simultaneously.
The description went on, detailing the versatility of the quirk. Defensive barriers strong enough to absorb explosions. Offensive applications that could turn shields into slicing weapons. The ability to create close-to-body armor that increased durability significantly. Telekinetic applications. Automatic defense mechanisms that didn't require conscious activation.
It was a damn good quirk.
Strong. Versatile. The kind of quirk that could go head-to-head with his own and actually stand a chance.
Of course you had a good quirk. Of course you did.
"She's in 3-B," Kaminari said, leaning back in his chair. "But she's not really with them, if you know what I mean. Like, she's technically in their class, but I don't think I've ever seen her at any of their group things."
"She's a loner," Mina added, her voice thoughtful. "I've tried talking to her a few times—you know, girl solidarity and all that—but she's... hard to read. Not mean, exactly. Just... closed off."
"She's kind of a bitch," Kaminari said, too casually.
Mina's head whipped toward him. "She's selective. And honest. There's a difference."
"Selective is just a nice way of saying she thinks she's too good for everyone."
"Or maybe she just doesn't waste time on people who aren't worth it," Mina shot back, her tone sharper now. "Not everyone needs to be friends with everyone, Denki."
Kaminari held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm just saying what I've heard."
Bakugou tuned them out, still staring at the profile.
Your quirk name. Your class. The few details listed under "Additional Information" that were mostly blank except for a note that said Frequently absent from optional social events.
That tracked.
"What else?" Bakugou asked, his voice cutting through Mina and Kaminari's argument.
Kirishima shifted uncomfortably. "What do you mean?"
"What else do you know about her?"
The table exchanged looks again. The kind of looks that said they were trying to figure out how much to tell him without setting him off.
Sero spoke first. "She's smart. Like, really smart. Top tier in combat strategy. I've seen her in a few joint training exercises—she doesn't showboat, doesn't try to prove anything, but she's good. Her quirk is nuts."
"She turned down three different study groups this semester," Kaminari added. "I know because one of them was mine. I asked if she wanted to join for hero law and she just looked at me and said, 'I study alone.' Not rude, just... matter-of-fact."
"She skips most of the social stuff," Mina said. "Mixers, parties, even some of the optional seminars. I think the only reason she showed up to Sero's party was because Kendo dragged her."
Bakugou filed that information away. Kendo. Class B. That made sense.
"Does she have friends?" he asked.
Mina hesitated. "I mean... Kendo, I think? They're neighbors in the dorms. But even that seems more like Kendo being persistent than anything else. I don't think I've ever seen her with a group."
"She eats lunch alone," Sero offered. "Always. Either in the library or outside if the weather's good. Never here."
Bakugou looked around the dining hall, at the hundreds of students packed into tables, talking and laughing and existing in each other's spaces.
And you were never here.
By choice.
"Why?" he asked, more to himself than anyone else.
"Why what?" Kirishima asked carefully.
"Why does she avoid people?"
Kirishima shrugged. "Some people just don't like crowds, man. Doesn't mean there's some deep reason."
But Bakugou didn't buy that.
People didn't build walls that high without a reason.
People didn't shut themselves off that completely unless they were protecting something.
Or protecting from something.
"What's her deal?" Bakugou pressed. "Family? Background?"
Kaminari scrolled further down the profile, but there wasn't much. "Doesn't say. Parents aren't listed—could mean they're not heroes, could mean she doesn't want it public. No siblings on record. Nothing about her background before UA."
"She keeps to herself," Mina said softly. "And honestly? I respect it. Not everyone needs to perform their whole life for people to validate them."
The comment landed a little too close to home.
Bakugou's fingers tightened around his chopsticks.
"She called you exhausting," Sero said, not unkindly. "At the party. And... I mean, she wasn't entirely wrong."
"Sero—" Kirishima started, a warning in his voice.
"I'm just saying!" Sero held up his hands. "Look, Bakugou, you're my boy. But you do take up a lot of space. And some people don't want that. Doesn't make them bad. Just means they're not compatible with your energy."
Bakugou wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Sero he was full of shit, that he didn't "take up space," that people liked his energy.
But the words stuck in his throat.
Because Sero was right.
And you had been right.
He did take up space. Did demand attention. Did perform, even when he told himself he didn't.
And you'd looked at all of that and decided it wasn't worth your time.
"She's got a reputation," Kaminari said, breaking the silence. "People either respect her or avoid her. There's not a lot of in-between."
"What kind of reputation?" Bakugou asked.
"The kind where people know not to fuck with her. She doesn't start shit, but she doesn't take it either. There was this guy in general studies last year—tried to hit on her, got pushy when she said no. She didn't yell, didn't make a scene. Just looked at him and said something that made him turn white and walk away. No one knows what she said, but he transferred out of her hero ethics class the next week."
Bakugou felt something twist in his chest.
Not jealousy. Not exactly.
More like... recognition.
You weren't just cold. You were careful.
Guarded.
The kind of guarded that came from experience.
"She doesn't let people in," Mina said quietly. "I don't think it's because she's mean or thinks she's better than everyone. I think she just... doesn't trust easily."
"Or at all," Sero muttered.
Bakugou stared at the profile photo again.
Your face. Neutral. Unreadable.
A wall.
And walls were built for a reason.
He'd spent three days thinking you were just some asshole who got off on tearing people down. Someone who enjoyed making him feel small.
But that wasn't it.
You weren't performing cruelty.
You were performing nothing.
Because nothing was safer than letting people see who you really were.
"Why do you care?" Kirishima asked, his voice gentle but pointed. "I mean, she clearly doesn't want anything to do with you. Why not just... let it go?"
Bakugou looked up at his friend.
Kirishima's expression was open, concerned. Not judging. Just asking.
Why did he care?
He could've let it go. Could've written you off as some bitter loner who wasn't worth his time.
But he couldn't.
Because you were the first person who'd ever looked at him and seen through all the noise.
The first person who'd called him out not because you wanted to hurt him, but because you genuinely didn't care enough to lie.
And that was... rare.
Uncomfortable.
But rare.
"I don't know," Bakugou said finally, his voice low.
It was the most honest thing he'd said in days.
Kaminari grinned, that stupid mischievous grin that meant he was about to say something idiotic. "You like her."
"I don't even know her."
"Exactly. Which is why you're sitting here asking us for her entire life story like some kind of stalker."
"I'm not—"
"You literally made me look her up."
"You did that on your own."
"Because you threatened me!"
"I didn't threaten you."
"You said, and I quote, 'Find out who she is or I'll make sure you fail every practical exam this semester.'"
Bakugou scowled. "That's not a threat. That's motivation."
"That's literally a threat," Sero said, fighting a smile.
"Whatever." Bakugou shoved his tray away, appetite gone. "I just want to know who I'm dealing with."
"Why?" Mina asked, her eyes sharp. "What are you planning?"
"Nothing."
"Bakugou."
"I said nothing."
But the way he said it—too quick, too defensive—made it very clear it was not nothing.
Kirishima leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Dude. Be real with me. What's going on?"
Bakugou was quiet for a long moment.
He could lie. Brush it off. Tell them to mind their own business and move on.
But these were his friends. The people who'd put up with his shit for three years and somehow still chose to sit with him at lunch.
They deserved something closer to the truth.
"She got in my head," Bakugou admitted, his voice rough. "And I need to get her out."
Kaminari's grin widened. "Oh, this is gonna be good."
"Shut up."
"I'm serious! You're gonna try to talk to her again, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"She's gonna destroy you."
"She already did," Sero pointed out helpfully.
Bakugou shot him a glare. "Thanks for the reminder."
"Just being honest."
Mina was watching him carefully, her expression thoughtful. "You know she's not going to make this easy, right? She doesn't seem like the type who forgives easily. Or at all."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness."
"Then what are you asking for?"
Bakugou didn't have an answer for that.
Because he didn't know.
He just knew he couldn't let this go.
Couldn't let you go.
Not until he understood why you'd looked at him like that.
Why you'd walked away.
Why, even now, three days later, he couldn't stop thinking about your face.
"I'm gonna talk to her," he said finally.
Kirishima winced. "That's... probably a bad idea."
"Noted."
"She's gonna shut you down."
"Probably."
"And you're still gonna do it."
"Yeah."
Kirishima sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright. Your funeral, man."
Kaminari pulled up a calendar on his phone. "So when are we placing bets on how badly this goes?"
"I hate all of you," Bakugou muttered.
But he didn't leave.
And when Kaminari sent the profile photo to the group chat with the caption our boy's got a death wish, Bakugou didn't even tell him to delete it.
He just saved the photo to his own phone.
Your name.
Your quirk.
Your face.
Now he had information.
Now he could make a plan.
Now he just had to figure out how the hell to approach someone who very clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
Easy.
Right?
He looked at your photo one more time.
Those eyes. That neutral expression.
That wall.
Yeah.
This was going to be a disaster.
But he was doing it anyway.
The thing about obsession is that it starts small.
A passing thought. A lingering question. The kind of thing you tell yourself you'll forget about in a day or two.
And then it doesn't go away.
It festers. Grows. Becomes the thing you think about when you're supposed to be thinking about literally anything else.
Bakugou told himself he wasn't obsessed.
He was just... gathering intel.
Strategizing.
It's what any good hero would do when faced with an unknown variable. You studied the target. Learned their patterns. Figured out their weaknesses.
That's all this was.
Strategic reconnaissance.
The fact that he'd memorized your class schedule within twenty-four hours of getting your name was irrelevant.
Day One: The Library
Tuesday afternoon, 2:47 PM.
Bakugou pushed through the library doors with the kind of casual confidence that suggested he had every reason to be there. Which he did. He had a paper due next week. The library was a perfectly normal place for him to be.
The fact that he knew you'd be here—tucked into your usual corner on the third floor, headphones on, working through whatever assignment you'd decided was worth your time—was just a coincidence.
He'd asked around. Subtly. Or what passed for subtle when you were Bakugou Katsuki.
"Where does she usually study?" he'd asked Kendo that morning, catching her between classes.
Kendo had given him a look that was equal parts suspicious and amused. "Why?"
"Just answer the question."
"Library. Third floor. Back corner, away from everyone. She likes the table by the window."
"Thanks."
"Bakugou—"
But he was already walking away.
Now, standing on the third floor of the library, he scanned the space.
It was quieter up here. Fewer people. The third floor was where serious students came to actually work, not socialize. The lighting was softer, more focused, and the tables were spaced farther apart.
And there you were.
Back corner. Window table. Exactly where Kendo said you'd be.
You were hunched over a textbook, one hand holding your head up, the other scribbling notes on a laptop. Your headphones were the over-ear kind, the ones that blocked out the world completely. There was a coffee cup next to you—iced, mostly melted—and your bag was slung over the back of your chair.
You looked... focused.
Completely absorbed in whatever you were doing.
Bakugou felt something tighten in his chest.
He'd come here with a plan. Sort of. Walk past your table. Make eye contact. Maybe nod. Acknowledge your existence in a way that was casual but deliberate.
Nothing major.
Just... a reminder that he existed.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and started walking.
His footsteps were deliberate but not loud. Confident. He passed the first row of tables, then the second. A few students glanced up as he walked by—recognition flickering in their eyes, the usual double-takes—but he ignored them.
His focus was on you.
He was three feet from your table when he slowed his pace slightly. Not obvious. Just enough that if you looked up, you'd see him.
You didn't look up.
He walked past.
Slowly.
You didn't move.
He stopped a few feet beyond your table, pretending to scan the shelves like he was looking for a book. Gave it a solid ten seconds. Glanced back over his shoulder.
You were still writing. Still completely absorbed.
His jaw tightened.
Fine.
He grabbed a random book off the shelf—didn't even look at the title—and walked back the way he came. Past your table again. Closer this time.
You didn't look up.
Didn't even twitch.
It was like he was invisible.
No—worse.
It was like he didn't even register as something worth noticing.
Bakugou made it to the stairwell before he realized he was gripping the book hard enough to leave dents in the cover.
He looked down at it.
Advanced Theories in Botanical Quirk Applications.
He didn't even take biology.
He shoved the book onto a return cart and left the library, his mood significantly worse than when he'd entered.
Day Two: The Training Gym
Wednesday evening, 6:23 PM.
The off-hours gym was one of UA's best-kept secrets. Most students used the main training facilities during scheduled times, but if you knew where to look, there were smaller gyms scattered around campus that were open 24/7 for students who wanted extra practice.
Bakugou used them often. Late at night, usually, when he didn't want to deal with people or distractions.
But tonight, he was here for a different reason.
Because according to Sero—who'd mentioned it casually during lunch, probably not realizing Bakugou was listening—you trained here.
"She's always in Gym C after her last class," Sero had said, scrolling through his phone. "I've seen her a few times when I'm heading to the main building. Girl's dedicated. Always solo."
Bakugou had filed that information away.
And now, at 6:23 PM on a Wednesday, he was pushing open the doors to Gym C.
The space was smaller than the main facilities but well-equipped. Padded floors, reinforced walls designed to handle quirk usage, training dummies scattered around the perimeter. The lighting was harsh, industrial, and the air smelled like sweat and rubber.
And there you were.
Center of the room.
Running drills.
He stopped in the doorway, watching.
You were using your quirk—forcefield generation, he remembered—and the way you moved was... efficient. Precise. No wasted motion.
You generated a barrier in front of you, then propelled it forward like a battering ram. It slammed into a training dummy with enough force that the dummy rocked back on its base. Then you pulled the barrier back, reshaped it into a dome around yourself, and held it for a count of ten before letting it dissolve.
Offense. Defense. Control.
Over and over.
You weren't showing off. Weren't trying to be flashy. You were just... drilling. Repetition. Muscle memory.
It was the kind of training that separated good heroes from great ones.
And you were doing it alone.
Bakugou felt a flicker of something that might've been respect.
He stepped fully into the gym, letting the door close behind him with a soft thunk.
You didn't stop.
Didn't even glance over.
Just kept drilling.
Bakugou crossed to the other side of the gym, dropped his bag, and started his own warm-up. Stretches. Footwork. Small controlled explosions to get his quirk firing properly.
He kept you in his peripheral vision.
You were still going. Barrier up. Propel. Retract. Dome. Dissolve. Repeat.
Your breathing was controlled. Steady. You weren't even breaking a sweat yet.
Bakugou moved into his own drills. Explosions at varying intensities. Mobility exercises. Combinations that required split-second timing.
Ten minutes passed.
You were still drilling.
He was aware of you in a way that was becoming irritatingly familiar. The sound of your barriers forming—a low hum, almost musical. The controlled exhale every time you propelled one forward. The way you adjusted your stance slightly between repetitions, correcting for balance.
You were good.
Really good.
And you were completely ignoring him.
Not in the way someone ignores a person they're aware of but choosing not to engage with.
In the way someone ignores background noise.
Twenty minutes.
Bakugou was halfway through a set of explosive push-ups when he heard you stop.
He glanced over.
You were packing up.
Grabbing your water bottle. Slinging your bag over your shoulder. Pulling your hair back into a tighter ponytail.
You walked toward the door.
You were going to walk right past him.
Bakugou straightened, wiping sweat from his forehead.
You were three feet away.
Two feet.
He opened his mouth—wasn't even sure what he was going to say, just something—
You walked past him without a single glance.
Didn't slow down. Didn't acknowledge him. Just walked straight to the door, pushed it open, and left.
The door swung shut behind you.
Bakugou stood there, hands still raised from his last rep, staring at the closed door.
His hands clenched into fists.
The small explosions that sparked from his palms were entirely involuntary.
Day Three: The Coffee Shop
Thursday morning, 8:15 AM.
The campus coffee shop was always packed before nine. Students cramming in caffeine before their first classes, forming lines that stretched to the door.
Bakugou usually avoided it. Too crowded. Too loud. Too many people trying to talk to him when all he wanted was his coffee.
But today, he was here.
Because you were here.
He'd seen you walk in five minutes ago—spotted you from across the quad as he was heading to his own class. You'd been wearing the same oversized hoodie from the gym, headphones around your neck, that permanent look of mild irritation on your face.
He'd changed direction without thinking about it.
Now he was standing in line, three people behind you, watching the back of your head like it held the answers to questions he hadn't figured out how to ask yet.
You were looking at your phone. Scrolling through something with the kind of casual disinterest that suggested you weren't actually reading, just keeping your hands busy.
The line moved forward.
Two people between you now.
Bakugou shifted his weight, trying to figure out what the hell his plan was here.
Talk to you? Say what?
Hey, remember me? The guy you verbally destroyed four days ago? Want to grab coffee?
Yeah, that would go over great.
One person between you now.
You still hadn't looked up from your phone.
The person in front of you ordered and moved aside. You stepped up to the counter.
"Iced americano," you said to the barista. Your voice was flat, efficient. "Large. No sugar."
Of course you took your coffee black.
The barista rang you up. You paid with your phone, grabbed your receipt, and moved to the pickup area.
Bakugou stepped up to the counter.
"What can I get you?" the barista asked, clearly exhausted already.
"Black coffee. Medium."
He paid, grabbed his receipt, and moved to the pickup area.
Right next to you.
You were still on your phone. Some kind of news article, he could see from the angle. Something about hero rankings.
He could say something.
Should say something.
This was an opening. Casual. Low-pressure.
He opened his mouth.
"Iced americano!" the barista called.
You pocketed your phone, grabbed your drink, and walked out.
Without looking at him once.
Bakugou stood there, receipt crumpled in his fist, watching you disappear through the door.
"Black coffee, medium!"
He grabbed his drink and left.
Day Four: The Cafeteria
Friday lunch, 12:34 PM.
Bakugou wasn't in the cafeteria.
He was walking past the cafeteria, on his way to meet Kirishima at the training grounds, when he saw you through the windows.
You were at one of the outdoor tables. Alone, as always. Eating something that looked like it came from the convenience store—probably a rice ball or a sandwich. Your laptop was open in front of you, and you were typing with one hand while eating with the other.
Efficient.
He stopped walking.
Stood there like an idiot, staring through the window at you.
You looked... the same. Tired, maybe. There were shadows under your eyes that suggested you hadn't been sleeping well. But your expression was neutral. Focused.
Completely unaware that he was watching.
His phone buzzed.
Kirishima: where are you?? we're gonna be late
Bakugou looked at the message, then back at you.
You'd stopped typing. Were just staring at your screen now, your sandwich halfway to your mouth.
Something about your expression shifted. Just for a second.
You looked... sad.
Not upset. Not angry.
Just... worn down.
And then it was gone. You blinked, took a bite of your sandwich, and went back to typing.
Bakugou's chest tightened.
Bakugou: be there in 5
He turned and walked away.
But he couldn't stop thinking about that look.
Day Five: The Libray (Again)
Saturday morning, 10:02 AM.
Bakugou was in the library again.
Not because he had work to do. He'd finished his paper two days ago.
He was here because you were here.
Same table. Same corner. Same headphones.
He'd walked past you three times in the last hour.
You hadn't looked up once.
Not once.
He was standing in the stacks now, pretending to browse, but really just watching you from between the shelves.
This was pathetic.
He knew it was pathetic.
But he couldn't seem to stop himself.
Because the thing that was driving him insane wasn't that you were ignoring him.
It was that you genuinely didn't seem to know he existed.
He was used to reactions. That was the foundation of his entire presence. People reacted to him. Always.
You weren't playing hard to get. Weren't trying to make a point.
You just... didn't care.
And that was so much worse than anything you'd said at the party.
Because at the party, you'd at least seen him.
You'd looked him in the eye and told him exactly what you thought of him.
Now?
Now he was just part of the scenery.
Forgettable.
Invisible.
His hands clenched.
A small explosion sparked between his fingers—barely controlled, the heat singing the spine of the book he was holding.
He needed to stop.
Needed to let this go.
This was insane. Pathetic. He had better things to do than stalk some girl who clearly wanted nothing to do with him.
He should walk away.
Right now.
Just leave. Forget about you. Move on with his life.
But even as he thought it, he knew he wouldn't.
Because you'd gotten under his skin in a way no one ever had.
And he needed to know why.
Needed to understand what made you so determined to be alone.
Needed to crack open that armor and see if there was anything underneath.
Or if you were just as empty as you seemed.
He left the library before he could do something stupid.
Like actually talk to you.
By the time Sunday rolled around, Bakugou was in a worse mood than he'd been all week.
Five days.
Five days of "accidentally" being where you were.
Five days of you not noticing him.
Five days of slowly losing his mind.
And the worst part?
He still didn't have a plan.
Didn't know what to say. Didn't know how to approach you. Didn't know what the hell he was even trying to accomplish.
All he knew was that he couldn't let this go.
Which is how he ended up back in the Class A common room on Sunday afternoon, doing homework he'd already finished, waiting for Kirishima and Kaminari to show up for their usual gaming session.
Because if he spent one more second alone with his thoughts, he was going to lose it.
The door opened.
Kaminari walked in first, controller already in hand. "Yo! Ready to get absolutely destroyed in—"
He stopped.
Stared at Bakugou.
"Dude. You look like shit."
"Thanks," Bakugou said flatly.
Kirishima came in behind him, took one look at Bakugou, and winced. "Rough week?"
"Fine."
"You sure? Because you've got that look."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm about to murder someone' look."
"That's just my face."
"No, this is different. This is—" Kirishima stopped, realization dawning. "Oh. Oh no."
"What?"
"You've been thinking about her, haven't you?"
Bakugou's silence was answer enough.
Kaminari's eyes lit up. "Wait. The girl from the party? You're still on that?"
"I'm not—"
"Holy shit, you are! Dude, it's been like a week!"
"Five days," Bakugou corrected, then immediately regretted it.
Kaminari's grin was absolutely insufferable. "Oh my god. You've been counting."
"Fuck off."
"You're obsessed!"
"I'm not obsessed."
"You literally just told me exactly how many days it's been."
Bakugou didn't have a response to that.
Because Kaminari was right.
And that was the most infuriating part of all.
Kaminari was still grinning like he'd just won the lottery.
"This is amazing," he said, dropping onto the couch next to Bakugou with zero regard for personal space. "Bakugou Katsuki, brought low by a girl who won't even look at him. It's poetic. It's beautiful. It's—"
"It's nothing," Bakugou cut in, his voice flat. "Drop it."
"Oh, I'm not dropping this. This is the best thing that's happened all semester."
Kirishima settled into the armchair across from them, looking significantly less amused. "Denki, maybe we should—"
"No, no, hear me out." Kaminari turned to face Bakugou fully, his expression shifting from teasing to something that looked almost sincere. Almost. "You've been miserable all week. Like, more miserable than usual. And it's all because some girl told you the truth and then had the audacity to not care about your existence."
"I'm not miserable."
"You threw a training dummy through a wall on Wednesday."
"That was unrelated."
"You've been eating lunch alone."
"I like being alone."
"You literally never eat alone. You're always with us." Kaminari gestured between himself and Kirishima. "But this week? You've been avoiding everyone. Holing up in the library, showing up to the gym at weird hours—"
Bakugou's jaw tightened. "How do you—"
"Sero saw you at Gym C. Three times. And you never use Gym C."
Fuck.
Kirishima was watching him now, his expression shifting from concerned to understanding. "You've been trying to run into her."
It wasn't a question.
Bakugou didn't answer.
"Dude," Kirishima said, and there was something like pity in his voice that made Bakugou want to explode something. "That's... that's not healthy."
"I'm not—" Bakugou stopped, because what the hell was he supposed to say? That he hadn't been essentially stalking you for the past five days? That he hadn't memorized your schedule and engineered "coincidental" meetings that you didn't even notice?
He couldn't say that.
Because it would be a lie.
And Kirishima would know.
"I just wanted to talk to her," Bakugou said finally, the words coming out rougher than he intended. "Clear the air. Make sure she didn't think—"
"That you're an asshole?" Kaminari supplied helpfully.
"—that I'm just some loud jackass who goes around insulting people for fun."
"But you do insult people for fun."
"That's different."
"How?"
Bakugou didn't have an answer for that either.
The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy.
Kaminari was still watching him with that insufferable grin, like he could see straight through every defense Bakugou had built up over the years. Kirishima looked worried, which was somehow worse.
Bakugou grabbed his textbook—the one he'd already finished reading—and flipped it open to a random page, pretending to be absorbed in whatever was written there.
He wasn't reading.
Couldn't focus.
Because Kaminari was right.
He had been miserable all week.
And it was entirely because of you.
Because you'd looked at him like he was nothing.
And then you'd proceeded to treat him like nothing.
And he couldn't fucking handle it.
"You know what I think?" Kaminari said, breaking the silence.
"No, and I don't care."
"I think you should just ask her out."
Bakugou's head snapped up. "What?"
"I'm serious!" Kaminari was fully grinning now, leaning back into the couch like he'd just solved world hunger. "Just go up to her and ask her out. Worst she can say is no, right?"
"She'll definitely say no," Kirishima muttered.
"Exactly! So then Bakugou can move on with his life and stop moping around like some heartbroken protagonist in a romance anime."
"I'm not moping."
"You're absolutely moping."
"And I'm not asking her out." Bakugou slammed his textbook shut, the sound echoing through the common room. "Because I don't want to date her. I just want to—"
"To what?" Kaminari asked, eyebrows raised. "Talk to her? You've had five days to do that. Get her to notice you? Clearly not working. Prove you're not an asshole? Hate to break it to you, man, but that ship has sailed."
Bakugou's hands clenched into fists.
Small sparks crackled between his fingers.
Kaminari, to his credit, didn't even flinch.
"I'm just saying," Kaminari continued, "you're going about this all wrong. You can't just lurk around campus hoping she'll magically start caring about you. That's not how people work."
"I wasn't lurking—"
"You were absolutely lurking."
"What would you suggest, then?" Bakugou bit out. "Since you're apparently an expert on this shit."
Kaminari's grin widened. "I'd suggest you accept a challenge."
Bakugou narrowed his eyes. "What kind of challenge?"
"A bet."
"Absolutely not."
"Hear me out—"
"No."
"Bakugou—"
"I said no."
But Kaminari was already sitting up straighter, his eyes bright with the kind of chaotic energy that usually preceded terrible decisions. "I bet you can't even get her to go on one date with you."
The words hung in the air.
Kirishima's eyes went wide. "Denki—"
"One date," Kaminari repeated, his voice louder now, more confident. "Hell, I bet you couldn't get her to like you even if you tried."
Something in Bakugou's chest tightened.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice low. Dangerous.
"Don't I?" Kaminari leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Dude, she looked you in the eye and told you you're exhausting. She's spent the last week treating you like furniture. You really think you could get someone like that to actually like you?"
"Denki, stop," Kirishima said, his voice sharp now. Warning.
But it was too late.
Because Kaminari had found the one thing guaranteed to hook Bakugou's ego.
A challenge.
"The hell I can't," Bakugou heard himself say.
Kaminari's grin was victorious. "Prove it."
"Guys, this is a bad idea—" Kirishima started.
"I'm serious," Kaminari interrupted, turning to Kirishima. "You saw her at the party. You've heard what people say about her. She doesn't let anyone in. She doesn't trust people. She doesn't want to be liked. And Bakugou here thinks he can just waltz up and change her mind?"
"I didn't say that—"
"So prove me wrong." Kaminari turned back to Bakugou, and there was something almost challenging in his expression now. Like he was daring Bakugou to back down. "Make her like you. Actually like you. Not tolerate you, not be polite to you—genuinely like you."
Bakugou's jaw clenched.
He should say no.
Should tell Kaminari to fuck off and mind his own business.
Should recognize this for what it was: a stupid bet that would only make everything worse.
But his pride wouldn't let him.
Because the suggestion that he couldn't do something—that there was someone out there who was immune to his efforts, who would reject him no matter what he did—
That was unacceptable.
"Fine," Bakugou said.
Kirishima's head dropped into his hands. "Oh no."
"Fine?" Kaminari repeated, like he couldn't quite believe Bakugou had taken the bait.
"You want a bet? Let's make it a real one." Bakugou leaned forward, his eyes locked on Kaminari's. "End of the semester. Eight weeks. I'll make her like me."
"Define 'like,'" Kirishima said weakly, like he was already trying to damage control.
"Genuinely," Bakugou said. "Not just tolerating my presence. Actually choosing to spend time with me. Wanting to."
Kaminari's grin was splitting his face now. "And if you lose?"
Bakugou's jaw worked. "What do you want?"
"I want you to admit, out loud, in front of everyone—" Kaminari gestured vaguely to the common room, to the doors, to the entire campus beyond, "—that you're not irresistible. That there are people in this world who don't want anything to do with you. That your personality is, in fact, kind of exhausting."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because they were true.
Or at least, they might be.
And the thought of having to admit that—publicly, in front of everyone—
His pride recoiled.
"And if I win?" Bakugou asked.
Kaminari shrugged. "Whatever you want. I'll do your homework for a month. I'll be your personal servant. Hell, I'll dye my hair whatever color you want. Doesn't matter. Because you're not gonna win."
"Guys, seriously—" Kirishima tried again.
"Deal," Bakugou said.
The word came out before he could stop it.
Before he could think.
Before he could recognize what a monumental mistake he was making.
Kaminari stuck out his hand, still grinning like an idiot. "Deal."
Bakugou shook it.
And just like that, it was done.
Kirishima groaned, running both hands through his hair. "You're both idiots."
"He started it," Bakugou muttered.
"And you took the bait like a fucking fish." Kirishima looked at Bakugou, and his expression was somewhere between exasperated and genuinely concerned. "Dude. She's not a challenge to be won. She's a person. A person who made it very clear she doesn't want anything to do with you."
"Then I'll change her mind."
"That's not how people work!"
"It's how everything works." Bakugou stood, grabbing his bag. "You put in the effort, you get the results. Simple."
"She's not a training exercise—"
"I know that."
"Do you?" Kirishima stood too, his voice sharper than usual. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're treating this like some kind of conquest. Like she's a problem you can solve if you just try hard enough."
Bakugou stopped.
Turned to look at his friend.
Kirishima was serious now. The easy-going, supportive energy that usually defined him was gone, replaced by something harder. More honest.
"I'm not trying to conquer her," Bakugou said slowly. "I'm trying to prove—"
"What? That you're not an asshole? That you can make anyone like you if you want to?" Kirishima shook his head. "That's not what this is about. And you know it."
"Then what is it about?"
Kirishima was quiet for a moment.
Then: "You tell me."
Bakugou didn't have an answer.
Because he didn't know.
Didn't know why you'd gotten under his skin the way you had.
Didn't know why he couldn't just let this go.
Didn't know why the thought of you continuing to ignore him for the rest of the semester made something in his chest twist uncomfortably.
All he knew was that he'd taken the bet.
And he didn't back down from bets.
"Eight weeks," Kaminari said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "That's all you've got. Better start planning your approach, Romeo."
"Shut up."
"I'm serious! You're gonna need a strategy. Flowers? Love letters? Grand gestures?"
"I said shut up."
"Oh! What if you—"
"Denki, I swear to god—"
Kaminari laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll stop. But seriously, dude. Good luck. You're gonna need it."
Bakugou didn't respond.
Just grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
"Where are you going?" Kirishima called after him.
"Out."
"Bakugou—"
But he was already gone.
The door swung shut behind him, leaving Kirishima and Kaminari alone in the common room.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Kirishima sighed. "This is going to end badly."
"Probably," Kaminari agreed, sounding far too cheerful about it.
"He's going to get hurt."
"Maybe."
"And you're okay with that?"
Kaminari was quiet for a moment, his usual grin fading into something more thoughtful. "Honestly? I think he needs this."
Kirishima turned to stare at him. "Needs to get rejected?"
"Needs to try for something he can't just force his way through." Kaminari leaned back into the couch, looking up at the ceiling. "Bakugou's used to winning. At everything. Training, grades, competitions—he just bulldozes through obstacles until they're not obstacles anymore. But people don't work like that."
"So you're using some poor girl as a life lesson?"
"I'm giving Bakugou a reality check." Kaminari's expression was surprisingly serious now. "And who knows? Maybe he'll actually learn something. Maybe he'll figure out that being the best at everything doesn't mean people owe you their time or attention."
"Or maybe he'll just get his heart broken and become even more unbearable."
"That's also a possibility."
Kirishima shook his head. "You're terrible."
"I'm realistic." Kaminari picked up his controller, already moving on to the next thing. "Besides, it's not like I forced him to take the bet. He did that all on his own."
"Because you goaded him into it."
"Because his ego wouldn't let him walk away." Kaminari looked at Kirishima, and his expression was oddly knowing. "This was always going to happen. I just sped up the timeline."
Kirishima wanted to argue.
Wanted to say that this was cruel, that Bakugou didn't deserve to be manipulated like this, that the girl—you—definitely didn't deserve to be the unwitting prize in some stupid bet.
But he couldn't.
Because Kaminari was right.
Bakugou had been spiraling since the party.
And if this bet gave him a framework, a goal, something concrete to work toward—
Maybe it would help.
Or maybe it would blow up in all their faces.
Either way, it was too late to stop it now.
Outside, walking across campus with no particular destination in mind, Bakugou replayed the conversation in his head.
I bet you can't even get her to go on one date with you.
The hell I can't.
He'd taken the bet.
Actually taken it.
Like an idiot.
His phone buzzed.
Kaminari: 8 weeks starts now btw. clock's ticking ⏰
Kaminari: i'm gonna enjoy watching this crash and burn
Bakugou shoved his phone back in his pocket without responding.
One stubborn, guarded, infuriatingly indifferent person who'd made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with him.
How hard could it be?
He thought about your face at the party. The calm in your voice. The way you'd looked at him like he was just noise.
"Keep performing. They'll laugh as long as you're useful."
His hands clenched.
Yeah.
This was going to be a disaster.
But he'd never backed down from a challenge in his life.
And he wasn't about to start now.
Even if the challenge was getting someone to like him.
Someone who'd already decided he wasn't worth the effort.
Someone who, for the first time in his life, made him feel like he had something to prove.
Not to Kaminari.
Not to his friends.
To you.
And maybe—though he'd never admit it out loud—to himself.
He pulled out his phone and opened your student profile again.
Stared at your photo.
Those eyes. That neutral expression.
Eight weeks.
He could do this.
He had to do this.
Because the alternative—admitting defeat, admitting that there was someone out there who genuinely didn't want anything to do with him—
That was unacceptable.
Bakugou Katsuki didn't lose.
Not at training.
Not at tests.
And sure as hell not at this.
He just needed a plan.
A real one.
Not more stalking. Not more "accidental" meetings.
Something that would actually get your attention.
Something that would make you see him.
Really see him.
Not the performance.
Not the noise.
Him.
He stared at your photo for another long moment.
Then he closed the app and pocketed his phone.
Eight weeks.
Starting now.
Let's see who breaks first.
A/N: And there it is. The Bet. The trope to end all tropes. 🚩
I really wanted to emphasize that Bakugo isn't taking this bet because he wants to hurt you, but because his ego literally cannot handle the concept of someone being indifferent to him. He thinks this is a game he can win. Also, Kaminari is absolutely the chaotic villain of this story for suggesting this, but we thank him for his service because the angst when you find out is going to be DELICIOUS.
Next chapter, Bakugo actually has to talk to you now. Pray for him.
