Hancock woke up in Recovery Girl's office.

  The small woman was humming to herself while checking a monitor beside the bed. When she noticed Hancock's eyes opening, she smiled.

  "Ah, you're awake. Good, good. Your friend woke up about ten minutes ago."

  "Friend?" Hancock's voice came out hoarse.

  "The loud blonde boy. Bakugo." Recovery Girl handed her a cup of water. "He tried to leave immediately, of course. I had to threaten him with expulsion to keep him in bed."

  Hancock drank the water slowly, her body aching in places she didn't know could ache. "What happened? After we... after the match?"

  "You both collapsed from exhaustion. I had to use my Quirk on both of you, which means you're both going to be very tired for the next day or so." Recovery Girl fixed her with a stern look. "That was incredibly reckless, you know. Pushing yourselves to complete exhaustion like that."

  "We couldn't determine a winner."

  "Hmph. So I heard." But there was something approving in Recovery Girl's expression. "Well, the officials decided to advance Todoroki to the finals automatically, since you both were unable to continue. The other semifinal match—Iida versus Tokoyami—is happening now."

  Hancock sat up slowly, wincing. "I need to—"

  "You need to rest. Doctor's orders." Recovery Girl pushed her back down gently but firmly. "The tournament will go on without you for now. Besides, I think there's someone who wants to talk to you first."

  She gestured to the curtain separating the room. Behind it, Hancock could hear movement.

  "I'll give you two some privacy. But don't you dare try to leave this room, young lady. Am I clear?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Recovery Girl left, and a moment later, the curtain was pulled aside.

  Bakugo stood there, looking as rough as Hancock felt. His hair was messier than usual, his shirt torn in places from the explosions, bandages visible on his arms. But his eyes were as intense as ever.

  "You look like hell," he said.

  "You look worse."

  He snorted, dragging a chair over and sitting down heavily beside her bed. For a moment, they just looked at each other.

  "That was insane," Bakugo finally said. "What we did out there."

  "Yes."

  "Everyone's talking about it. Apparently, we gave them the 'match of the century' or some shit." He leaned back in the chair. "Deku won his match against Todoroki—half-and-half held back at the end, didn't use his fire. Tokoyami's winning against Iida right now."

  "So Midoriya will face Todoroki in the finals."

  "Yeah." Bakugo's jaw tightened. "I should be in those finals. You should be too."

  "We made our choice."

  "I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it." He was quiet for a moment. "But... I don't regret it either. That match. Fighting you like that. It was..."

  He trailed off, seeming to struggle for words. Bakugo Katsuki, always so certain and loud, suddenly uncertain.

  "It was perfect," Hancock finished softly.

  His eyes snapped to hers. "Yeah. It was."

  The silence that fell between them was heavy with unspoken things.

  "That emotion thing you did at the end," Bakugo said eventually. "When you touched my chest. That wasn't just random feelings you were pushing into me, was it?"

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Hancock's breath caught. "No."

  "What was it?"

  She could lie. Deflect. Retreat behind her walls like she'd done her entire life.

  But after everything they'd just been through, after she'd literally poured her emotions into him through her Quirk, what was the point?

  "Everything I feel when I'm around you," she said quietly. "Everything I've been trying not to feel. The respect. The admiration. The... the wanting to be near you. To keep fighting you, training with you. The fear of it. All of it."

  Bakugo was very still.

  "And the explosion you hit me with right after," Hancock continued, her heart pounding. "That wasn't just a regular blast either. You held back. You could have knocked me out of bounds completely, but you didn't."

  "No, I didn't."

  "Why?"

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his red eyes boring into hers. "Because that emotion dump you gave me? I felt the same damn things, Empress. Every single one of them."

  The air between them felt charged, electric.

  "I don't do this," Bakugo said, gesturing vaguely between them. "I don't... I've never wanted anyone close. Never needed anyone. I'm gonna be the number one hero, and I'm gonna do it alone, because I'm the best."

  "But?"

  "But." He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "But you make me better. Stronger. You push me in ways no one else does. And when we fight together, when we train together, it feels..." He struggled for the word. "Right. It feels right."

  Hancock felt tears pricking at her eyes and blinked them back furiously. She didn't cry. She never cried.

  "I don't know how to do this either," she admitted. "I've been alone since I was six. I don't know how to let people in. How to trust. How to..."

  "How to not be afraid?"

  "Yes."

  Bakugo reached out slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted. When she didn't, his hand closed around hers where it rested on the bed.

  "Then we figure it out together. Both of us. Because I'm not giving this up." His grip tightened slightly. "Whatever the hell 'this' is, I'm not walking away from it. From you."

  The tears escaped despite her best efforts. Just a few, sliding down her cheeks.

  Bakugo's eyes widened. "Shit, are you—are you crying? I didn't mean to—"

  "I'm not upset," Hancock said quickly, wiping at her face with her free hand. "I just... no one's ever said that to me before. That they wouldn't walk away."

  Something softened in Bakugo's expression. He stood up and, without letting go of her hand, sat on the edge of her bed instead of the chair.

  "Your dad was an idiot for leaving. Your Quirk isn't strange or scary—it's powerful. You're powerful." He used his free hand to tilt her chin up, making her meet his eyes. "And I don't care how long it takes for you to believe that, I'm gonna keep saying it until you do."

  Hancock couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Could only stare at this boy who'd somehow become the most important person in her world.

  "Bakugo, I—"

  "Katsuki."

  She blinked. "What?"

  "Call me Katsuki. At least when we're alone." His ears were slightly red. "If we're doing this whole... whatever this is... seems weird for you to keep calling me by my last name."

  "Katsuki," Hancock tested the name. It felt intimate, personal. It felt right.

  "And I'm calling you Boa. Not Empress, not Hancock. Your actual name."

  No one had called her by her first name in years. Not since her father left.

  "Boa," she repeated softly. "Alright."

  They sat there, hands linked, processing this shift in their relationship. Whatever they were becoming, it was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.

  "So," Katsuki said after a moment. "What now?"

  "Now we heal. Then we watch the finals. Then..." Boa paused. "Then we keep training. Keep getting stronger. Together."

  "Together," Katsuki agreed. Then he smirked. "But I'm still gonna beat you next time we fight."

  "You can try."

  "OH, I'LL DO MORE THAN TRY!"

  "Shh!" Boa glanced toward the door where Recovery Girl had left. "You'll get us both in trouble."

  "Don't care." But he lowered his voice. "You really okay? That last explosion didn't hurt you too bad?"

  "I'm sore. Exhausted. But I'll be fine." She squeezed his hand. "You?"

  "Same. Worth it though." His expression turned serious. "That match, fighting you like that—it was the best fight I've ever had. Because you didn't hold back. You gave me everything."

  "You demanded nothing less."

  "Damn right I did." He grinned. "And you delivered. You were amazing out there, Boa."

  Hearing her name in his voice, said with such genuine admiration, made her chest feel warm.

  "As were you, Katsuki."

  A knock on the door interrupted them. They both quickly pulled their hands apart as Recovery Girl entered.

  "How are my problem children doing?" She looked between them suspiciously. "You're both supposed to be resting, not having animated conversations."

  "We're just talking," Katsuki protested.

  "Mmhmm." Recovery Girl didn't look convinced. "Well, the second semifinal just finished. Tokoyami won. So the finals will be Midoriya versus Todoroki. You're both welcome to watch from the stands if you feel up to it."

  "Hell yeah, I'm watching," Katsuki said, standing up. "Gotta see which one of them I'll need to beat next year."

  "Assuming you make it to the finals next year," Boa said mildly.

  "WHAT WAS THAT?!"

  "I said, assuming you make it—"

  "I HEARD WHAT YOU SAID!"

  Recovery Girl sighed. "And you're sure you two aren't related? You bicker like siblings."

  "WE'RE NOT SIBLINGS!" they both shouted simultaneously, then glared at each other for the synchronized response.

  Recovery Girl just shook her head. "Come on then. Let's get you both to the stands. But if either of you shows signs of overexertion, you're coming straight back here. Understood?"

  "Yes, ma'am," they chorused.

  As they walked toward the door—Katsuki insisting he didn't need help while clearly limping, Boa trying to hide her own exhaustion—Recovery Girl muttered something about "stubborn teenagers" and "too much alike for their own good."

  Boa caught Katsuki's eye. He smirked. She almost smiled.

  And for the first time in nine years, Boa Hancock didn't feel alone.