Just hearing the way they crowded her had Bakugo seething. She wasn't the only one who got scouted by a top five hero. He had too. But he wasn't sitting there letting the whole damn class fawn over him like Robinn.

  He shoved his chair back and gathered his things, sharp and deliberate, side-eyeing the little knot of people around her desk. And then her gaze lifted, catching his. That smile again. Calm and composed. The same one she wore when she beat him. Like she knew exactly how much it would dig under his skin.

  He tore his eyes away and stormed out of the room, irritation bleeding into every step.

  By the time he hit the gates, his chest still felt tight. He didn't look back. Just kept walking, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders hunched.

  "That stupid redhead," he muttered.

  The truth chewed at him harder than he wanted to admit. He respected her. Even after she humiliated him. Even after she made him break his word in front of half the damn country. He promised he'd win. She proved him wrong.

  His scowl deepened. A crushed bottle rolled across his path and he lashed out, booting it down the street. It tumbled and spun until it clattered against the curb. His eyes followed it, annoyed, before he walked over, scooped it up, and tossed it in the nearest trash can.

  He trudged the rest of the way home, sulking like the delinquent he looked.

  He kicked the front door open harder than necessary, slipped his shoes off with a shove, and went straight upstairs. Bag under the desk, jacket stuffed into the closet. The whole routine done with sharp, impatient movements, like even his own room had managed to piss him off.

  The chair spun halfway around from the force of him dropping into it, his heel clipping his bag and knocking it over. A single page slid loose, skidding across the floor until it stopped by his foot.

  He bent down and snatched it up. It was the scouting list. His anger flickered, briefly cooling, as he raised it into the light. He stared at the names, but his eyes weren't really reading. His mind was somewhere else.

  He wanted an undisputed victory. Instead, he didn't even win.

  For the first time in a long while, doubt gnawed at him. Before the festival, he was doubtful thought he could topple Todoroki. But Robinn? She hadn't even been on his radar. Just some nobody in his class. He'd underestimated her the same way he underestimated Deku.

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  "Stupid Deku," he muttered under his breath.

  The door slammed open.

  "KATSUKI!"

  His mother's silhouette filled the frame, her figure outlined by the hallway light. She slapped the light switch with the flat of her hand, flooding the room in harsh brightness. His eyes narrowed, irritation boiling back up.

  "It's dinner time, get your ass to the table!"

  He glared at her, jaw tight. "...In a minute."

  Mitsuki tilted her head, stepping closer, her sharp tone softening only slightly. "You're still sulking because you lost? Get over it. You were weak."

  He spun his chair away from her, back turned, offering no reply.

  "But it's okay to be weak," she added, her voice steady. "You can still train and do better. You're the most motivated kid I know, so stop being pathetic."

  She leaned down, resting her chin lightly on his head before pulling him into a quick hug from behind.

  "GET OFF ME!" Bakugo snapped, jerking free and spinning back around to face her. His glare cut hard enough to sting.

  Mitsuki only laughed, turning toward the door with a small smirk. "There's my boy."

  "Come on, your father's waiting at the table."

  He followed her out quietly, the scouting list crumpled in his fist. He shoved it into his pocket and trailed down to the table.

  Sitting, he picked up his chopsticks without a word. Steam rose from the bowl, but he barely noticed. He slurped down noodles, keeping his eyes on the broth, ignoring the conversation around him.

  Across the table, Mitsuki shot Masaru a look, nudging him with her elbow.

  Masaru fumbled, scratching his cheek before speaking. "So, Katsuki… how was school today?"

  Bakugo looked up at him mid-slurp, swallowed, then answered flatly. "Like normal. But they gave us a list of pro heroes who scouted us."

  Mitsuki lit up immediately. "For the internships?"

  He raised an eyebrow, sharp and suspicious. "How do you know about those?"

  She gave him a mocking look, like the question was stupid. "You really think they’d let you go on those without our permission? They sent us a letter."

  He scoffed, dropping his gaze back to the ramen, chopsticks clacking against the bowl.

  "So who scouted you? Do you know who you’re gonna intern with?" she pressed.

  He ignored her at first. But Mitsuki wasn’t the type to let things go. After another round of prodding, he finally yanked the list out of his pocket, uncrumpled it with a sharp flick, and shoved it across the table.

  Masaru’s eyes widened. "Jeanist?!" The word burst out louder than usual, his voice carrying more energy than Bakugo ever heard from him.

  Mitsuki giggled, eyes narrowing with mischief as she jabbed her son. "Maybe you’ll finally learn how to dress nicely if you go with him."

  Bakugo scowled, heat flashing across his face. Both his parents had tried for years to turn him into some fashion showpiece. Life was hell with two designers in the house.

  "I don’t wanna be with some denim-loving freak."

  That earned him a sharp glare from Mitsuki, one that froze him mid-slurp "Don’t disrespect Best Jeanist. He may have a strange fashion sense, but he’s the number four hero for a reason."

  Masaru leaned forward, nodding. "Katsuki, I think this is a really great opportunity. You should take it."

  Bakugo hated that he agreed. His jaw tightened, but he forced the word out between his teeth. "…Fine."

  He stabbed another mouthful of noodles and slurped them down hard, finishing the rest of the bowl with angry determination.