Bakugo's POV:

"I need your help."

Those words hung in the air like a damn punch to the gut. Green eyes stared back at me, wide, desperate, and... familiar. Too familiar.

I froze. For a second, I couldn't breathe. Something about the way the light hit his face—the freckles, the wild mess of green hair—it all came crashing back like a tidal wave. My chest tightened as memories I'd locked away for years flooded my brain, uninvited and unwanted.

Suddenly, I was back there—back when I was a kid. Back when everything went to hell.

Years ago...

The playground was chaos. Kids were running around, showing off their quirks like it was some kind of game. Show-offs.

I sat on the swing, arms crossed, scowling at everyone like I had better things to do. And honestly? I did. These idiots think their quirks make them special, huh? My palms crackled with tiny explosions as I clenched my fists. They haven't seen real power.

That's when it happened.

A group of older kids had been picking on this kid—this stupid, scrawny, quirkless kid with messy green hair and too many damn freckles. I ignored it at first. Not my problem.

Until it was.

One of them blasted a fireball, laughing as the kid screamed and fell backward, scrambling to get up. It was a low-level quirk, nothing dangerous. But I could see it in the kid's eyes—he was terrified.

That's when something in me snapped. Before I knew it, I was off the swing, fists clenched, ready to blow those punks to pieces. No one messed with me, no one messed with anyone around me.

But I didn't get the chance.

Before I could make it over, the quirkless kid—the freaking quirkless kid—was already moving. He stood up, wobbly, but with this stupid look of determination on his face. And then, before I could blink, he ran straight toward the fireball kid, dodging another blast and tackling him to the ground.

I remember standing there, dumbfounded, watching as this tiny, quirkless shrimp of a kid took on someone bigger, stronger, and actually dangerous. And somehow, he won.

The older kids didn't stick around. They ran off, probably embarrassed as hell that they got taken down by some nobody. But I couldn't care less about them.

I was staring at the quirkless kid. He was bleeding, his clothes were torn, and his legs were shaking like they were about to give out. But he looked... proud. Like he'd just done something incredible.

I marched over to him, ready to chew him out for being an idiot. But before I could say a word, his legs buckled. I barely caught him before he hit the ground.

"Oi! You okay, dumbass?"

He smiled up at me, this tired, stupid smile, like saving me from those punks was the best thing he'd ever done.

Izuku: Told you I could do it... Kacchan.

.....Kacchan.

The nickname rang in my ears, pulling me back to the present. My fists clenched, the ghost of that memory still gripping my chest.

Izuku—that's him. The kid who saved me all those years ago. The one I thought was gone. The one I thought was dead.

I stared at him now, standing in front of me, older but still the same damn freckles, same messy hair, same stupid determination in his eyes. But now, instead of saving me, he was the one asking for help.

What the hell happened to him?

Kirishima's voice snapped me out of it.

Kirishima: Boss? You good?

Me: Shut up.

I blinked, pushing the memory back. I couldn't deal with that now. I couldn't deal with any of this now. But there he was—Izuku. Alive. And right in front of me, asking for protection from... whoever the hell was after him.

I crossed my arms, scowling.

Me: Start talking, Deku.