——(Current time: First day of Yueii)——

Katsuki's first day was.. Unexpectedly eventful.

Don't get him wrong, he knows it's Yueii- a high school that doubles as a rough training ground for talented athletes in all departments- Running, wrestling, fencing, swimming, and of course, general fighting- but he didn't expect to get shoved into an immediate intense cardio regimen.

Yuueii obviously had high standards.

"Everyone, run to and fro from both ends of the mat. Thirty-five meter mark. Do fifty reps," Aizawa, the old, scruffy bastard ordered them, a hint of maliciousness in his voice as the promise of expulsion lingered uneasily through the air.

"One-fifty push-ups. Three-hundred crunches and double for the jumping jacks. Six laps around the track as well. Back and forth. Let's go."

And that was that, the day ended, with only a few students. Most had already quit, leaving, with muscles sore and adrenaline spiked nerves. Katsuki admits that he too, heaved in extreme exhaustion, collapsed on the cool surface of his metal locker to soothe his burning skin. He was still fired up.

He still made it, he knows he did, along with some other unimportant extras. It was annoying how none of them had quit yet- no matter how much they looked like they were ready to throw up. Of course, there was this brunette who actually had emptied her stomach on a nearby bush, but that was besides the point.

Katsuki slipped the sweaty gym shirt off, mildly impressed by the expensive fabric used that was meant to cool your body off as much as possible and adjust to your motions, rendering you free to do any type of kicks and punches. He set it down on the bench ignoring the chattering around him.

"Hey man!"

A voice spoke up, high on excitement, but tilting a bit with a pant due to the exertion they all had to go through earlier. Against his will, instincts told him to look up, meeting similar, red eyes- but they clashed with his soft ones with Bakugou's fiery red.

A scar was the first thing Katsuki noticed, on the latter's right eyelid. It was faded, maybe a bit pink-ish, but still showed. After a quick five seconds of staring, Katsuki bit out an impatient- "Could I fucking help you?".

In the past (maybe even in an alternate timeline) Katsuki would have already yelled, screamed- because the idea of someone approaching him so casually was confusing and frustrating. He would've cursed them out, barked toxic comments to make them fuck off. No one could simply call his attention as if he were a dog, tutting and whatnot in his face. He was better than them, and they had no right to talk to Katsuki, because they weren't worth his time.

No one was.

(A blurred, freckled face from Caldera Middle School wormed itself into Katsuki's thoughts- the earthly smell of the forest he used to visit often made his nose twitch in irritation and he was so, so frustrated because-!

... Who was he..? Katsuki shrugged it off. He doesn't remember.)

But now was different.

He was mellowed out, a bit calmer, but was still prickly like a cacti but was capable of holding small talk without any curses and snappy remarks.

It was different. He was different.

He had changed, the loud, brash personality was stripped and eroded from him, leaving only a rude brat in it's wake. Not much of a difference, it may seem to you, but to Katsuki, it felt... Strange.

"Me and my pals over there," the redhead gestured outside the locker room, maybe indicating a group of people he called friends. "Were wondering if you'd wanna hang out and stuff. Your performance outside was pretty dope."

The praises fell on empty ears as Katsuki waved him off with a shrug. "No," he said, curt and clipped. "Don't bother me."

The redhead looked a bit surprised- but nonetheless undeterred at the unimpressed, monotone voice that almost rivaled Aizawa's.

Katsuki ignored his presence altogether, robotically packing his P.E. Uniform neatly into the red gym back he had, worn from constant usage in the past. The traditional uniform U.A. Had was comfortable, albeit heavier from the stacked fabric with intricate weaves and gold pins.

Bakugou zipped up, stormed out, and slammed the door shut before the sharp toothed classmate of his dared to follow him onto the school's roof.

————

The dinner in the Midoriya household was quiet, according to Izuku.

He sat on his designated seat, his mother across him, and Hisashi at the head of the table with the normal somber look on his face as he childishly stirred his meal around.

The sight angered him, to some extent, because his mother worked hard on prepping the food only to be cast aside by him.

(Or maybe it was the fact that he made himself comfortable as if he were welcome into the family, slipping into their habits like a slimy leech.

Izuku, the sweet boy, wanted nothing but to get rid of pests.)

"Attending U.A. is.. An amazing achievement, Izuku." Hisashi attempted, voice rough, as Inko looked at him with a small, tight smile. "I'm proud to be your father." At that, Izuku wanted to shout, wanted to scream, maybe even land a solid axe kick on Hisashi's head because 'he was never part of the family in the first place'.

Izuku nodded, stiffly, as he shoveled a fairly large portion of roasted squid into his mouth to avoid having to answer.

Hisashi went on and on, droning as if he were reading a script he had memorized months before, and Izuku simply let his body function in autopilot as he mind wandered.

He was attending Yuueii tomorrow, a school full of possible opportunities. A renowned school known for berthing Olympian gold medalists- like All Might, his mentor. Or Eraserhead, who was swift like the wind and as elegant as a butterfly's wings fluttering. His body twisted and turned as he landed the Arabian double front. He had quietly slipped away from the spotlight though, before turning up years later as a teacher at Yuueii.

That idea amazed Izuku so much, because it was Aizawa Shouta, a man who achieved the most complicated set of flips- and even he was unfamiliar with the Olympic sport.

"So, Izuku," Inko pulled him out of his pleasant thoughts, a jittery smile on her face as Hisashi got up, chair screeching on the ground, scratching at the marble tiles. "It's best if you get to bed now. Hisashi and Me will be talking about typical grown-up things, like how you've been doing well in school."

God, his mother was so bad at lying, but Izuku nodded once more, eyes flickering to the towering body of his father, standing over the dinner table and looming over him.

"Okay," he played along, a sick feeling in his stomach.

"I'll be upstairs if you need me."