As I stood in the courtyard, watching Kacchan's retreating back like some kind of enraged blond thundercloud, my thoughts began to spiral into something... dark. But not the usual dark. Oh no, this wasn't the self-loathing, existential crisis brand of darkness I'd gotten so used to over the years.

No, this was different.

This was the sweet, honeyed darkness of revenge.

For years—years—Kacchan had bullied me relentlessly. Pushed me around, blown up my notebooks, called me useless, told me to jump off a roof. And now? Now he was stuck with me.

Not just metaphorically, but literally, magically, cosmically stuck with me. And the best part? I had the power here.

I glanced at the spade mark on my hand, the faint glow reminding me just how absurd my life had become. But this ridiculous, sparkly, magical curse was also the greatest weapon I'd ever been given.

Because now, every time Kacchan stepped out of line, every time he insulted me, mocked me, or gave me that stupid condescending smirk, I could transform him.

Oh, and transform him I would.

I could already see it—Kacchan, the great Bakugo Katsuki, wrapped in layers of glittery pink tulle, a tiara perched atop his scowling head, fairy wings flapping angrily behind him. He'd stomp around, threatening to kill me, but all his explosions would come out as harmless little puffs of glitter.

It was poetic. It was justice. It was perfect.

And the best part? He couldn't do anything about it.

I bit back a laugh as the full weight of my power hit me. For once in my miserable, bullied life, I had the upper hand. All those years of torment, all those bruises, insults, and shattered hopes—I could finally, finally pay him back.

Not by hurting him—no, that wasn't my style. But by humiliating him in the most glorious, sparkly way possible.

Because that's the thing about Kacchan. He doesn't care about pain. He thrives on it, uses it as fuel. But humiliation? That's his kryptonite.

And now, thanks to this stupid magical girl nonsense, I had an endless supply of it.

As I started walking home, the scenarios played out in my mind like a montage of sweet, sweet vengeance.

Kacchan acting tough in front of some classmates? Boom—ballet slippers and a tutu.

Kacchan blowing up one of my notebooks? Bam—he's Princess Explosia again, complete with glitter cannons and a wand that shoots rainbows.

Kacchan telling me to shut up in class? Oh, you know he's getting the full sparkly fairy queen treatment, tiara and all.

And the best part? No one else would know I was behind it. As far as they'd be concerned, it was just a "magical accident."

I grinned, the kind of grin that would've made people back away slowly if they'd seen it.

Sure, Kacchan had dragged me into this mess, insisting we go to UA together and fight villains and be heroes. And yeah, maybe I'd go along with it. But if I had to suffer through this magical girl nightmare, then so would he.

And I was going to make sure he suffered in the most ridiculous, embarrassing way possible.

Because that's what heroes do, right? They bring justice.

And after years of Kacchan's torment, justice had never looked so sparkly.

When I got home, the chaos of the day seemed to evaporate the moment I stepped through the front door. The scent of freshly cooked miso soup greeted me, wrapping around me like a warm hug. It was the kind of smell that told me everything was going to be okay—or at least that my mom had put her heart into dinner, and that was close enough.

"Inko Midoriya," I muttered under my breath, "the true MVP of my life."

"Zuzu, is that you?" my mom called from the kitchen, her voice laced with that familiar mix of worry and love that only she could manage.

"Yeah, Mom, it's me," I said, kicking off my shoes and shuffling into the kitchen.

She was standing at the stove, her back to me, stirring something in a pot. When she turned to face me, her green eyes sparkled with relief, and she smiled.

"You're late today! I was starting to get worried," she said, setting the ladle down and rushing over to me.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "I got caught up... with school stuff."

Her eyes scanned me, her worry growing more intense with every passing second. "You didn't get hurt, did you?"

I waved her off, doing my best to smile. "No, no. I'm fine. Promise."

She didn't look convinced, but she let it slide—for now. Instead, she reached out and pulled me into one of her bone-crushing hugs. And let me tell you, there's nothing quite like being hugged by Inko Midoriya. It's like being wrapped in a cocoon of love, concern, and an almost unreasonable amount of maternal strength.

"I'm glad you're home," she said, squeezing me tightly.

"Me too, Mom," I said softly, letting myself relax into her embrace.

After a moment, she let me go and ushered me toward the table. "Sit down, Zuzu. Dinner's ready."

I sat, watching as she bustled around the kitchen, bringing dish after dish to the table. There was katsudon, rice, miso soup, and even a small plate of tempura. It was a feast, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt.

She worked so hard to make sure I was okay, even when I wasn't. Especially when I wasn't.

"Mom, you didn't have to go all out," I said, even as my stomach growled in appreciation.

"Nonsense," she said, waving me off. "You've been working so hard at school. You need to eat properly."

I didn't argue. There was no point. Once my mom decided to spoil me, there was no stopping her.

We ate together, the silence broken only by the clinking of chopsticks and the occasional hum of approval as one of us took a particularly good bite.

"So," she said after a while, "how was school today?"

I hesitated. Where to even start? The slime monster? The talking cat? The magical transformation? Kacchan in a tutu?

"It was... eventful," I said finally, keeping it vague.

She raised an eyebrow. "Eventful good or eventful bad?"

"A little of both," I admitted, stuffing a piece of tempura in my mouth to avoid elaborating.

She sighed, her expression softening. "You work so hard, Zuzu. I just want you to be happy."

I paused mid-bite, her words hitting me harder than they probably should have.

"I'm trying, Mom," I said quietly. "I really am."

Her hand reached across the table, resting gently on mine. "I know you are. And I'm proud of you. No matter what."

The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow, but I managed a small smile.

"Thanks, Mom."

For a moment, everything felt... normal. Like I wasn't a magical girl—or boy, whatever—stuck in some cosmic prank of glitter and chaos. Like I wasn't drowning in a sea of Kacchan-induced trauma and sarcasm.