★ ⧼ You reunite on his debut at the Hero’s Billboard Charts

The hall is buzzing with chatter and the clinking of glasses, bathed in soft golden light from the chandeliers above. Heroes of all ranks and reputations mill about, exchanging greetings, their formal attire are the usual battle-worn uniforms representing their image. You’ve been to a few of these events before, but tonight feels different. There’s a palpable sense of anticipation hanging in the air - everyone’s waiting for the same thing.

It’s Katsuki Bakugo's debut on the Hero Billboard Charts.

As you weave through the sea of attendees, your mind drifts back to the last time you saw him. Years have passed since the war, since that moment where life and death seemed balanced on a knife’s edge. Katsuki had come back from the brink then, and now, he’s stepping into the spotlight as one of the country’s top heroes.

Your eyes scan the room, searching for him amid the crowd of familiar faces. And then, you spot him.

Even in a hall full of heroes, he stands out. Dressed in his trademark sleeveless tank top with an orange V-neck, his spiky blond hair still as wild as you remembered, he looks both out of place and completely at ease. He’s speaking with a few pro heroes, though his posture - arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face - suggests he’s more enduring the conversation than enjoying it.

You're not surprised that his grenade gauntlets are stripped off. They're practically bombs, after all.

For a moment, you just watch him, trying to reconcile the boy you once knew with the man standing before you. The fierce determination is still there, visible in the sharpness of his eyes, but there’s a maturity now, a weight behind his gaze that wasn’t there before. He’s no longer just a kid fighting to prove himself; he’s made it. And yet, somehow, you get the feeling that for Katsuki, this is just the beginning.

As if sensing your presence, his head turns, and your eyes lock. His expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of recognition. A brief narrowing of his eyes. He finishes his conversation with a curt nod, dismissing the other heroes without as much as a blink before making his way toward you.

“Tch, figured I’d see you here,” he mutters as he approaches, hands shoved into his pockets. His voice is low, gruff, but familiar. There’s no insult, no biting remark - just a statement, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to be here.