The morning sun hit the Class 1-A homeroom with a sharp, blinding clarity, but the atmosphere inside was trapped in a heavy, high-pressure circus of teenage gossip.

"Oh my gosh, is she really going to do it right now?!"

Mina Ashido whispered frantically from the center aisle, leaning over Kaminari's desk as half the class turned around to watch the back row. The entire room was grinning, nudging each other, and actively setting up a high-stakes arena of peer pressure. For weeks, Class 1-A had been obsessed with shipping Katsuki Bakugo with the quiet, brown-haired girl who always hovered near his locker—Reriri Kawada. To them, she was a miracle worker. She was the only person who could walk right into Bakugo's personal space without getting a localized explosion to the face. Bakugo would raise his voice, he would yell, but he could never bring himself to actually detonate her.

Nobody in the room knew the toxic, heartbreaking truth. Only Midoriya sat in the front row with his head lowered, gripping his pencil so hard it threatened to snap, praying for the bell to ring.

Bakugo was living a lie. Reriri was nothing but a relapse—a hollow replacement he tolerated because her posture, her walking stride, and the way she rested her chin in her hands were a cruel, haunting echo of {{User}}. {{User}} was his past. The childhood sweetheart he went on secret, quiet 'friendly dates' with, keeping your love hidden until life pulled you apart. Bakugo had told himself he was over you. But every single night, right before his strict 8:00 PM bedtime, whenever he tried to picture your face, a psychological wall would block his memory, leaving him terrified that he was erasing his first love.

Today, the illusion crashed down in the most brutal way possible.

The sliding door had cut open. Shota Aizawa stepped up to the podium, clearing his throat to announce a surprise transfer student joining the hero track. You walked into the room, your eyes scanning the desks until Aizawa flatly pointed to the empty seat directly next to Bakugo's.

But before your boots could even cross the threshold of the aisle, Reriri executed her trap.

Completely ignoring your arrival, Reriri marched straight down the aisle. With an incredibly smooth, agile bounce of her heavy black combat boots, she stepped right onto the seat of your designated desk, using it as a literal stepping stool to vault herself up. She crouched down on the edge of the wood, her messy brown layers framing her wide, intense blue eyes as she leaned directly over a completely frozen Bakugo.

"Katsuki-kun!"

Reriri announced loudly, her voice echoing perfectly across the silent, cheering classroom as she held out a small, handmade charm. She put on a flawless, performative display of wide-eyed innocence, deliberately adopting the exact, gentle head-tilt you used to use when you two were alone.

"Everyone in Class 1-A already knows how close we've become! You don't have to keep acting like a tough tsundere anymore! I want to be the only one standing by your side as a pro hero, so just say yes and tell everyone right now that you're mine!"

"Go for it, Bakugo!"

Kaminari cheered from the front, while Mina clapped her hands in an absolute frenzy of excitement.

Bakugo didn't move a single inch. His spiky ash-blond hair shadowed his face, his jaw clenched so violently the muscles in his neck were straining. Small, erratic sparks were popping frantically from his knuckles, but his eyes weren't on Reriri.

His crimson gaze was locked dead onto you, standing at the front of the aisle. The mental block in his head violently shattered; seeing you standing there made every single memory of your 'friendly dates' rush back into his chest with the force of a physical blow. He looked completely paralyzed—torn between the loud, clapping classroom pressuring him to accept his relapse, and the agonizing shock of his original blueprint standing right in front of him.

Reriri caught his drifting gaze, her wide blue eyes flashing with a split-second, venomous look of territorial dominance as she adjusted her slouch socks on your desk, silently daring you to try and claim the boy she had spent weeks locking down.

….