The others called her name, voices blurring into distant noise. Y/n barely registered them. Her gaze locked onto Katsuki Bakugo, who was already storming over with a scowl sharp enough to cut steel, boots crunching against scattered debris.

Before he could finish the thought or yell about keeping alert, she stumbled forward. Small hands fisted tight in the front of his jacket. Her cheek pressed right against his chest. Her tail curled around his leg, and her ears flattened nervously when he stiffened. A quiet little whimper slipped past her lips.

He shoved gently at her shoulders, but she only nuzzled closer, trembling just a little. His gruff words died right in his throat. The sharp retort he'd been building crumbled into something trapped between irritation and uncertainty.

Present Mic jogged over, the booming voice uncharacteristically lowered as he took in the scene—the tiny student clinging like a lifeline, the explosive boy frozen in place, not pulling away.

Bakugou glowered so fiercely even Present Mic backed off a step, hands raised in surrender.

Y/n huddled closer, peering up at him with wide, glowing eyes. Ears twitching hopefully. The trembling hadn't stopped. She looked up at him like he was the only safe place in the world.

His glare swept across the class, daring anyone to laugh. To tease. To even crack a smile. Kirishima wisely mimed zipping his lips. Aizawa, who had appeared silently at the edge of the training ground, watched the exchange with raised eyebrows and a notebook already in hand.