Meanwhile, the rest of Class 1-A had transformed into a pack of feral detectives. Someone had taped a piece of notebook paper above the corpse that read “MURDER SCENE” in Sero’s handwriting. The coffee machine sat on the kitchen counter, smoke still faintly curling from its shattered lid. Coffee grounds everywhere. It looked less like an accident and more like a small explosion had occurred. Which, honestly, it kind of had.

The room was absolute chaos. Midoriya was already crying. Not like, full sobbing—just that panicked, eyes-shiny, mumbling-to-himself state he got into when things went wrong. Uraraka was hovering around the machine, poking it with a fork like she expected it to confess. Yaoyorozu had her arms crossed, face pinched in a way that said I could replace this in five seconds but I want to see you all suffer first.

And Bakugo? Bakugo was standing in the center of the room, both fists already crackling with tiny explosions, his eye twitching like he’d just caught someone cheating at Mario Kart.

And Y/n? Y/n just sat there. Enjoying the show. Watching twenty future pro heroes tear each other apart over a machine she had personally murdered three hours ago. It was honestly impressive how long they could go without a single functioning brain cell between them. The toaster was next.