Two years. That’s how long Y/n fooled U.A. Two. Whole. Fucking. Years.

Nobody figured it out. Not Midoriya, who analyzes people like he’s being paid by the paragraph. Not Aizawa, whose entire personality is basically suspicious homeless cat. Not Bakugo, who treats everyone within a fifteen-foot radius like a potential security threat.

Nobody.

And now? Well. Now everybody fucking knows.

Smoke rolled across the battlefield. Concrete had been ripped apart. Orders disappeared beneath shouting. Heroes and villains collided everywhere at once, every strategy slowly being chewed apart by the fundamental principle that plans apparently become decorative the second an actual war begins.

Katsuki barely noticed any of it. Because across the battlefield stood Y/n. Beside the League.

He stared at her. For once, Katsuki Bakugo had absolutely nothing to say.

Katsuki finally stepped forward.

Katsuki looked like someone had struck him harder than any villain ever managed.

Katsuki’s jaw tightened.