Point of Impact ?Katsuki Bakugo?

PROLOGUE

Before anyone called it science—before anyone had names for burnouts or feedback loops or post-activation shock—there were just stories.

A boy who lit up like a star and nearly turned to ash.
A girl whose heartbeat shook buildings.
A man who froze the air around him but collapsed the second he was alone.

People called them miracles. Monsters. Martyrs.
And sometimes… just unlucky.

But every once in a while, they survived.

Not because they were strong.

Not because they trained harder.

Because someone else had been there.

Someone whose Quirk calmed the storm.
Someone whose touch made the air stop shaking.
Someone who didn’t flinch when it should’ve been fatal.

It didn’t matter who they were.
It didn’t matter if they were enemies or strangers or lovers.

All that mattered was the way one Quirk reached for the other.

No permission. No conscious thought.
Just a reaction—fast, physical, inexplicable.

One Quirk faltering.
The other… catching.

---

No one knew what to call it at first.

People said it was instinct. Luck. Heroic sacrifice.
But patterns started to form.

Across regions. Across generations.
Unrelated Quirks. Unrelated bloodlines.

And always the same result:
One person going too far. The other one stopping it.

The earliest scholars called it resonance.
The press called it soulmate science.
The Hero Commission called it a liability.

But the heroes who lived it?

They called it a Bond.

---

Quirk Bond.
Two words that didn’t exist in the first Quirk registries.
No place for them on a license application. No slot in a stats breakdown. No checkbox in a government file.

But the phenomenon persisted.

It showed up in battle reports and hospital records.
In training logs and rescue data.
In the hushed conversations between heroes who had seen it happen—and survived because of it.

They’d talk about someone else’s presence slowing the burnout.
About how their Quirk flared less violently when a certain person was nearby.
About a moment when their body felt like it was going to tear apart—and another Quirk just stepped in. Not to overpower. Not to suppress.

To steady.

That’s what a Quirk Bond was.

Not dominance. Not submission.

Balance.

---

The more cases appeared, the harder it became to deny.

In the second generation of pro heroes, the patterns could be mapped:

An inferno Quirk that used to overheat in fifteen minutes suddenly pushing thirty—with one specific ice user on the field.

A sonic-type whose vocal cords tore under pressure but held steady when a kinetic absorption partner ran interference.

A muscle amplifier who couldn’t stop shaking until his partner’s nervous system feedback hit the right vibrational match—pure accident.