Point of Impact ?Katsuki Bakugo?

CHAPTER TWO

He didn’t slam the door.

Didn’t throw his gloves. Didn’t pace.

Didn’t do any of the things he used to do after a fight that didn’t go his way.

No—he just stood in the middle of Room 209, sweat drying cold across his back, arms loose at his sides, staring at the burn mark on his forearm like it meant something.

It didn’t.

It wasn’t even that deep.

But the way she’d moved—

His jaw clenched.

Not because she beat him. She hadn’t.

Not because he beat her. He hadn’t.

It was the draw that pissed him off.
Not because it bruised his ego—
But because it didn’t.
And that… was worse.

He should’ve been fuming. Should’ve wanted to tear the Crucible apart until the mats caught fire and the ceiling lights shattered under pressure.

Instead, his hands were steady.
His heartbeat calm.
Too calm.

And his brain—traitorous, calculating bastard that it was—was still replaying every second of the match.

Not her taunts.
Not that cocky smirk.
Not even the way she said "Pretty Boy" like it was both an insult and a dare.

Just her movement.
The way she floated like she weighed nothing.
The way her voice cut through the dome like a blade.
The way she commanded the battlefield—and gravity listened.

Bakugo rubbed the back of his neck. His hand came away damp.

> “Fuck.”

---

The shower was too hot.

He didn’t care.

Let it scald until his skin stopped twitching.

But it didn’t help.

There was still a phantom buzz in his joints—
Not Quirk discharge.
Something else.

Like the fight hadn’t really ended. Like his muscles were still chasing her down the mat.

He rolled his shoulders under the spray, steam rising in thick clouds.

> She got under my skin.

Not surprising.

People got under his skin all the time.

Difference was—
She stayed there.

Rosier.
Point Break.
Stars and Stripes’ daughter.

He’d read her file twice. Watched her Lux Academy footage. Knew her Quirk stats. Knew her weaknesses. Had planned for them.

And still, she slipped past him like she belonged there.

Because she did.

She didn’t fight like a prodigy.

She fought like someone who trained to stay alive.

Like someone who burned through pressure instead of folding under it.

> “Control through presence,” her father had once said.

Bakugo understood that.
Too well.

---

He didn’t sleep.

Just laid on his back, arms folded behind his head, listening to the low hum of the dorm air unit and the silence bleeding through the wall between his room and hers.