Work Text
The night was quiet, the dormitory cloaked in shadow as Bakugou slept, his breathing steady. He’d trained himself to be a light sleeper, attuned to the smallest creaks or whispers, always ready to leap into action. But tonight, he was lost in the depths of sleep, his face calm, almost peaceful in the darkness.A faint stir in the air. A flicker of movement.Bakugou’s eyes snapped open, a familiar chill prickling down his spine. The room was thick with darkness, but he knew something wasn’t right. He froze, listening, waiting for any noise—but there was nothing. Silence pressed down like a weight, deeper than he’d ever felt. His pulse quickened, instinct screaming at him, every nerve on high alert.And then he saw it.A figure, standing right at the edge of his bed, cloaked in shadows, face obscured, silent and still. It was watching him.Bakugou’s body reacted instantly, the initial shock replaced by a surge of fury. With a fierce shout, he thrust his palm forward, explosions sparking to life in his hand as he launched himself at the intruder. The room erupted in a blinding burst of light and heat, his explosions cracking through the space—but as the smoke cleared, Bakugou saw the figure, unharmed, stepping effortlessly aside.Bakugou growled, frustration flaring. “Who the hell are you?” he spat, launching another blast. The figure dodged with ease, moving in a smooth, unsettling rhythm. It was as though the man were playing a game, dancing around Bakugou’s attacks with an infuriating calmness.“Fight back, damn it!” Bakugou’s voice was a fierce snarl, the sound sharp in the stillness of the room. He attacked again, explosions echoing off the walls, the force rattling his bed and scattering items off his shelves. He felt the walls shake, smoke and sparks filling the air—but no one came.In a split second, he thought of Aizawa, of his classmates, of anyone who might hear the chaos and rush to his aid. But no footsteps came, no alarms sounded. The silence in the room was eerie, as though they were caught in a void. A cold realization crept over him—something was terribly wrong.“Come on!” Bakugou roared, his voice desperate, wild. He could feel his throat going raw, his heart pounding in his chest. “Why isn’t anyone—?”The intruder finally moved, stepping into a sliver of moonlight that cast his face in a twisted half-light. He smirked, his hand raised to reveal a thin, shimmering aura that wrapped around the room, sealing it off. Bakugou could see the way it distorted the air, forming an invisible barrier—a silence bubble.The man spoke, his voice almost gentle, too calm. “Shouting’s pointless,” he murmured, his words barely a whisper. “No one’s coming.”For the first time in his life, Bakugou felt true, bone-deep fear. He threw everything he had at the figure, every ounce of power, every spark, every explosion—but it was useless. Each movement, each blast, was dodged with ease, as if the man could see them coming before they even happened. His strength, his quirk—none of it mattered.The figure’s smirk widened as he raised his hand, and suddenly, Bakugou’s vision went black. ---Class 1A gathered in the training room, the usual hum of chatter and laughter filling the space as they waited for Aizawa to arrive and start the day’s lesson. Midoriya glanced around, a faint frown creasing his brow.“Has anyone seen Bakugou?” he asked, looking around. It wasn’t like him to be late. In fact, it was unheard of—Bakugou was always the first one up, the first one in the training room, his dedication nearly unmatched. The absence felt… wrong.Aizawa entered the room, pausing as he noticed the empty seat near the front. His expression hardened, concern flashing briefly in his gaze.“Where’s Bakugou?” he asked, his tone calm but wary.“He’s not here yet, Mr. Aizawa,” Kirishima answered, sounding just as uneasy as the others looked.Aizawa’s gut twisted. He knew Bakugou’s habits better than most. Diligent, driven, punctual to a fault. He’d never miss a training session. A sickening feeling crept into his chest, a tension that tightened with each passing second.Without a word, Aizawa turned on his heel, leaving the classroom in tense silence as he strode toward the dormitories. When he reached Bakugou’s door, a sharp unease settled over him. He knocked once, twice. No answer.Swallowing hard, Aizawa grasped the doorknob, pushing the door open.The sight inside stole his breath.The room was in disarray—furniture overturned, burn marks scorched into the walls and floor. Sheets tangled and scattered, items knocked from shelves, books and clothes strewn everywhere. And there, on the floor, was a faint but unmistakable trail of blood.Aizawa’s heart dropped, his mind racing with grim possibilities. His instincts screamed that this was no accident, no mere slip out for a morning run. This was an attack.And Bakugou was gone.