Bakugo looked up.
The God of War now stood just two meters away, arms folded across a breastplate of aged leather and steel. His expression was unreadable—stone-carved, eternal. But his golden eyes… they were ice.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Cutting.
Not a word passed.
Then, in a voice like a judgment:
"What. Are. You. Doing."
The question wasn't loud—but it didn't have to be.
Bakugo felt it in his bones.
Before he could speak—before he could even fully register the pressure behind those words—
"Five laps around this institution."
Bakugo's eyes snapped wide. "Wha—?! I didn't—!"
Kratos took a single step forward.
His presence alone felt like the sky darkening.
"Ten laps. Now."
The words echoed like a hammer to the chest. Final. Unshakable.
Bakugo's instinct to shout back died somewhere in his throat. That glare—those eyes—made his spine itch.
He lowered his head, scowling bitterly. "Tch!."
He spun around and took off at a run, teeth clenched hard. The line of students parted before him, none daring to meet his eye.
Kratos remained still, arms crossed. Watching.
The silence lingered.
Then, a hesitant whisper: "…should… we leave?"
Kratos' head turned slightly. His eyes flicked to Mineta—just one look.
That was enough.
The small boy shut his mouth with a squeak.
From the shade nearby, Aizawa stirred in his sleeping bag, rose slightly and asked in a hushed tone, "Should I take the rest of them back inside?"
Kratos was quiet for two seconds.
Then: "No."
Aizawa nodded once, rolled over, and went back to sleep.
The students, still stunned, slowly began to settle again, forced to sit and endure the remainder of Bakugo's laps. Dust trailed in the air as the angry boy disappeared into the far end of the field, running, fuming, alone.
...….
After a while, the sun was now overhead. Sweat poured down some students' faces. Some leaned on each other; others sat, legs crossed, too exhausted even to stand. They had been waiting through lap after lap, silently hoping it would end.
Then—Bakugo reappeared around the corner of the last curve, body bent over, hands on knees, gasping so hard each breath sounded like his own explosions. He straightened, chin thrust out, rocking back on his heels.
Kratos stepped forward, each footfall precise.
Bakugo lifted his head, chest heaving, and met those golden eyes. Silence fell like a shroud.
Kratos spoke, voice low and steady:
Kratos stood before him, silent, arms folded—his golden eyes like a frozen sunrise.
"What is the reason for that action?" he asked, voice low and level.
Bakugo, still panting from the laps, sneered. "That damn Deku… he was a worthless, Quirkless nobody before he came here! He—he must be cheating! There's no damn way he can throw the ball—"
Kratos cut him off.
"Farther than you?"
Bakugo stiffened.
The implication stung deeper than a blade. His hands curled into fists, smoke rising from his palms. "You think I'm jealous?"
Kratos drew a slow breath—cooling the spark of rage in his chest before it grew to flame.
Then he stepped closer.
And spoke.
Calm. Cold. With the weight of another lifetime behind every word.
"From where I am from, long ago I used to be a soldier."
"A nameless man among thousands."
"And every time we marched to battle, every man beside me—every last one—had the same desperate hope: That the ones beside him were strong enough to fight."
"Strong enough to survive."
"Because when the arrows fell, when the blades clashed… we did not fight alone."
"And we did not die alone."
He turned his head, slowly—his eyes passing over every single one of Bakugo's classmates. The silence weighed on their shoulders.
"Every soldier I knew… every comrade…"
"Stepped onto the battlefield not just with courage."
"But with the hope… that when the enemy's blade came, someone would be there to stop it."
"To save them."
"Even just once."
He faced Bakugo again. Pointed at the others.
"And right now, you are no different."
"Weak"
"Slow"
"Not strong enough to win alone."
Bakugo's eyes flared—but Kratos wasn't done.
"When the day comes—and it will—when you stand before someone stronger than you…"
"You will not talk of pride."
"You will beg for someone to help you."
Kratos raised a hand, and pointed it square at Midoriya.
"And at that moment, it might be him…"
"or any one of them…"
"who saves your life."
The field was silent.
Even the wind darezd not speak.
Bakugo's fists trembled.
His palms smoked, tiny sparks spitting from his skin, begging to explode.
"Weak?" he thought, teeth grinding. "Slow? I'm not like them. I'm nothing like them!"
Kratos' words echoed in his skull like war drums:
"You will beg for someone to save you."
That bastard doesn't know anything.
But deep in his chest, buried beneath the fire and defiance, the memory clawed its way to the surface—that day.
The sludge villain.
Choking on filth.
Held hostage, helpless.
Dozens of so-called heroes standing by, watching.
No one moved.
No one helped.
Except…
Deku.
Stupid, trembling Deku, hurling himself into danger without a plan. Without a Quirk. Just swinging wildly.
Bakugo's lip curled, shame bleeding into rage.
He shook his head, hard.
"No. NO."
He refused to be that scared kid again.
He refused to be someone who needed saving.
"I don't need anyone!" he snarled suddenly, voice raw. "Not that damn nerd! Not any of these weak extras! I'm not like them! I'm stronger than all of them!"
He pointed at Midoriya, eyes bloodshot. "He's nothing! Worthless! Always was! Always WILL be! And I—"
He was about to say more.
But he stopped.
Because Kratos was still there.
Watching him.
Unmoved.
Silent.
"Show me."
Bakugo blinked.
"…What?"
Kratos stepped forward once, the earth beneath his feet seeming to quiet.
His voice didn't rise.
It dropped—like a weight.
"Show me that you alone are enough."
"Show me you don't need them."
"Prove it."
Bakugo stood frozen for a moment.
And then something snapped.
"FINE!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with fury. "I'll show you! You think I need help? I'll blow your goddamn expectations to pieces! Just watch me!!"
Kratos looked at the boy—sweat-slicked, seething, shoulders rising and falling like a caged beast on the verge of eruption.
Then, with a voice calm as stone, he said:
"Come, then."
He turned without another word and began walking toward the open field beyond the training area. Bakugo didn't wait—he stormed after him. One by one, the other students exchanged glances, then quietly followed at a distance, unsure if this was about to become a lesson… or a war.
Midoriya, however, felt something twist in his gut.
"This is bad… really bad."
He clenched his fists, eyes flicking between Bakugo's back and Kratos' broad shoulders. "Kacchan's Quirk stores nitroglycerin-like sweat and turns it into explosions. He just ran ten laps at full tilt—his palms must be soaked in sweat."
"He's at his strongest right now. What if—what if Mr. Kratos underestimates him?"
The group arrived at the wider clearing. It was quiet—just wind rolling across dry grass and the heat radiating off Bakugo's frame.
Kratos stopped, turned, and faced the boy.
"Come at me."
Bakugo's eyes gleamed.
"Gladly."
BOOM!!
A thunderous explosion blasted out behind him as he launched into the air, both hands sparking with fierce combustion. The sheer pressure of the blast cracked the earth beneath him as he rocketed toward Kratos like a missile.
WHAM! He swung—an explosive right hook.
But Kratos was gone.
A sidestep. Just enough.
Bakugo twisted in mid-air and launched another palm blast to change trajectory—BOOM!—a left-handed explosion now. He dove low and rose high, swinging with violent bursts.
BOOM! BOOM!
BOOM!!!
But Kratos dodged them all.
Effortlessly.
Calmly.
He moved like the wind around a flame—never too far, never letting it touch him.
Each time Bakugo closed in, Kratos would redirect—a slap to the wrist at just the right moment would send the explosion skyward, or blast into open air. Every strike Bakugo tried to land, Kratos neutralized with the barest movement.
And it was infuriating.
"Why the hell can't I hit him?!" Bakugo snarled inwardly. "Every hit should've landed—every blast stronger is than the last—!"
He launched backward mid-air and landed in a crouch, panting hard.
"He's not even fighting back—he's just dodging. Just—watching! Like I'm not worth it!"
His palms ached now. The skin tender, arms trembling. He could feel the burn settling into his shoulders.
"Damn it. Damn it!!"
Then his eyes flicked wide with an idea.
"Fine. Try to dodge this."
He blasted upward and circled Kratos, using rapid mini-explosions from both hands to rocket around like a pinball of fire. He zig-zagged, twisted mid-air, forming a tight high-speed orbit around Kratos—forcing him to guess where the final strike would come from.
Then—
Bakugo halted mid-air, facing Kratos' back.
Both arms thrust forward.
"DIEEEEE!!!" he roared.
"HOWITZER IMPACT!!"
The explosion tore the air apart.
A blinding cone of explosive force surged forward, spinning like a flaming drill through the very air itself. It screamed with raw heat and violence—and when it hit, it didn't just land, it detonated.
KRAKA-KOOOOM!!!
The shockwave blasted the ground apart, shattering stone, flattening grass, and sending a wave of force howling across the field. Students covered their faces, stumbling back as dust and smoke billowed high into the sky. The heat rippled like a mirage.
Bakugo fell to one knee, panting like a dying animal. Arms limp. Elbows trembling. His whole body burned.
He couldn't feel his fingers.
But he smirked.
"No way... he's walking out of that unscathed..."
The smoke began to part.
Midoriya leaned forward, wide-eyed. "...No…"
The others looked on in stunned silence.
A heavy footstep echoed through the clearing.
Then another.
Out from the curtain of dust and ash—
Kratos emerged.
Unharmed.
Unshaken.
The Guardian Shield, fully bloomed, glowed faintly on his left arm—its metal unmarred by flame.
He stepped forward.
Step by step.
Bakugo's smirk dropped.
He tried to stand.
His legs wouldn't move.
Kratos reached him.
No shield.
No words.
Just that presence.
That towering, silent storm.
Bakugo looked up, eyes wide—breath gone.
He couldn't speak.
He couldn't breathe.
Kratos stared down at him—not with malice, not with pride—but with that cold, unflinching truth.
Even without speaking… Bakugo heard it.
"Weak"
He looked away, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw ached.
And then, Kratos turned.
One heavy step after another, he walked away without saying a word.
And that silence?
Spoke louder than any blow.