The night air was cold against Kenji's face as he pressed himself against the brick wall, heart hammering in his chest and his baseball bat in his hand. Three buildings down, he could see the flash of police lights.
Too close. They're getting too close. "GOD!" Kenji wanted to shout harder, but restrained himself.
He'd gotten sloppy tonight, too sloppy. The bank job had gone sideways when the C-list villain calling himself Bedrock had lasted longer than expected. Kenji had needed three hits instead of one, and by the time the guy went down, sirens were already wailing in the distance.
"Shit, shit, shit," Kenji muttered, checking the alley behind him. Empty. Good. He shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, trying to look casual as he walked toward the opposite end.
Five months. He'd been doing this for five months without getting caught. Five months of stopping muggings, breaking up drug deals, and intercepting robberies. Small-time stuff, mostly.
Kenji only took cash, and only from criminals. It wasn't stealing if they'd stolen it first, right?
The cash meant food for the next week. Maybe two, if he was careful. Maybe he could even afford to hit a bathhouse, get actually clean for once instead of washing up in public restrooms.
He was almost to the street when a hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed his collar, yanking him backward with enough force to lift him off his feet, he dropped the bat in shock.
"OI!" The voice shouted. "WILL YOU EVER COME OUT HERE ONTO THE STREETS AGAIN, WITH YOUR SORRY ASS, TRYING TO FIGHT VILLAINS?!" Bakugo shouted, catching the teen in front of him by the collar.
Kenji just whistled, looking away awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I don't know what you're talking about, man. I was just at the bank."
A vein visibly popped on Bakugo's face. His grip tightened on the boy's collar. "Don't play with me, idiot!" He brought him closer to his face and stared him down.
"You're a kid. You're gonna get yourself killed getting into the work of heroes. Go to a hero school if you wanna play hero so bad, not here." Bakugo warned, loosening the grip a bit.
"You think this is all fun and games, man, but this is a dangerous game you're playing, understand? It's not safe. You don't want your mother crying over her stupid son." He asked.
The teen just looked away, awkwardly.
"Don't make this too hard."
The teen smirked. "That's what she said."
Bakugo clenched his fists in frustration, "What the fuck am I dealing with here?! I'm going to fucking ki-
The teen's laughter cut off abruptly as Bakugo's grip tightened again, pulling him up onto his toes. For a moment, genuine fear flickered across the kid's face before he masked it with another cocky grin.
"Alright, alright! Chill out, man!" The teen raised his hands in mock surrender, though he couldn't quite suppress the nervous edge in his voice. "Look, I hear you. Hero schools, legal routes, all that jazz. Very inspiring speech.
Bakugo's red eyes narrowed dangerously. "You think this is a fucking joke?"
"No, no! I'm being serious!" The teen squirmed a bit, and Bakugo noticed something odd—the kid's eyes were darting around, not in panic, but like he was... reading something? Tracking movement that wasn't there? "It's just... hero schools cost money, yeah? And I'm kinda... between financial situations right now."
...
"U.A pays for you!" Bakugo shouted.
...
The teen, Kenji, went completely still. His cocky grin vanished.
"Yeah? And how exactly am I supposed to apply to U.A, man?" His voice had lost all its playfulness now. "You need records. Transcripts. A permanent address. References from teachers. Oh, and you need to have attended middle school, which is pretty fucking hard when you're—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching.
Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "When you're what?"
"Nothing. Forget it." Kenji tried to pull away, but Bakugo's grip held firm. "Forget it, man! Fine, I won't do it again."
"When you're homeless," Bakugo finished. "That's what you were gonna say, wasn't it?"
Kenji glared at him, defiant despite the way his shoulders had tensed up. "So what if I am? Does that disqualify me from trying to do something good? From using my quirk to actually help people? I save people and steal the criminals' money, is that so wrong?"
"It disqualifies you from getting yourself killed like an idiot." Bakugo shot back. "You think those villains give a shit about your good intentions?"
"I'm stronger than them!"
"Stronger," he repeated. "You're stronger than them."
"Yeah, I—"
Bakugo moved.
One second, Kenji was standing upright. Next, Bakugo had swept his legs out from under him and slammed him face-first into the alley wall, arm twisted behind his back in a restraint hold.
"Still stronger?"
Kenji struggled, but Bakugo had thirty pounds of muscle and years of professional combat experience on him. The kid wasn't going anywhere.
"Oh, fuck me, bozo, you're thirty years old, and you've my weapon down."
Bakugo's eye twitched. "I'm twenty-eight, you little shit—"
"Same difference, old man!" Despite being pinned, Kenji's voice was muffled but defiant against the brick. "Really impressive, a pro hero twice my size taking down a fourteen-year-old kid. Want a medal?"
"I want you to shut the fuck up and listen—"
"To what? Another lecture about how I'm gonna die?" Kenji twisted his head just enough to glare at Bakugo with one eye. "I've been almost dying since I was twelve."
Bakugo felt something twist in his chest. Since he was twelve. This kid had been surviving on the streets, alone, for two years.
"You call this strength?" Bakugo demanded, not loosening his grip. "You're face-down in an alley. I didn't even use my quirk. Where's all that power you were bragging about?"
"You got the drop on me—"
"And in a real fight, that's all it takes."
Bakugo cut him off. "One mistake. One moment where you're not fast enough, not careful enough. You think every villain is gonna announce themselves? What's the name of your quirk and what does it do, now!"
"Sweet Spot," Kenji said, and despite being pinned to a wall, there was a hint of pride in his voice. "That's what I call my quirk, anyway. Never registered it officially, so..." He shrugged as much as he could in his current position.
Bakugo finally released him, stepping back but keeping his guard up. "Explain."
"I see... points," Kenji said carefully, like he was worried about revealing too much. "On people, objects, whatever. Different sizes. Hit the right spot, and..." He made a small gesture. "Force gets multiplied. The bigger the spot, the smaller the multiplier. Smaller the spot, bigger the boom."
"That's how you broke that concrete manipulator's arm at the bank. One hit."
"Yeah." Kenji shifted uncomfortably. "Hit a medium-sized spot. About... ten times normal force, maybe? Enough to crack a bone without killing him."
"And the small ones?"
Kenji's expression darkened. "I don't use those unless I have to. They hurt. Me, I mean. My body's still just a regular human; I have no enhanced durability, no strength boost. The recoil." He looked away. "Broke through a reinforced wall once. Felt like I'd been hit by a car. Couldn't use my arm right for three days."
The kid was essentially a glass cannon with devastating offense, zero defense. One good hit and he'd crumble.
"And you've been doing this for what? Five months?" Bakugo asked, grabbing him by the neck.
"Ouch! Go easy with the hands. Yes! Five months! Alright?!" Kenji answered.
Bakugo paused. He just stood silently and processed it. "Five months without professional training, and you're still fine and alive?"
"Duh."
Bakugo can barely hold it in. He was NOT this big of a bitch in his day. At least, he thinks so.
"Listen here, kid, I'm gonna get you checked up and then into the fuckin' orphanage where you have NO OTHER CHOICE except to get adopted, understand?" Bakugo said, releasing his hold.
Kenji rubbed the back of his neck, groaning. "No, I don't want that. I'm fine by myself!" he retorted.
"What's wrong with you? You'll have a family and a home to live in," Bakugo said, clearly annoyed.
Kenji gritted his teeth and spat back, "I got here on my own. I don't need some stupid family handed to me. That makes all my struggles feel meaningless, alright? It's just ridiculous."
Bakugo's mouth dropped open, completely shocked by Kenji's response.
"You're a criminal. You're lucky I've decided against throwing you in jail, okay? This isn't a path you can take," he said.
"Throw me in jail, then," Kenji said.
Bakugo was stunned again, and before he could respond, Kenji moved. He blitzed to the bat and spun around, his eyes analyzing Bakugo's body in milliseconds, a medium-sized spot in the stomach.
Kenji's bat swung toward Bakugo's midsection with precision, aimed directly at the glowing spot only he could see.
The impact connected right in the solar plexus.
Bakugo's eyes went wide as the multiplied force knocked the wind out of him. He staggered backward, one hand clutching his stomach, gasping.
"Oh shit—" Kenji didn't wait to see if he was okay. His observant eyes had already tracked three escape routes, and he bolted for the nearest one, sneakers pounding against wet pavement.
"You—little—bastard—" Bakugo wheezed behind him, but Kenji was already halfway down the alley.
Kenji's mind raced as fast as his feet. Just enough force to wind him, buy maybe thirty seconds. Maybe a minute if he was really lucky.
He vaulted over a dumpster, his eyes automatically tracking the structural weak points in the fence ahead. There are three boards with rusted nails, with a slight gap between them. He hit it shoulder-first, and the boards gave way.
"GET BACK HERE!" Bakugo's voice echoed behind him, closer than expected. Apparently, pro heroes recovered faster than civilians. Good to know.
Kenji burst onto a side street, nearly colliding with a late-night pedestrian.
"Sorry! Pardon me! Very important teenage emergency!" he called out, sliding across the hood of a parked car.
Behind him, he heard the distinctive sound of small explosions. Bakugo was propelling himself forward, closing the distance.
Kenji spotted a construction site ahead, with scaffolding and tarps everywhere. He ducked under the caution tape and into the site.
"You think I won't follow you in there?!" Bakugo's voice was getting seriously pissed now.
"I think you'll have a harder time using explosions around all this flammable material!" Kenji shouted back as he scrambled up a ladder.
"Kid, I'm trying to help you!"
"Yeah, well, your help looks a lot like grabbing and threatening!" Kenji called from somewhere in the scaffolding. "Not really my love language, if I'm being honest!"
"Your what—you know what, forget it!"
You can't hide up here forever!"
"Watch me!" Kenji was already moving horizontally. "I've got water, I've got shelter! This is basically a studio apartment!"
"It's a fucking construction site!"
"A studio apartment with poor ventilation, then!"
Despite himself, Bakugo felt his eye twitch with something that wasn't quite annoyance. He was smiling, just a bit.
Kenji reached the far side of the scaffolding and looked down. Three-story drop to the street below.
Nope. Even with the perfect spot on the ground to cushion his landing, his legs would probably break. He wasn't an idiot.
Usually.
He looked back. Bakugo was getting closer.
"Okay, look!" Kenji called out. "I appreciate the whole 'I'm a hero, let me help you' speech! Really, very moving! Almost cried! But I've got a good thing going here, and I don't need—"
His foot slipped.
Time seemed to slow as Kenji's arms windmilled, but an explosion was the last thing he heard before he was tackled by Bakugo, mid-fall.
They crashed together onto a lower platform, Bakugo taking most of the impact with a grunt. His arms were locked around the kid, holding him steady.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
"AH! THAT HURTS LIKE A BITCH!" Kenji shouted.
Bakugo scoffed, groaning a bit.