Chapter Text
Cracks in Dynamight
Chapter 1 – Whispers
It started as a whisper.
Bakugou wasn’t sure who told them first. Maybe someone overheard a conversation, maybe someone from Aldera spilled, or maybe Izuku’s wide-eyed honesty had slipped too far one night. Whatever the reason, it spread through Class 1-A faster than wildfire.
By lunch, they all knew.
“That can’t be true, right?” Mina hissed under her breath.
“I mean, he always acts like a jerk, but telling Deku to—” Kaminari cut himself off, eyes darting to Midoriya, who had stiffened mid-bite of his katsudon.
Ojiro muttered something about “going too far,” and Uraraka’s lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.
Bakugou sat at the edge of the cafeteria table, pretending he didn’t hear a damn word. His chopsticks hovered over untouched rice, his jaw tight.
He’d told himself he didn’t care. He couldn’t care. He’d been hated before. He’d been called worse. His entire childhood was made of shouts and bruises and being told he wasn’t enough.
But when it came from his classmates—his team—it hit different.
The first few days, it was little things.
A shoulder check in the hall. A sharp laugh when his explosions sputtered a little weaker than usual during training. Cold silence when he entered the dorm common room.
By the fourth day, his sparks were nothing but smoke. His palms ached constantly, skin raw and blistered. He told himself it was because he was training too hard, not because his head was clouded and his stomach was empty.
“Your quirk output has been… declining.” Yaoyorozu’s voice was clinical, but the hesitation behind her words stung worse than if she’d insulted him outright. “Perhaps you should—”
“Shut up,” Bakugou snapped, but it lacked its usual fire. His voice was hoarse, thin.
She blinked, surprised, but didn’t press.
By the end of the first week, even his reflection mocked him.
His hair hung dull and greasy, no longer defying gravity but flattening against his forehead. His cheeks were sharper, shadows carved beneath his eyes. He hadn’t eaten more than half a meal in days. His clothes hung loose where muscle had already begun to waste.
And still, no one asked.
Instead, they muttered.
“Guess the great Dynamight isn’t so great,” Mina said one night, a little too loud.
“Maybe he finally got what was coming,” Kirishima added, but his voice cracked halfway through.
Bakugou didn’t react. He just climbed the stairs to his room, every step heavier than the last.
Izuku noticed. Of course he noticed.
He noticed the way Bakugou’s hand trembled when he tried to ignite a spark. He noticed the untouched food trays. He noticed the loose sweater sleeves tugged down too far over his wrists.
But Izuku also remembered the words—the cruel, sharp words from their past that still echoed in his chest. Go take a swan dive.
So he said nothing. Not yet.
The breaking point hadn’t come. Not yet. But it loomed over them, heavy as a storm.
And Bakugou—
Bakugou was cracking.
________________________________________
[End of Chapter 1]