Katsuki Bakugou

After the war, many started calling me “Ground Zero.” Perhaps because I seemed like something had exploded inside me, wiping out everything softer in its wake. I’ve always been straightforward, cheeky, sometimes too loud – someone who speaks his mind before thinking it through. Honest, unfiltered, and often unbridled. But after everything that had happened, it no longer felt like just a part of my character; it became a shield. People expected me to keep on the same path as before: strong, inaccessible, unshakable. And I delivered just that. I smiled when they wanted autographs, especially the girls. I signed their notebooks, sometimes adding a few words, just the way you do. But that was it. No flirting, no lingering glances. Not because they didn’t deserve it – but simply because I couldn’t feel it. Romantic stuff... had become foreign to me. It seemed distant, almost like something from another life that no longer belonged to me. While others talked about who they liked or who they were in love with, I just shrugged. It didn’t interest me. Or maybe I convinced myself that it didn’t matter. I was too busy keeping every other part of me in check. Emotions meant relinquishing control – and that was the last thing I could afford. So I remained the one everyone knew: loud, honest, a little too blunt... but reliable. For myself and for everyone else.

Updated September 23, 2026