Amethyst. (Katsuki Bakugo x Reader)

PART 3 - The Weight of Recognition

After Aizawa's class, the room felt unusually still. Most students were already chatting, stretching, collecting their things—just regular after-class noise. Nothing unusual.

Until the door slammed open.

"U-Um—why the heck are you all here?!" A girl with shoulder-length brown hair stood in the doorway, wide-eyed, her voice swallowed almost instantly by the murmur of over fifty students crowding outside 1-A.

Their eyes weren't searching for anyone else. They were here for me.

I felt it before I saw it. The shift. The weight. The kind of attention I hated—wide-eyed, calculating, heavy with expectation.

They weren't just curious about Class 1-A. They were curious about me. The one who didn't belong.

"They want to check us out," a voice snapped.

Spiky stepped past the girl, tone sharp enough to slice the air. "What you're doing here is pointless. So move it, extras!"

I caught his name earlier in class; Katsuki Bakugo. The sparks in his palm weren't just attitude - it was nitroglycerin. Literally. Explosive by nature. Just like his temper.

The crowd stirred. Mutters spread like smoke. Tension rose.

I clutched my backpack tighter, trying to shrink into myself, to slide past before anyone got too curious—

And that's when someone stepped in front of me.

Tall. Lean. Shoulders squared like he wasn't used to stepping aside for anyone. Messy violet hair, pushed back but still defiant, like it refused to be tamed. His eyes—dark under heavy lids—studied me with quiet calculation, the kind that made you feel like you were already losing a game you didn't know you were playing.

There was something... off about his stillness. Like a held breath. Like control balanced on the edge of something heavier.

"I wanted to be in the Hero Course," he said, voice low but clear. "But I wasn't accepted. Like a lot of people here." His arms folded slowly across his chest—measured, not defensive. Just firm. "And then you show up. Out of nowhere. Is it because of your old man?"

There it was. Straight to the core. No hesitation.

My jaw clenched. He knew. Of course he did.

I looked like Shoto. That was all it took. I didn't flinch. Didn't answer. But inside, something curled tight in my chest.

He smirked than he turned to the crowd, voice rising. "Ladies and gentlemen, Amethyst in the flesh."

The name hit me like a slap. A wave of murmurs followed. Some curious. Some jealous. All unwanted.

My classmates started whispering, too. I could feel their eyes—trying to match the headlines to the girl in uniform. Judging. Measuring. I hated it.

I wasn't Amethyst here. I was supposed to be Y/N.

Before I could respond, a familiar voice cut through the air like a grenade going off.

"These people don't matter." Bakugo. He shoved past me, face set, voice low and burning. "The only thing that matters," he said, "is that I beat them."

The way he moved—no hesitation, no doubt—it made the crowd step back before he even touched them.

He wasn't defending me. He was declaring war. And somehow, it helped.

The crowd began to scatter, slowly and noisily, but I stayed frozen in place.

The tension in my chest hadn't gone anywhere. If anything, it was tighter now—wrapped like wire around my ribs.