With All My Might (!MHA!Bakugo Katsuki x !Fem!Reader)

𝟚 | 𝙸 𝙻𝚒𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚍

***

   The television in the corner of the room cast a soft blue glow across the otherwise sterile and quiet doctor's office. On the screen, a news anchor spoke in solemn tones, the words barely audible in the small room.
   "It has been six monts since the Quirk Weapon Trade Association ring had been raided and brought to justice. Over five hundred children were saved and rescued from Quirk trafficking—" The TV's sound was abruptly cut off as a doctor walked by, pressing the mute button on the remote with a practiced motion. 

   He carried a clipboard in one hand, his expression one of focused determination. The soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead filled the silence as he moved towards a bright screen mounted on the wall.
   He flipped a switch, and the screen lit up, casting a stark white light across the room. The doctor carefully placed a tinted image over the screen, allowing the X-ray scan of the head to shine through. 

   The skeletal outline glowed softly, revealing the intricate structures of a brain, the faint lines of bone, and the delicate curve of the skull.
"Forgive me for the delay, Ms. Blade," the doctor said with a sigh, turning to face the woman seated in a chair beside the examination table.
   Hazel Blade sat with a composed elegance, her posture relaxed yet attentive. Her long blonde hair, streaked with subtle highlights, was pulled back into a neat ponytail, though a few strands had escaped to frame her face. 

   She wore a simple but well-fitted blouse and slacks, the professional attire doing little to hide the underlying strength in her figure. Her violet eyes, sharp and keen, shimmered with a quiet intensity under the harsh lights, betraying a hint of concern as she observed the doctor.
   "No worries," Hazel replied gently, crossing her legs as she settled more comfortably into the chair. Despite the calm tone in her voice, there was an underlying tension in her posture, a silent worry that had been brewing for some time.

   The doctor adjusted his glasses and flipped through the pages on his clipboard, glancing up occasionally at the X-ray displayed on the screen. "How long have you had your daughter?" He asked, his tone professional but with a touch of curiosity as he examined the notes.
   "Six months as of now," Hazel responded, her voice carrying the weight of those years. She watched the doctor's movements closely, her mind replaying the many moments, both joyful and challenging, that had passed since that fateful day when she first met Weapon 140.

   The doctor nodded, making a few notes on his clipboard before looking up at Hazel.
"And during those months, you've noticed that she is unable to read or write?" His voice was neutral, but the implication behind the question was heavy.
   Hazel's expression softened slightly, a faint frown creasing her brow as she brushed back a stray strand of hair.
"Yes," she replied, her voice laced with frustration and sadness. 

   The realization had been gradual but undeniable, the struggles her daughter faced more apparent with each passing month. The doctor studied the X-ray again, his eyes tracing the patterns and structures displayed on the screen.
   "It's not uncommon for children who've experienced significant trauma to have difficulties with certain cognitive functions," he explained, his tone carefully measured. "But in Y/n's case, there might be something more at play here."

   Hazel's eyes were locked on the glowing X-ray image, her mind racing with possibilities as she tried to make sense of the doctor's words.
"Such as?" She asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and concern.
   The doctor shifted slightly, adjusting his stance as he examined the image on the screen. He pointed to a specific area on the brain scan, his finger tracing the outline of the brain's communication centers. 

   "It seems your daughter has a severe case of dyslexia," he explained, his tone clinical but not unkind. Hazel's reaction was immediate; her eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching in her throat.
   "Dyslexia? But she understands me just fine," she countered, her voice toned with confusion and disbelief. The idea that Y/n, who had always seemed so perceptive, could have dyslexia was difficult for her to reconcile.