Elysium

6

It had been weeks since Bakugou's last encounter with her, the mysterious vigilante with the quirk of light manipulation. Her face, hidden in shadows and flickers of light, had lingered in his mind ever since that night in Shinjuku City. Something about her had gotten under his skin—the way she moved, the way she spoke like she knew something he didn't, and the way she'd disappeared before he could properly challenge her.

He hated unfinished business.

The rest of Class 1-A had moved on after the chaos. Shinjuku had been left in disarray, with villains either captured or on the run. The Hero Public Safety Commission kept a tight lid on details, leaving the media and the public to speculate. Yet despite all the rumors swirling about vigilantes and underworld alliances, Bakugou had found himself obsessing over one thing—*her.*

She wasn't a villain, at least not in the traditional sense, but she sure wasn't a hero either. And that's what pissed him off. There was something about the way she fought, the way her light danced through the battlefield, that made her presence impossible to ignore. He needed to find out who she was, why she'd shown up at Shinjuku, and most importantly, why she kept pulling away before he could get a real answer.

He'd tried to push it aside, focus on the intense training and missions that followed, but the memory of her lingered, like a flame that refused to die out. He had unfinished business with her, and Bakugou Katsuki hated unfinished business more than anything.

One late evening, after a particularly grueling day of training, Bakugou wandered the grounds outside the U.A. dorms. The city below twinkled with lights, but it felt distant, like another world compared to the quiet within their walls. Something pulled at him tonight, a restlessness that refused to let him relax. With his hands stuffed in his pockets, he glanced over the city, frustration simmering beneath his skin.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a faint glow from a nearby rooftop.

His instincts kicked in before his mind could process. The light wasn't normal—it had a familiar, ethereal quality to it, like someone manipulating it intentionally. He sprinted toward the rooftop, his heart pounding harder with every step. He knew that glow. He *knew* who was behind it.

Sure enough, as he leapt onto the roof, he saw her standing there. Her figure was framed against the night sky, bathed in the soft glow of her light manipulation quirk. Her hood was pulled up, but the shimmer of light that radiated from her seemed to dance off her, casting intricate patterns onto the rooftop. She hadn't seen him yet, her focus seemingly on the city below.

"You think you can just show up without a word, huh?" Bakugou growled, his voice cutting through the still night air. His eyes narrowed, fists already clenched at his sides as he stalked toward her.

The girl—*no, the vigilante*—didn't flinch at his sudden appearance. Slowly, she turned her head, her eyes catching the reflection of her light as they met his. Her expression was calm, unreadable.

"I wasn't trying to hide," she said simply, her voice soft but unwavering. There was a hint of something in her tone—maybe a challenge, or perhaps an understanding.

"Tch," Bakugou spat. "You're not exactly making yourself easy to find." His eyes scanned her up and down, looking for any sign of a threat, though he didn't sense any hostility. "What the hell are you doing here? Again?"

She tilted her head slightly, as if pondering his question. "Maybe I just like rooftops," she said, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile. "Or maybe I was waiting for you."

That sent a surge of heat through Bakugou, irritation and curiosity warring inside him. "You're not a hero, and yet you keep showing up when things go to shit," he muttered, stepping closer until they were only a few feet apart. "What's your deal?"

She turned fully to face him now, her cloak rustling softly in the wind. The faint glow of her quirk dimmed slightly, enough that Bakugou could see her face clearly beneath the shadows of her hood.

"I have my reasons," she replied, her voice dropping lower. "Reasons you might not understand. But I'm not your enemy, Bakugou."

That startled him. His name, spoken so calmly by her, almost made it sound like she knew him, like there was some deeper connection. His brows furrowed in confusion, but before he could ask, she continued.

"Not everyone fighting in the shadows is doing it for the wrong reasons."

Bakugou's scowl deepened. He hated cryptic answers, hated not knowing exactly where someone stood. "That's bullshit. You either fight for justice, or you're in it for yourself. So which is it?"

Her gaze softened slightly, though her guardedness never wavered. "I'm fighting for justice... but not the way you are."

"Then why the hell keep disappearing? If you're so righteous, why not fight in the open, like a real hero?" His voice rose, frustration bubbling to the surface. He stepped closer, his hand twitching with the urge to use his quirk, to see what she was really capable of if they were forced into a fight.

But she didn't move, didn't even flinch under his intensity. Instead, she sighed softly, shaking her head.

"Not everyone gets the luxury of fighting in the light," she said quietly. "Some of us have to operate in the shadows because we can't afford to trust the system."

Bakugou's eyes narrowed. He knew she wasn't talking about just herself. "You mean the commission? The heroes?"

She nodded slightly, her face hardening. "I lost someone... because of them. Someone innocent. I'm not about to stand by while the people in power manipulate everything from behind the scenes."

He could hear the pain in her voice now, a crack in her otherwise calm demeanor. And suddenly, it clicked. Whoever she had lost, it had pushed her to this. Pushed her to a life of vigilante justice, operating outside the boundaries of the hero society that had failed her.

A part of him understood that, though he would never admit it. He understood that burning need for revenge, the drive to right the wrongs of the past.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights flickered below, casting long shadows over the rooftop, but neither of them moved.

Then, to Bakugou's surprise, she stepped closer, just within arm's reach. He tensed, ready for anything, but all she did was give him a small, tired smile.

"You're strong," she said softly. "Stronger than most. But you'll need more than strength to take down the ones controlling all of this."

"Tch, like I need your advice," Bakugou muttered, though the heat in his voice had faded. He didn't step back, didn't push her away. In fact, his body remained still, more curious than hostile now.

"I'm not offering advice. I'm offering a bond," she said, her eyes searching his, as if waiting for him to understand. "A temporary alliance. You want answers, I want justice. We're both fighting the same battle, just from different sides."

Bakugou stared at her, weighing her words. There was something different about her tonight, something more vulnerable than the first time he'd seen her. But there was also a strength, a fire burning behind her calm exterior that intrigued him. She wasn't like the others he'd fought before.

He considered her offer for a moment, then finally, with a small huff, he nodded. "Fine. But don't think this makes us friends or anything."

Her smile widened just a fraction, and for the first time, Bakugou caught a glimpse of the person behind the vigilante mask. "I wouldn't dream of it."

She turned to leave, the faint glow of her quirk beginning to flicker to life once more, but just before she disappeared into the night, Bakugou called out after her.

"What's your name?"

She paused, glancing over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his once more. For a second, she hesitated, as if weighing whether to give him the answer.

Then, with a soft voice, she said, "You can call me [Name]."

And with that, she vanished, leaving Bakugou standing alone on the rooftop, his mind buzzing with the weight of their encounter. He hated to admit it, but part of him was actually looking forward to the next time they crossed paths.

He clenched his fists, a small smile tugging at his lips.

This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.