The Class That Cried Werewolf

(S4) 51 - Steps Toward Greatness

-3rd Person POV-

The day's lessons had wrapped up, leaving Class 1-A buzzing with a mix of determination and unease as they filed back to the dorms. The air was tinged with the fading warmth of late afternoon, but any semblance of tranquility was shattered by a voice booming from the common area.

"HEY! IF YOU'VE GOT TRASH, THEN BRING IT OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!" Bakugo's thunderous command echoed through the dorm, his scowl fierce enough to send a chill down the spines of anyone within earshot. In one hand, he clutched a bright yellow bag emblazoned with bold kanji for "trash," waving it like a battle standard.

"Bakugo! Thanks!" Kirishima grinned, jogging over with a bulging garbage bag slung over his shoulder like a proud warrior offering tribute.

"SURE!" Bakugo barked, snatching the bag with a speed that suggested he was ready to chuck it across the dorm if necessary.

"I have some as well," Tokoyami's calm voice cut through the chaos as he approached, holding a more diminutive, neatly tied bag.

"HAND IT OVER!" Bakugo roared, his hand shooting out with all the subtlety of a grenade exploding.

The other boys joined in one by one, dragging their trash bags toward the increasingly volatile ash-blonde. The pile at his feet grew alarmingly fast, an impromptu landfill forming around him. Bakugo's vein twitched visibly as his fury reached a boiling point.

"YOU BASTARDS, IT'S LIKE YOU'VE BEEN HOARDING THIS FOR WEEKS!"

From a safe distance, Tatsuya stifled a laugh behind his hand, his shoulders shaking with barely contained amusement. The scene was absurd—a furious Bakugo, surrounded by a mountain of trash, looking like the unwilling king of garbage.

A sudden, muffled squeal pulled Tatsuya's attention toward the couches. The girls were huddled together, voices bubbling in hushed excitement as they shared what seemed to be a private moment of lighthearted conversation. His sharp ears caught a snippet of Hagakure's unmistakable tone, and his gaze instinctively shifted toward her.

Then, the weight of reality settled on his shoulders. They weren't speaking—not anymore. With a soft, bitter sigh, Tatsuya tore his gaze away and turned on his heel, his footsteps heavier than before. He hated the distance between them, hated the silence that now stretched like a chasm where their friendship used to be.

As Tatsuya walked away, his footsteps echoed softly in the hallway, each step pulling him further into his own mind. The memories of their argument replayed like a broken record—Hagakure's frustration, her voice trembling with emotion, and the raw sting of her words.

He clenched his fists at his sides, his nails biting into his palms as he wrestled with the emotions that clawed at him. Guilt, frustration, and something else he couldn't quite name churned together in a storm that left him hollow. He wanted to bridge the gap, to say something that could undo the damage, but every scenario he imagined fell apart before it began.

His gaze dropped to the floor, his focus blurring as his mind wandered deeper into the labyrinth of what-ifs and should-haves. The world around him seemed to fade, replaced by the suffocating weight of his thoughts.

And then, breaking through the fog like a lifeline, a voice called out to him, startling him back into the present. His gaze snapped to Izuku, whose eyes reflected concern when they met his wide ones.

"Oh, Izuku..." Tatsuya exhaled, his breath shaky, struggling to suppress the turmoil that had been simmering inside. He steadied himself, forcing the tension out of his shoulders as he tried to find his footing. "What is it? What do you need?"