The light had been absolute.
One moment, the familiar, shitty streets leading to his equally shitty house. The last, fading shouts of "See ya, Bakugou!" from Kirishima and the others.
The next, a searing white that punched through his eyelids, obliterating sound, thought, everything.
Then, air.
Different air.
Cleaner. Sharper. Laced with the scent of pine and damp earth.
He'd blinked, eyes stinging, spots dancing in his vision.
The world resolved itself into harsh sunlight and open space.
A plateau. Windswept grass. A vast, unfamiliar sky.
Wind whipped his UA uniform, the stiff fabric suddenly alien against his skin.
What the actual fuck?
His hand instinctively went to his side.
No gauntlets. No hero costume.
Just the damn school uniform he'd been so ready to burn after graduation.
He was Katsuki Bakugou.
He was supposed to be a Pro Hero, officially, tomorrow.
Supposed to be starting his agency with those idiots.
Supposed to be Number One.
Not… here.
Wherever "here" was.
His gaze fell.
A flimsy sheet of paper fluttered near his boots, pinned by a small, grey rock.
A newspaper.
He snatched it up, his movements jerky.
The script was foreign, all looping characters and sharp angles, yet somehow, impossibly, he could read it.
Year X783.
His brow furrowed, a knot of anger and confusion tightening in his chest.
Seven-eighty-three? What kind of bullshit, made-up year is that?
Kingdom of Fiore.
Alvarez Empire cut ties with Ishgar's Countries.
Fiore's Kingdom included.
Names that meant nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Cold dread, an unfamiliar and unwelcome sensation, began to prickle at the back of his neck, raising the hairs there.
This ain't Japan. This ain't Earth.
The thought slammed into him with the force of a physical blow, stealing his breath for a second.
Isekai'd? Like in one of those shitty light novels Kaminari always had his nose buried in? Are you fucking kidding me?!
A vein throbbed visibly in his temple.
"Fuck!"
The word tore from his throat, raw and furious, echoing across the empty expanse, swallowed by the wind.
"FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUCK!"
He kicked a loose stone, sending it arcing over the edge of the plateau. It disappeared into the hazy green vastness below.
This was bad.
This was monumentally, catastrophically, unbelievably bad.
Graduation. His agency. His meticulously planned path to the top.
All gone.
Vanished by a fucking flash of white light.
His eyes, burning with frustration, scanned the newspaper again, desperate for an anchor, any piece of information that wasn't complete, utter insanity.
A map.
Small, printed in the bottom corner. Weather-stained and slightly blurred.
A town was marked nearby. Close to a river.
"Magnolia…" he muttered, the name tasting strange and foreign on his tongue.
It was a direction.
A place to go.
Staying on this gods-forsaken plateau, screaming at the sky, wasn't an option. That was what weaklings did.
He crumpled the newspaper in his fist, the thin paper crinkling loudly under the sudden, violent pressure.
Alright. Fine.
His mind, already racing, began to shift gears from shock to grim acceptance.
New world. New rules. Same damn goal.
He'd be Number One here too.
Whatever "here" was.
Whatever it fucking took.
First, this Magnolia place.
He needed information. Lots of it.
He needed to understand what kind of fucked-up situation he'd been thrown into.
And maybe, just maybe, find a way back.
Though a sliver of him, the part that always craved a real fight, a real challenge beyond regulated spars and predictable villains, felt a dark, unwelcome flicker of something else.
Something that wasn't entirely despair. Almost… anticipation.
He looked out over the landscape.
Untamed. Wild. Vast.
Different from the concrete jungles and manicured parks he knew.
He took a breath. The air was still clean. Still sharp.
He hitched his non-existent backpack higher on his shoulder out of sheer, ingrained habit.
Then scoffed at the empty gesture. Idiot.
He started walking.
Towards the direction the map indicated for Magnolia.
Towards the unknown.
His jaw was set.
His eyes, narrowed and blazing with an internal fire, scanned the horizon.
Let's see what you got, you shitty new world.
———
The plateau gave way to a rough, descending trail.
Loose rocks shifted and skittered under his school shoes.
Damn it.
These polished leather loafers weren't made for hiking. They were made for looking like a respectable, soon-to-be Pro Hero.
The sun beat down, hotter than he was used to without the city's perpetual haze to diffuse its harshness.
He was already sweating, the dark wool of his UA uniform jacket feeling like a furnace.
Trees began to appear as he descended, growing thicker, taller.
Strange trees.
Some with vibrant, unnaturally colored leaves – hues of electric blue and deep violet he'd never seen on earthly foliage.
Freaky.
The air hummed with the sound of unseen insects. Louder, more varied than back home.
Everything here felt… amplified. Untouched.
He kept his senses sharp, his head on a swivel.
Years of hero training, of expecting ambushes from low-life villains or that damn Deku popping out of nowhere, hadn't vanished with the change of scenery.
If anything, they were more critical now.
He was utterly, completely alone.
No backup.
No Kirishima to have his back with that idiotic, almost-indestructible hardening.
No Kaminari to fry anything that got too close, even if the moron usually short-circuited his own brain in the process.
No Ashido to melt obstacles. No Sero to bind enemies.
Just him.
He clenched his fists, knuckles white.
A familiar warmth, comforting and fierce, began to build in his palms.
He flexed his fingers.
Sparks.
Tiny, almost invisible in the bright sunlight, but there. Accompanied by a small, sharp crackle.
Relief, potent and overwhelming, washed through him, loosening some of the crushing tension in his shoulders.
Good. Still got it.
His Quirk. Explosion.
His ticket. His power. His very essence.
If he had this, he wasn't helpless.
He could fight. He could survive.
He could dominate.
A grim, almost feral smile touched his lips.
This changed things.
Not everything. But something vital.
The descent continued, the path becoming slightly more defined.
He spotted what looked like cart ruts, old and faded, pressed into the earth.
He was getting closer to civilization.
Or at least, what passed for it in a place called Fiore.
His stomach growled, a low, demanding rumble.
He hadn't eaten since breakfast, hours ago.
Graduation day. He'd skipped lunch, too keyed up, too focused on the future that had been stolen from him.
Typical.
Now he was paying the price.
Water. He needed water too.
His throat was dry, raspy.
He scanned the surroundings.
The terrain was becoming less rocky, more genuinely forested. The trees were dense, their canopy blocking out some of the sun.
He could hear the distant sound of birds. Different calls than any Japanese birds. Weirder. Sharper.
Everything was weirder.
He focused on the map he'd burned into his memory from the crumpled newspaper.
Magnolia was situated near a river, if he recalled correctly. The River Crocus, or something equally stupid-sounding.
A river meant water.
And towns usually stuck close to water sources. Common sense.
He pushed onward, ignoring the growing discomfort of his aching feet and the gnawing hunger.
Discomfort was temporary.
Giving up was forever.
And Katsuki Bakugou didn't fucking give up. Not ever.
Hours passed. Or at least, it felt like hours. The sun had no respect for his internal clock.
It climbed higher, then began its slow, lazy descent towards the jagged horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange, pink, and violet he'd only ever seen in overly-dramatic anime backgrounds.
It was… annoyingly pretty. Distracting.
He finally broke through the tree line at the edge of the forest.
Before him lay a wide, green valley.
And in that valley, nestled by a wide, calm river that snaked its way through the landscape…
A town.
Magnolia.
It wasn't a sprawling metropolis like Musutafu. Not even close. It wasn't even a decent-sized city.
It looked… old-fashioned. Quaint.
Buildings with timber frames and sharply pointed roofs. Cobblestone streets, from what he could see.
A central clock tower, its hands slowly turning.
Thin plumes of smoke curled lazily from numerous chimneys.
It looked peaceful.
Too peaceful.
His eyes narrowed.
Places that looked too peaceful were usually full of complacent idiots.
Or hiding something dangerous.
He started the final descent into the valley, the path now a well-worn dirt road.
The air grew cooler as evening approached. The shadows lengthened.
He could smell woodsmoke.
And something else…
Something sweet and savory. Roasting meat. Baking bread.
Food.
His stomach clenched painfully, a visceral reminder of his needs.
He needed to find an inn.
Get food. Water.
And information. Lots of damn information.
He reached the outskirts of Magnolia.
A simple wooden sign, weathered by time and elements, read "Welcome to Magnolia!" in the same looping script as the newspaper.
Underneath, a smaller, more crudely painted addition, clearly newer: "Home of the Fairy Tail Guild!"
Fairy Tail? Guild? What the hell is a guild? Like some medieval RPG bullshit Kaminari would drool over?
This world was getting stranger by the goddamn minute.
People were out and about, though the numbers were thinning as dusk settled.
They were dressed in… well, not modern clothes.
Tunics. Simple trousers. Long, flowing cloaks. Practical-looking dresses.
Some of the men carried swords at their hips.
Swords.
Actual fucking swords. Worn openly.
Not as part of a hero costume for show. Just… casually, like a damn accessory.
Okay. Definitely not Kansas anymore, Toto.
He scowled at his own internal pop culture reference. He'd been spending way too much time around the nerd squad, their stupid movie quotes seeping into his brain.
He drew a few curious glances as he walked down the main street.
His UA uniform, dark, stark, and militaristic, stood out sharply against the more colorful, rustic attire of the locals.
They probably thought he was some kind of weirdo. Or a lost noble. Or a soldier from somewhere far away.
Good.
Let them.
He wasn't here to make friends. He wasn't here to blend in.
He needed to find the most likely place for information.
A tavern? An inn? That was usually how it worked in those fantasy stories.
That "Fairy Tail Guild" place sounded like it might be important, given its prominent mention on the town sign.
But first, basic necessities.
He spotted a building with a swinging wooden sign depicting a frothing tankard and a steaming meat pie.
"The Hungry Huntsman," it read in bold, cheerful letters.
Looked promising enough.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door.
The smell of roasted meat, ale, and woodsmoke hit him full force. It was warm inside.
It was dim, lit by flickering lanterns hanging from wooden beams and a crackling fireplace in one corner.
A few patrons were scattered around rough-hewn tables, their voices a low murmur.
They all looked up as he entered, conversations momentarily ceasing.
Again, the stares. Curious. Wary.
He ignored them, his gaze sweeping the room, assessing.
A portly man with a stained apron and a florid, cheerful face wiped down the scarred wooden bar.
"Well now, what have we here?" the man boomed, his voice surprisingly jovial despite the interruption. "Ain't seen your like 'round these parts, lad. Welcome, welcome!"
Bakugou stalked towards the bar, his worn school shoes making little sound on the wooden floorboards.
"Food," he growled, his voice low and rough from disuse and thirst. "And water. Now."
His tone brooked no argument, no pleasantries.
The innkeeper blinked, his smile faltering for a microsecond, then returned, wider than before. "A feisty one, eh? I like feisty! Alright, alright. Take a seat anywhere you like. What'll it be?"
Bakugou scanned the room again.
He wasn't going to sit with his back to the door. Or boxed in.
He pointed to a small, isolated table in the far corner, offering a clear view of the entrance and most of the room.
"There."
Then, back to the innkeeper.
"Whatever's quick. And a lot of it."
He didn't have money.
That was a problem he'd deal with when it came. One crisis at a time.
Maybe his glare would be payment enough for now.
Or a small, controlled explosion if things got difficult.
He hoped it wouldn't come to that immediately. He needed to conserve energy until he knew more about this place and its… occupants.
The innkeeper raised a bushy eyebrow at his demanding tone but just nodded. "Coming right up, son. You look like you could eat a whole wild boar."
Bakugou moved to the indicated table, the eyes of the other patrons following him.
Let them look. Let them wonder.
He needed to figure out this world. Fast.
And this "Fairy Tail Guild"...
It sounded like a good place to start finding out who was strong.
And where the trouble was.
Because trouble always meant opportunity.
And Katsuki Bakugou thrived on trouble.
———
The wooden chair scraped loudly against the floorboards as he yanked it out and sat.
It was sturdy. Uncomfortable.
Suited him fine. He wasn't here for comfort.
He kept his hands on the tabletop, palms down. Relaxed, but ready.
The low hum of chatter in the inn resumed, slightly more subdued than before.
He picked out snippets, his hearing sharp.
"...heard the Guild got another big job request from that rich merchant in Oak Town..."
"...old Man Macao was complaining about his back again, poor sod..."
"...Natsu started another brawl in the street, can you believe it? Nearly took out the baker's stall!"
Natsu? Guild?
These names and terms kept cropping up. This "Guild" seemed central to the town's gossip, at least.
The innkeeper, who moved surprisingly fast for a man his size, returned, a laden tray in his hands.
A steaming platter of roasted meat – some kind of large bird, dark and glistening – and a pile of roasted root vegetables. Carrots, potatoes, something orange he didn't recognize.
A hunk of dark bread, still warm.
And a large earthenware pitcher of water with a single, slightly chipped but clean wooden mug.
"Here you are, lad," the innkeeper said, placing it all before him with a flourish. "Best in the house, on short notice. Eat up!"
Bakugou's eyes fixed on the food. His jaw tightened.
His hunger, held at bay for hours by adrenaline and sheer, stubborn anger, roared to life with a vengeance.
He didn't say thanks. He didn't acknowledge the innkeeper beyond a curt nod.
He just grabbed the pitcher and poured a full mug of water, downing half of it in one long, desperate gulp.
It was cool. Clean. Unchlorinated.
Better than city tap water.
Then he attacked the food.
He tore off a leg of the roasted bird with his fingers, not bothering with the simple knife and fork that lay beside the plate.
It was hot. Juicy. Well-seasoned with herbs he couldn't name.
Delicious. Better than anything he'd expected.
He ate quickly, methodically, like a starving wolf, barely tasting it but driven by primal need.
He was aware of the innkeeper watching him, a curious, slightly amused look on his round face.
He ignored it.
Food first. Questions later.
Or rather, listening first. Information was key.
"...that damn Dark Guild, Eisenwald, causing trouble up north again near Oshibana..."
"...Council's sending Rune Knights, but you know how slow they are to respond to anything that isn't a direct threat to Era..."
Dark Guilds? Council? Rune Knights? Era?
More unfamiliar terms. This world clearly had its own established power structures. Its own factions. Its own villains.
A part of him, the hero part he was trying to suppress because it felt utterly useless and out of place now, cataloged the information automatically. Old habits died hard.
He finished the meat, gnawing the bones clean. He devoured the vegetables, scooped up the gravy with the bread.
He drained another full mug of water.
He felt… better.
Human again. Almost.
The gnawing, painful emptiness in his stomach was gone, replaced by a comfortable warmth and returning strength.
He leaned back slightly in the hard chair, his gaze sweeping the room once more, sharper now, more focused.
The innkeeper approached his table, wiping his hands on his apron.
"Everything to your satisfaction, lad?" he asked, his voice still jovial.
Bakugou met his gaze, unimpressed. "It was food."
The innkeeper chuckled, a hearty, rumbling sound. "High praise indeed, coming from you! Glad you enjoyed it. That'll be ten jewels, son."
Jewels?
Right. Money. Currency.
He didn't have any "jewels."
He had yen in his wallet back on Earth, completely and utterly useless here.
His pockets contained only lint, a now-crumpled and slightly damp handkerchief, and the tattered remains of the newspaper.
He stared at the innkeeper, his expression unchanging.
The man's smile faltered slightly under that intense, unblinking gaze. "Something wrong?"
Bakugou considered his options.
He could threaten. A small blast to show he was serious. Quick. Effective.
But that would attract unwanted attention. Guards, maybe. He didn't know the laws here.
He needed to be smart about this, at least initially. Gauge the responses.
"Don't have any 'jewels'," Bakugou stated, his voice flat, devoid of apology or concern.
The innkeeper's brow furrowed. "Now hold on a minute, son. You order food, you gotta pay for it. That's how things work in Magnolia, and everywhere else I reckon."
A few of the other patrons were looking over now, sensing a potential confrontation. Their chatter died down again.
Perfect. An audience.
"I just got here," Bakugou said, his voice low and carrying a dangerous undercurrent. "This town. This world. Whatever the hell this place is."
The innkeeper looked genuinely confused. "What are you on about, 'this world'? Did you hit your head, son?"
"Means I don't have your local currency," Bakugou elaborated, enunciating each word with deliberate, sharp precision, as if speaking to an idiot.
He let a tiny bit of heat gather in his right palm, resting flat on the wooden table.
Not enough to spark. Not enough to set anything alight. Just enough to subtly warm the wood beneath it.
A silent, understated warning.
The innkeeper seemed to deflate a little. He looked from Bakugou's intense, almost glowing red eyes to his strange, dark clothes, then back to his face. He wasn't a fool. He ran a tavern; he'd seen trouble before.
"You… you ain't from around here, are ya? Not even from Bosco or Seven. Or even the Western Continent."
"No."
"Well… damn." The innkeeper scratched his bald head, looking perplexed. "That's a predicament, ain't it? What am I supposed to do? Can't just give food away for free, business is business. The wife would have my hide."
Bakugou's eyes narrowed. This was the crucial point.
"Work," Bakugou said, the single word sharp and decisive.
The innkeeper blinked. "Eh? Work?"
"I'll work it off," Bakugou stated. "Washing dishes. Chopping wood. Cleaning stables. Whatever crap job you got that's worth ten of your 'jewels'."
He hated the idea.
Katsuki Bakugou, the future Number One Hero, doing menial labor? It was insulting.
But it was a means to an end. A temporary concession to circumstance.
Better than starting a fight on a recently filled stomach in a new town where he knew nothing and no one.
Strategy. He had to be strategic. For now.
The innkeeper considered it. He looked Bakugou up and down.
Lean. Wiry. But there was a tightly coiled, explosive strength about him, visible even in his posture.
And that glare… it promised he wouldn't be a slacker, if only out of sheer, belligerent pride or simmering anger.
"Washing dishes, eh?" The innkeeper stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Got averitable mountain of 'em in the back. And the pot boy, young Tim, called in sick today with the river chills."
He sighed, a sound of resignation. "Alright, lad. Given your… unique situation, and the fact you ate like you hadn't seen food in a week, I'll allow it. But you work honest, you hear? Until that ten jewel debt is cleared. No slacking."
Bakugou gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. "Fine."
"Name's Bob," the innkeeper said, surprisingly extending a calloused, meaty hand. "Bob Kettler. Welcome to Magnolia, sort of, I guess."
Bakugou looked at the offered hand for a long moment.
He didn't take it.
"Bakugou."
Just his name. No pleasantries. No handshake.
Bob Kettler withdrew his hand, not seeming too offended. He was clearly used to all sorts, running an inn on a main thoroughfare.
"Alright then, Bakugou. Kitchen's through that door behind the bar. Ask for Lily, she'll show you the ropes."
Bakugou pushed the empty platter away.
He felt a grudging, minuscule flicker of something that might have been respect for the innkeeper.
The man hadn't immediately tried to call guards or make a bigger scene.
He was pragmatic. Reasonable, in his own way.
Maybe not everyone in this town was a complete, drooling idiot.
He stood, his muscles stiff from the long walk and the unaccustomed stillness of eating.
He needed a place to sleep eventually. One problem at a time.
But first, dish duty.
Fucking fantastic. My grand debut in another world, and I'm a goddamn dishwasher.
He headed towards the kitchen door.
As he passed the bar, he heard Bob Kettler say to another patron, a quiet aside not meant for his ears, but he heard it anyway.
"Strange kid. Fierce. Eyes like a hawk looking for a fight, or maybe a rabbit. Wonder where he blew in from. Smells like trouble, but the interesting kind."
Bakugou didn't react. Didn't look back.
Let them wonder. Let them talk.
The kitchen was hot. Steamy. Crowded.
Piles of dirty dishes, greasy pots, and stained cutlery were stacked everywhere, threatening to topple.
A young woman, barely older than him, with tired eyes, dark hair tied back haphazardly, and flour dusting her apron and cheeks, looked up as he entered, a ladle in her hand.
"Oh! Mr. Kettler send you? You the new pot boy for today then? Thank the stars, I thought I'd be here all night."
Bakugou just grunted and looked at the enormous, overflowing sink.
"Water's there, in the buckets. Soap's that lye brick. Rags are hanging up," she said, gesturing quickly. "I'm Lily. Try not to break anything too expensive, alright? Mr. Kettler gets real tetchy about his good china."
He ignored her name. He didn't care.
He rolled up the sleeves of his damned UA uniform jacket. The fabric was already stained and rumpled.
This was beneath him. Utterly and completely.
But it was necessary.
Information. Shelter. A foothold.
He started scrubbing.
With a vengeance.
Each pot scoured with furious energy, each plate scraped clean with aggressive precision, was one step closer to getting out of this demeaning mess.
One step closer to figuring out what the hell was going on in this magic-laced dung-heap of a world.
And one step closer to finding someone, anyone, strong enough to be worth his damn time.
That "Fairy Tail Guild" kept echoing in his mind. Home of destruction and noise, the innkeeper had said.
He'd check it out as soon as he was done with this bullshit. Definitely.
———
The water was greasy. The soap was harsh and smelled faintly of ash.
He scrubbed with furious, focused efficiency.
Pots clanged against the stone sink. Plates scraped. Cutlery rattled.
Lily, the kitchen girl, watched him for a moment out of the corner of her eye, then seemed to decide he wasn't going to shatter every piece of crockery, just make an excessive amount of noise doing the job.
She went back to kneading a large lump of dough on a floured countertop, her movements practiced and rhythmic.
The kitchen was filled with the smell of baking bread now, warm and yeasty, mixing with the lingering scent of roasted meat, stale ale, and old dishwater.
It wasn't entirely unpleasant. Just… domestic. Suffocatingly so.
And Katsuki Bakugou wasn't domestic. He wasn't made for kitchens and aprons.
He was a fighter. A hero.
Or he had been, less than a day ago.
Still am, he corrected himself fiercely, scrubbing a burnt pot with renewed vigor. Just… on a forced, shitty detour.
He worked for what felt like an eternity.
The sun had long set outside. The sounds from the tavern common room had dwindled from a boisterous roar to a few lingering murmurs, then silence.
Finally, the last pot was scrubbed clean, gleaming dully in the flickering lantern light.
He dried his hands on a rough, sacking towel, his arms aching from shoulder to wrist.
His uniform sleeves were soaked to the elbows.
Great. Just fucking great.
Lily looked up from wiping down her counter, a smear of flour on her nose.
"All done?" she asked, a hint of genuine surprise in her voice. She peered at the stacks of clean dishes. "Wow. You work fast. And… really angry. I thought you were going to scrub the patterns off."
Bakugou just glared at the now-empty, gleaming sink. A job done was a job done.
"Is the old man still out there?" he asked, his voice raspy from shouting earlier and then prolonged silence.
"Mr. Kettler? Probably cashing up for the night," Lily said, yawning. "You more than paid off your meal, I reckon. He's usually fair about that stuff, for all his grumbling."
Bakugou nodded curtly.
He wasn't about to thank her for the riveting company.
He just wanted out of this steamy, confined space.
He pushed open the kitchen door and stepped back into the common room.
It was mostly empty now, chairs pushed haphazardly under tables.
A couple of old stragglers were nodding off over their nearly empty tankards.
Bob Kettler was behind the bar, counting coins from a till into a heavy leather pouch.
He looked up as Bakugou emerged. "Ah, Bakugou. Done already? Thought you'd be at it 'til morning."
"Yeah."
"Well, let's see." Bob Kettler waddled over and peered into the kitchen. Lily gave him a tired thumbs-up from within.
He turned back to Bakugou, a slightly impressed look on his face. "Alright. Debt settled, and then some. You're a hard worker, I'll give you that. Even if you look like you're about to murder every dish you touch."
Bakugou ignored the commentary. He had more pressing concerns.
"This Fairy Tail Guild," he said, getting straight to the point, his voice flat. "Where is it?"
Bob Kettler raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Interested in joining, are ya? Bit rough around the edges for guild work, but then again, they take all sorts over there."
He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. "Then again, most of 'em are rougher than a badger's ass."
"Just tell me where it is." Bakugou's patience was wearing thin.
"Can't miss it," Bob said, gesturing vaguely towards the center of town with a thumb. "Biggest, rowdiest building in Magnolia. Follow the noise. Or the trail of destruction, depending on the day. Usually a bit of both."
Destruction? Noise?
That sounded… promising. More his speed than dishwashing.
"They always like this?" Bakugou asked, a sliver of something that wasn't entirely disdain – maybe curiosity – in his voice.
"Fairy Tail? Oh aye," Bob said with a wide, reminiscent grin. "Bunch of lovable lunatics, the lot of 'em. Powerful mages, mind you, some of the best in Fiore. But absolute chaos when they get going. Good for my business sometimes, bad for property values other times."
Mages?
So, magic was real here. Confirmed.
Not just Quirks, which were biological. Actual, honest-to-goodness magic.
Like in those fantasy games Kaminari and Sero wasted their time on.
The newspaper mentioned the Alvarez Empire, Ishgar, Fiore. This world had its own politics, empires, kingdoms, and now, confirmed magic users called mages.
This was getting more complex. And potentially, much more interesting.
"Thanks," Bakugou grunted. It was the closest he'd come to politeness all day, and it felt foreign on his tongue.
He turned to leave, his mind already on this "Fairy Tail."
"Hold on there, lad," Bob Kettler called out, his voice losing some of its boisterousness. "Where you planning on sleeping tonight? Streets ain't too kind to newcomers, 'specially ones dressed as strangely as you and with no coin."
Bakugou paused at the door. He hadn't thought that far ahead.
One problem at a time. Food was dealt with. Information gathering was next on the agenda.
Shelter… that was a detail he'd overlooked in his immediate planning.
"Got a room upstairs," Bob said, interpreting his silence correctly. "Small, but clean. Cheap. Seeing as you're new and worked off your meal and then some, I'll give you a discount. Five jewels for the night."
Bakugou frowned, his shoulders tensing. "Still don't have jewels."
Bob sighed, rubbing his temples. "Right. Forgot that part. Look, you need a place to crash. You look dead on your feet. Tomorrow, maybe you can find some odd jobs around town that pay in actual currency. Or, if you're serious about checking out Fairy Tail, they sometimes have bounties or requests posted on their board that pay well, if you've got the skills."
He considered Bakugou again, a calculating look in his eye.
"Tell you what. One night. On the house. Consider it… an investment in a potentially interesting new resident. Or maybe just a way to keep you from blowing up my tavern out of sheer frustration if you try sleeping in my alley." He winked, though there was a weary kindness in his eyes.
Bakugou stared at him, suspicious.
He didn't like charity. He didn't like owing anyone anything.
But a roof over his head was practical. Essential, even.
And he was tired. Bone-tired. More tired than he'd let himself admit.
"Fine," he bit out, the word sharp. "One night."
"Room three, top of the stairs, end of the hall," Bob said, fishing a tarnished brass key from a hook behind the bar and tossing it to him. "And try not to break anything. The floorboards are old, and so am I."
Bakugou snatched the key out of the air with quick reflexes.
He headed for the stairs without another word, the key already digging into his palm.
The room was small. Barely space to swing a cat, not that he wanted to.
A narrow, lumpy-looking bed with a thin, patched blanket. A rickety wooden wardrobe. A single, small window looking out onto a dark, narrow alleyway.
It smelled faintly of dust, old wood, and someone else's faint sweat.
It wasn't home. It wasn't even his UA dorm room, which had been spartan but his.
But it was private.
And, for now, it was quiet.
He locked the door, the click of the old mechanism loud in the silence.
He stripped off the damp, uncomfortable UA uniform jacket, throwing it onto the floor in disgust.
He needed new clothes. Soon.
These screamed "outsider" and "easy target." Or "stuck-up prick." Probably both.
He sat on the edge of the bed. It creaked ominously, threatening to collapse.
Mages. Guilds. Jewels. Fiore. Fairy Tail.
This was his new reality. No denying it any longer.
No heroes in flashy costumes. No villains monologuing their grand plans.
Just… magic.
And a whole new set of bastards to overcome. A whole new ladder to climb.
He thought of his classmates, an unwelcome image. Kirishima's stupid, unwavering grin. Kaminari's particular brand of idiocy. Ashido's annoying, boundless energy. Sero's laid-back, infuriating teasing.
Even Deku's damn muttering and obsessive note-taking.
A pang, sharp and unwelcome and surprisingly painful, hit him in the chest.
He crushed it down viciously.
No time for that sentimental bullshit. That was weakness.
He had to survive. He had to adapt.
He had to get strong.
Stronger than anyone in this shitty new world.
Fairy Tail.
Tomorrow, first thing, he'd see what this infamous guild was all about.
He lay back on the lumpy mattress, not bothering with the thin blanket, staring up at the cracked ceiling.
Sleep wouldn't come easy.
His mind raced, replaying the day's impossible events, cataloging the new information, formulating a dozen rough plans.
But exhaustion, deep and profound, eventually claimed him, dragging him under.
His last waking thought was of explosions – bright, powerful, destructive.
And the burning, desperate desire to unleash one.
Soon.
Very, very soon.
———
The lumpy mattress had done his back no favors.
Bakugou woke stiff, a grimace already twisting his lips before his eyes even snapped open.
Sunlight, thin and grey, filtered through the grimy window of the tiny inn room.
Another day in this gods-forsaken, magic-riddled dump.
He pushed himself up, the bed creaking like it was about to give its last breath.
His UA uniform trousers were rumpled, his shirt probably smelled like stale sweat and desperation. His jacket lay in a heap on the floor. He picked it up, scowling at its condition, but put it on. It was all he had.
Forget breakfast at the inn. He wasn't going to get indebted to that overly cheerful moron Bob again.
He just wanted to find this Fairy Tail.
He unlocked the door and stalked down the narrow hallway, his boots thudding softly on the worn wooden floorboards.
The common room below was quiet, just the innkeeper sweeping, the scent of fresh coffee in the air.
Bakugou ignored him and pushed out into the morning chill.
Magnolia was waking up.
A few carts rumbled along the cobblestone street. Shopkeepers were opening their shutters.
The air was crisp, carrying the scent of woodsmoke and something… different. A faint, almost electric tang he couldn't quite place.
Magic. The thought was automatic, dismissive.
He needed directions. Proper ones, not just "follow the noise."
He spotted a man unloading barrels from a cart, grunting with the effort.
Bakugou approached.
"Fairy Tail Guild. Where?" His voice was a low growl.
The man, startled, nearly dropped a barrel. He looked Bakugou up and down – the strange, dark uniform, the fiercer-than-hell expression.
"F-Fairy Tail?" he stammered, pointing a shaky finger north. "That way. Big building. Can't miss it. Near the lake."
Bakugou didn't thank him. He just turned and started walking.
He'd asked a couple more people along the way, curt, demanding. Each time, he got a similar wary look and a pointed finger northward.
This town, Magnolia.
It wasn't just some roadside village. He'd grudgingly admit that much to himself.
Sixty thousand people, one of those idiots had said. Merchant city. Prosperous in magic since ancient times.
Ancient. Whatever.
The "strongest guild in Fiore," though. That had snagged his attention.
He'd be the judge of "strongest."
The layout was simple enough. Annoyingly rectangular.
Main roads cut through it, wide and mostly straight. Central Path, they called the big horizontal one.
For parades and shit, he remembered someone mentioning. What a waste of good street space.
Buildings were all medieval-looking. Timber frames, peaked roofs, stone foundations. Quaint. Old.
Like something out of a shitty historical drama.
He passed a massive stone building in the center of town, a towering cathedral with stained-glass windows. Kardia Cathedral, the sign said.
He glanced at it, unimpressed. Just a big church. Took up prime real estate.
He continued north, following the Central Path. The road was wide, paved with flat stones, clearly well-maintained.
The lake, Scilliora, was supposed to be at the northern edge. Four or five kilometers, one of the shopkeepers had estimated. A bit of a damn walk.
His school shoes were definitely not made for this.
To his west, up on a hill overlooking the main sprawl of buildings, he spotted a large, well-maintained complex.
Fairy Hills. The girls' dormitory for the guild.
He scoffed internally. Separate dorms? Whatever.
He passed a train station in the southeastern part, earlier on his meandering information gathering. Trains. So they had some technology, not just horse-drawn crap.
Near it, he'd clocked a hotel bar, a toy store, and something called "Lendis Magic Store."
Magic store. Might be worth checking out later. If they sell anything useful. Probably just sparkly trinkets for idiots.
North of the station, somewhere on the western edge, was supposedly a park. He hadn't bothered going that way.
This place was definitely bigger than it first appeared from that plateau.
It was a city, alright. A proper city.
Still doesn't hold a candle to Musutafu, he thought, a familiar surge of defiant pride tightening his chest. Musutafu was a real metropolis, a concrete and steel testament to modern power, even with its share of scumbag villains.
This place, with its folksy charm and open reliance on "magic," felt… backward. Soft.
But Fairy Tail.
The name kept coming up. The strongest. The loudest. The most destructive.
That, at least, sounded promising.
He picked up his pace, his earlier stiffness fading as his muscles warmed.
He needed to see this guild.
He needed to know if there was anyone here worth fighting.
Anyone at all.
———
The walk had stretched on, the Central Path leading him further from the main cluster of shops and homes, towards the northern edge of Magnolia.
The air grew cooler here, fresher, carrying the scent of pine and damp earth from the nearby lake.
And then he saw it.
Looming at the end of the path, nestled near the shore of what must be Lake Scilliora.
Fairy Tail.
It was a large building, imposing in its own rustic way. Two stories, maybe three in the central section, with a wide, welcoming facade constructed from dark timber and light-colored plaster. Multiple gabled roofs jutted out at various angles, giving it a slightly chaotic, lived-in look.
A large sign hung above the main entrance, depicting a stylized fairy with a tail. The guild's emblem.
It didn't look particularly destructive.
Not from the outside, anyway.
It looked… like a big, slightly ramshackle country inn or a hunting lodge.
This is the place? The 'strongest guild in Fiore'? Looks fucking boring.
There was no noise. No explosions. No signs of the chaos Bob Kettler had gleefully described.
Just the gentle lapping of the lake water against the nearby shore and the distant cry of some unfamiliar bird.
The massive wooden double doors of the entrance were still closed.
Hardly anyone here, huh? Figures. Lazy bastards probably sleep in.
He wasn't early. The sun was well up. Most proper businesses would be bustling.
As he got closer, one of the massive doors began to creak open.
A figure emerged, silhouetted against the dimmer light of the interior.
Female.
Slender.
White hair, long and straight, framing a delicate face. She wore a simple, dark dress.
She moved with a quiet grace, pushing the heavy door further open, preparing to fix it in place for the day.
This was Mirajane.
She hadn't seen him yet, her attention on the door.
Bakugou stopped a few paces away, his arms crossed, watching.
She finished with the door and finally turned, her gaze sweeping the area in front of the guild.
Her eyes, large and a startling blue, landed on him.
They widened, just for a fraction of a second.
A flicker of surprise, then something else.
Assessment.
Eye candy? He almost scoffed aloud. What a stupid thought to attribute to her. But there was an undeniable intensity about him, a coiled energy that even his drab school uniform couldn't entirely conceal. The hint of danger, of barely suppressed explosions, clung to him like a second skin. She felt a strange, faint prickle on her own skin, like static electricity before a storm. This boy… he was different.
Bakugou met her gaze, his own red eyes narrowed, unreadable.
He didn't speak. He just waited.
Let her make the first move. Let her decide if this stranger was worth acknowledging.
He was sizing her up too.
She looked… soft. Too gentle for the "strongest guild."
But there was something in her eyes. A deep, lingering sadness. A shadow that didn't quite fit the peaceful morning or the gentle curve of her lips as she offered a tentative, polite smile.
Grieving. The observation surfaced in his mind, clinical and detached. Lost someone.
Family, maybe.
It wasn't pity he felt. He didn't do pity. It was just a fact. Another piece of data about this new, strange place.
Mirajane's smile, though tinged with that underlying sorrow, was welcoming. "Good morning," she said, her voice soft, melodious.
"Can I help you?"
She was letting him in, effectively. The unspoken invitation hung in the air.
Bakugou pushed himself off the invisible wall he'd been leaning against.
He walked towards the entrance, towards her.
"Here about the guild," he stated, his voice a low rumble, devoid of pleasantry.
He didn't wait for a verbal confirmation to enter. He simply stepped past her, through the now-open doorway, into the main hall of Fairy Tail.
His eyes swept the vast interior.
It was huge. Much bigger than it looked from the outside.
A massive, open space with a high, beamed ceiling. A long, polished wooden bar dominated one side of the room, stocked with bottles and kegs. Tables and benches were scattered across the wooden floor, all currently empty, chairs neatly stacked or pushed in.
A large request board, covered in various parchments and flyers, hung on a far wall.
Stairs led up to a second-floor gallery that ringed the main hall. More doors up there, probably leading to offices or meeting rooms. Or more places for idiots to break things.
The whole place smelled of old wood, spilled ale, and something else… a faint, lingering ozone scent.
So, they do use magic in here after all.
It was quiet. Eerily so.
The calm before the storm, maybe? Or was its reputation just a load of overblown bullshit from that fat innkeeper?
"You're early," Mirajane said, stepping in behind him, her voice still soft, but with a hint of curiosity now. "Most of our members won't be in for another hour or two. Some… much later than that."
A faint, almost wistful smile touched her lips at the last part.
Bakugou turned to face her, his hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets.
His UA uniform felt even more out of place in this rustic, oversized tavern.
"You one of the mages here?" he demanded. Direct. To the point.
Mirajane's smile didn't falter. "Yes. My name is Mirajane Strauss. I help run the bar, mostly, these days."
Strauss. He filed the name away.
"Bakugou," he replied, offering nothing more.
He looked around the empty hall again. "This is the 'strongest guild in Fiore'? Looks dead."
His tone was deliberately provocative. He wanted to see if he could get a reaction. See if that gentle demeanor of hers was just a front.
Mirajane chuckled softly, a surprisingly warm sound despite the sadness that still clung to her. "It can get… lively. Very lively. You've just caught us before the usual morning chaos."
She tilted her head slightly, her blue eyes studying him with an intensity that belied her gentle expression. "Are you looking to join Fairy Tail, Bakugou-san?"
San? What's with the honorifics? More of this world's weird customs.
"Depends," he said, his gaze sweeping back to her. "Depends if there's anyone here worth a damn."
Her smile didn't vanish, but a different light flickered in her eyes. Not offense. More like… understanding. Or maybe recognition of a familiar type of youthful arrogance.
"There are many strong mages in Fairy Tail," she said, her voice still even, still soft. "Very strong. Each with their own unique abilities."
That sadness in her eyes. It was prominent.
He wondered what caused it.
Not my damn business.
But it was a detail. People's grief could be a weakness. Or a motivator.
He had to focus. Information. Strength.
"What kind of 'abilities'?" he pressed. "This magic bullshit. How does it work here?"
He needed to know the rules of this new game. Needed to know what he was up against. What he could exploit.
Mirajane gestured towards one of the empty tables. "Perhaps we could sit? It might be easier to talk. I can get you some water, or juice perhaps?"
Bakugou scowled. He wasn't here for a tea party.
But sitting was better than standing around like an idiot.
He gave a curt nod and strode towards the nearest table, pulling out a chair with a loud scrape that echoed in the empty hall.
He didn't wait for her. He just sat, leaning back, arms crossed, radiating impatience.
Mirajane followed, her movements unhurried.
She didn't sit immediately. Instead, she paused, her gaze drifting towards a point somewhere beyond him, a fleeting expression of deep sorrow crossing her features before being carefully smoothed away.
Definitely lost someone.
It was so obvious, it was almost painful to watch, even for him.
Whatever.
He had his own damn problems. Like being stranded in a world full of magic morons with no way back and no Pro Hero license to show for years of busting his ass.
This Mirajane, with her quiet sadness and her surprisingly resilient smile, was just the first obstacle.
Or maybe, the first source of actual, useful information.
He'd find out soon enough.
———
Mirajane's gentle expression flickered, a momentary stillness in her blue eyes as she processed his words.
"This magic bullshit," Bakugou had called it. "How does it work here?"
Then he'd hit her with the bigger bomb, his voice flat, almost casual, yet utterly serious.
"I'm not from here. Just arrived in this world, yesterday."
Her gaze, which had been drifting with that familiar, aching sorrow, snapped back to him, sharp and focused.
The lingering smile faded completely.
"Not… from this world?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mind, already burdened by grief, struggled to parse the claim. Other worlds? It sounded like something out of a child's fairy tale, or a forbidden, ancient text.
Yet, looking at him…
His strange clothes, better quality than royalty. His aggressive, almost alien demeanor. The raw, unfamiliar power that seemed to simmer just beneath his skin, so different from the Ethernano that mages manipulated.
And the way he spoke of magic as "bullshit," with a disdain that suggested he was familiar with some other form of power entirely.
She found herself, against all logic, believing him. Or at least, being willing to entertain the impossible.
There was a stark, brutal honesty in his red eyes. He wasn't joking. He wasn't mad.
He was lost. And angry. Very angry.
Why am I not dismissing this out of hand? Mirajane wondered, a flicker of her old, more analytical self surfacing through the fog of her current gentle sadness. He's just a boy. A rude, aggressive boy. But…
There was something compelling about his sheer conviction.
She made a decision. She didn't quite understand why, but a strange instinct urged her to help, to explain. Perhaps it was the deep-seated kindness that Elfman and Lisanna had always relied on, a part of her she thought had withered.
"Sit down, Bakugou-san," she said again, her voice soft but firmer now. She pulled out a chair for herself, opposite him, the wooden legs scraping quietly.
He was already seated, of course, glaring impatiently.
Mirajane took a slow breath, gathering her thoughts. Where to even begin explaining an entire world?
"You said 'this world'," she began carefully. "Implying you're from… another?"
"Yeah," Bakugou bit out. "Obviously. A place with actual technology, not pointy hats and fucking magic."
Though, he amended internally, his world had Quirks. Superpowers. Not so different from magic, maybe, just… weirder science.
Mirajane absorbed the harshness of his tone without flinching. "I… see. That must be incredibly disorienting for you."
"No shit," he growled. "Spit it out. Magic. Guilds. This Fiore place. What's the deal?"
She nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll try to explain. Our world is called Earth Land."
Earth Land? What a stupid, unoriginal name.
"The continent we are on is called Ishgar," Mirajane continued, her voice gaining a bit of rhythm, like a practiced storyteller, though her eyes still held that distant sorrow. "And this kingdom, the one Magnolia is part of, is Fiore."
Bakugou listened, his expression unreadable, committing the names to memory. Ishgar. Fiore. Useless fantasy names.
"Magic," she went on, her gaze becoming a little more focused, "is the physical embodiment of the spirit. It's an energy that flows within every living thing, and in nature itself. We call this energy Ethernano."
Ethernano. So that's the electric tang in the air.
"Mages are people who have the ability to consciously harness and manipulate this Ethernano to perform various feats, to cast spells."
"So, like Quirks," Bakugou muttered, mostly to himself. "But everyone has the potential for it?"
Mirajane caught the word. "Quirks?"
"Powers. In my world, some people are born with special abilities. Called Quirks." He didn't elaborate. Not her damn business.
"Ah." She seemed to accept this. "Here, while Ethernano is in everything, not everyone becomes a mage. It requires training, aptitude, often a specific type of magic affinity. There are countless types of magic. Maker Magic, where mages create forms from elements like ice or wood. Holder Magic, where mages use magical items to cast spells. Caster Magic, where the magic comes directly from the mage's body…"
She paused, seeing the impatient glint in his eyes.
"Fairy Tail," she continued, shifting topic slightly, "is a Mage Guild."
"Heard that part," Bakugou interrupted. "What's a 'guild' good for, other than being loud and breaking shit, according to the fat innkeeper?"
A small, sad smile touched Mirajane's lips. "Guilds are organizations where mages gather. We take on jobs – requests from ordinary citizens, merchants, even local magistrates. These jobs can be anything from finding lost items, to dealing with troublesome magical creatures, to protecting towns or escorting caravans."
She gestured to the large request board on the far wall. "That's our request board. Mages choose jobs that suit their skills and get paid in Jewels, our currency."
Bakugou's eyes flickered to the board. Jobs meant money. Money meant resources. Independence.
"So you're basically mercenaries for hire," he stated. Not a question. A conclusion.
Mirajane hesitated. "Some might see it that way. But guilds are also like… families. Especially Fairy Tail. We support each other. We look out for each other."
Her voice softened on the word "family," and that shadow in her eyes deepened for a moment.
Family, huh? More like a pack of rowdy idiots if what I heard is true. But the concept of a team, an agency… that resonated. That was what he'd been about to build.
"Fairy Tail is known as the strongest guild in Fiore," Mirajane said, a faint note of pride, carefully muted, entering her tone. "We have many powerful mages. Though… we can be a bit destructive at times." Her smile was almost apologetic.
"Strongest, huh?" Bakugou repeated, a skeptical sneer on his lips. "I'll be the judge of that."
"Who's in charge?" he demanded. "Who's the top dog in this 'Fairy Tail'?"
"Our Guild Master is Makarov Dreyar," Mirajane replied. "He's… very old, very wise, and incredibly powerful. He's one of the Ten Wizard Saints."
Wizard Saints? What is this, a damn RPG?
"Ten Wizard Saints?" he scoffed. "Sounds like a title a bunch of old geezers gave themselves."
Mirajane didn't argue. "They are recognized by the Magic Council as the ten strongest and most skilled mages on the continent of Ishgar. The Council itself is the governing body that oversees all official guilds and magical law."
Magic Council. So, there's a government for these magic-users. Rules. Regulations. Probably full of corrupt, power-hungry bastards, like any government.
"This Alvarez Empire," Bakugou recalled from the newspaper. "They cut ties with Ishgar. They a threat?"
Mirajane's expression became more serious. "The Alvarez Empire is a vast military power on the western continent of Alakitasia. Their relationship with Ishgar has always been… complex. Cutting ties is a recent development. A worrying one. They possess immense magical power, far exceeding any single kingdom in Ishgar."
So, a potential enemy. A big one. Good to know.
"And these 'Dark Guilds' the innkeeper was blabbering about?"
"Dark Guilds are mage guilds that operate outside the law," Mirajane explained, her voice tinged with disapproval. "They engage in criminal activities – theft, assassination, illegal magic. They are a constant problem."
Villains, then. Something familiar at least.
Bakugou leaned forward slightly, his red eyes boring into hers. "So, this magic. It can be used for fighting? For serious damage?"
He wasn't interested in finding lost cats or escorting fat merchants. He was interested in power. In combat.
Mirajane looked at him, a flicker of concern in her eyes now mixing with the sadness. The intensity of his focus on destruction was palpable.
"Yes," she said quietly. "Magic can be incredibly destructive. Many types of magic are designed for combat. It's why mages are often called upon for dangerous jobs."
She saw the spark in his eyes at that. Not a good spark. A predatory one.
This boy… what happened to him to make him like this? To be thrown into a new world…
Her own pain, the loss of Lisanna, felt like a constant, dull ache. It had transformed her, softened her edges, made her retreat from the fierce mage she once was.
This boy, Bakugou, seemed to be all sharp edges, all explosive energy looking for an outlet.
"When do the other 'strong' mages get here?" Bakugou demanded, looking around the empty hall again with disdain. "Or is it just you and the old man?"
"They'll… start arriving soon," Mirajane said, a little hesitantly. "Natsu and Gray usually cause a commotion early. Erza keeps them in line, mostly. If she's back from her latest job."
Names. Potential rivals. Potential tools. Potential annoyances.
Natsu. Gray. Erza. Makarov.
"And you?" Bakugou challenged, his gaze returning to her. "You said you 'mostly' run the bar 'these days'. What's that mean? You used to fight?"
The question was blunt, direct. It hit a nerve.
Mirajane flinched, almost imperceptibly. The light in her eyes dimmed, the ever-present sorrow washing over her features more openly for a moment.
Her smile became brittle.
"I… I used to be different," she said, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap. "Things… happened. I don't really use my magic much anymore. Not for fighting."
So, she's broken. The thought was cold, analytical. A strong one, maybe, who quit. Weak.
But he also saw the depth of pain there. It wasn't just sadness. It was a wound. Raw and unhealed.
He didn't comment. It wasn't his business to pry into her sob story.
He'd gotten the basics. Magic. Guilds. A world full of potential morons and maybe a few strong bastards.
That was enough for now.
He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly again.
"Alright," he said. "I'll stick around. See if this 'Fairy Tail' is as tough as they say, or just a bunch of overhyped weaklings."
Mirajane looked up, startled by his sudden movement.
"You're… considering joining?" she asked, a touch of surprise in her voice despite his earlier statement.
"Didn't say that," Bakugou snapped. "Just observing. Seeing if anyone here is worth my damn time."
He turned and began to walk towards the center of the hall, looking around as if assessing it for weak points, for escape routes.
This place is huge. Lots of room for a brawl.
Mirajane watched him, a complex mix of emotions swirling within her. Concern. Curiosity. A strange, faint echo of her old, more fiery self recognizing a kindred, if much harsher, spirit.
This Bakugou. He was a storm waiting to break.
And he was now, for better or worse, in Fairy Tail.
The year was X783.
The legendary chaos of Fairy Tail was about to meet a new kind of explosion.
And neither would be quite the same again.
———
Bakugou paced the vast, empty hall of Fairy Tail for a few more moments, his mind racing.
This whole situation was bullshit. Utterly, colossally bullshit.
Stranded. Penniless. Homeless.
His plans, his future, all up in smoke because of some random flash of light.
But standing around feeling sorry for himself wasn't his style. That was for Deku and the other weaklings.
He needed a base. He needed resources. He needed to understand this world's power dynamics.
This Fairy Tail guild, as much as it sounded like a collection of circus freaks, was the only lead he had. "Strongest in Fiore," they claimed. He'd see about that.
And if they offered jobs, that meant money. Food. A place to sleep that wasn't a damn alley or a charity case from a too-jovial innkeeper.
He stopped pacing, his fists clenched.
Decision made.
"Fuck it," he announced to the empty hall, his voice rough and decisive. "I'll join."
He hadn't meant to say it aloud, not really. It was more a conclusion he'd reached, a grim acceptance of his current, shitty reality.
"I don't even have a penny, shelter, and things to my name," he added, mostly to himself, a justification for this temporary alliance with a bunch of magic-using weirdos.
He glanced back towards the bar, where Mirajane was still sitting, watching him with those wide, sad blue eyes.
Except now… her face was flushed.
A distinct, noticeable red was creeping up her neck and spreading across her cheeks.
Her eyes, if possible, seemed even wider, and she had a slightly stunned, almost flustered expression.
Bakugou's brow furrowed.
What the hell is wrong with her now?
He hadn't said anything particularly shocking. Joining a guild wasn't exactly a marriage proposal.
"Hey!" he barked, his concern manifesting as irritation. "You having a fever?"
He stalked back towards her, his steps heavy and impatient.
"Is there a towel in this damn place?!" he demanded, already scanning the bar area for something to soak in cold water. Back home, a sudden fever could be a sign of Quirk overuse or a serious illness. He didn't know what the equivalent was here, but she looked like she was about to keel over.
Mirajane blinked rapidly, the blush intensifying under his direct, uncomfortably close scrutiny.
Her hand flew to her cheek, as if just realizing how hot her face felt.
"Oh! N-no, I'm fine, Bakugou-san," she stammered, her voice suddenly a little breathless. "Really. It's… it's just a bit warm in here, isn't it?"
Warm? The massive hall was cool, almost drafty, with the morning air still circulating.
Bakugou stared at her, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're bright red. That ain't 'a bit warm'. You sick or something?"
His bluntness, his utter lack of social grace, seemed to fluster her even more.
It wasn't illness that caused her reaction.
It was… him.
His sudden declaration to join. The raw, unapologetic intensity of his presence. The way he'd just… decided.
And perhaps, a tiny, long-dormant part of Mirajane Strauss, the part that wasn't entirely consumed by grief for Lisanna, the part that had once been known as "The Demon," felt an unexpected, unfamiliar flutter.
This boy, with his explosive temper and his strange, out-of-place power, was… intriguing. Dangerously so. His fierce determination, even in his current lost state, was a stark contrast to the quiet despair that had become her constant companion.
And his gruff, almost aggressive concern, however poorly expressed, was… surprisingly touching. No one had shown her that kind of direct, unvarnished attention in a long time. Not without walking on eggshells around her grief.
"No, truly," Mirajane insisted, trying to regain her composure, fanning herself slightly with her hand. "I'm perfectly alright. Just… surprised by your decision, that's all. We don't often get new members who are quite so… decisive."
She offered a small, slightly shaky smile.
Bakugou didn't look convinced. He grunted, still eyeing her skeptically. "Whatever. If you pass out, don't expect me to carry your ass."
He turned away, already dismissing her strange reaction. "So? How does this 'joining' thing work? Is there paperwork? Do I gotta fight someone? Sign my soul away in blood?"
He was only half-joking about the last part. This world seemed medieval enough for that kind of crap.
Mirajane took a deep breath, trying to settle the unexpected warmth in her cheeks. She had to focus. He wanted to join. That was good, wasn't it? Another soul for Fairy Tail. Even if he was… a handful.
"It's… actually quite simple," she said, her voice mostly back to its usual soft cadence, though a hint of color still lingered on her face. "The Guild Master, Makarov, needs to approve all new members. He'll want to meet you, talk to you."
"When's the old geezer get here?" Bakugou demanded, already impatient.
"He usually arrives a bit later in the morning," Mirajane said. "He likes his… quiet time." She smiled faintly. "Once he approves, you'll receive the guild's insignia. A stamp. It marks you as a member of Fairy Tail. You can choose where you want it, and in what color."
A stamp? Like branding cattle? He scowled. But it was a symbol. A mark of belonging. Even if he didn't give a damn about "belonging," it signified access. Access to jobs. Information. Maybe even a way to find out more about how he got here, though that felt like a long shot.
"And that's it?" he asked. "No trials? No tests of strength?"
He was almost disappointed. He wouldn't have minded blowing something up to prove a point.
"Officially, no," Mirajane said. "Master Makarov believes in giving everyone a chance. Though," she added, a knowing glint in her eye, "unofficially, proving your strength and finding your place among the other members… that happens naturally here. Often quite loudly."
Bakugou smirked. Finally, something that sounded remotely interesting. "Loudly, huh? Good."
He looked around the hall again. Still empty. The anticipation was starting to grate on him.
"So, I just wait for this 'Makarov' to show up and grace me with his presence?"
"Pretty much," Mirajane confirmed. "In the meantime… would you like that drink? Water? Juice? I was about to make some fresh."
The offer was gentle, an attempt to smooth over his rough edges, to make him feel… welcome.
Bakugou considered it. His throat was dry from all the talking. And he hadn't eaten. But he wasn't going to ask her for food.
"Water," he grunted, then added, as an afterthought, "And if you're gonna make a habit of turning red like a damn tomato, maybe get yourself checked out by whatever passes for a doctor in this shithole."
Mirajane's blush returned, albeit fainter this time, mixed with a hint of amusement at his complete lack of tact. "I'll keep that in mind, Bakugou-san."
She rose and moved gracefully towards the bar. "I'll get your water. And don't worry, the others will be here soon enough. You won't be bored for long, I promise."
Her last words held a hint of foreshadowing, a quiet certainty that Bakugou, despite his abrasive nature, would find exactly what he seemed to be craving in Fairy Tail: a challenge.
And maybe, just maybe, something more.
He watched her go, then slumped into a chair, arms crossed, legs sprawled out.
Waiting.
He hated waiting.
But for now, it was all he could do.
Wait for the old man. Wait for the chaos.
Wait to see if this Fairy Tail was truly worth Katsuki Bakugou's damn time.
———
Mirajane disappeared behind the bar, presumably heading towards a kitchen area.
A moment later, a sharp, sudden yelp of pain.
Not loud, but distinct in the quiet hall.
Followed by the clatter of something metallic hitting the floor.
Bakugou was on his feet in an instant.
Fuck, she's clumsy! Tripped over her own damn feet?
His instincts, honed by years of expecting trouble and reacting to sudden danger, kicked in. He didn't think. He just moved.
He bolted towards the bar, vaulting over it with an athletic ease that belied his earlier stiffness.
He landed lightly on the other side, his eyes already scanning for the kitchen entrance.
What he didn't know, what neither of them could possibly comprehend, was that the threads of fate, or perhaps some mischievous, unseen entity with a twisted sense of humor and a penchant for melodrama, were already tangling around them.
This world operated on different rules, and sometimes, those rules pushed. Hard.
He burst through the swinging door into the kitchen.
Mirajane was there, crouched down, a hand pressed to her shin, wincing. A metal pitcher lay on its side near her, water pooling on the stone floor.
"You alright?" he barked, skidding to a halt just inside the doorway.
She looked up, startled by his sudden, explosive entrance. "B-Bakugou-san! I just… I slipped on a bit of spilled water."
The floor was indeed wet. Treacherously so.
He took a step towards her, intending to offer a reluctant hand up, or at least assess if she was actually injured.
That single step was his undoing.
His worn school shoe, with its smooth leather sole, hit the slick, watery patch he hadn't fully registered in his haste.
His feet went out from under him.
"Shit!"
No time to react. No time to use his Quirk for balance.
He was falling. Forward. Fast.
Towards Mirajane, who was still half-crouched, looking up at him with wide, alarmed eyes.
An inevitable collision course.
He threw his hands out instinctively to break his fall, to avoid crushing her.
She, in turn, seemed to try and brace herself, or perhaps push him away.
It all happened in a blur of flailing limbs and startled cries.
Then, impact.
But not the hard crash against the stone floor he expected.
Instead, a shocking softness.
His lips smashed against hers.
Accidental. Unintentional. Utterly, undeniably, a kiss.
Her lips were soft, surprisingly warm. For a horrifying, disorienting millisecond, before his brain could process the sheer WTF-ness of the situation, he registered the faint taste of something sweet, like berries.
His eyes, wide with shock, were inches from hers. Her blue eyes, equally wide, stared back, reflecting his own stunned disbelief.
And his hands.
Oh, fuck, his hands.
In his desperate attempt to break his fall and not flatten her, his right hand had landed squarely, unmistakably, on her breast. Soft. Yielding. Curves he hadn't consciously registered until this very second.
His left hand, seeking purchase, had slammed onto her thigh, high up, perilously close to…
No. Fucking. Way.
His mind reeled, a chaotic explosion of pure, unadulterated shock and a surge of furious embarrassment so potent it almost made him physically recoil, if he wasn't currently plastered on top of her.
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUUUUUUCK IS HAPPENING?!
This was not how he envisioned his first day in a new world.
This was not how he interacted with anyone, let alone some quiet, sad-eyed barmaid who blushed like a goddamn sunset.
Mirajane, beneath him, was frozen.
Her initial yelp of pain from her shin was lost, overshadowed by this new, far more overwhelming wave of pure, unadulterated shock.
His body was heavy on hers, pressing her against the cold, damp stone floor.
His lips against hers… it was her first kiss.
Stolen by a falling, angry stranger in the most undignified, unexpected way imaginable.
Her hands, in her own startled reaction, had flown up. One was pressed against his chest, feeling the hard, rapid beat of his heart through the fabric of his strange uniform.
The other… oh, spirits… her other hand had landed directly, undeniably, in his lap.
On him.
She felt the unmistakable shape and sudden, reflexive tensing beneath her palm.
No… no way… what… what IS this?! Did I… did we…?!
Her thoughts mirrored his, a maelstrom of disbelief, horror, and a strange, dizzying sense of unreality. This couldn't be happening. Not to her. Not like this.
The world seemed to tilt. The scent of spilled water, old stone, and the surprisingly clean, almost spicy scent of the boy on top of her filled her senses.
Silence.
A stunned, breathless, mortifying silence in the Fairy Tail kitchen, broken only by the frantic thumping of two hearts and the distant, oblivious sounds of Magnolia waking up outside.
Their eyes were still locked.
Red against blue.
Shock reflecting shock.
This was a disaster.
An absolute, unmitigated, five-alarm disaster.
Seconds stretched into an eternity.
The kitchen floor was cold and hard beneath them. The lingering scent of spilled water and something uniquely, confusingly them hung in the air.
Then, as if propelled by an invisible force, they scrambled apart.
A flurry of limbs, awkward movements, and suppressed groans of pure, unadulterated mortification.
Bakugou practically threw himself backwards, crab-walking a few feet away until his back hit the stone wall of the kitchen with a dull thud. He stayed there, breathing heavily, face burning, eyes wide and refusing to meet hers.
Mirajane pushed herself up into a sitting position, her dress damp, her white hair disheveled, her cheeks a furious, blotchy red that put her earlier blushes to shame. She hugged her knees to her chest, staring fixedly at a crack in the floor tiles as if it held the secrets to the universe, or at least an escape route from this current plane of existence.
The silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
Charged. Awkward. Humiliating.
What the actual, ever-loving, triple-distilled FUCK just happened?! Bakugou's mind screamed. He wanted to explode something. Anything. Preferably himself, to escape this cringe-inducing nightmare.
He'd faced down villains. He'd endured All Might's insane training regimes. He'd put up with Deku's incessant muttering for years.
Nothing, nothing, had prepared him for this level of sheer, unadulterated social catastrophe.
Kissing her. Accidentally.
And his hands… her hands…
He physically shuddered. He was going to need to burn his uniform. And possibly his own skin.
Mirajane's thoughts were a similar whirlwind of horrified disbelief. Spirits, oh spirits, oh spirits… How could this… Why did this… That was… He was… I was… Her mind couldn't form coherent sentences. She just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. Her first kiss. And it was… that. With him. And her hand had been… She squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh wave of heat washing over her.
The tension was a living thing in the small kitchen, coiling tighter with every passing microsecond of silence.
Someone had to break it.
Bakugou, despite his internal combustion of shame and rage, was never one to just sit and suffer in silence if action, any action, was possible.
He cleared his throat, the sound unnaturally loud.
He had to say something. Anything to cut through this unbearable awkwardness.
An apology? Hell no. It wasn't entirely his fault. The floor was wet. She was in the way. It was a goddamn accident.
But… maybe something else.
He forced himself to look at her. She was still staring at the floor, looking like she wanted to melt into it.
"Katsuki," he bit out, his voice raspy, strained.
Mirajane flinched slightly at the sound, but didn't look up.
"My name is Katsuki Bakugou," he continued, forcing the words out. He felt like an idiot. Why was he introducing himself now? After… that?
But he had to do something.
He took a ragged breath. "Just… call me Katsuki."
The offer of his first name, a small, almost insignificant olive branch in the grand scheme of their disastrous first encounter, hung in the air.
It was clumsy. It was awkward as hell.
But it was… something. An acknowledgment of the shared humanity, the shared horror, perhaps. A desperate attempt to rewind, to reset, even if only by a fraction.
Slowly, very slowly, Mirajane lifted her head.
Her face was still flushed, her blue eyes wide and still holding a trace of that deer-in-the-headlights shock. But the frantic panic seemed to have receded slightly, replaced by a weary sort of bewilderment.
She looked at him, truly looked at him, for the first time since they'd scrambled apart.
He looked… just as horrified as she felt. His usual aggressive scowl was replaced by a look of grim discomfort, his red eyes darting around as if seeking an escape route. He wasn't sneering. He wasn't yelling. He just looked… miserable. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit embarrassed.
The shared misery, the sheer absurdity of the situation, somehow, miraculously, began to diffuse the crushing tension. Just a little.
A tiny, hysterical giggle threatened to bubble up inside Mirajane. She suppressed it viciously. Laughing now would be… bad. Very bad.
But the tension had lessened. His awkward, out-of-place self-introduction, his offering of his first name after their calamitous collision, had, against all odds, helped.
It was a ridiculously small gesture in the face of such monumental awkwardness, but it was a gesture nonetheless.
It didn't fix anything. It didn't undo the accidental kiss or the mortifying hand placements.
But it changed the immediate atmosphere from "imminent implosion of the universe due to sheer embarrassment" to "merely catastrophically awkward."
Which, all things considered, was an improvement.
She took a shaky breath.
"Mirajane," she managed, her voice a little unsteady, but clearer than she expected. "My name is Mirajane Strauss. You can… you can call me Mirajane."
It was her turn to offer the informality.
A fragile, unspoken truce settled between them in the aftermath of the kitchen catastrophe.
They were still in shock. They were still deeply embarrassed.
But maybe, just maybe, they could survive this.
Possibly.
The fragile truce, woven from shared mortification and awkwardly exchanged first names, hung precariously in the kitchen air.
Bakugou was still leaning against the wall, looking like he wanted to phase through it. Mirajane was still on the floor, though she'd uncurled slightly, her hands resting in her lap.
The silence was still there, but it was less like a coiled viper and more like a stunned mullet.
Then, a new sound.
A snicker.
Low, wheezing, and unmistakably amused.
It didn't come from within the kitchen. It came from the doorway.
Both Bakugou and Mirajane jumped, their heads snapping towards the sound.
Standing there, framed in the kitchen entrance, was a man.
An incredibly short man.
Barely taller than Bakugou's waist. He was old, bald, with a thick white mustache that seemed to dominate his face, and wore a strange, almost jester-like orange and blue outfit with a matching striped hat.
Despite his diminutive stature and comical attire, there was an undeniable aura of power about him. His eyes, small and dark, twinkled with a mixture of amusement and keen intelligence.
This was Makarov Dreyar. Third Guild Master of Fairy Tail. One of the Ten Wizard Saints.
And he was clearly trying, and failing, to suppress a full-blown laugh.
His shoulders were shaking, and another snicker escaped him, louder this time.
"Well, now," Makarov said, his voice a gravelly rumble that seemed too large for his small frame. "That's one way to make an entrance. And quite the introduction to our guild's… hospitality."
Mirajane's face, which had just started to return to a semblance of its normal pale color, went crimson again. Hotter, brighter than before. She looked like she might actually combust.
"M-Master!" she stammered, scrambling to her feet, her earlier shin injury apparently forgotten in this new wave of overwhelming embarrassment. She hastily tried to smooth down her dress and tuck stray strands of white hair behind her ear, her movements flustered and jerky.
Bakugou just stared at the old man, his expression shifting from miserable shock to a dangerous glower.
This tiny old geezer… he saw? He saw all of it?
Makarov's eyes twinkled even more brightly as he took in their disheveled states, the spilled water, the discarded pitcher, and the palpable aura of mortification radiating from the two young people.
"I must say," Makarov continued, stepping fully into the kitchen, his gaze sweeping from Mirajane to Bakugou and back again, a wide grin spreading under his mustache. "It's been a while since we've had this much excitement in the kitchen before breakfast. Usually Natsu waits until at least mid-morning to start demolishing things."
He'd apparently arrived at the guild hall just moments before. He'd entered the main hall, expecting his usual quiet morning routine, only to see this strange, angry-looking boy in an unfamiliar uniform suddenly vault over the bar with surprising agility.
Curiosity piqued, he'd followed, just in time to witness the entire, spectacular, accidental collision.
The slip. The fall. The kiss. The… unfortunate hand placements.
Everything.
Makarov was old. He'd seen countless bar brawls, tearful confessions, magical mishaps, and romantic entanglements in his long tenure as Fairy Tail's Master.
But this? This was comedy gold. Pure, unadulterated, slapstick gold. And the sheer, horrified reactions of the two involved were the icing on the cake.
"Master, it… it wasn't… we just…" Mirajane trailed off, unable to form a coherent explanation, her gaze fixed on the floor in front of her feet.
"Silence, old man!" Bakugou snarled, his embarrassment finally boiling over into his more familiar rage. He didn't care if this was the "Guild Master" or the king of this whole damn country. No one laughed at Katsuki Bakugou. Especially not after… that. "It was an accident, you damn midget! She slipped!"
Makarov raised an eyebrow at the "midget" comment, but his grin didn't falter. If anything, it widened. He was used to disrespectful youngsters. In fact, Fairy Tail was full of them. This one was just… louder. And angrier.
"An accident, you say?" Makarov chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "A most… fortunate accident for an old man seeking some morning entertainment. And quite a way to introduce yourself to our dear Mirajane."
He winked at Mirajane, who looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her.
"This," Bakugou seethed, pointing a trembling finger at the old man, "is your 'Guild Master'? This laughing little garden gnome?"
"The one and only," Makarov said, puffing out his chest slightly, though it didn't add much to his height. "Makarov Dreyar, at your service. And you, young man with the explosive temper and surprisingly agile moves over my bar, must be our new… applicant?"
He looked from Bakugou's furious face to Mirajane's mortified one.
"Mirajane, my dear," he said, his tone softening slightly as he addressed her, though the amusement still danced in his eyes. "Perhaps you could fetch us all some tea? After such an… energetic start to the day, I think we could all use something to calm our nerves. And perhaps a mop for this floor before someone else takes a tumble."
He was deliberately breaking the tension, steering the conversation, however awkwardly, back towards guild business.
Mirajane nodded mutely, grateful for the directive, for something, anything, to do other than stand there under their collective gazes. She practically fled towards the sink to retrieve a cloth, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
Makarov then turned his full attention to Bakugou, his expression becoming a fraction more serious, though the twinkle in his eye remained.
"So, Katsuki Bakugou, was it?" he said, his voice surprisingly firm. "Mirajane mentioned you were… new to our world. And interested in joining Fairy Tail, despite your rather… physical method of introduction to one of my prized barmaids."
The way he said "prized barmaids" made Bakugou's teeth grind.
This old man was enjoying this way too much.
But he was also the one Bakugou needed to convince. The one who held the key to joining this damn guild.
Bakugou took a deep, steadying breath, trying to wrestle his fury and embarrassment under control.
He would not let this laughing midget get the better of him.
He needed this. For now.
"Yeah," Bakugou bit out, his voice still rough. "I'm joining. If you'll have me."
It was the closest he could get to a polite request.
Makarov stroked his mustache thoughtfully, his gaze appraising.
"Hmm. Full of fire, that's for sure," the old master mused, more to himself than to Bakugou. "And not afraid to speak his mind, or vault my furniture. Reminds me a bit of Gildarts in his youth, though perhaps with less collateral damage… so far."
He looked Bakugou up and down again.
"We'll see, young Bakugou. We shall see."