Sleep, when it finally came, was a restless, shallow thing, plagued by dreams that were unwelcome intrusions from a life that felt simultaneously immediate and impossibly distant. Katsuki lay on the unfamiliar bed in the small, riverside apartment, the muted sounds of Magnolia filtering through the single window – the gentle lapping of the Bisca River, the distant, occasional shout from late-night revelers, the rustle of leaves in the night breeze. These were not the sounds of home.
He stared up at the plain wooden ceiling, his new, durable clothes folded neatly on the small table, a testament to his first full day's violent progress in this world. He'd accomplished much. He'd secured resources, upgraded his gear, and confirmed the terrifying, exhilarating evolution of his power. By any objective measure, it was a successful adaptation to an insane situation.
But his mind, a relentless engine even in repose, refused to grant him peace. It kept snagging on the 'before.' U.A. Graduation. The proud, defiant set of his jaw as he'd accepted his diploma, the unspoken promise of the future that had stretched before him, a future he was meant to dominate. All of it felt like a phantom limb, an ache for something abruptly, inexplicably amputated.
He'd read those stupid isekai stories Deku and some of the other nerds occasionally talked about – protagonists snatched from their worlds, thrust into fantasy lands. He'd always scoffed at them. Pathetic escapism for losers who couldn't hack it in their own reality. Now, he was one of those protagonists. The irony was a bitter pill, a cosmic joke played at his expense. And in those stories, finding a way back… it was often impossible. A one-way trip. The thought settled in his gut like a cold stone, a grim certainty that he tried to blast away with sheer willpower, but it clung, insidious and persistent.
'But it doesn't matter,' he snarled internally, his fists clenching at his sides. 'Even if I'm stuck in this magic-infested shithole forever, I'm still going to be Number One! I'll crush every damn thing in my path until there's no one left standing who can even look me in the eye!'
His ambition, that ferocious, all-consuming fire that defined him, burned as brightly as ever. It was his anchor, his compass in this disorienting new reality. If he couldn't be Number One Hero in his world, he'd be Number One something here. The strongest. The most feared. The most undeniably powerful.
Yet, even as he reaffirmed his ironclad resolve, other thoughts, softer and far more unwelcome, slipped through the cracks in his mental armor. Those damn guys back at U.A. He pictured them, their stupid, familiar faces. Shitty Hair Kirishima, with his idiotic grin and unbreakable spirit. Round Face Uraraka, with her surprising tenacity. Glasses Iida, always so damn proper. Even that half-and-half bastard Todoroki… they'd all be moving on, stepping into their hero careers, carving out their places in the rankings. They'd probably make the Top Ten, some of them. They were strong, damn it. He'd made sure they were, by constantly pushing them, by being the rival they had to strive to overcome.
And Deku… Izuku Midoriya. The image of that freckled, determined face, so often bruised and tear-streaked but never, ever broken, rose vividly in his mind. Deku, still technically Quirkless after the final, brutal war against All For One, after One For All had finally faded. But Katsuki knew that wouldn't stop him. Not Deku. He'd find a way. He always did. With that brilliant inventor girl, Melissa Shield, and that crazy pink-haired gadget freak, Hatsume Mei, they'd build him a suit. Something powerful, something that would let him stand on the front lines even without a Quirk. He could almost see it, Deku, a whirlwind of green lightning and advanced technology, still saving people with that stupid, self-sacrificial earnestness. Maybe he'd even crack the Top Four, Quirkless or not. The thought was a complex knot of annoyance, grudging respect, and something else, something he refused to name.
Shitty Hair and his 'gang' – Kaminari, Sero, Ashido – they'd be good heroes too. Loud, maybe a bit idiotic at times, but their hearts were in the right place. They'd protect people. They'd make a difference. He knew it.
A sudden, sharp ache constricted Katsuki's chest, a pang so intense it almost stole his breath. It wasn't just the loss of his own future; it was the abrupt severing from theirs. From the rivalries, the struggles, the shared crucible of U.A. that had forged them all. He was alone here, truly alone, in a way he'd never been before, not even when he was pushing everyone away with his abrasive personality.
He turned onto his side, burying his face in the unfamiliar, rough pillow, a choked sound escaping his lips. It was a sound utterly alien to Katsuki Bakugo, a sound of vulnerability he would have rather died than let anyone else hear. His shoulders began to shake, almost imperceptibly at first, then with more force. The iron control he maintained over his emotions, the impenetrable fortress he'd built around himself, finally, in the silent darkness of a strange room in a strange world, began to crumble.
He wasn't just angry anymore. He was… grieving. For his lost world, for his stolen future, for the connections he'd never acknowledged but now felt the agonizing absence of.
Katsuki Bakugo, the boy who roared and exploded, the boy who would be Number One, cried himself to sleep that night. Silent, bitter tears soaked the cheap pillow, a testament to a pain too deep for rage, a loss too profound for even his indomitable will to completely suppress. The darkness of the Magnolia night offered no comfort, only the stark, lonely truth of his displacement.