Bakugo turned to me, his swollen eye making his glare look almost comical. The purple bruise blooming across his cheekbone matched his explosive personality.
"This isn't over, pretty boy," he growled. "Next time, I'll burn that stupid smirk right off your face."
Why the fuck does he keep calling me pretty boy?
He stomped off in the opposite direction, each footstep a thunderclap against the marble floor. I watched him go, my fingers twitching with the urge to palm a coin from my pocket and charge it. The desire to send a violet-glowing "fuck you" careening into the back of his spiky blonde head was almost overwhelming.
But I stopped myself. The rush of adrenaline from our fight was fading, replaced by a dull throb in my chest where his explosion had hit me. My shirt had a scorched hole the size of a dinner plate, revealing angry red skin beneath.
He's not worth the effort, I thought, shoving my hands into my pockets. Not worth disappointing Kimiko.
I looked down at my chest. The burn pulsed with each heartbeat, a raw reminder of my lapse in control.
Right. Nurse's office.
I set off down the hallway, confident in my ability to navigate this oversized maze of a school. After all, how hard could it be to find the infirmary in a place dedicated to training teenagers with destructive powers?
Ten minutes later, I was completely lost.
The pristine hallways of U.A.'s main building all looked identical – high ceilings, large windows, motivational posters featuring heroes I barely recognized. I passed the same bronze bust of some ancient hero for the third time and stopped, running a hand through my white hair.
A school for supposed geniuses designed by a sadist with a grudge against legible signage. There are plaques for every founding father but not a single damn arrow pointing to "Basic Medical Services." This campus needs a map, this is ridiculous.
I turned down another corridor that looked promising. This one had more doors, at least. Maybe one of them led to the infirmary? The hallway seemed different – louder, with a faint smell of ozone and hot metal hanging in the air.
Suddenly, a door across from me exploded off its hinges, clattering to the floor with a deafening crash. A plume of thick, pink smoke billowed out into the hallway.
"MEI! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY TOASTER?!" roared a man's voice from within the smoke cloud.
A girl emerged from the chaos, coughing and laughing maniacally. She had pink dreadlocks pulled back from her face, large yellow-lensed goggles perched on her head, and her face was covered in soot. Despite the explosion, she was grinning from ear to ear, revealing a row of slightly crooked teeth.
"IT'S A SUCCESSFUL FAILURE!" she cackled, wiping smudges from her cheeks and somehow making them worse. "THE ANTI-GRAV TOASTER WORKS FOR EXACTLY THREE SECONDS!"
I didn't even flinch. I just performed a slow blink and executed a swift 180-degree turn.
I backtracked, took another turn, climbed a different staircase, and found myself in yet another identical hallway. My chest was really starting to hurt now, the burn throbbing with each step. I was about to start checking doors at random when I nearly collided with Izuku Midoriya coming around the corner.
"Whoa!" Midoriya stumbled back, carefully cradling one hand against his chest. It was wrapped in clean white bandages, professionally done.
"Murano-kun?" His green eyes widened in surprise. "Are you lost?"
"Just walking on the road of life, Broccoli."
"Oh." His gaze dropped to my chest, and those enormous green eyes grew even wider. "Whoa! What happened to you? That looks like a burn!"
"Occupational hazard," I said with a lazy shrug that made my burn scream in protest. "Let's just say I had a... spirited debate with a fellow classmate of ours."
Midoriya's face did something complicated – a mix of confusion, concern, and what might have been realization. "With... Kacchan?"
"Who the hell is Kacchan?"
"Oh! Sorry, I mean Bakugo. I've called him that since we were kids."
"Well, if we're using pet names, then yes, I had a little chat with Pomeranian."
Midoriya's mouth fell open. "You call him... Pomeranian?" He looked equal parts horrified and impressed. "That's... that's really brave of you." He paused. "Well, if you're looking for the infirmary, it's just down that hall." He pointed back the way he'd come. "Third door on the right, you can't miss it."
"Brave isn't the word I'd use, but thanks for the directions, Broccoli." I stepped around him, heading back the way he'd come.
"Recovery Girl's really nice!" Midoriya called after me. "But she might scold you a bit if you got hurt doing something reckless!"
I waved a hand without looking back. Of course the nurse would be a stereotypical grandmotherly type who combined healing with stern lectures. Every school had one.
Following Midoriya's directions, I found the infirmary door without further incident. It was marked with a simple red cross – how had I missed that? I pushed it open, expecting to find a sweet old lady ready to patch me up and send me on my way with a lollipop.
What I got instead was the woman from the entrance exam – the one with the punk-rock vibe who'd treated Broccoli after he'd shattered his limbs. She stood beside a metal cabinet, sorting through medical supplies. At the sound of the door, she turned, one eyebrow arching over the rim of her stylish glasses.
She was younger than I expected, maybe mid-twenties, with sharp features and intelligent eyes that sized me up in an instant. Her messy black hair was clipped back haphazardly, and beneath her pristine lab coat, she wore a vintage band t-shirt. A small skull pendant hung from a choker around her neck.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she said, her voice a dry, deadpan monotone. "If it isn't the High Roller himself. Got a real wound this time, or are you just here to show off?"
I blinked, caught off guard by both her recognition and her attitude. "You remember me?"
"Hard to forget the kid who played three-card monte with giant robots." She crossed her arms, leaning back against the cabinet. "Though I admit, I expected you'd make it at least two days before needing medical attention."
"What can I say? I like to exceed expectations."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, taking in the charred hole in my shirt. "That's a second-degree burn. Explosive Quirk, judging by the pattern." She sighed, pointing to an examination table. "Take a seat. And take off your shirt. Let's see how much of a mess you've made."
I smirked, fingers reaching for my buttons. "You know, most people buy me dinner first."
The look she gave me could have frozen hell itself. "That joke was so predictable I could have prescribed medicine for it." She pulled on a pair of latex gloves with a sharp snap. "My name is Dr. Takemi. I am the medical resident here, working under Recovery Girl. If you're looking for a girl to find your adolescent humor charming, try the high school down the street."
She approached with a medical scanner, holding it over my burn. "This will only hurt if you deserve it. Which, given that smirk, you probably do."
I winced as the scanner passed over the raw skin. "Is bedside manner not covered in medical school?"
"It's an elective. I took Advanced Toxicology instead." She set the scanner aside and reached for a jar of pale blue gel. "This burn isn't too deep, but it's going to hurt like hell for a few days. Given that it's the first day and you already look like you picked a fight with a toaster, I'm guessing you're going to be a regular visitor."
Her fingers were cool and surprisingly gentle as she applied the gel to my burn. The relief was immediate, a soothing numbness spreading across my chest.
"So, want to tell me what happened? Or should I just assume it was something stupid and testosterone-fueled?"
I considered lying, then shrugged. "Pomeranian made some comments about Quirkless people being useless. I disagreed. With my fist."
Her hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. "Pomeranian... Bakugo, I assume? The walking anger management case?" She looked up, studying my face with new interest. "Interesting."
She finished applying the gel and stepped back, pulling off her gloves. "Any particular reason his opinion on Quirkless individuals bothered you enough to risk expulsion on your first day?"
I tensed. This was dangerous territory, too close to Kimiko. "My sister is Quirkless."
Dr. Takemi nodded, her expression unreadable. "So your sister is Quirkless, and yet you jumped at the chance to attend a school that glorifies Quirk-based heroism." She reached for a roll of special bandages. "The contradiction intrigues me."
"No contradiction," I said, watching her unroll the bandage. "She's the reason I'm here. She believes in this whole hero thing. I'm just making sure I cash in enough to give her the life she deserves."
"Ah, a cynic with a heart of gold. How original." She pressed the bandage over my burn, the material adhering to my skin without adhesive. "This is a regenerative membrane. It'll speed healing and prevent scarring. Leave it on for 48 hours, then come back so I can check your progress."
She stepped back, appraising her work. "You're lucky. Another inch to the right and Bakugo might have done some serious damage to your pectoral muscle."
"Luck had nothing to do with it. I saw the explosion coming and turned."
One corner of her mouth quirked up. "Reflexes and awareness. Good traits for a hero."
"Good traits for a survivor," I corrected.
She shrugged, turning to make notes on a tablet. "Same difference in this line of work." She tapped something on the screen. "I've noted the injury in your file. The teachers will be informed you're to avoid strenuous physical activity for the next three days."
I hopped off the examination table, reaching for my ruined shirt. "Guess I'll need to go shopping."
"Good luck with that." She handed me a small tube of the blue gel. "Apply this if the pain returns. And try not to punch any more explosive idiots, at least until you're healed."
I pocketed the tube. "No promises."
"I'd expect nothing less." She turned back to her medical cabinet, effectively dismissing me. "Close the door on your way out."
I checked the time on my phone. I still had a few hours before my dishwashing sentence began. Just enough time to return to the dorms, change shirts, and figure out how to explain all this to the curious classmates who'd undoubtedly be waiting.
As I started down the hallway, my phone buzzed with a text from Kimiko.
How's your first day going, hero?
I stared at the message, thinking about everything that had happened. The Quirk assessment. The fight with Bakugo. Nezu's punishment. The infirmary.
Living the dream, sis. Living the dream.
I pocketed my phone and headed for what I thought was the exit. Ten minutes later, I found myself back at the exploding workshop.
So much for my sense of direction.