Chapter Text
Part One
The Billboard of Awakening
Katsuki’s manager jumped on him before he could get a foot through Endeavor Agency’s front doors.
It was 7.30am on a Monday morning. He hadn’t technically clocked on yet, but there she was, waiting for him like a bloodhound with a wedge of papers tucked under her arm and an expression that could stop a train. She had two takeout coffees balanced in a holder under her other arm, which almost placated his annoyance.
Almost.
He plucked one out of the holder as he walked by, not bothering to greet her.
“Bakugou-san,” she began, not bothering to greet him properly either, “your list of talents is truly astonishing and leaves me in a state of constant awe, but every day I ask why the gods made your number one endowment being a total, uncensored asshole.”
“It is a gift,” he allowed after taking a hefty swig of coffee. He’d been on patrol until 2am and was pretty much running on fumes; he was not in the mood to be lectured again today.
Anya was an astute manager – apparently the agency hired her specifically to handle Katsuki’s affairs because everyone else kept quitting - and was all business – pristine pinstripe suits and Louboutin heels – and was entirely unafraid to dress him down when needed. She reminded him a lot of his mother. Which wasn’t a good thing.
“I’m serious,” she went on, trailing after him as he stalked towards Endeavor Agency skyscraper. “Namiko on the PR team nearly quit after you called the minister of defense – and I quote – ‘a brainless shit flinging monkey’ on national television.”
“And I’d do it again.”
“Bakugou-san, you can’t say that kind of stuff on live TV about government officials! Do we need to discuss the meaning of ‘damage control’ again?”
“Miruko thought it was funny.”
“If Miruko-san is setting the bar for your conduct then we have a big problem. Seriously. You need to grow a filter between your pea-sized brain and mouth before the agency drops you.”
“Being an asshole is my brand.”
“Gods protect us from your insufferable ego.” She opened the door to the agency building for him while pulling up a calendar on her phone. “Anyway, you’re rammed today. Three meetings and a ten-hour patrol shift that starts at four. Oh, and the photoshoot for your sports apparel is happening this morning. We’re still on target to launch next Monday. The designs are great by the way, your parents did an incredible job. Have you seen them?”
“My parents?”
“No, the samples.”
“I fucking approved them, dumbass.”
“Right. Anyway, the creative director signed up one of your old friends to model, which is a great marketing strategy because people love a collab between heroes.”
Katsuki blinked out of his semi-stupor as they stepped into a glass elevator that climbed the side of the skyscraper. “Wait, what friend?”
“What friend, indeed.” She rammed the button on the panel and the doors slid closed. “Your list of friends is so short I’m sure you can guess.”
“Ha ha, very funny. Please do not tell me it’s Pinky ‘cause I will not hear the end of it from -”
“Uravity.”
Katsuki nearly spat out his coffee. “Round Face!?”
“Who?”
“You got fucking Round Face to model my merch and you didn’t think to fucking ask me first?”
“Bakugou-san, did you just call Uravity, one of the best and most loved heroes in the country, ‘Round Face?’”
“For fuck’s sake. Of all the people you could’ve picked.”
“What’s wrong with her?”
“She ain’t exactly…” He fished around for the word. “On brand.”
“Well, that’s kind of the point. Your image suffers because you’re…”
Katsuki glared sideways at her.
“…A tough guy,” she finished generously. “So we thought it’d be good to hire someone like Uravity to offer a different perspective to the brand. A wider appeal. Expand the target audience. She’s super nice and bubbly and cute and – “
“She’s not cute.”
“- all the things you’re not. Also, yes she is. Her legion of rabid fanboys would wholeheartedly and violently disagree with you.”
Katsuki scoffed.
“Anyway, the link between you two isn’t completely out of the blue considering you graduated together and caused a storm during the Sport's Festivals. People still talk about those fights even though it’s been, like, ten years.”
“Yeah, and I haven’t properly spoken to her in ten years either.”
“So? The press don’t know that. And I thought you see her at those yearly graduate get togethers?”
“Doesn’t mean I talk to her.”
She rolled her eyes as the elevator dinged and opened to their office floor. “Gods, you’re hopeless. She implicitly stated she’s doing this because it’s you, by the way. Otherwise she would’ve said no.”
“Hmph.”
“You should be pleased! We’ve managed to snag one of the most sought-after heroes in the advertising industry. The collab she did with Canmake last summer tripled their sales within a week of her billboard launching in Ginza.” She reached over and pinched his cheek between her manicured nails. “Think of the money, GZ. The monnneeeyyy.”
He batted her away as they walked between rows of terminals occupied by lower ranking heroes. The general office hubbub of ringing phones, clopping heels and morning small talk grated on his nerves. They slipped into his private office at the back, with its chic glass walls and tall windows that overlooked central Tokyo.
“It would’ve been nice if you’d fucking asked before hiring another hero into my campaign,” he said.
“You said you didn’t care who they were so long as they – and again I quote – ‘looked badass.’” She leered at him as he collapsed into the chair behind his desk. “Am I gonna have to tell Uravity that you don’t think she’s badass enough to model for us?”
“You know what? I don’t fucking care. But if the launch bombs, I’m placing 100% of the blame on you.”
“It won’t bomb!”
“Great, now get outta my office. I have a shit ton of paperwork to do before my shift later.”
“Tch, fine. Don’t forget you’ve got a meeting at 11, a press conference at 1, and another meeting with the head of PR at 2, probably to address your public conduct. Again.” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll have someone bring you lunch and a snack.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“I wish I was your mom,” she replied, “then maybe I’d be allowed to kick some sense into you.”
She dodged the explosion he shot her way before slipping out the door, and finally he was left alone in his office.
Before he’d broken Top 20, his desk had been in the open plan office which he’d shared with the agency’s other heroes and the general admin staff. He didn’t mind sharing resources, but he hadn’t really clicked with the other heroes.
He knew he wasn’t an easy person to get along with. He was abrasive and curt and hated office small talk and people prying into his personal business. The other heroes respected and admired him, but hadn’t particularly liked him, so when he’d been given a private office he was quietly relieved to be able to work alone, in peace, without hearing workplace bitching and commentaries on the fucking weather.
And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t use it as an opportunity to nap under the desk from time to time. His only reservation about being a hero was the lack of sleep and unsociable hours; he literally didn’t have a social life, aside from his weekly night out with the ‘bakusquad’.
It was no wonder so few heroes had families. He’d never even had a girlfriend, and he was twenty-eight-fucking-years old. Just a list of nameless one-night stands that his agency berated him about in the name of his precious ‘reputation’. It wasn’t his fault the paps liked to snap his flings as they left his apartment at unholy hours of the morning.
Fucking stalkers.
Katsuki focused his thoughts as he turned on his terminal. He had a two day backlog of reports to write that ranged from him begrudgingly retrieving a ball that was stuck up a tree for a five year old, to apprehending a self-proclaimed nationalist who had tried to detonate a bomb on Migoya Bridge after beating a hostage to death.
Being a hero was weird. He loved it most days - loved the adrenalin and the attention and money – but it was physically, emotionally and mentally draining. The agency forced him to go to therapy (everyone else only had to go once a fortnight but he had to go twice a week because he had ‘anger issues’) but that didn’t cover his feelings about how lonely it was being a hero.
He was admired, loved, scorned, idolized. His name had been in the spotlights since he was fifteen. But the closer he edged to the Top Ten the more he realized how isolating it was being on a pedestal. How he had to water down his identity to meet public expectation (even though his publicists insisted he was doing a shit-poor job at that) and how he still went back to an empty apartment after his long shifts.
So sometimes – just sometimes – when the cameras were flashing in his face and everyone was thanking him for his service on the back of a hefty paycheck – he wondered what it was all for. After he became Number One, what then?
Had All Might felt this way? Or had it been enough to know that he was a savior to millions?
An hour later, a tapping on the glass walls of his office pulled him from the hell of never-ending reports, and he looked up to find Round Face waving at him from the other side of the door. Her smile was blindingly bright and genuine – he knew because he could see the dimples in her pink cheeks. She never had dimples in her campaign photos, nor when she addressed the public; her rare, genuine smiles were reserved only for her friends.
He gave her the finger.
Behind her, her management team looked horrified. Behind them, the office workers – who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the famous Uravity – collectively withered.
She puffed out her cheeks, eyebrows settling into a half-hearted scowl, then let herself into his office and closed the door behind her.
“Nice to you see you, too,” she said. “I can’t believe I came all this way for your photoshoot and you didn’t even turn up!”
“Wasn’t on my schedule.”
“Gosh, you couldn’t even spare five minutes to say hello?”
“Hello,” he deadpanned.
She stood beside him and cocked her hip against his desk, briefly drawing his attention to her thick thighs barely concealed under a pair of yoga pants. Her hair was longer than he remembered, falling in soft waves to her shoulders, and she was swamped in a pink, fuzzy sweater that made her cheeks look even rounder, if that was possible.
“You look like a fucking marshmallow,” he commented.
She glanced at her sweater, then pouted. “My stylist says it makes me look cute.”
“I’m sure it makes the villains quake in their boots.”
“Oh, you know I make ‘em quake,” she remarked with a mischievous smirk that he really liked.
Not in a weird way. He just wasn’t interested in the cutesy persona she put on for the public when he knew she was an absolute powerhouse on the battlefield.
To be fair, though, being underestimated had likely secured her the win on many occasions. Hence why he'd never been stupid enough to do it.
“Your sports apparel is super cool!” she said. “And comfy. They gave me the samples to take home and I’m gonna wear ‘em to the gym just to piss off my agency. They said it could have a ‘negative impact’ on my reputation.” She rolled her eyes.
“Good for you,” he said.
She walked over to the window and threw it open, letting in the noise and stink of the city. “You didn’t turn up to the drinks Deku arranged last week.”
Katsuki leaned back on his chair and twirled a pen between his fingers. “Why the fuck would I wanna hang out with you nerds?”
“He misses you.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“It’s true! Don’t tell him I told you; he’d kill me.”
“I don’t give a shit about your lover’s quarrel.”
She looked over her shoulder and frowned. “You know we haven’t dated since school, right? Deku is literally engaged to Shouto-kun.”
“I’m sorry if I have better things to do with my time than keep up with your boring lives.”
Uraraka’s assistant poked his head into Katsuki’s office with a nervous look. “Uraraka-san, you have to be at the department of health in fifteen minutes. You’re going to be late!”
Round Face flapped a hand in his general direction. “Sure, sure. I’ll meet you there.”
“But –“
“Get the fuck out of my office,” Katsuki snapped at the extra, explosions crackling above his palms, and the assistant disappeared with a frightened squeak.
“And that’s why nobody wants to work with you,” Uraraka commented, although she wore a smirk like she secretly found it funny. “Anyway, I hope you like how the photos turned out.”
“I damn well better. I didn’t approve you as a model, y’know. The higher-ups decided for me.”
“Would you have said no?” she asked curiously.
His gaze dropped to his desk. “…Dunno.”
She was grinning when he looked up again, so he rearranged his expression into a scowl. “Are you done? I’ve got shit to do. I don’t have time for a fucking social.”
She sighed theatrically, then climbed onto his window ledge. “Okay, okay, I’ll take the hint. Don’t be a stranger, okay? It’s nice seeing you.”
And then she jumped out the window of the 200-storey skyscraper.
Katsuki dragged himself out of his chair to watch her activate her quirk then propel herself off the side of the building then onto another, back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball, until she disappeared around a corner.
When he turned back, he caught all the office workers pressed against the windows to watch her leave. Her management team looked like they were having a collective heart attack. He grinned.
Show off.
He spent his weekend working solidly; a grueling ten-hour shift on Saturday night that turned into twelve hours because the police couldn’t deescalate a fight in the holding cells between inmates that Katsuki had caught. He snatched a whole four hours sleep Sunday morning before working more overtime to get reports done – albeit from the comfort of his couch on the company MacBook – before heading straight into another ten hour shift in Kabukicho, of all the fucking places.
He’d almost forgotten about the launch of his gym line until Anya jumped on him first thing Monday morning before he’d stepped foot inside the building. Again.
“Espresso,” she said as a way of mollifying his temper because she knew damn well he needed a coffee before he dealt with work shit. “Aaaand a celebratory bagel!”
“What’s the celebration for?” he asked after downing the espresso and biting a chunk out of the bagel. At least she knew he liked cream cheese and chorizo filling.
“Bakugou-san, how are you so out of touch? It’s launch day, remember?”
“Oh shit. Yeah.”
“’Oh shit yeah’!? That’s all you have to say? After months of planning and designing and creating and pouring your blood, tears and explody sweat into the project?”
It was actually his dad’s idea, but Katsuki had admittedly been excited about owning his own line, even if he didn’t have much to do with its production. He just turned up to meetings, said what he wanted, offered insights, made sure everyone got a fair wage, then let the production team sweat the small stuff.
“Has it launched already?” he asked as they rode the elevator up to his office.
“Yes, you dummy! 6am this morning. The marketing team were dropping teaser photos all weekend and one of them went viral.”
A flicker of excitement dampened his morning crankiness. He wiped bagel crumbs on the back of his jeans and peered sideways at her. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah! Like, nationwide sensation viral. You seriously don’t go on twitter?”
“You banned me from managing my social media accounts,” Katsuki reminded her.
Anya’s look was unrepentant. “Bakugou-san, you left a comment on Deku’s public profile calling him ‘a waste of human tissue.’”
“And I’d do it again.”
“I know you would! Hence why you’re not allowed on social media. Anyway! Ground Zero Apparel is the number one trending hashtag in Japan right now!”
That surprised him. He was a household name, sure, and the designs were damn good, but he wasn’t even Top Ten. His normal merch was designed and distributed by an external company; he had little to do with it aside from receiving royalties once a month. It did well but never made a big splash in a world over-saturated with hero merch.
“Aren’t you pleased?” Anya said, eyeing his dubious expression.
“Sure,” he said slowly. “What made it go viral?”
“My hard work,” she replied snippily, although the grin on her face suggested there was something she wasn’t telling him. “You’re gonna get one of hell of a paycheck, ya know. It’s flying off the shelves. We’ve already placed another order for two thousand units. It’s insane! This has gotta push you into the Top Ten.”
He felt another buzz of excitement at that thought.
As they walked through the office, the lower ranking heroes congratulated him on a successful merch launch, applauding and fist pumping. He even started to feel proud, despite knowing he was going to have to deal with a shit ton of PR work off the back of this success.
They walked into his office while Anya listed off his daily tasks. He zoned her out like he usually did – knowing it was all logged on his terminal’s calendar anyway – until she said, “Oh, and Uravity-san has rearranged her schedule so she can make the meeting tomorrow about the apparel.”
Katsuki blinked. “What? Why?”
“Well, she kinda needs to be there.”
“Why?”
Anya lowered her phone incredulously. “Oh, come on. You didn’t think it was just your name that made it go viral? We weren’t expecting this level of success, so our agencies have agreed to collab for the time being to pull in more money. Ride the waves, so to speak. Your parents are coming in, too.”
“WHAT!?”
“To discuss expanding the line!”
“That’s creative shit – they don’t need to be there for a fucking debrief!”
“Like I said, we’ve gotta crank it up a gear if we’re gonna ride the momentum, and your parents have a ton of ideas. Your mom’s been all over social media this morning bragging about you.”
Katsuki visibly recoiled. “For fuck’s sake, why don’t you people ask me before inviting these assholes into my workplace! I swear to god if Deku turns up at my 1 o’clock I will kick him out the fucking window.”
“Ooh, do you think he’d endorse your brand too? Maybe I should ask.”
“I will literally crush your skull.”
“Now, honey, save the sweet talk for the bedroom.” She tucked her phone into her pocket and sauntered out the door, calling over her shoulder, “Try to look at social media when you get a chance!”
Katsuki rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, then wiped excess nitroglycerin onto his jeans. He was sweating from a mixture of stress, excitement and his usual frustration. Sometimes he felt like his whole life was a series of events controlled by corporate bigwigs that thought they knew better than him.
Whatever. At least he was breaking bank.
Half an hour later, he was on his tenth report when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen and was surprised to see Eijirou’s number. Shitty-hair never rang him during the day.
He accepted the call. “What?”
“Dude. Dude. Bro. Like… dude. Dude.”
“Are you having a stroke?”
“No, man, I’m just like…. losing my mind!”
“You know I’m at work, right?”
“So am I! On patrol through Shibuya, actually. Have you been yet?”
“Why the fuck would I go to that cesspit of tourists?”
“Um, because your campaign is on the central billboard over the crosswalk!”
Katsuki blinked. “Really?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Nobody fucking tells me anything.” He paused. “Does it look good?”
“Um, YES. Are you kidding? You seriously haven’t seen the photos on twitter?”
“No.”
“Bro, literally, get your ass down here now. You are gonna lose. Your. Mind.”
“Can’t you just send me a photo? I have a billion fucking reports to write.”
“Naw, man, you gotta see it for yourself. It’s… uh… something else.”
“You’re an annoying piece of shit, you know that?”
“You’ll thank me later.”
“Doubt it,” Katsuki said, then hung up.
The half-finished report seemed to glare at him from the screen, the flashing cursor as antagonizing as any villain he’d faced, and he nearly considered jumping out the window, Uravity-style.
God, it was going to be a long day.
It was dark outside by the time he clocked out of the office, and he thanked all the gods nobody asked him to work overtime. He didn’t mind picking up extra patrol shifts – being seen by the public helped his ranking – but he really needed more than five hours sleep. As sad as it was, he was excited to be in bed before 10pm. How anyone was able to go drinking after work was beyond him, and he didn’t give a fuck if Pikachu called him an old man; he’d pick sleeping over vomiting his guts into the gutter any day of the week.
He decided to treat himself to takeout ramen on his way home and was leaning against the bar waiting for his order when his phone pinged with a message.
More than one, actually. He’d been inundated with congratulatory messages regarding his gear launch but hadn’t had the chance to reply. Even fucking Deku had messaged him. How that twerp kept getting his number was a mystery, but Anya threatened to cut off his balls if he blocked him, so he all he could do was keep deleting the messages.
One message caught his eye from an unknown number, and he opened it with a frown.
‘Congrats on the launch! Was kinda embarrassed about being on the front page of twitter this morning but I hope it made ya money.’
‘Who’s this?’ he messaged back.
It only took a few minutes before he got a reply.
‘Uraraka! Kirishima gave me your number. Hope ya don’t mind. Can’t be bothered to go through our agents every time we need to talk.’
He saved her into his phone as Round Face. ‘What do we need to talk about?’
‘The collab, duh’
‘It was a one-off thing.’
‘Really? My agent said it’s an ongoing contract now’.
Surprise, surprise; he was the last to hear about it.
The ramen chef broke his train of thought by calling out his order number. He grabbed the plastic bag then stepped out onto the busy streets. When he looked at his phone again, Uraraka had messaged.
‘Don’t you like the photos?’
‘Haven’t seen em’
‘R u srs? Not evn the 1 in Shibuya?’
Oh right. Shitty-hair had told him about that earlier. ‘No. Stop messaging me.’
It was a few minutes before his phone pinged again.
‘If you don’t like em then plz tell me,’ she messaged, ‘cuz I don’t want to represent your brand if u don't like how they look.’
He frowned as he weaved through the heaving crowds. ‘I told you I haven’t seen them yet. I’ll look at the one in Shibuya now, alright?’
‘k’
He grunted as he tucked his phone into his pocket, then took a sharp right down an alleyway toward Shibuya.
The crowds thickened as he drew closer to one of Tokyo’s famous hotspots, the shifting masses bathed in neon lights flashing in the dark. It was boisterous for a Monday night; the overpriced bars were already crammed and the mishmash of different languages from passing tourists muddled his senses.
He rounded a corner and the narrow streets widened into the madness that was Shibuya Crossing. The black-and-white striped intersection was riddled with tourists taking photos and dodging traffic that hurtled between the greenlights, overlooked by a garish display of countless neon advertisements.
Katsuki didn’t like crowds. Never had done. He hid it well, naturally, but not even therapy could completely eradicate his PTSD from being kidnapped as a kid. Not to mention that his quirk wasn’t ideal in large crowds of people. Of course he had impeccable control over it, but it still made him nervous from time to time.
He waited at the intersection for the walk sign to turn green, then was swept away in a crowd as fifty-odd people crossed at the same time, many of them hurriedly taking photos and setting up tripods before the lights turned red again.
Fucking tourists.
He was so busy glaring at passersby that he almost forgot to look up, and when he did, his feet stalled in the middle of the crossing like the tarmac had turned to glue.
The billboard was the largest in the square; it was at least thirty-foot-tall, spanning the entire top half of Shibuya’s main shopping mall. He dreaded to think how much his agency must have paid to secure it. The surrounding ads couldn’t hope to compete for attention, even though his campaign was dark and broody, splashed in flashes of orange and green.
But he barely noticed the subtleties of the campaign. His eyes were helplessly drawn to the feature model, the only one on the billboard.
Uraraka.
He almost didn’t recognize her. She looked so… different. Not like herself at all. But also very much like herself – like the girl he remembered from the Sport’s Festivals, powerful and in control and… and…
Smoldering. That was the only word he could think of.
There was nothing cutesy about her now. She was shot head to mid-thighs, dressed completely in his black and orange gym gear, his hero name branded on the straps that pressed indents into her ample hips and chest. Her hair was swept into a bun and she was sweating like she was mid workout. The cropped top revealed her abs and toned arms, and she was pulling on a pair of green and orange gloves – his gloves, he realized, and for some reason that made a thrill of electricity shoot down his spine.
But it was her expression that really pinned him. She wore the barest of smirks, her head tilted up, peering down at him like a challenge. Like it was just him and her and no one else. Like she could kick his ass from here to Taiwan and wouldn’t bat an eye about it.
His brain conjured the word before he could stop it.
Hot. She looked smoking fucking hot. Was she always this hot? Because holy christ how had he not noticed before?
A car beeped to his right, startling him out of his open-mouthed trance, and he realized he was standing alone in the middle of the empty crossing when the lights were green.
He flipped the driver the bird, then stalked to the safety of the sidewalk as the traffic roared by. Only then he noticed clusters of people taking photos of Uraraka’s – no, his - ad, and now he knew exactly which photo had gone viral and why.
This was a different side to Uravity, and he was completely unsurprised that it was driving Japan wild.
And him, apparently.
‘You coming to the meeting tomorrow?’
‘O hey! Thought you’d forgotten about me. Isn’t it past ur bedtime?’
‘Stfu’
‘Did u see the ad in Shibuya?’
‘Yeah’
‘And???’
‘You looked ok’
‘ok???’
‘Above average’
‘Wow high praise from GZ, I’ll add that to my resume. So u wanna keep workin together?’
‘I guess’
‘Great! I’m doubling my rates btw’
‘Take it up with accounting’
‘Hehe. Will I get to see u at the next photoshoot?’
‘You’ll need to request an appearance in advance. I charge by the hour.’
‘Alright, hotshot. Consider this an official request, then’
‘I’ll forward your request to my PA’
‘Omg ur annoying’
‘I’ll add that to my resume’
‘Go to sleep, old man’
‘Fuck you’
‘Fuck u right back <3’
Katsuki shoved his phone onto his bedside table and tried very, very hard not to think about Uraraka’s billboard as he drifted off to sleep.