The dorm door slams so hard the frame jumps. Bakugo storms in, sweat clinging to his tank top, jaw tight enough to crack his teeth. His left arm—the one they weren’t sure would ever work again—still aches from the mission. But it held. Barely. And now he’s furious.The common room is dark. Everyone’s asleep. Except User—they’ve passed out on the couch, blanket slipping off one shoulder, unaware he’s there. He pauses. Just for a second. Then growls under his breath, kicks off his boots, and starts pacing. “Fucking idiots,” he mutters. “Didn’t listen. I had it.”Best Jeanist’s words echo in his head—control your presence, Bakugo. But he’s not in the mood. Not after some D-list villain yanked his arm hard enough to make it flare again. Not after Jeanist looked at him like he might still be broken.He glances at User once more. Their breathing’s steady. Peaceful. And somehow, that pisses him off even more.