Gear check was in the training facility.
Basement level. The part of the building most people didn't see. Reinforced walls. Quirk-resistant materials. Training dummies that could take a beating and stay standing.
Amaya showed up at 08:50.
Early. Not too early. Just... appropriately early.
The room was already occupied. Five other heroes. All from the agency. She recognized three of them from the raid. The others were sidekicks she'd seen around but never worked with.
Kamiko was there. Checking her support gear. Some kind of temperature regulator for her costume. She looked up when Amaya walked in. Nodded.
No sign of Bakugo yet.
Amaya found an empty bench. Set down her bag. Started unpacking.
Earpiece. Comm unit. The crystal-resistant gloves she'd ordered last week. They'd finally arrived. Supposed to help with quirk channeling. Reduce the strain on her hands when she maintained formations for too long.
She pulled them on. Flexed her fingers.
They fit well. Snug. Not too tight.
"Those new?"
She looked up.
Bakugo was standing three feet away.
When had he—
She hadn't heard him come in.
"Yeah," she said. "Just got them."
He stared at her hands. "Let me see."
It wasn't a request.
She held them out.
He grabbed her wrist. Not rough. Just... firm. Turned her hand over. Examined the glove. The reinforced knuckles. The flexible joints. The spots where the material was thinner to allow for better quirk projection.
His hands were warm.
Calloused.
She could feel the texture through the glove.
"Good choice," he said. "Better than the standard issue shit."
He let go.
Stepped back.
"Activate your quirk."
"What?"
"Your quirk. Activate it. I want to see how the gloves hold up."
She blinked.
Then complied.
Crystals formed over her forearms. The usual amethyst color. Jagged. Sharp. The gloves didn't tear. Didn't strain. The material flexed with the crystal growth instead of fighting it.
Bakugo circled her. Observing.
"Make a shield."
She did.
Extended her hand. Crystals shot out. Formed a flat barrier about three feet wide. Solid. Dense.
"Hold it."
She held it.
Thirty seconds.
Sixty.
Her hand started to ache. Not as bad as usual. The gloves were helping. Distributing the strain.
"Good. Drop it."
She did.
The crystals dissolved.
Bakugo nodded. "Keep using those. They'll help with the joint pain."
He'd noticed the joint pain.
She hadn't mentioned joint pain.
How had he—
"Your left hand," he said. Answering the question she hadn't asked. "You favor it. Means your right's weaker. Overuse injury. Probably tendonitis."
"I—"
"Get it checked. There's a sports med clinic two blocks from here. Tell them you're with the agency. They'll fit you in."
He turned away.
Started checking someone else's gear.
Amaya stood there.
He'd noticed.
He'd been paying attention. To the way she moved. The way she used her quirk. Close enough attention to spot an injury she'd been ignoring for months.
Because it was his job.
He was the director. He was supposed to notice when his team was compromised.
It didn't mean anything.
It meant he was good at his job.
That was all.
She sat down. Flexed her right hand. The ache was there. Dull. Constant. She'd gotten used to it. Thought it was normal.
Maybe it wasn't.
The gear check lasted an hour.
Bakugo went through everyone's equipment. Made notes. Told three people to replace their comms. Told someone else their costume was a liability and they needed to redesign the chest piece.
No one argued.
When he was done, he dismissed everyone.
Amaya packed up her gear. Slower than necessary. She didn't know why.
Most of the others had already left.
Just her and Kamiko and—
The door opened.
The woman from yesterday.
Same blazer. Different color. Navy instead of black. Same heels. Same ponytail.
She walked straight to Bakugo.
Handed him a folder.
"The commission approved the budget increase," she said. "You've got funding for two more hires. Start date is flexible but they want them onboarded before the end of the quarter."
"Fine."
"Also—" She pulled out her phone. Scrolled. "You've got that interview on Thursday. Hero Network. They want to talk about the raid. I already told them you're not discussing operational details but they're insisting—"
"Cancel it."
"Bakugo—"
"I said cancel it. I'm not doing press for a successful op. That's not news. That's my job."
The woman sighed. "The commission wants you to do at least one media appearance this month. You've been avoiding them and it's hurting your approval ratings."
"Don't care."
"You should care. Approval ratings affect funding. Funding affects—"
"I know how it works." His voice was flat. Annoyed. "Fine. Schedule something. Keep it short. No stupid questions."
"I'll do my best."
She smiled.
That same warm smile from yesterday.
Bakugo didn't smile back. But his expression softened slightly. Less annoyed. More... resigned.
"You're impossible," the woman said.
"Yeah."
She left.
Amaya realized she was staring.
Looked away. Focused on her bag. Zipped it up. Stood.
"Tsukino."
She froze.
Turned.
Bakugo was looking at her.
"You're on patrol this afternoon. Zone 3. With Sero. Don't forget to get that hand checked."
"I won't."
"Good. Dismissed."
She left.
Walked to the elevator.
Kamiko caught up with her.
"You okay?" Kamiko asked.
"Yeah. Fine."
"You look tense."
"Just tired."
The elevator doors opened. They got in.
Silence.
Then Kamiko spoke.
"That was Tanaka Yuki. Bakugo's liaison with the Hero Commission. She handles his schedule. Manages his media obligations. Keeps the commission off his back."
Amaya didn't respond.
"She's good at her job," Kamiko continued. "Been working with him for three years. Before that she was with Endeavor's agency."
Three years.
That explained the familiarity.
That explained why she could touch his arm. Make him listen. Smile at him like they were... friends.
Because they were.
Professionally.
Nothing more.
Probably.
The elevator dinged.
Ground floor.
They got out.
"See you tomorrow," Kamiko said.
"Yeah."
Amaya walked out.
Into the sunlight.
Her phone buzzed.
The clinic Bakugo had mentioned. She looked it up. Checked the hours.
They had an opening at four.
She booked it.
Not because he'd told her to.
Because her hand hurt.
And because ignoring it was stupid.
And because... maybe he was right.
Maybe she did need to take better care of herself.
If she wanted to climb.
If she wanted to keep up.
Patrol with Sero was uneventful.
He was easy to work with. Relaxed. Talked about his weekend plans. Some concert. Asked if she wanted to come.
She said maybe.
Meant no.
They stopped two pickpockets. Helped an old man who'd fallen and couldn't get up. Wrote three incident reports for noise complaints.
Standard.
Boring.
Her mind kept wandering.
Back to the training facility.
The way Bakugo had grabbed her wrist. Examined the gloves.
Told her to get her hand checked.
Noticed something she'd been hiding.
It was his job.
He noticed everything.
That's what made him good.
It didn't mean—
"You good?" Sero asked.
"Yeah. Why?"
"You've been quiet."
"Just thinking."
"About?"
"Nothing important."
Sero shrugged. "Cool."
They finished the patrol.
She went to the clinic.
The doctor confirmed it. Tendonitis. Right hand. From overuse. Repetitive strain.
He gave her a brace. Told her to ice it twice a day. Prescribed anti-inflammatories.
Told her to take it easy for two weeks.
She nodded.
Took the brace.
Knew she wouldn't take it easy.
Heroes didn't get two weeks off for minor injuries.
But she'd wear the brace.
Ice it.
Do the exercises he'd shown her.
Because Bakugo had noticed.
And if he noticed once, he'd notice again.
She didn't want him to think she was ignoring his advice.
Didn't want him to think she was careless.
Didn't want—
She stopped that line of thinking.
Went home.
Made dinner. Instant ramen. Added an egg. Called it protein.
Sat on the couch.
Turned on the TV.
The news was covering hero rankings again. Deku had officially moved to number two. Shoto dropped to three.
Bakugo was still five.
They showed a clip of him from last week. Some interview. He looked annoyed. Answered every question with the bare minimum words required.
The interviewer had asked about his ranking.
"Don't care," he'd said.
"But you're one of the strongest heroes—"
"Ranking's a popularity contest. I'm here to do the job. Not win a fucking beauty pageant."
They'd bleeped the cursing.
It hadn't helped.
His approval rating dropped another point.
Amaya turned off the TV.
Lay down on the couch.
Stared at the ceiling.
Her right hand was in the brace. It felt weird. Restrictive.
But the ache was already less.
She closed her eyes.
Thought about the way he'd held her wrist.
Clinical. Professional.
Nothing more.
...
Nothing more.
She repeated it in her head.
Like if she thought it enough times, she'd believe it.
Like if she believed it, the tightness in her chest would go away.
It didn't.
But she was getting used to it.
The wanting.
The knowing it would never happen.
The living with it anyway.
Heroes learned to live with a lot of things.
This was just one more.