(Elsewhere – Aleasha POV)
Aleasha sat in the admissions office waiting room, fingers tapping anxiously against the edge of her form. Her UA application sat in her lap, pristine on the surface—clean handwriting, impeccable references, top test scores from her prep school.
But all of that? It wasn't why she was here.
She wasn't chasing the dream of heroism for the cameras, or the prestige that came with the uniform.
She just wanted to find her brother.
Not the one from files or stories or shattered whispers of their past. The real one. The one who'd survived. The one whose name had started showing up more and more often in Hero News: Denki Kaminari
She never thought he'd be alive, let alone thriving in the spotlight of UA. But when she'd seen the photo—blonde hair wild, grin reckless, spark in his hands and something so painfully familiar in his eyes—it was like the floor had dropped out beneath her.
It's him.
And now, here she was.
Applying not for the glory, but for proximity. For a chance to say, I'm still here. I never stopped looking.
And maybe, just maybe... to remind him of who he was before the storm took everything.
The screen blinked once. Twice.
Then the message flashed in glowing gold letters: ACCEPTED – CLASS 1-C: HERO COURSE.
Aleasha froze.
Her heart stuttered in her chest for one impossible second. Then—
"YES!!"
She launched out of her chair, fist punching the air with a surge of crackling joy that sparked just faintly at her fingertips—like her Quirk knew exactly how she felt.
Grinning wide, hair a little frazzled, she spun once in a little victory hop before catching herself and clearing her throat.
"Okay. Chill. Be cool. Be... not Denki."
But the smile wouldn't leave
Because she was in. UA. The place he was.
Her brother. Her missing piece.
And she was finally getting closer.
She sprinted down the stairs, grabbed her training gloves, and practically threw herself into the backyard.
Lightning flickered between her knuckles as she launched into drills. Her Quirk—Voltage Vein—was refined, more internalized than Denki's. Instead of blasting electricity outward, she could run current through her muscles, sharpening reflexes, boosting movement, channeling shocking precision into her hits.
She was a storm contained in a heartbeat.
And today? That heartbeat thundered.
"Hang on, Denki," she whispered between punches. "Your big sister's coming."
(UA Class 1-A – Monday Morning, a Few Weeks Later)
The classroom buzzed with its usual pre-lesson chaos. Chairs creaking, Sero launching erasers at Kaminari (again), Mina whispering theories about the next field exercise to Jiro—until the door opened, and everything stilled.
Aizawa stepped in, black capture scarf loose around his neck, mug in hand. Beside him stood someone new.
"Quiet down," he said, and the room obeyed instantly.
"We have a transfer. Hero Course, Class 1-C. She'll be training closely with Class A due to her specialization and mobility score."
He gestured. "This is Aleasha."
Aleasha stepped forward, posture straight but relaxed. She gave a short nod, sharp amber eyes scanning the room with quiet confidence.
Kaminari blinked at her.
There was something about her—familiar in a way he couldn't place. Like lightning under the skin. But he didn't say anything. Not yet.
Aizawa frowned faintly as he looked at her. His gaze lingered an extra second longer than usual, like he'd seen her somewhere before—but he moved on.
"What's your Quirk?" Sero called, leaning forward over his desk.
Aleasha crossed her arms, one brow arched. "Voltage Vein. Internalized electricity. I use it to supercharge movement and reaction speed."
"Ooooh," Mina cooed, nudging Denki. "Sounds familiar."
Denki laughed awkwardly, not getting it. "Ha—yeah, guess the electric thing's catching on."
Aleasha didn't react. Just offered the tiniest smile before slipping into an empty seat—right across from Bakugo.
Bakugo glanced at her. Sharp eyes. Sharp voice.
She stared back. Unbothered. Almost bored.
He grunted. "Hope you don't slow us down."
She smirked. "Hope you keep up."
And just like that, his interest was piqued.
The training field buzzed with the low rumble of anticipation.
Monday morning sparring had become a staple under Aizawa's watchful eye—and by now, everyone knew how the pairings usually went. Aizawa stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, hair slightly windblown by the still-lingering breeze from last night's storm.
"All right," he called out. "Pairings are posted."
There were no gasps. No dramatics.
Just a long-suffering groan from Denki as he read the list.
"Me and Bakugo—again?"
Bakugo snorted, pulling on his gloves. "Start whining and I'll short-circuit you before you blink."
"Gee, you're such a ray of sunshine," Denki muttered, shaking out his hands. But deep down… he was already shifting into position. Because yeah, it was a headache. But Bakugo? He watched his back like no one else.
Across the field, Aleasha scanned the board and nodded.
Aleasha – Paired with: Kyoka /Shoto
She smiled slightly.
Interesting.
Shoto was already stepping forward with his usual quiet stoicism, and Jiro offered a faint wave as she tugged her earpiece snug.
Aleasha cracked her knuckles, that familiar buzz already tingling in her fingertips. "Guess we're team steady hands and ice. I can work with that."
Jiro narrowed her eyes just slightly at the sass, then smirked. "Let's see if your moves live up to that mouth, new girl."
Todoroki blinked. "…Should I pretend I didn't hear that?"
Aleasha just grinned. "Only if you can't keep up."
Across the field, Aizawa leaned against a stack of mats, sipping his coffee. His eyes lingered on Aleasha a beat too long—something about her stance, her hair, the way her lightning clung close to her skin, controlled but never fully tamed.
He didn't say anything. Not yet.
But in his gut, something stirred.
And still—his gaze flicked over to Bakugo, now cracking his knuckles beside Denki like a knight preparing to stab someone out of love.
"They'll be fine," Aizawa thought. "He won't let anything happen to him. Not again."
The sun had shifted high over the training grounds, casting long shadows across the stone and grass as drills pushed into their third hour.
Aleasha moved like she belonged to the lightning.
Her hair—white-gold, the color of pale stormlight—was pinned back into a sleek high ponytail, with strands curling free at her temples. Her eyes were striking: golden-amber, like the coil of a heated filament just before it sparks. She wore the standard UA sports gear, but her sleeves were cropped at the shoulders and fitted close to her arms, revealing a jagged trail of faint electrical lines beneath her skin, glowing soft as they pulsed through her veins.
Not decorative. Not cosmetic. Alive.
And her fighting style? It was exact.
Controlled bursts. Shocking pivots. No wasted movement. She ducked Todoroki's frost with a sliver of breath between impact, and traded blows with Jiro in a flurry of sparking jabs and amplified speed.
Bakugo noticed.
Of course he did.
He tracked her like a storm looming on the edge of radar—something sharp enough to respect, but unfamiliar enough to keep eyes on. She didn't flinch, didn't chatter, didn't show off. She moved with purpose and calculation, the occasional cheeky smile curling at the corners of her mouth when someone underestimated her and paid the price.
But Bakugo's attention wasn't entirely on her.
Because Denki was fighting a little off.
Just a hair.
A missed step here. Breathing a beat too short there. Not enough for anyone else to clock—but Bakugo had been watching Denki for months. He knew the signs.
The spark was burning too fast.
Aizawa knew it, too. Arms crossed under the shade, eyes narrowing just slightly as the matchups changed and Denki rotated in again. Bakugo kept glancing toward their teacher, half-expecting him to call it.
But Denki was stubborn.
And then—
It happened.
Not dramatic. Not explosive.
Just a misstep.
Denki pivoted mid-strike, sparks trailing from his palms—and suddenly staggered. His vision tilted. Knees buckled.
His boot caught nothing. He was going down.
Aleasha's attention whipped in his direction. She felt the shift before anyone else called it. Her concentration faltered.
"Denki?"
That second cost her.
Sero's wire looped fast around her arm, yanking her off-balance, and her back hit the mat with a clean thud.
Match over.
She didn't care.
She pushed herself up immediately, breath sharp. "Kaminari—!"
Aizawa was already moving. "Enough."
Bakugo dropped his stance mid-motion and reached Denki in two strides, one hand clamped around his shoulder before he could fall fully. "Dumbass," he muttered under his breath. "You felt that coming and didn't say anything?"
"I'm fine," Denki tried.
"You're not," Aizawa said flatly, arriving just behind them.
Aleasha was on her feet now, arms tense at her sides, jaw locked tight.
"We're done here," Aizawa said. "Kaminari—off the field. You're benched for the rest of the day."
"But I—"
"No." His voice didn't rise. It didn't have to.
Bakugo tightened his grip just enough to keep Denki upright. Not rough. But firm.
Aleasha watched silently, the static still humming beneath her skin.
Something hard settled behind her eyes.
Because even if she wasn't ready to say it yet—even if her place here was still a secret—she knew what it looked like when her little brother pushed too far.
And the first time she let him fall would be the last.
The bench creaked softly beneath them. The buzz of sparring matches carried across the field, occasional bursts of elemental energy echoing behind the low fence. But right here—in this little pocket of quiet—Aizawa didn't say anything at first.
He just sat beside Denki, arms resting on his knees, black scarf draped loose over his shoulders. Let the quiet settle.
Denki leaned back, head tipped toward the sky, sweat cooling along his hairline. "I didn't mean to push it," he muttered. "I thought I had more in the tank."
"You didn't," Aizawa said plainly. "And that's not failure. That's a limit. You respect it, or you break."
Denki exhaled shakily, eyes flicking toward his feet. "It's not just training, though. Sometimes I feel like I'm always walking a tightrope—and if I slip, I'm not just letting me down anymore."
Aizawa watched him carefully. No pity. Just presence.
"Describe it," he said after a pause. "What happened. Not the move. The moment."
Denki blinked at him. Then slowly: "It felt... like I was holding it together with tape. And right before I tripped, I got this wave—like everything inside me got heavy all at once. Like if I breathed too deep, I'd unravel."
Aizawa gave a small nod. "And next time, you stop before you reach that point."
"I didn't want to disappoint anyone," Denki whispered. "Especially not you."
A long beat. Then—
"You called me 'dad' the other day," Aizawa said quietly, eyes still fixed on the field.
Denki tensed. "I—uh—yeah. I mean... I didn't mean to make it weird or anything, I just—"
"It's not weird."
That stopped him.
"It's not something I ever imagined I'd be to anyone. But if you need that from me... if it helps you carry less? Then it's not a burden."
Denki swallowed hard, blinking fast. "I'm glad it's you."
Aizawa didn't answer with words. Just placed a firm hand on the back of Denki's head, not pushing, not guiding. Just holding for a moment. Like tethering him in place.
Meanwhile, on the field—
Bakugo delivered a clean blow that sent Iida sliding back—but his eyes weren't on the fight anymore.
They kept drifting toward Denki.
And… Aleasha.
He'd noticed it earlier—that split-second when she stopped mid-match to look at Kaminari. When her stance shifted before Denki hit the ground. Too quick. Too worried.
Bakugo frowned.
People didn't react like that to new teammates.
Or strangers.
It scratched at his nerves—something low and instinctive stirring in his gut. He didn't trust people easily. But this wasn't mistrust.
It was curiosity.
Who the hell is she, really?
And why did it feel like she was watching Denki not like a classmate... but like someone who'd already lost him once?
The common area was buzzing in that warm, lived-in way—the clatter of rice bowls, Katsudon steaming on the stove, Kaminari's playlist humming faintly from Jiro's phone. Rain still tapped faintly on the windows, but the tension of the day had mostly faded.
Aleasha moved quickly through the hallway, scanning dorm rooms for a glimpse of messy blonde hair or a familiar spark. She needed to check on him—had to—but as she turned the corner near the kitchen—
Wham.
She collided chest-first into a broad shoulder.
"Whoa—oh! Sorry—" She stepped back instinctively, hands raised, before blinking up.
Bakugo.
Sharp eyes. Sweats and a black tank. The air around him practically growled.
But instead of blasting her with some half-snarled insult, he simply stared and muttered:
"Watch where you're going. You might get hurt."
Then turned on his heel and kept walking.
Aleasha blinked. Once. Twice.
Well. That wasn't... what she expected?
She was still processing when Mina popped up behind her like a gremlin summoned by gossip.
"Meet the family~!" she chirped, practically dragging Aleasha by the sleeve into the common room. "Okay, real talk—you already met Angry-Sweaty-Explosion over there—Bakugo. Yes, he's always like that. Very angry Pomeranian."
Aleasha tilted her head. "...That guy warned me to be careful. That's not very Pomeranian."
Mina raised an eyebrow. "Wait, what? Bakugo cared if you got hurt?"
Kirishima, mid-pour of tea, let out a very audible snort. "He definitely doesn't usually say it like that…"
Bakugo, across the room, glared without turning his head. "Say what like what?"
"Nothing, Angry-chan!" Mina sang.
Then, dramatically throwing an arm around a startled Kirishima's shoulder, she grinned at Aleasha and declared, "And this is Kirishima—my boyfriend~!"
The boldness.
Kirishima turned bright red, practically choking on his tea. "M-Mina, you don't just—!"
She giggled, hugging him tighter. "You're cute when you short-circuit."
Aleasha laughed. "You two are kinda the best."
Kirishima smiled sheepishly. "We try."
Across the room, Bakugo sat on the couch with crossed arms, gaze trailing slightly too long on Aleasha's profile.
That electric girl. She doesn't know Kaminari... but she watches him like she does. And she's not afraid of me. That's new.
He narrowed his eyes just slightly.
Something didn't add up.
And now?
He wanted to know why.
The common room had slipped into that cozy lull between dinner and lights-out, bathed in the soft amber of low lamps and the occasional flicker of a TV screen no one was really watching.
Denki and Jiro were tucked into the corner couch, sharing a blanket someone had probably stolen from the laundry room. Their heads leaned together, earbuds threaded between them like a secret. Jiro's head rested lightly on Denki's shoulder, and his cheek tilted into her hair, eyelids low, thumb tapping idly to the rhythm.
It was peaceful. Disarmingly so.
And Bakugo saw it all.
He lingered by the doorway, half-shadowed, a can of juice unopened in his hand. His gaze wasn't harsh—just sharp. Focused.
He wasn't watching them out of jealousy or disdain. It was something quieter. Something closer to a soldier scanning the battlefield long after the bombs had stopped falling. Checking for tremors in Denki's fingers. Slackness in his posture. Stray pain hiding under soft smiles.
Old habits. Quiet instincts.
But then—
Movement.
Aleasha stepped into the room, her footsteps deliberate but unhurried. She scanned the space once, and her eyes landed on Denki like gravity had called them there.
Her breath hitched just faintly.
Bakugo caught it.
He tilted his head.
Aleasha walked toward the couch, slow, like not to wake them—but something in her hands was clenched too tight, and the storm behind her eyes flickered even as she relaxed her expression.
Bakugo narrowed his eyes, watching.
That look again. The one that didn't belong to a classmate. It was too personal. Too full of someone who wanted to know he was okay.
She stopped just a few feet away, silent.
Not wanting to interrupt.
Just... watching.
And Bakugo, still in the doorway, slowly folded his arms.
Who are you, Aleasha?
And what exactly are you hiding behind that stormlight smile?