The realization settled over Katsuki with the force of a perfectly controlled detonation – a moment of profound clarity amidst the raw, exhilarating chaos of his newfound abilities. He didn't have to rely solely on his nitroglycerin-infused sweat anymore. While his Quirk remained the bedrock, the intrinsic source of his explosive nature, this 'Explode' magic offered a parallel, and in some ways superior, avenue of power. He could, with focus and intent, draw upon his magical reserves directly, bypassing the physiological process of sweat production to generate explosions.
This was a game-changer. It meant he wasn't as limited by his body's natural production rate. It meant sustained barrages, like the AP Shot: Machine Gun, were far more viable without the risk of exhausting his sweat glands. And the control… that was the most significant revelation. The magic wasn't just raw power; it was malleable. He could feel it, an almost tangible substance that responded to his will, allowing him to shape the ensuing blasts with a finesse he'd previously only achieved through intense physical training and specialized support gear. He could dictate the force, the radius, the direction, even the very nature of the explosion with a precision that bordered on artistic, if his art was pure, unadulterated destruction.
"Hmph," a ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "So, no more waiting for the damn sweat to build up if I don't want to. Just pure, unadulterated 'Explode'." The name of his magic resonated within him, a perfect descriptor for its function and his intent. It was direct. It was powerful. It was his.
He flexed his hands, feeling the dual currents of energy within him – the familiar tingle of his Quirk, now intertwined with the deeper, more resonant thrum of his magical power. They weren't separate; they were two sides of the same destructive coin, working in concert, each enhancing the other.
Enough introspection. He had accomplished his tasks. He had gained new power. Now, it was time for the practicalities. The three monster subjugation requests, their parchments now crumpled and stained with dirt and who-knew-what-else, were clutched in one hand. In the other, and stuffed into various pockets and tears in his increasingly battered U.A. uniform, were the proofs of his kills: the Gravefang Wolf's claw, the massive chunk of Rock-Scaled Wyrm hide, and the obsidian-sharp talon of the Shadow Panther.
"Alright, time to get paid and see what those idiots at Fairy Tail make of this," he muttered to himself, his crimson eyes already scanning the sky, calculating the most direct route back to Magnolia. He wouldn't be walking. He wouldn't even be solely relying on his Quirk-fueled flight. This new, magic-enhanced version would be faster, more efficient.
He crouched, drawing on that deeper well of magical energy. It felt different from priming his Quirk; it was less a physical buildup and more a mental command, a drawing in and focusing of intrinsic power. The air around his palms shimmered, not just with heat, but with a visible distortion, a raw magical aura.
"Explode: Turbo Cluster!"
The name of the technique remained the same, but the execution felt… elevated. The initial blasts that tore from his palms were still concussive, still ferociously powerful, but they possessed a cleaner, more focused burn. There was less uncontrolled scatter, more directed thrust. The explosions felt less like a barely contained inferno and more like precision-engineered rockets igniting.
He shot into the sky with even greater velocity than before, the G-forces pressing him back, a sensation he reveled in. The landscape of Fiore blurred beneath him, a tapestry of greens, browns, and distant blues. The wind shrieked past, but his control was absolute, each minor adjustment of his palms, each pulse of magic-infused explosive power, guiding his trajectory with pinpoint accuracy.
He wasn't just flying; he was a guided missile, a harbinger of destructive intent, now returning to its point of origin, laden with the spoils of war. The journey back to Magnolia, which had taken some time on the way out as he navigated to three separate locations, felt significantly shorter on the return trip. His enhanced speed devoured the distance.
As the now-familiar, somewhat ramshackle skyline of Magnolia came into view, and the distinctive, chaotic outline of the Fairy Tail guild hall grew larger, a grim sense of satisfaction settled over Katsuki. He'd come to this world disoriented and enraged. He was still enraged, that was a constant, but now it was an anger sharpened by purpose and amplified by newfound power.
He began his descent, not with the almost reckless abandon of his first arrival in the town, but with a more controlled, if no less dramatic, approach. He wanted them to see him. He wanted them to understand, even before he said a word, that he wasn't just some angry newcomer. He was a force they would have to acknowledge.
He landed not far from the guild entrance, the final buffering explosions from his palms still potent enough to kick up a sizable cloud of dust and send a few loose shingles rattling on nearby roofs. He stood for a moment, letting the dust settle, his crimson eyes fixed on the imposing doors of Fairy Tail. He could already hear the familiar cacophony from within – the shouting, the laughter, the unmistakable sound of another chair likely meeting its demise.
With the crumpled job slips in one hand and his grotesque trophies clutched firmly in the other (or protruding from his pockets), Katsuki Bakugo strode towards the entrance, ready to make his report, collect his due, and perhaps, just perhaps, show these 'mages' a little more of what true explosive power looked like. The day was far from over.