The infirmary pajamas, while comfortable, were an affront to Katsuki's dignity. After Mirajane's relentless (and surprisingly effective) "chat," and once he'd finished the fortifying broth, his first order of business was to reclaim some semblance of his usual aggressive image. He rummaged through the small pile of his belongings that had been brought to the infirmary, finding the set of sturdy work clothes Mirajane had provided him before his gargoyle hunt. They were a bit scuffed, with a few minor tears from that encounter, but they were infinitely preferable to pajamas and still in good-enough shape for now. His ultra-durable, super-expensive Heart Kreuz gear was still a distant, Jewel-encrusted dream.
Dressed, and feeling marginally more like himself (though still smarting from the "burrito" revelation), Katsuki descended from the infirmary into the main guild hall. It was bustling with the usual midday activity. A few heads turned as he appeared, some with curiosity, others with a lingering wariness, but most just went back to their own business. It seemed his capacity for causing chaos and then immediately needing intensive medical care was becoming an accepted, if somewhat alarming, norm.
He ignored them all, his gaze already locked on the Request Board. He approached it with a new, slightly more… considered, demeanor. Mirajane's words, and the stark memory of his own catastrophic overexertion, had, however grudgingly, sunk in. He couldn't keep redlining his powers indefinitely. The Oppenheimer Smash was off the table for the foreseeable future, and even his Incinerate-level magic needed to be used with more discretion until his body fully acclimated to its demands. His Quirk, while feeling stronger and more refined, also had its limits if he pushed it into continuous, high-intensity blasts.
"Alright, dumbass," he muttered to himself, a rare moment of self-directed criticism. "Stop trying to blow up the whole damn world every time you leave the house." He needed to be smarter, more strategic, not just in his fights, but in his job selection.
He scanned the board, his eyes deliberately skipping over the high-danger monster subjugations and the outright dark guild annihilation requests that had previously been his go-to. Those were too tempting, too likely to push him back into that all-out, reckless mode. He needed something… different. Something that still utilized his unique talents, but perhaps in a less life-threatening, more controlled manner. Something that would allow him to earn Jewel steadily without risking another infirmary stay (or another blanket-burrito incident, the thought of which still made his jaw clench).
His gaze drifted over requests for escorting merchants (boring), finding lost items (insulting), and mediating local disputes (absolutely not). Then, his eyes snagged on a small, unassuming section of the board, often overlooked by the more glory-seeking mages: 'Construction & Demolition Assistance.'
Usually, these were jobs for Earth Mages, or those with powerful physical augmentation magic. But one particular request caught his eye: 'Urgent Demolition Required: Old Valerius Mine Shaft deemed unstable. Needs controlled collapse before it endangers nearby village. Precision and avoidance of excessive collateral damage paramount. Good pay for swift, clean work.'
Controlled collapse. Precision. Avoidance of collateral damage. Demolition.
A slow, predatory grin, the kind he got when a particularly interesting tactical problem presented itself, spread across Katsuki's face. This… this was interesting. It wasn't just about mindless destruction. It was about applied destruction. About using his explosive power with finesse, with surgical accuracy, to achieve a specific, constructive (by way of deconstruction) goal. It would require careful planning, precise application of his Quirk, and a deep understanding of structural integrity – all things he, surprisingly, excelled at when he put his mind to it. His academic scores at U.A., particularly in subjects requiring spatial reasoning and physics, had always been top-tier, a fact often overshadowed by his explosive personality.
"Heh," he chuckled to himself. "Improve my, heh, demolition talent." It was a perfect fit. A way to use his explosions in a more nuanced, almost artistic manner, and get paid well for it. It was also, he grudgingly admitted to himself, probably a lot safer than trying to fist-fight a Magma Titan or single-handedly annihilate a fortified dark guild.
He reached out and, with a decisive, almost eager motion, plucked the Valerius Mine Shaft demolition request from the board. "GET!" he muttered under his breath, a spark of genuine, non-rage-fueled enthusiasm in his crimson eyes. This was a new kind of challenge, a different way to prove his worth and his power. And it sounded a hell of a lot more interesting than just blowing up another random monster. The villagers near Valerius were about to witness a master class in precision demolition, Dynamight-style.
---
The journey to the Old Valerius Mine was accomplished with Katsuki's now signature 'Explode: Frictionless' Quirk-powered flight – swift, silent, and efficient. He arrived at the site, a rugged, hilly area with the dark, gaping maw of the old mine shaft scarring the side of a steep incline. A small group of anxious-looking villagers and what appeared to be a local magistrate were waiting for him, their expressions a mixture of hope and apprehension as the infamous explosive newcomer from Fairy Tail descended with a barely audible whisper of displaced air.
The magistrate, a portly man with a nervous tremor in his voice, quickly began to explain the situation, pointing towards specific load-bearing timbers and sections of the mine entrance that they believed needed to be targeted to initiate a controlled collapse. "Yes, right there, young man, and there! If you could just… ah… blast those points, we believe the main tunnel will cave in neatly."
Katsuki listened, his crimson eyes narrowed in concentration, not at their words, but at the mine structure itself. He scanned the weathered rock face, the ancient, decaying wooden supports, the subtle stress fractures in the earth around the entrance. His mind, honed by years of analyzing combat situations and, surprisingly, by a U.A. curriculum that included disaster relief and structural engineering basics, was already processing the information, running simulations.
He let the magistrate finish his well-meaning but ultimately flawed assessment. Then, he spoke, his voice blunt, direct, and utterly confident.
"No. No. No." He shook his head, a dismissive gesture. "That would work, if you wanted to bring half the damn hillside down on top of your village." He pointed towards a series of seemingly innocuous fissures higher up the slope, invisible to their untrained eyes. "Your 'blast points' are all wrong. You're only looking at the immediate entrance. The instability runs deeper. Target those timbers you pointed out, and you'll trigger a secondary collapse from that compromised rock stratum up there." He then indicated another section of the mine, further in, and a specific pattern of support beams. "That'll compromise the integrity of this entire section as well, the one directly above the main aquifer that feeds your village well. You want to poison your water supply along with burying the mine?"
The villagers and the magistrate stared at him, dumbfounded. They had expected a reckless, explosion-happy brute. They were getting a surprisingly astute, if abrasive, demolition expert.
Katsuki ignored their stunned silence. He walked around the mine entrance, tapping on rocks, examining timber supports, his gaze calculating, intense. He was in his element, a different kind of battlefield, but one that required the same level of precision and overwhelming, controlled force.
After a few minutes of intense scrutiny, he turned back to them. "Alright. Here's how it's gonna go." He proceeded to lay out a completely different demolition plan, pointing to a series of precise, strategically chosen locations, some on the surface, some requiring him to venture a short way into the treacherous mine entrance. He explained, in curt, technical terms they barely understood, how targeting these specific points, in a specific sequence, with precisely calibrated explosive charges, would cause the mine to collapse inwards upon itself, minimizing tremors, preventing a wider landslide, and ensuring the aquifer remained untouched. It was a masterclass in controlled demolition, delivered with the arrogant confidence of someone who knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was right.
The magistrate, initially skeptical, found himself swayed by the sheer, unshakeable certainty in Katsuki's voice and the undeniable (if rudely delivered) logic of his assessment. "I… I see," he stammered, looking at the new target points with a dawning understanding. "That… that actually makes a great deal more sense. Your… expertise is… unexpected, young man."
Katsuki just snorted. "Just know how to blow shit up properly. There's a difference between making a big boom and making the right boom."
He then proceeded to execute his plan with terrifying precision. He used small, carefully controlled Quirk-blasts, sometimes no larger than his fist, placed with pinpoint accuracy. He ventured briefly into the crumbling mine entrance, setting a few charges on key internal supports, his movements quick and sure despite the inherent danger. The villagers watched in awestruck silence as he worked, a blur of focused energy and controlled explosions.
When he was ready for the final detonation sequence, he ordered them back to a safe distance. Then, with a series of sharp, almost surgical blasts, he triggered the collapse. It was exactly as he'd predicted. The ground trembled, a deep rumble echoed from within the earth, and then, with a colossal sigh, the Old Valerius Mine folded in on itself. There was no massive, uncontrolled explosion, no shower of debris raining down on the village, no catastrophic landslide. Just a neat, contained implosion that sealed the dangerous shaft permanently, leaving the surrounding hillside remarkably stable.
The villagers and the magistrate were ecstatic, their relief palpable. They rushed forward, praising his skill, his precision, his unexpected expertise. The magistrate, thoroughly impressed and grateful, approached Katsuki, holding out a heavy pouch of Jewels.
"Young man, your insight has saved us from a potential disaster far greater than we anticipated! This initial payment is insufficient for the level of skill you've demonstrated! Please, accept this additional sum as a token of our immense gratitude!" He tried to press the extra pouch into Katsuki's hand.
Katsuki looked at the extra money, then at the magistrate's earnest, grateful face. A flicker of something – perhaps his old hero instincts, perhaps a grudging adherence to the rules of this new world he was trying to navigate – made him push the pouch back.
"No," he said, his voice firm. "The job request specified a certain amount. That's what I get." He tapped the original, now slightly dusty, request slip he still carried. "It's part of the Guild's Mandate. Only receive the amount put on the job slip. No more, no less." He wasn't doing this for charity, but he wasn't going to be a damn opportunist either. The price was the price. His pride, and perhaps a sliver of Fairy Tail's often-touted (and usually ignored by Natsu) code of conduct, wouldn't let him accept more.
The magistrate looked surprised, then even more impressed. "A man of principle, as well as power! Fairy Tail is fortunate to have you, son."
Katsuki just grunted, already turning away. He didn't need their praise. He'd done the job, done it perfectly, and he'd get his agreed-upon pay. That was enough. He had a five-million-Jewel armor to save up for, and this successful, precise demolition was another small, satisfying step towards that goal. He'd also, inadvertently, proven that his talents extended beyond just mindless destruction. He was, indeed, a master of explosions, in all their varied and surprisingly nuanced forms.
---
Katsuki returned to the Fairy Tail guild hall later that afternoon, a layer of fine stone dust covering his work clothes but his demeanor notably less… explosive than usual. The precision demolition of the Valerius Mine Shaft had been a satisfying, almost intellectually stimulating challenge, a different kind of thrill than raw combat. He felt a quiet sense of accomplishment, a craftsman's pride in a job well done.
He walked up to the bar, where Mirajane greeted him with her usual warm smile. He placed the completed Valerius demolition request slip on the counter. "Mine's collapsed. Clean. No extra mess. Pay up."
Mirajane's eyes twinkled. "I heard from a very grateful magistrate in Valerius, Bakugo-san. He was apparently quite astounded by your… geological and structural engineering acumen. And your rather surprising adherence to the guild's payment policy." She processed his earnings, adding the Jewel notes to his growing account she was managing. "It seems the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has hidden depths."
Katsuki scowled at the teasing but didn't rise to the bait. "Just know how to make things fall down without wrecking everything else. Not rocket science." He pocketed the receipt Mirajane gave him for his account. The five-million target still loomed large, but every successful job chipped away at it.
He then turned his attention back to the Request Board. He wasn't in the mood for another far-flung, high-intensity mission just yet. The Valerius job had been a good change of pace, but it had still required a significant amount of focus and energy. He needed something… simpler. Something local. A bit of downtime, relatively speaking, that still earned him some Jewel.
His eyes scanned the lower-paying, less dramatic requests, the ones often taken by newer or less combat-oriented mages. He was looking for something within Magnolia itself, something that wouldn't require a long flight or involve battling terrifying beasts or demolishing entire mountainsides.
He found one that seemed… tolerable. 'Pest Extermination: Minor infestation of Grumble Bugs in the cellar of the 'Sleeping Dragon' Inn. Annoying, but not dangerous. Require swift and discreet removal before they bother the guests.'
Grumble Bugs. Sounded pathetic. Discreet removal. That might be a challenge for him, but a low-stakes one. And it was right here in Magnolia. Probably wouldn't pay much, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing, and it would keep his hand in, so to speak, without requiring a massive expenditure of power or risking another lecture from Mirajane about overexertion.
"This one," he said, tapping the Grumble Bug request, not even bothering to rip it off the board this time. "Looks like a damn cakewalk. Something to do while I'm… recalibrating."
Mirajane looked at the request, then back at Katsuki, a slightly surprised but pleased smile on her face. "Grumble Bugs at the Sleeping Dragon? A very… civic-minded choice, Bakugo-san." She made a note of it. "The innkeeper, old man Hemlock, will be very grateful. They're more of a nuisance than a threat, but their constant grumbling can indeed be quite disruptive to his patrons."
Katsuki just grunted. "Yeah, yeah. Grumbling. I can relate." He wasn't thrilled about playing glorified pest controller, but it was a job, it was local, and it was unlikely to result in him accidentally leveling a city block or needing another blanket-burrito intervention. For now, that was probably a good thing.
He turned to leave, already mentally picturing how to flush out a bunch of annoying insects with minimal explosive fuss. Perhaps a series of very small, contained concussive pulses? Or maybe just scaring them out with a loud shout? The tactical possibilities, even for something as mundane as Grumble Bugs, were, to Katsuki Bakugo, still worth considering. It was, after all, another opportunity to apply his explosive talent, however downscaled. And every Jewel counted towards his ultimate armor goal.
---
The Sleeping Dragon Inn was a cozy, if slightly run-down, establishment nestled on one of Magnolia's quieter side streets. Old Man Hemlock, the innkeeper, a stooped, wizened fellow with spectacles perched precariously on his nose, greeted Katsuki with a mixture of relief and nervousness. He'd clearly heard tales of the explosive newcomer from Fairy Tail and seemed unsure whether to expect salvation or the imminent demolition of his cellar.
"Ah, y-yes, from Fairy Tail!" Hemlock stammered, wringing his hands. "The Grumble Bugs… they're in the cellar. Dreadful little things. Don't bite, mind you, but their incessant grumbling… it's driving my guests mad! And they get into the provisions!" He led Katsuki to a heavy wooden door that clearly led downwards. "If you could just… ah… persuade them to leave? Discreetly, if possible?"
Katsuki just grunted, peering into the dark, musty-smelling cellar entrance. Discreet. Right. He wasn't about to start blasting holes in the inn's foundations for a bunch of noisy insects. This called for a different approach, a refinement of his abilities.
He remembered his Stun Grenade, the blinding flash designed for disorientation. He also recalled the Blast Grenade, its devastatingly powerful, concussive older brother. But for this, he needed something else entirely. Not light, not force, but… incapacitation. Something that would affect small, resilient pests without causing undue structural damage.
An idea began to form, a new variation on his sweat-based explosions. He could manipulate the detonation, not just its shape or power, but its very nature. What if he slowed the combustion process, made it incomplete, producing more smoke and less concussive force? And what if that smoke could carry a knockout agent, a by-product of the altered nitroglycerin reaction?
He focused, cupping his hands, not for a brilliant flash, but for a controlled, smoldering ignition. He manipulated the chemical composition of his sweat with his Quirk, altering the ratios, aiming for a dense, acrid smoke. His 'Explode' magic, even if not actively fueling the blast, provided the fine control, the mental blueprint for this new, subtle effect.
"Stun Grenade: Knockout Variant – Smoke Grenade," he muttered under his breath, naming the technique as it came into being.
Instead of a bright flash, a thick, yellowish-grey smoke began to billow from between his cupped hands. It wasn't a choking, fiery smoke, but a heavy, cloying vapor that smelled faintly of sulfur and something else, something vaguely sweet but deeply unpleasant. It was, in essence, a form of concentrated, Quirk-generated pesticide and knockout gas.
Katsuki carefully directed the flow of the smoke down into the cellar, ensuring it filled the enclosed space. He waited a few moments, listening. The constant, low-pitched grumbling that had been audible even from the top of the stairs began to falter, then sputtered into silence.
He cautiously descended into the cellar, the smoke still thick but beginning to dissipate. The Grumble Bugs, small, beetle-like creatures the size of his thumb with oversized, vibrating thoraxes, were littered across the floor, on shelves, and amidst sacks of grain. They weren't dead, just… unconscious, their little legs curled up, their grumbling silenced.
"Hmph. Works," Katsuki grunted, satisfied. It was a clean, efficient, and surprisingly non-destructive solution. He spent the next few minutes sweeping the incapacitated Grumble Bugs into a sack the innkeeper had provided, ensuring none were missed. The cellar, once a cacophony of insectile complaint, was now blessedly quiet.
He emerged from the cellar, carrying the sack of dormant Grumble Bugs. Old Man Hemlock looked at him, then at the sack, then listened intently. The silence from below was palpable.
"They're… they're gone?" the innkeeper asked, his eyes wide with disbelief and dawning gratitude. "The grumbling… it's stopped! How did you…?" He peered at the sack. "Are they…?"
"Knocked out," Katsuki stated flatly. "Pesticide smoke. They'll wake up in a few hours, probably with a headache. Dump 'em far away from town, and they won't be bothering you again." He handed the sack to the innkeeper.
Old Man Hemlock was overjoyed. He profusely thanked Katsuki, pressing the modest payment for the job into his hand with genuine gratitude. "Remarkable! And so quiet! I barely heard a thing! You Fairy Tail mages are truly wondrous!"
Katsuki just shrugged, already turning to leave. It had been a ridiculously easy job, almost insultingly so, but it had allowed him to develop a new, surprisingly useful, non-lethal application for his Quirk. Another tool in his ever-expanding arsenal. And the pay, however small, was another step closer to his five-million-Jewel goal.
He headed back towards the Fairy Tail guild hall, the faint, acrid scent of his Smoke Grenade still clinging to his clothes. He was actually starting to feel like he was getting the hang of this 'downtime job' thing. Maybe. As long as it didn't involve any more damn burritos.
---
Katsuki returned to the Fairy Tail guild hall as the afternoon sun began to dip towards the horizon. The atmosphere inside was lively, the usual mix of camaraderie and chaos. He walked up to the bar, where Mirajane greeted him with her customary warm smile.
He placed the completed Grumble Bug extermination slip on the counter. "Sleeping Dragon's quiet now. Bugs are bagged."
Mirajane chuckled, her eyes dancing with amusement. "So, the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has added 'Discreet Pest Controller' to his impressive resume?" she teased gently as she processed his payment. "Old Man Hemlock was apparently singing your praises all over town. Said you were a miracle worker, and surprisingly non-destructive."
Katsuki scowled at the 'Dynamight' jab but didn't rise to it. He was too tired, and oddly, too… content from the successful, if mundane, job. "Just used a smoke-out. No big deal." He accepted the small pouch of Jewel – every little bit counted – and then, instead of immediately stalking off or heading for the Request Board, he surprised both himself and Mirajane.
"Food," he grunted, pulling up a stool at the bar. It was a rare occurrence for him to linger, rarer still for him to initiate anything resembling a prolonged stay.
Mirajane, ever perceptive, raised an eyebrow slightly but her smile didn't falter. "Of course, Bakugo-san. The usual? Or would you like to try something new today? We have a rather excellent spicy wyvern stew."
"Stew sounds good," Katsuki conceded, actually considering the offer. He was still feeling the effects of his previous days' exertions, and a hot, hearty meal seemed like a good idea.
As Mirajane prepared his order, an uncharacteristic silence fell between them, or rather, Katsuki didn't immediately fill it with demands or storm off. He found himself watching her movements – efficient, graceful, her serene presence a strange anchor in the often-turbulent guild hall.
When she placed the steaming bowl of stew in front of him, along with a mug of water, he didn't just dig in. He paused.
"So," he began, his voice still gruff but lacking its usual sharp, aggressive edge. He poked at a piece of meat in the stew with his spoon. "This… 'Fairy Tail' thing. You guys are always going on about 'family' and 'nakama'." He said the word 'nakama' with a hint of derision, but also with a faint, underlying curiosity. "What's the damn deal with that? Is it just some sappy bullshit, or… is there actually something to it?"
Mirajane, who had been wiping down the counter, paused, her expression softening. She leaned against the bar, giving him her full attention. This was new. Katsuki Bakugo, initiating a conversation, asking a genuine, if skeptically phrased, question about the core ethos of their guild.
"Sappy bullshit?" She chuckled, a light, musical sound. "Perhaps it can seem that way to an outsider, Bakugo-san. Especially to someone as… fiercely independent as yourself." Her smile was gentle, understanding. "But no, it's not just words. For us, it's… everything."
She looked around the bustling guild hall, her gaze lingering on Natsu and Gray already starting their nightly brawl in one corner, on Lucy laughing with Levy at a nearby table, on Cana attempting to teach Happy how to play a drinking game. "Look around you, Bakugo-san. We're a collection of misfits, oddballs, troublemakers. Many of us come from difficult pasts, from places where we didn't belong, where we were hurt, or lost."
Her own eyes held a momentary shadow, a flicker of a past pain that Katsuki, surprisingly, didn't miss. "Fairy Tail… it's a place where those who have nowhere else to go can find a home. A place where you're accepted, not despite your quirks or your flaws, but often because of them."
Katsuki snorted, stirring his stew. "Sounds like a damn therapy group for emotionally stunted weirdos."
Mirajane laughed again, not offended. "Perhaps there's a bit of that too," she conceded good-naturedly. "But it's more. Nakama… it means comrades, friends, yes. But in Fairy Tail, it means family. It means having people who will stand by you, no matter what. People who will fight for you, bleed for you, even when you're being an insufferable, explosive porcupine." She gave him a pointed, but still warm, smile.
"It means knowing that no matter how dark things get, no matter how lost you feel, you're not alone," she continued, her voice soft but earnest. "It means having a place to return to, a light to guide you. It's a bond forged in shared laughter, shared tears, shared battles. It's… messy, and loud, and often incredibly frustrating." She glanced pointedly at Natsu, who had just accidentally set a table on fire. "But it's real. It's strong. Stronger than any magic, stronger than any individual power."
Katsuki was silent for a long moment, slowly eating his stew, absorbing her words. He didn't scoff, didn't argue. He just… listened. He thought of his own world, of U.A., of the fierce rivalries and the grudging camaraderie he'd shared with his classmates. It wasn't the same, not this overt, almost suffocating emphasis on emotional bonds. But there had been… something. A shared purpose. A sense of belonging, even amidst the constant competition.
"So, you're saying… even if someone's a complete asshole," he finally said, his gaze on his bowl, "you guys still… put up with them? Still got their back?"
Mirajane's smile was unwavering. "Especially if they're a complete asshole, Bakugo-san. Sometimes, the ones who are the most difficult on the outside are the ones who need the family the most on the inside." Her eyes met his, clear and direct. "We don't give up on our own. Ever. That's the Fairy Tail way."
He finished his stew, the silence stretching again, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time. It was… thoughtful. He still didn't fully get it. He still thought it was mostly sappy, idealistic bullshit. But Mirajane's conviction, the quiet strength in her voice, the undeniable evidence of the chaotic, yet fiercely loyal, bonds he saw around him every day in this guild… it made him wonder.
"Hmph," he finally grunted, pushing the empty bowl away. "Still sounds like a pain in the ass." But there was no real venom in his words. Just a grudging, almost imperceptible acknowledgment of something he couldn't quite define, but also couldn't entirely dismiss.
He stood up. "Thanks for the food." It was the closest he'd come to a genuine, unsolicited expression of gratitude since arriving.
Mirajane's smile widened, bright and genuine. "Anytime, Bakugo-san. Anytime."
He didn't head for the Request Board this time. He just nodded curtly and walked towards the guild exit. He needed to think. About nakama, about family, about being an insufferable, explosive porcupine. And about the strange, infuriating, and undeniably persistent way this guild, and its serene, all-knowing barmaid, were slowly, almost imperceptibly, starting to worm their way under his skin. It was a confusing, unwelcome, and utterly baffling development.
Katsuki was halfway to the guild doors, his mind a whirl of Mirajane's words and his own conflicting thoughts about 'nakama' and belonging, when a familiar, authoritative voice cut through the din of the guild hall.
"Katsuki Bakugo! A moment, if you please!"
He stopped, turning to see Makarov Dreyar perched on the railing of the second-floor balcony, looking down at him, a surprisingly serious expression on his usually jovial face. The entire guild seemed to quiet down, sensing that something significant was about to happen.
Katsuki frowned. "What is it now, old man? I was gonna head back."
Makarov chuckled, then hopped down from the railing with surprising agility for someone his age, landing lightly on the main floor. He walked towards Katsuki, his gaze steady. "Patience, my boy. There is one more piece of business to attend to today. Something that, I believe, is long overdue."
He stopped in front of Katsuki, the considerable height difference between them somehow irrelevant given the Master's commanding presence. "You've been with us for a short while now, Katsuki. You've undertaken dangerous missions, showcased power that astounds even our most seasoned members, and you've… endured the unique challenges of being part of this rather eccentric family." A smile played on his lips. "You've also, however reluctantly, agreed to 'try' this family thing."
Katsuki scowled, but didn't deny it. He remembered his weak, pain-fueled concession by the ravaged lakeside.
Makarov's expression softened. "You asked me once, in a moment of great pain, how you could be family when you didn't bear our mark. I told you then that the true mark of Fairy Tail is carried in the heart. And I believe, Katsuki, that despite your… abrasive exterior, your heart is beginning to understand what it means to be connected to others, to have a place where you are valued, not just for your strength, but for who you are, explosions and all."
He paused, his eyes twinkling. "However, a symbol can be a powerful thing. A reminder. A declaration. And I believe it is time for you to formally receive yours, if you are willing." He gestured towards Mirajane, who was approaching them from behind the bar, holding a small, familiar-looking stamping device – the guild's insignia stamper.
Katsuki stared from Makarov to Mirajane, then back to the stamper in her hand. The guild mark. He… he hadn't expected this. Not now. Not after just a few days of grudging coexistence and a handful of jobs. He'd thought it would be something he'd have to earn through some grand feat, or perhaps something he'd continue to resist out of sheer stubborn pride.
But Makarov's words, Mirajane's earlier conversation, the memory of Team Natsu's idiotic but undeniably concerned faces when he'd collapsed… it all swirled in his mind. He still thought a lot of it was bullshit. He was still an outsider, a stranger in a strange land. But… a small, almost imperceptible part of him, the part that had felt a sliver of something other than rage by the lake, the part that had hesitantly asked Mirajane about 'nakama'… that part felt a strange, unexpected pull.
He looked at his own hands, the hands that created such devastating explosions. He thought of his hero name, Dynamight, a name he'd proudly declared to an empty mountain range. A mark… it was a symbol. A statement. Not of subservience, but perhaps… of affiliation. A place to belong, however temporarily, however chaotically.
He let out a slow breath, the internal struggle warring within him. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement that surprised everyone, including himself, he thrust out his right hand, palm up. His expression was still a fierce scowl, his crimson eyes narrowed, daring anyone to comment on the significance of the gesture.
"Alright, old man," he grunted, his voice rough. "Get on with it then. But make it quick. And it better not be some stupid, frilly color." He met Mirajane's gaze, a silent challenge in his own. "Upright. On my right hand. Back of it." He specified the placement with his usual blunt precision. He wanted it visible, a declaration, not hidden away. And the color… there was only one color that truly represented him, his power, his fiery spirit. "And make it ORANGE! Bright damn orange! Like a goddamn explosion!"
A collective gasp went through the guild members who had gathered to watch. Natsu's jaw dropped. Lucy's eyes widened. Even Erza looked momentarily surprised by his sudden, decisive acceptance.
Mirajane's smile was radiant, genuine, and filled with a warmth that seemed to envelop him. She took his offered right hand gently, her touch surprisingly firm. She selected the orange ink from her kit, her movements practiced and sure.
"Upright, on the back of your right hand, in bright, explosive orange," she confirmed, her voice soft but clear, her eyes meeting his. "A fitting choice, Dynamight-san."
With a steady hand, she pressed the guild stamper onto the back of his hand. Katsuki felt a brief, cool pressure, then a faint, tingling sensation as the magic of the insignia settled into his skin.
When Mirajane lifted the stamper, there it was. The iconic Fairy Tail mark, stark and bold against his skin, in a vibrant, fiery orange that seemed to almost crackle with latent energy. It was surprisingly… right. It didn't feel like a brand of ownership, but like… a statement. An acknowledgment. A piece of this strange, chaotic world that was now, undeniably, a part of him.
He stared at it for a long moment, flexing his fingers, the orange mark stark against his skin. He still wasn't sure what it all meant. He was still Katsuki Bakugo, the Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, a hero from another world, lost and impossibly far from home. But now… now he was also Katsuki Bakugo, a mage of Fairy Tail. And the weight of that, the implications, the sheer, infuriating, and perhaps, just perhaps, not entirely unwelcome reality of it, began to settle in.
A ragged, spontaneous cheer erupted from the guild members, Natsu's whoop of delight the loudest among them. Makarov beamed, his eyes shining with pride. Mirajane simply smiled, that knowing, serene smile that seemed to understand everything.
Katsuki just scowled, though there was no real heat in it this time. He looked at the orange mark on his hand again. "Hmph. Doesn't look half bad, I guess." He then glared at the still-cheering guild members. "Alright, you damn extras, show's over! Haven't you got monsters to fight or tables to break?!"
The laughter and cheers only intensified. He was one of them now, officially. And Fairy Tail, in all its chaotic, explosive glory, had just gained its most volatile, and perhaps one of its most powerful, new family members. The adventures of Dynamight in Fiore were truly just beginning.