Dinner at U.A. was usually loud.

Voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the cafeteria walls, trays clattering, Mina waving her chopsticks around as she talked, Kirishima trying to convince Sero to trade desserts, Kaminari nearly electrocuting himself for the third time that week.

Tonight, though, the noise felt thinner. Forced. Everyone was exhausted from the day’s training, and the absence of one explosive blond was impossible to ignore. Izuku sat at the far end of the table, shoulders hunched, staring down at the katsudon in front of him. Izuku's favorite. Izuku's comfort food. Katsuki would cook it everytime Izuku was in the dumps.

Izuku had ordered it without thinking.

Now he couldn’t bring himself to take more than a single bite.

His hands trembled around the bowl.

Kirishima watched him from across the table, worry etched into every line of his face. Mina nudged Izuku gently, offering a small smile. “You should eat, Izuku. You barely touched lunch.”

“I know,” he whispered, voice thin. “I’m trying.”

He wasn’t.

He couldn’t.

Before anyone could say more, the cafeteria doors opened.

All Might stepped inside. Not the booming, larger‑than‑life symbol of peace. Not the smiling mentor who always tried to brighten their days.

This All Might looked… hollow. His eyes were red‑rimmed. His posture was stiff. His hands shook as he clasped them together.

The room fell silent instantly. Izuku’s heart dropped into his stomach.

“All of you…” All Might began, voice cracking on the first word. He swallowed hard, trying again. “Students of Class 1‑A… I’m afraid I bring terrible news.”

Izuku’s breath hitched.

No.

No, please—

All Might’s gaze swept the room, landing on Izuku for a fraction of a second before he looked away, unable to hold it.

“Katsuki Bakugou… was critically injured in today’s battle.”

A few gasps. A few hands covering mouths. Kaminari whispered, “No way… he’s too strong…”

All Might’s voice broke completely.

“He… he didn’t make it.”

The world didn’t just go quiet.

It stopped.

Izuku’s fingers went numb. The bowl slipped from his hands before he even realized he’d let go. It hit the floor with a sharp, shattering crack—ceramic breaking, broth splashing across the tiles, rice scattering like debris from an explosion.

No one moved.

Izuku stared at the mess on the ground, vision blurring as tears welled up and spilled over. His breath came in short, uneven bursts.

Mina reached for him. “Izuku—”

He wiped at his face with shaking hands, but the tears kept coming, hot and relentless. His chest tightened painfully, like something inside him was collapsing.

Kirishima stood so fast his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “All Might—there has to be a mistake. Bakugou’s—he’s—he wouldn’t just—”

All Might shook his head, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry. The revival attempt… it failed.”

Izuku’s entire body trembled.

Failed.

Failed.

Kacchan didn’t come back.

His breath hitched again, sharper this time, and he pressed a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound threatening to tear out of him. His knees buckled, and Mina caught him by the shoulders before he hit the floor.

“Izuku—hey—hey, breathe—please—” she whispered, voice shaking.

But Izuku couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t think.

He couldn’t do anything except cry as the truth crashed over him like a tidal wave:

Katsuki was gone.

Gone.

And Izuku was still here.

The cafeteria blurred around him—voices muffled, faces distorted, the world spinning out of focus. All he could see was the empty space beside him. The seat Katsuki always took. The bowl of katsudon Katsuki always teased him about.

The life they were supposed to have.

The future they were supposed to share.

Izuku’s sobs grew harsher, his body folding in on itself as Mina and Kirishima held him upright. The rest of the class watched in stunned, heartbroken silence.

All Might bowed his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Izuku’s tears hit the floor, mixing with the spilled katsudon.

And for the second time that day, his world broke.