Ash & dept

The neon glow of the ‘Last Call’ sign flickered, casting a sickly green pallor over the deserted street. Katsuki Bakugo, his shoulders aching from a day spent barking orders and pummeling punching bags, pushed through the bar’s heavy door. He hadn’t intended to stop, but the promise of a cold beer and a moment of blessed quiet had been too tempting. The place was nearly empty, a lone figure behind the bar wiping down the counter with practiced ease.

“Closing up, old man?” Bakugo grunted, his voice rougher than usual.

The bartender, a wiry man with a kind smile etched into the lines around his eyes, chuckled. “For most folks, yeah. But for a weary soul like yourself, I can make an exception. What’ll it be, son?”

Bakugo slid onto a stool, the worn leather creaking beneath him. “Whatever’s cold and strong. And don’t bother with the fancy shit.”

A frosty mug appeared before him moments later, filled with a dark amber liquid. Bakugo took a long, deep pull, the bitter taste a welcome shock to his system. The quiet hum of the cooler and the occasional clink of glass were the only sounds, a stark contrast to the constant roar of his usual life. He was halfway through his second beer when the back door, usually reserved for staff, creaked open.

A woman’s voice, low and melodic, drifted into the main bar area. “Look, I told you, I don’t have it. He’s not even here.”

Bakugo stiffened. The voice held a steely edge that belied its softness, but there was an underlying tremor that pricked at his instincts. He recognized that sound – the subtle hint of fear, expertly masked.

Then came another voice, deeper and laced with menace. “That’s not what we heard, sweetheart. Your old man owes a lot of people a lot of money. And since he’s conveniently disappeared, you’re next in line.”

Bakugo’s red eyes narrowed. He took another deliberate sip of his beer, his gaze fixed on the swinging door. He wasn’t a hero in the traditional sense, not anymore. His hero days were behind him, replaced by a different kind of authority, a different kind of fight. But some instincts never truly died.

“I told you, he’s not my problem,” the woman retorted, her voice a little louder now, a little more defiant. “And I’m certainly not yours.”

A harsh laugh followed. “Oh, you most certainly are. And you’re about to learn a very painful lesson about what happens when you cross Ryu Obro.”

That name. It sent a jolt through Bakugo. Ryu Obro. A ghost from his past, a name whispered in the underbelly of the city, associated with the kind of filth he’d spent years trying to eradicate.

“Look, fellas,” the woman’s voice, now undeniably strained, “how about we just… talk this out? I’m sure there’s a misunderstanding.”

“The only misunderstanding here is you thinking you can waltz away from a debt like that,” a third voice sneered. “Now, are you gonna be a good girl and come with us, or are we gonna have to get… persuasive?”

Bakugo slammed his mug down on the counter with a resounding thud. The bartender jumped, startled. “Trouble, old man?” Bakugo asked, his voice low and dangerous.

The bartender, pale, nodded frantically. “They’ve been hanging around all week. Looking for… her. She works here sometimes. Yuri Shiro.”

Yuri Shiro. The name echoed in Bakugo’s mind. He stood, his powerful frame radiating an unspoken threat. His eyes were no longer merely narrowed; they were blazing with an intensity that promised pain.

He pushed through the swinging door, stepping into a dimly lit back corridor that smelled faintly of stale beer and cleaning supplies. Three burly men, their faces contorted into sneers, had a woman cornered against a stack of empty kegs. She was tall, even in the shadows, her figure gracefully curved. Her dark hair was pulled back in intricate box braids, and her natural beauty was undeniable, even under the harsh fluorescent light. Her brown eyes, though wide with apprehension, held a spark of defiance that Bakugo recognized, a fire that refused to be extinguished.

One of the thugs, a hulking brute with a scarred eyebrow, had a hand clamped on her arm. “Last chance, doll. Come quietly.”

Yuri Shiro, despite the precariousness of her situation, managed a sardonic smile. “And miss out on all this… charm? I think I’ll pass.”

Before the thug could react, Bakugo’s voice, sharp and laced with pure venom, cut through the air. “Get your filthy hands off her.”

All three thugs spun around, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of Bakugo’s imposing figure. He stood in the doorway, his muscles coiled, his face a mask of furious disdain.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the scarred thug sneered, recovering quickly. “A white knight? This ain’t your fight, pal. Best you walk away before you get hurt.”

Bakugo let out a low, guttural laugh, a sound that promised violence. “You think I’m afraid of a bunch of glorified street trash? You must be dumber than you look.”

He took a step forward, his aura of danger palpable. The air crackled with tension. Yuri Shiro, seeing an unexpected ally, watched with a mixture of surprise and a flicker of hope.

“Listen, tough guy,” another thug began, taking a defensive stance. “We’re just here to collect a debt. No need for heroics.”

“Heroics?” Bakugo scoffed. “I’m no hero. I’m just here to make sure you overgrown brutes learn a lesson in respecting women. And staying out of places you don’t belong.”

He moved with a sudden, explosive burst of speed. The first thug barely registered the blur before Bakugo’s fist connected with his jaw. The crack of bone echoed in the narrow corridor as the man reeled back, collapsing in a heap.

The other two thugs hesitated for a fraction of a second, but that was all Bakugo needed. He pivoted, his leg sweeping out in a powerful arc, catching the second thug behind the knees. The man stumbled, and Bakugo followed through with a brutal elbow to the temple, sending him sprawling alongside his unconscious comrade.

The scarred thug, the last one standing, stared at Bakugo with wide, disbelieving eyes. He fumbled for something in his jacket, but Bakugo was already on him. He grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it with brutal efficiency until a sickening snap echoed through the corridor. The thug cried out, dropping a switchblade to the floor with a clatter. Bakugo then delivered a swift, concussive kick to the man’s stomach, doubling him over before a final, precise punch sent him crashing into the wall, unconscious.

Silence descended, broken only by the ragged breaths of the three downed thugs and Bakugo’s own controlled exhalations. He stood over them, his chest heaving slightly, his red eyes still burning with an untamed fire.

He turned to Yuri Shiro, who was staring at him, her lips slightly parted in shock. “You alright, woman?” he grunted, the anger in his voice slowly receding, replaced by a gruff concern.

Yuri blinked, then a slow, wry smile spread across her face. “Well, that was… unexpectedly entertaining. And here I thought my night was going to end with a trip to a very uncomfortable basement.” She pushed herself off the kegs, rubbing her arm where the thug had gripped her. “Thanks for the assist, Blondie. I was almost starting to think chivalry was dead.”

Bakugo scoffed, a faint flush rising on his cheeks. “Don’t get it twisted. I just hate seeing weaklings try to strong-arm someone. It’s pathetic.”

“Right,” Yuri said, her smile widening. “And you just happened to be in the mood for some impromptu stress relief, I’m sure.” She extended a hand. “Yuri Shiro. And you are… my very angry guardian angel?”

Bakugo stared at her hand for a moment before taking it. Her grip was firm, surprisingly strong. “Katsuki Bakugo. And I’m no one’s guardian angel. Just a guy who wanted a damn beer.”

“Well, Mr. Bakugo, you certainly made a splash,” Yuri said, releasing his hand. She glanced at the unconscious thugs. “What are we going to do with these… charmers?”

“Call the cops, I guess,” Bakugo said, already feeling the familiar irritation of dealing with official channels. “They can sort out their mess.”

“You think they’ll actually do anything?” Yuri raised an eyebrow. “These guys work for Ryu Obro. He has… connections. They’ll be out by morning, probably.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened. “Ryu Obro, huh? So, your old man really did piss off the wrong people.”

Yuri’s smile faded, replaced by a flicker of pain. “My old man pissed off everyone. And then he disappeared, leaving me to clean up his messes. This ‘debt’ he put in my name… it’s a long, ugly story.”

“Sounds like it,” Bakugo said, crossing his arms. “So, you’re saying they’ll be back?”

“Oh, they’ll be back,” Yuri confirmed, a grim determination setting in her eyes. “And they’ll bring friends. Ryu isn’t known for letting things go.”

Bakugo clenched his fists. The thought of this woman, clearly independent and strong-willed, being hounded by scum like Obro, rubbed him the wrong way. It reminded him of all the injustices he’d fought against, the weak preyed upon by the powerful.

“Alright,” he said, his voice surprisingly calm. “Then we deal with it.”

Yuri looked at him, surprise returning to her features. “We? You just met me, Blondie. You don’t have to get involved in my mess.”

“I just cracked three skulls for you, Shiro,” Bakugo retorted, a hint of his usual snarl returning. “I’m already involved. Besides, I hate loose ends. Especially when they involve a piece of trash like Ryu Obro.”

He pulled out his phone. “I’m making a call. You got a place to crash tonight that isn’t here?”

Yuri hesitated, then nodded. “My apartment. But they know where that is.”

“Then you’re not going there,” Bakugo stated, already dialing. The phone rang once before a booming, cheerful voice answered.

“Bakugo! What’s up, man? Didn’t expect to hear from you this late!”

“Kirishima,” Bakugo growled into the phone. “I need a favor. Big one.”

“Anything for my bro!” Kirishima’s voice was as enthusiastic as ever. “What’s the scoop?”

“I just got into a brawl with some goons working for Ryu Obro,” Bakugo explained, not bothering to mince words. “They’re after a woman. She needs a place to lay low tonight. And I need you to start digging. Find everything you can on Obro and this ‘debt’ he’s trying to collect.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then Kirishima’s voice, now serious. “Ryu Obro? That’s a heavy hitter, Bakugo. You sure you want to wade into that?”

“I’m sure,” Bakugo snarled. “I’m already in it. She’s getting hunted because her deadbeat old man put her name on some debt. And I don’t like it.”

“Say no more, man,” Kirishima said, his voice firm with loyalty. “Consider it done. Send me the location of these bozos you just knocked out – I’ll make sure the cops actually do their job. And as for a place for the lady… my place is always open. It’s not exactly a five-star hotel, but it’s safe and nobody’s gonna find her there.”

Bakugo grunted in approval. “Good. I’ll bring her over. And start digging deep, Kirishima. I want to know everything about this Ryu Obro. Every dirty little secret, every weakness.”

“You got it, boss,” Kirishima replied, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Sounds like we’re going on an adventure!”

Bakugo hung up, then turned to Yuri. Her expression was a mixture of bewilderment and a flicker of something akin to admiration.

“Your friend seems… enthusiastic,” she commented, a small smile playing on her lips.

“He’s a pain in the ass,” Bakugo grumbled. “But he’s loyal. And he gets things done.” He gestured towards the door. “Let’s go. You’re staying at his place tonight. And tomorrow, we figure out how to burn Ryu Obro to the ground.”

Yuri, for all her composure, felt a shiver of something unfamiliar – a blend of fear, relief, and a strange, exhilarating sense of being seen. This angry, volatile man had just walked into her life and, without a word of explanation, had decided to dismantle the forces that had been closing in on her.

“Alright, Blondie,” she said, her voice softer than before. “Lead the way. But if your friend snores, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

Bakugo actually let out a short, sharp bark that might have been a laugh. “He snores like a goddamn warthog. You’ll get used to it.”

As they walked out of the back corridor, leaving the unconscious thugs and the lingering smell of violence behind, Yuri glanced at Bakugo. He was a force of nature, untamed and dangerous, but beneath the rough exterior, she sensed a fierce, almost primal sense of justice. And for the first time in a long time, Yuri Shiro felt a glimmer of hope that she might actually be able to fight her way out of the darkness her father had left her in. With Katsuki Bakugo by her side, it certainly wouldn’t be boring.