BNHA: God of Explosions-Chapter 18: Secret Exposed (1/2)

And now we begin the second season!

If you want to get the Chapters earlier, I'll be updating Patreon tomorrow with the next two.

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***

[Twenty days after Bakugo returned from the future]

Bakugo woke up with a scream trapped in his throat, his body drenched in cold sweat. The darkness of the room seemed to suffocate him, and the echo of flesh being torn apart still reverberated in his ears.

He brought a trembling hand to his chest, where his heart had been pierced. The phantom sensation of Shigaraki's blow tearing through him made his fingers clench against the fabric of his shirt.

"Damn it, stupid sensations," Bakugo muttered to himself as he got out of bed. Cracking his neck, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and saw that it was 4 AM. "Fuck this."

***

In the school bathroom, Bakugo stared at the mirror after asking the teacher for a hall pass. His red eyes were sunken, surrounded by dark circles he didn't bother to hide.

He pulled down the collar of his uniform, exposing a smooth, unscarred chest. But for a moment, Bakugo saw a hole above his heart, with blood slowly seeping out.

"You're weak," his reflection sneered. Before he could think, his vision blurred, and Bakugo punched the mirror hard, shattering it. The shards fell into the sink, and he stood there, panting, his knuckles bleeding.

"Ah... shit."

***

It was late at night when Bakugo left his house, unable to keep pretending to be the old Katsuki Bakugo for his parents.

He wandered through the empty streets, hands shoved into his pockets, his hood pulled over his face. Suddenly, the screeching sound of a car braking hard echoed in the distance, and his body reacted before his mind could process it.

He threw himself against the alley wall, heart pounding, hands sparking with small explosions. The memory of helplessness, the impact, and the unbearable pain overwhelmed him.

"No... not again," Bakugo murmured, sliding down to the ground, knees pulled to his chest. He pressed his hands against his head, trying to block out the images of Shigaraki laughing as his world went dark. Minutes passed before he could breathe properly again.

"... I think I need help."

***

Sitting in front of his computer, Bakugo stared at the screen with a mix of reluctance and determination. The bluish light reflected in his narrowed eyes as he typed slowly, as if each keystroke was an admission of weakness.

First, he typed into the search bar: [why do I feel him killing me again]. The results were a mess—random forums, medical articles, and even some dumb conspiracy theories.

He huffed, irritated, but clicked on a link to a mental health site that seemed less useless. "Flashbacks," Bakugo read under his breath, frowning. The description talked about vivid, intrusive memories of traumatic events, as if the brain were stuck in a loop.

"Yeah... that sounds about right," he muttered, feeling his chest tighten as he remembered the sound of his own heart stopping.

He scrolled down the page, his fingers hesitating on the mouse. [Racing heart, cold sweat, constant sense of danger...] Every symptom listed felt like a punch to the gut. He stopped at [Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder — PTSD].

"Common in survivors of near-death events." He gritted his teeth, feeling everything click into place.

Bakugo opened a new tab. [What is PTSD really?] He read about how the body keeps reacting as if the trauma were still happening, as if Shigaraki were right there, laughing while piercing his heart.

"Hypervigilance... nightmares... avoidance..." He stopped, his face twisting into a grimace—everything really did fit.

After a few minutes of browsing, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. "Alright... so I'm not going crazy." The idea that this had a name, that it wasn't just him "being weak", brought an unexpected sense of relief. Still, the knot in his stomach didn't go away. He needed more than just words on a screen.

With an irritated sigh, he went back to the keyboard. [PTSD therapist near me] A list popped up—names, addresses, specialties. He clicked on a profile of a psychiatrist who mentioned [combat trauma and physical recovery].

"Close enough," Bakugo grumbled, jotting down the address on a scrap of paper. 'I'll go there tomorrow.'

He then shut his laptop and sat there, staring at his bedroom wall, the weight of what he'd discovered mixing with a flicker of determination. "I'll get through this... I always do."

***

The next day, Bakugo stopped in front of a rundown clinic. The exterior was a mess—peeling paint, a crooked sign that read "Dr. Hiroshi Gojo - Psychiatry" in barely legible letters, and a dusty window that hadn't been cleaned in years.

Bakugo frowned as he took in the place. "Is this some kind of joke?" he growled, his pride already screaming at him to turn around and forget this stupid idea and this even stupider place.

Still, he took a deep breath, the cold morning air filling his lungs, and walked up to the door. The doorbell was half-broken, but he pressed the button hard, the shrill sound echoing from inside.

A minute passed, maybe two—nothing. He was about to punch the door when a cranky, old voice finally cut through the silence. "Who is it?!"

Bakugo gritted his teeth, holding back the urge to blow something up. "I'm here for an appointment!"

There was a pause, followed by an audible grumble. "Damn it, I thought I got this damn clinic off that site," the voice complained, now closer. The door creaked open, revealing an old man wearing dark glasses, leaning on a cane. His messy gray hair and expression made it clear that Bakugo was the last person he wanted to see. The man looked him up and down. "Kid, we're not taking appointments anymore."

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"Then why the hell is your name still on that site?" Bakugo shot back, clenching his fists in frustration. 'I didn't come all this way to waste my time on some senile old man.'

The old man scoffed, shifting his weight on the cane as he adjusted his glasses. "The site's garbage, kid. They never update anything. I retired months ago, but those idiots keep sending people here." He took a step to the side, as if to shut the door in Bakugo's face. "Go away. Find someone else."

For a moment, Bakugo almost turned around. Dealing with this grumpy old bastard was already testing his patience, and the place looked more like a storage room than a clinic. But then, that familiar weight settled in his chest again—the sharp sting, the echo of trauma dragging him back to that battlefield. He clenched his teeth and stepped forward, blocking the door with his arm before it could close.

"Listen here, old man," he said, his eyes sparking with a mix of rage and something more vulnerable. "I didn't come all the way to this dump to leave empty-handed. Give me some meds or something!"

The old man stared at Bakugo for a few seconds before letting out a dry chuckle. "That's not how this works, brat. Now get lost."

Bakugo felt his blood boil, his palms tingling with the heat of explosions barely kept in check. "You're telling me I came here for nothing?! Give me meds, advice, something, or I swear I'll blow this place to dust!"

"Blow it up?..." The old man raised a gray eyebrow and eyed Bakugo with a mix of irritation and something almost like curiosity. "I see. You're one of those with Quirk Echo, aren't you?"

"HÃ?!"

"Stop yelling!" The old man adjusted his dark glasses, the lenses reflecting the streetlights, and let out a tired sigh. "You're suffering from Quirk Echo. It's a mental disorder caused by your Quirk. It's rare, but it happens."

"I didn't come here for some bullshit diagnosis! I want to cure my PTSD!"

"PTSD?" The old man tilted his head, irritation fading into something closer to genuine interest. "Aren't you a little young to be carrying that kind of weight?" He slid his glasses down the bridge of his nose, revealing a pair of eyes so intensely blue they almost seemed unnatural. "Let's see..."

The next instant, a sharp ringing noise sliced through Bakugo's ears, and his mind clouded over. 'What the hell...?!' Instinct took over, and he stumbled back, averting his gaze from the old man.

For a brief moment, the world seemed frozen in silence. Bakugo struggled to regain his composure while the old man watched him with a mixture of surprise and fascination.

"Fascinating... your memories are fascinating."

***

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or songs featured in this fic. Additionally, I do not claim ownership of any products or properties mentioned in this novel. This work is entirely fanfic.