Bakugou — 𝕬 𝕾𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖗’𝖘 𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖉

𝕬 𝕾𝖔𝖑𝖉𝖎𝖊𝖗’𝖘 𝕮𝖗𝖊𝖊𝖉

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Discipline, integrity, grit, honor. The code of a knight was grounded in these creeds. Discipline, integrity, grit, honor. The soldier repeated it like a mantra. Discipline, integrity, grit, honor. It blazed through his muscles, each word holding him steady. Discipline, integrity, grit— his breath hitched. Honor. He blew a breath out hard. Trembling. One arm behind his back. Feet touching the sky. The other held him together. Discipline, integrity,

grit—

                “LORD KATSUKI BAKUGOU OF THE YOICHI EQUESTRIAN!”        The voice struck like a thunderclap. The snap of a whip. The buckling of a man. His wrist gave out. Skull cracked against stone. His body folded like a snapped bow. Pain was the first thing that hit him. Anger was the second. A short, stout man sat perched upon his horse, his fingers wrapped around an unrolled scroll. Katsuki gripped the rubble so firmly that his knuckles whitened. He glared. The man read on, unbothered. “Grandmaster Shota Aizawa has summoned you to the palace. Your presence is expected at once.”

Katsuki didn’t budge. Not at first. The sting in his wrist, the knot in his neck, the throb in his back — all of it held him in place, anchored in rage. In the distance, a bell tolled once. Distant lutes and clapping held his mind steady. He tasted copper. Grime clung to his cheek. He pushed himself up. He didn’t look at the man on horseback, there was no need. The message was clear. The seal was official. A summons from the Grandmaster was not a request.

He spat blood onto the pavement and wiped his swollen lip with his sleeve. “You tell the Grandmaster I’ll come when I can walk straight.” The man blinked, unsure whether to chuckle or scoff. He did neither. He simply turned his horse with a spur and trotted back through the gate as though he had never been there. Lord Katsuki Bakugou. The weight of the title sat on his shoulders like a burden, not a crown.

His soldiers watched in silence. Their gazes were sour yet amused. Katsuki scoffed at them. “Get back to work. Someone tell Kyoka she’s in charge.” And just like that, they moved. That was the way it was. Maybe they didn’t like him. Perhaps they never had. But when he spoke, they listened. When he said bow, they dropped to their knees. No questions. No backtalk. But Katsuki knew well enough to read between the lines.

What had he done now?

Perhaps the Grandmaster has finally tired of his mouth. What a bother…

Meaningless gossip and Katsuki treated it as such. He ignored it. He walked through the leftovers of yesterday’s celebration. A birthday party for a faceless name.

In the Barracks, he readied. Armor seemed anticipating. Formal. He chose the black coat instead — the one with the Yoichi crest across the back. Faded, wrinkled, but real enough to remind people where he came from. By the time he mounted his mare, the afternoon was sloped into evening. The ride, while only fifteen minutes, felt longer with the weight of the summons on his back. Orders were one thing, summons were different. Summons meant politics. Courtyards. Handmaidens. Men who smiled too much and said too little.

Katsuki didn’t belong in marble walls. His place was beneath dirt and blood; muddied boots and a sword on his hip. It didn’t matter. The palace rode into view anyways — jagged stones as it had been set into the bones of the mountain itself. Crested flags danced in the sky. Bells sang. Birds chirped into the breeze. Of course. As always…

Everyone was proud to be a Yoichi citizen.

               Katsuki ripped through the doors like a cannonshot— uninvited, unrelenting. His shoulders square. Chin lifted. Eyes stern. The War Room exuded discipline— an exigence forged by the blood spilled for this country. It smelled of oak. Of paper, ink, and desperate measures bloodied against soil. It grounded him. The thump of the Grandmaster’s staff echoed in its ever-present intensity. It was a sound Katsuki had memorized. A sound etched into his bones like the cry of war — its death tone vibrated in his skull.

“You are late,” the Master said. The thumping stopped but its echo lingered. He didn’t spare Katsuki a single glance, and yet— “And limping.”

“I’ll live.” Katsuki neither bowed nor greeted him. He simply stared. “The reason for your summons?”

Aizawa—his name, once spoken only in whispers now with weight. A brooding man. Politically untouchable and a soldier of divinity. He stared at Katsuki. Like he still saw that angry brat he’d once pulled out of the dirt and struggled to forge into a soldier: all temper and impulse. Every other commander gave up on him. Every last one. Aizawa never did. Katsuki was now the youngest commander in cavalry history. Esteemed and groomed under the Grandmaster’s name. He was a soldier of Discipline, Integrity, Grit, and Honor.

Still, Katsuki never abandoned the insolence. “Well?” He seethed.

The Grandmaster lifted a finger pointing coldly and with a gravity that Katsuki wasn’t prepared for. At the end of his finger was a scroll. An unbroken crest. Pristine parchment. Katsuki froze—unsure whether to laugh or explode. A royal scroll delivered in the War Room; he'd been a soldier long enough to know it was either: a reassignment, an expulsion, or a damn spontaneous promotion. Was this his goddamn pink slip?

Katsuki snatched the scroll from the desk and held it up to the light, not daring to open it. “What the hell is this?!”

“Open it.”

Katsuki chuckled coldly— a demeaning sound. “Don’t play that coy shit with me, Aizawa.”

A hush and then the crackle is a flame. Tobacco and ash made the air thicker — made the scroll in Katsuki’s hand feel heavier. Katsuki’s stomach churned. The smell was sickening, the weight of the parchment was worse. His grasp tightened. When Aizawa finally spoke, it was with exhaustion. “Have a seat.” Katsuki didn’t budge. He continued regardless. “Yesterday, the Princess came of age. The celebrations are fading fast into politics, and she is needed in Kāzeki for the week.”

Katsuki’s eyebrows creased. “Your point?” He asked.

“She will be in hostile territory,” Aizawa shrugged, sinking into his seat. “She will need an escort.”

Nu

An escort. Katsuki snorted. Loud. Disbelieving. An escort? A damn escort?! His fingers raked against his skull as he pulled at his thin, blonde hair. He paced back and forth. One dizzying step after the other. “You want me to babysit the goddamn sovereign? Oh, Gods, Aizawa. I can’t even—you—I—” He rubbed his face and the room twirled, and lept in circles around him. With one deep inhale, Katsuki grounded himself. He spoke, muffled by his palm. “You want me to spend a week on some noble’s leash? Parading around behind the orders of a girl who has tasted more gold than she has blood?!”

“Woman.” Aizawa corrected, massaging the veins bulging at his temples. He lifted his pipe to his lips. “Lady. Your Princess and future Queen.”

Katsuki became still. “This is punishment.”

Aizawa scoffed. “This is trust.”

“Same thing in this place!” Katsuki snapped. There was a beat of quiet— not silence, never silence. Just thoughtful stillness. The scroll was clutched in hands too calloused for royalty. Too bloody for princesses. He had conquered battalions, beheaded monsters, and saved lives. He was extraordinary. He was bloody. He was feared. “You’ve always said I was made for war! Made to make—“

“No, Katsuki!” The Grandmaster snapped. “I said you were made for ending wars.” There was a finality in his tone. A gravity that nearly tore Katsuki at the seams. Aizawa’s black eyes were somehow darker. Colder. A reminder that he, also, conquered battalions. Divinity coward in his name. No, he was excellence. A final sigh left his lips. “War is more than bloody blades. Katsuki. You will need to learn what war looks like before a sword strikes the field.”

Katsuki bit the inside of his cheek. He hesitated. His place had always been beneath blood and mud and fire. That’s what he knew. That’s where he thrived. He was quieter now. “I don’t do pageantries.”

“You do as you're told.” Aizawa sucked his pipe dry. Smoke rose from his nostrils. “So?”

With gritted teeth,

Katsuki broke the wax seal.

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A/N: It’s been a while since I’ve posted any of my stories. As a society, we tend to appreciate hand drawn works than other mediums. Unfortunately, it’s makes it hard for other artists, especially writers, to bother showcasing other mediums.   So, I don’t know, from now on if you are a writer and you post your works to this Amino, tag me! We can talk about it, and I’ll play the fan girl role. <33

That’s all. Thank you for taking the time to read. It means so much more to me than a quick glance, and a like to some drawing I post.

So, sincerely. Thank you.

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