The smell of stew flooded the kitchen. It wasn't a complex scent, but it was... warm.
Katsuki knew perfectly well the difference between a "house" and a "place where you sleep." In his previous life, between double shifts at part-time jobs and sleepless nights studying for university, his apartment was just a storage unit for his exhaustion. Before that, the foster care system had given him a roof, beds, and food, but never that sense of belonging. You were always the "guest," case number such-and-such, the kid occupying a room until he aged out.
"Katsuki-kun, be careful, it's hot," Inko said softly, snapping him out of his thoughts.
She placed a bowl in front of him with a kind smile. There was no trace of the neurotic woman fearing for her son's future. She was simply a mother. One that radiated a domestic peace that his former self found strange, almost cinematic.
Beside him, Izuku was blowing on his spoon enthusiastically.
"Mom makes the best katsudon!" Izuku exclaimed, cheeks flushed and a band-aid on his chin. He looked happy. Not "resilient," nor "brave despite everything," just a happy 8-year-old kid having dinner.
Katsuki picked up his spoon. The steam hit his face.
Four years, he thought.
He had managed to change Izuku's destiny. The kid was no longer a bundle of nerves; he had confidence, friends, and a mother who supported him without suffocating him with fears. Mission accomplished.
But as he ate, the homemade taste brought a reflection he hadn't expected.
He thought of Mitsuki and Masaru.
In his past life, the idea of "parents" was an abstract concept. Something others had. When he arrived in this world and found himself with a woman who screamed like a banshee and a man who sweated nervously, it seemed annoying at first. It was noise. It was invasive.
But now, with the mind of an adult who lived the loneliness of forced independence, he saw it differently.
Mitsuki yelled at him because she cared. She gave him painful slaps, demanded good grades, and asked if he had eaten. She wasn't a caretaker working a shift. She was his mother. A loud, aggressive, and sometimes unbearable mother, but his. And Masaru... the man who always asked how his day was with genuine interest, not out of protocol.
"Is it good, Kacchan?" Izuku asked, interrupting his analysis.
Katsuki blinked and looked at the green-haired boy.
"It's not bad," he muttered, taking another bite. It was delicious, actually.
"I'm glad you like it," Inko said, sitting down with them with a cup of tea. Her presence was comforting, like a soft blanket. "You know, Katsuki, Mitsuki called me earlier. She said that if it gets late, Masaru will come pick you up in the car so you don't have to walk alone."
Katsuki felt a strange lump in his throat.
In his other life, if he was late leaving work, no one was coming to get him. He just walked fast, cold, hoping to get to his empty room safe and sound.
"The Old Man doesn't need to bother, I can walk back myself," he grumbled out of habit, keeping up his act.
"I know, you're very strong," Inko said sweetly, without condescension, "but parents like to take care of their children, Katsuki. It's our way of being happy too."
Our way of being happy.
Katsuki looked down at the bowl.
He had spent so much time focused on "saving" Izuku, ensuring the protagonist didn't have a miserable life, that he sometimes forgot he had also received a second chance. He hadn't just reincarnated with a powerful Quirk and a bright future; he had reincarnated into a family.
He no longer had to worry about rent. He didn't have to study on an empty stomach. He had a home where, even if there was yelling, there was never the silence of loneliness.
Izuku laughed at something on TV, and Inko gently wiped a smudge of sauce from the corner of his lips.
Katsuki finished his meal in silence, feeling a gratitude he would never admit out loud. He had saved Izuku from sadness, yes. But, somehow, by accepting this new world, Bakugou Katsuki had also saved the orphan student he used to be.
"Hey, Auntie," Katsuki said suddenly, putting down the empty bowl.
"Yes, dear?"
"Tell the Old Hag to wait up for me." He hopped off the chair. "And thanks for the food."
Inko smiled, a smile that lit up her eyes.
"You're welcome, Katsuki. You are always welcome."
Yeah, he thought as he walked toward the door next to Izuku. Welcome. That was the keyword. He was no longer a stranger looking in from the outside. He was home.