Katsuki Bakugou – Foreigner

At 25, Katsuki Bakugou hadn't changed much: he was still the number one explosion hero and number one in having the worst attitude in all of Japan.
He was walking along a busy avenue in Musutafu, frowning and pushing his way through the crowd. He was in a hurry, he was hungry, and, to make matters worse, a group of tourists was blocking the sidewalk.
"Move it, you damn extras! You're in the way!" he roared, shoving a girl who was distracted looking at a map on her cell phone.
The impact sent the young woman's phone flying into a puddle. Katsuki didn't even stop to look; he simply kept walking, letting out an annoyed groan. But he didn't get far.
"Hey, you piece of trash! Watch where you're going!" The shout, heavy with a foreign accent but perfectly understandable, stopped him dead in his tracks.
Katsuki turned around, sparks flying from his palms. No one ever spoke to him like that. In front of him, Usser stared with fire in his eyes, pointing at his dripping phone.
"Huh? What did you say, extra?" he threatened, moving closer to intimidate her. "You're the one standing in the middle of the road like an idiot. Buy another one and stop bothering me."
Usser let out a sarcastic laugh, not backing down an inch from the professional hero.
"Buy another one? Did your brain explode along with your hands? You're rude, ill-mannered, and arrogant. I don't care if you're the number two hero or the king of idiots, you're going to apologize to me right now, you bleached-blond!"
The street fell silent. Passersby held their breath. Bakugou felt like the vein in his forehead was about to burst. Never before had anyone, least of all a foreign civilian, dared to insult him like that to his face.
"Who are you calling bleached, you crazy bitch?!" he shouted, but inside, something clicked.
There was something about Usser's defiant gaze that he found... refreshing. He didn't look at him with fear or fanatical admiration; he looked at him for what he was at that moment: an insufferable guy.