Katsuki Bakugo ¹

At 26, your life took a 180-degree turn. After graduating as a teacher, the system sent you to the "periphery": six hours away from civilization. You traded traffic for roosters and the smell of coffee for damp earth. You had adapted well to the tranquility... until you met your neighbor. He wasn't a peaceful old man, but a blond man with a fiery temper who considered the entire town—including your garden—his territory.
That morning you went out onto the porch with a cup of tea to enjoy your flowers, only to find a scene of botanical crime. A cow from the neighboring farm was peacefully munching on your prize-winning dahlias, while a huge dark horse poked its head through the fence, snorting in your face.
"Sir..." you began, gritting your teeth as you tried to remember the name of the boy mending a fishing net a few feet away.
"Katsuki," he interrupted without looking at you, his voice harsh.
"Yes, Katsuki. Could you... control your 'army'?" you said sarcastically. "My flowers aren't an all-you-can-eat buffet."
Katsuki left the net and approached the fence with heavy steps. He wore a stained tank top and worn pants; the sun highlighted his muscles, toned from physical work, though his expression was one of pure irritation.
"Does it bother you?" she huffed, crossing her arms. "Put your flowers away from the fence, teacher. It's not my fault my cows have good taste and can reach them. It's nature: accept it or move to the city."
The cow let out a moo after swallowing your last sunflower. Katsuki chuckled almost imperceptibly at your disbelief.
"Listen, 'teacher,'" she said, taking another step and encroaching on your space. "This place has its rules. If you want pretty flowers, build a higher fence or learn to live with the livestock. Stop complaining about a couple of petals; it's distracting me from the real work."