"Before you say anything, I just want to let you know that I'm going to break out so... do your best," Izuku smiled.
Shinso's eyes narrowed,
"How arrogant, do you truly think you can win?"
Izuku nodded,
"Yes-"
Izuku's eyes glossed over, Shinso's quirk taking hold of him.
Shinso smiled,
"Now walk out of the arena."
Izuku took that step.
The stadium collectively inhaled.
From the outside, it looked decisive. Clean. A rookie mistake finally catching up to an overconfident prodigy.
In the stands, a few people were already shouting.
"NO WAY—"
"Did he just lose?!"
"Is Shinso actually—?!"
Shinso's smile widened, thin and sharp.
"Good," he said quietly. "Just keep walking."
Izuku's body obeyed.
Another step. Then another.
Inside, though, Izuku wasn't panicking.
He wasn't even resisting yet.
Interesting, he thought calmly.
There was no pain. No pressure. No force. It felt… mechanical. Like his muscles were being issued commands that bypassed his intent entirely.
A clean override, he noted. No emotional manipulation. No sensory distortion. Just control.
He tested something small.
Nothing happened.
Okay, he admitted internally. That's impressive.
From the staff section, Aizawa leaned forward sharply. All Might's hands tightened at his sides.
Midnight glanced between them, tension creeping into her posture.
Another step.
Izuku was nearing the boundary line now.
Shinso's confidence grew with every inch. "That's it," he said. "All that talk, and this is how it ends."
Inside his head, Izuku smiled.
Alright, he decided. That's enough data. Thankfully, I have Iron Mind as a trait...
[Observation Haki] expanded inward instead of outward, mapping the foreign influence threading through his nervous system. The command wasn't mystical to him anymore. It was a signal. A pattern.
[Atlas] engaged - not for strength, but stability. His body became an anchor, muscles locking down against external instruction.
The next step… didn't come.
Shinso's smile faltered. "What?"
Izuku stopped at the edge of the arena.
Fwoom!
His muscles began to vibrate with power, Atlas activating.
Then he turned his head.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
The crowd went dead silent.
Shinso's eyes widened. "You— you shouldn't be able to—!"
Izuku looked at him, eyes clear now, gloss gone entirely.
"I told you," he said mildly. "I'd break out."
He rolled his shoulders once, like shaking off stiffness.
"Remote piloting only works," Izuku continued, "if the system doesn't know it's being accessed."
Shinso staggered back half a step. "That's impossible. My quirk—!"
"It's good," Izuku finished. "Really good."
Then he smiled.
"But it's not absolute."
Shinso tried to speak again.
Nothing happened.
Izuku hadn't attacked him.
He hadn't touched him.
He'd simply taken one step forward and stopped listening.
Midnight blinked hard, then snapped back into motion.
"…Match continues!" she shouted, voice sharp with forced authority.
Izuku smiled.
Not because he was in control.
Because he didn't need to be.
"Now," Izuku said calmly, tilting his head slightly,
"Walk out of the arena."
Shinso scoffed at first.
"Tch. Like hell I—"
He stopped.
Not because his body was forced to move.
Because his mind finally caught up.
In the brief moment Izuku had broken free, Shinso had felt it — the difference. The gap. The way his quirk hadn't failed, but had simply… stopped mattering.
Izuku took one slow step toward him.
"You know how this ends," Izuku continued, tone conversational. "You can stay here, and I'll put you down in front of everyone."
Another step.
"Or," Izuku added mildly, "you can leave on your own."
Shinso's breathing grew uneven.
He looked at Izuku's eyes — steady, bored, already done with this fight.
He's not bluffing.
Izuku wasn't threatening him.
He was informing him.
Shinso clenched his fists.
If Izuku touched him, it would be over. Instantly. Brutally. And everyone would see exactly how outclassed he was.
The silence stretched.
Then Shinso turned.
Not controlled.
Not compelled.
Choosing.
He walked toward the boundary line, jaw tight, humiliation burning hotter than any blow could've.
The buzzer blared.
"…Winner," Midnight said slowly, "…Izuku Midoriya."
The stadium erupted — confusion, disbelief, arguments breaking out all at once.
Shinso stopped just outside the ring, shoulders tense.
Izuku didn't follow.
"You've got a strong quirk," Izuku said, not unkindly. "Just… wrong matchup. Don't let this stop you... You'd make a good hero."
Shinso didn't answer.
Izuku turned and walked away, hands in his pockets, expression calm.
Up in the staff section, Aizawa exhaled sharply.
"…He didn't even overpower him," he muttered.
Nezu's eyes gleamed. "Psychological checkmate," he said softly.
....
"The next match, Shoto Todoroki vs. Hanta Sero!" Midnight's voice echoed faintly through the concrete corridors beneath the stadium.
Izuku walked calmly toward the contestants' room, hands in his pockets, the distant roar of the crowd muted down here.
Then the air heated.
"You," a rough voice growled.
Izuku stopped and turned.
Endeavor stood a few meters away, arms crossed, flames crawling up his beard and shoulders like restrained fury. He was taller, broader, and radiated pressure the way a wildfire radiated inevitability.
Izuku raised an eyebrow.
"And to what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked mildly, "Endeavour?"
Endeavour's jaw tightened.
"Don't play games with me," he snapped. "What is your quirk?"
Izuku blinked once.
Then smiled.
"No."
The flames flared.
"You stand on national television," Endeavour said, voice rising, heat bleeding into the walls, "and you expect me to accept that answer?"
Izuku shrugged. "I expect you to mind your business."
Endeavour took a step forward, boots cracking the concrete slightly. "You mock villains. You dominate the Sports Festival like it's beneath you. You walk on air."
His eyes burned. "And you expect heroes not to demand answers?"
Izuku stepped forward as well.
The space between them shrank.
"If you want a demonstration," Izuku said calmly, "we can go to the arena floor, and I'll put your face into it."
The flames exploded outward.
"Watch your mouth, brat!" Endeavour roared. "I will eventually become the Number One Hero!"
Izuku didn't flinch.
Endeavour's fire surged, licking the ceiling. "You think strength alone makes you untouchable?! I've burned my entire life to reach the top!"
Izuku tilted his head, eyes sharp now.
"And what did it cost you?"
The flames wavered.
"I've seen men like you," Izuku continued, voice even, precise. "So obsessed with surpassing something that they forget what they're standing on. You don't want answers. You want control."
Endeavour clenched his fists. "You don't know anything about me."
"I know enough," Izuku replied. "You don't care how my quirk works. You care whether it threatens your worldview."
Silence pressed in, broken only by the crackle of fire.
Then Endeavour laughed, harsh and bitter.
"You think you're beyond me," he said. "Beyond heroes. Beyond symbols."
Izuku met his gaze without blinking.
"I think you're predictable."
That did it.
For a heartbeat, Endeavour looked like he might actually strike him.
Then he stopped.
Something in Izuku's eyes wasn't defiance.
It was certainty.
Endeavour straightened slowly, flames pulling back under brutal control.
"…My son," he said, voice low, deliberate, "will surpass you."
Izuku didn't argue.
"Maybe," he said nonchalantly, "If he stops fighting himself, he could approach my level."
Endeavour's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"And he will surpass me," Endeavour continued. "That is the future I'm forging."
Izuku shrugged lightly. "Good."
That single word deflated the tension more than resistance ever could.
Endeavour stared at him, thrown off.
"You don't care," he realised.
Izuku smiled faintly. "I don't compete with ghosts. You will be a footnote when my career starts."
Endeavour turned away sharply, cloak snapping as he began to walk off.
"This isn't over," he said, not looking back.
Izuku's voice followed him down the corridor.
"It never is."
Endeavour disappeared around the corner, flames fading, footsteps heavy.
Izuku stood there for a moment longer, then continued toward the contestants' room.
Behind him, the crowd roared as Shoto's match reached its climax.
Ahead of him, the finals awaited.
....
The roar of the crowd bled faintly through the walls of the waiting room, muffled and distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.
Momo sat on the bench in her corner, shoulders drawn in, hands clenched tightly in her lap. She hadn't cried yet, but it was close - her eyes shone, breath uneven, pride warring with disappointment.
Izuku stopped a few steps away.
He didn't speak right away.
Then, gently:
"Can we talk outside?"
Momo looked up, startled, then nodded quickly. "Y-yes."
They slipped out into the corridor, the noise dropping away almost completely. The air was cooler here, quieter, empty except for the distant echo of footsteps far down the hall.
"You did well," Izuku said.
She blinked. "…I lost."
"Yes," he replied calmly. "And you still did well."
That made her look up.
"You identified Tokoyami's quirk as the primary threat immediately. You adapted your positioning. You didn't panic," he continued. "Your loss wasn't because you lacked ability. It was because your thinking narrowed."
Momo frowned slightly. "Narrowed…?"
Izuku nodded. "You treated Dark Shadow like something you had to overpower or avoid. But it's reactive. Sensitive."
He tapped the side of his head lightly.
"Light. Sudden brightness. A flashbang would have disrupted it instantly. Even something crude would've worked."
Her eyes widened.
"…A flashbang," she murmured.
"Or indirect light," Izuku went on. "A projectile with an ignition flare. A cannon shot, for example. Even a brief flash at launch would've forced Dark Shadow to recoil."
She stared at him now, thoughts racing. "I was so focused on binding and shields… I didn't consider light-based interference."
"That's the habit," Izuku said. "You default to containment and support. It's safe. Reliable. But you don't always need a perfect solution."
He paused, then added, "Sometimes you just need the right one."
Momo exhaled slowly, tension easing from her shoulders as understanding replaced frustration.
"…I could have ended it in seconds," she said quietly.
"Yes," Izuku agreed. "And next time, you will."
She hesitated, then looked at him again. "You mentioned armour once. During the cavalry battle."
Izuku nodded. "You have the versatility for it. Not heavy, bulky stuff. Modular. Lightweight plates. Reactive bracing. Something you can deploy fast without draining yourself."
Her eyes lit up despite herself. "A layered design… adaptable depending on the opponent. But I couldn't make one myself…"
Izuku sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"…Momo," he said, deadpan, "you're from one of the richest families in Japan."
She blinked.
"Just commission some scientists to design it," he continued. "Have them build prototypes. Then you study the diagrams and blueprints until you understand it well enough to reproduce or modify it yourself."
Her mouth slowly fell open.
"I— that's— I never even considered—"
"After all," Izuku added with a small laugh, "money is also a quirk if you have enough of it."
Momo stared at him for a second longer, then let out a breathy laugh of her own, the tension finally breaking.
"…You're ridiculous," she said, but there was genuine gratitude in her voice now.
Izuku shifted slightly, suddenly a bit less composed.
"…Hey," he said, quieter, "after everything's over… do you want to train together? Strategy, applications, pressure drills. Stuff like that."
She didn't hesitate this time.
She nodded. "Yes. I'd really like that. Thank you… for all of this."
Izuku smiled.
"Good."
The distant roar of the stadium swelled again, Midnight calling the next match.
Izuku turned toward the exit, then paused and glanced back at her.
"For what it's worth," he added casually, "you look cuter when you smile like that."
Momo froze.
Then her face turned bright red.
"I—!"
Izuku was already walking away, hands in his pockets, smirk firmly in place.
Behind him, Momo sat there stunned for a moment… then slowly lifted a hand to her face, smiling despite herself.
"…Unbelievable," she muttered.
Aaaagh. He's handsome as well, Momo, you just froze!
She shook her head lightly as she walked back toward the waiting room.
Focus. Improving. Training. That's what matters.
Still… her lips refused to stop curving upward.
By the time she reached the room, it was obvious.
Too obvious.
Mina noticed instantly.
She leaned in with a wicked grin, eyes sparkling.
"Soooooo~"
Momo flinched. "S-so?"
Mina circled her like a shark. "You go out looking like you just lost a match, and you come back looking like you just won a rom-com."
Uraraka blinked. "Wait… you're smiling."
Jirou squinted. "You're really smiling."
Momo straightened, cheeks warming. "I am not."
Mina gasped theatrically. "SHE IS."
"What did the pretty boy say to you?" Mina pressed. "Did he give you hero advice? Compliment your genius? Casually fix your emotional stability?"
Momo sputtered without thinking, "H-he just offered some constructive criticism and suggested training together, that's all!"
There was a beat.
Then:
"…Training together," Mina repeated slowly.
Uraraka's eyes widened. "Just the two of you?"
"I-it's purely practical!" Momo said quickly. "Strategy and applications and—"
"And he made you smile like that?" Jirou cut in dryly.
Momo covered her face with both hands. "Please stop looking at me."
Mina clasped her hands together dramatically. "Too late. We have eyes."
From across the room, even Hagakure's invisible presence felt closer. "Ooooh, I knew it! The flying thing! The teamwork! The tension!"
"There is no tension!" Momo protested.
MMina leaned in closer anyway, hands clasped behind her back, whispering loudly enough to defeat the purpose entirely.
"There is now. Aaaah, I wish I could get in on the 'training' as well."
Before Momo could recover, Hagakure's invisible presence popped up on her other side, breath warm near her ear.
"Me too," Hagakure whispered conspiratorially. "He's too cool."
Momo let out a soft, defeated groan and buried her face in her hands. "Please… you're all misunderstanding this."
Unfortunately for her, the smile never quite left her lips.
"UNDERSTANDING IT PERFECTLY," Mina shot back cheerfully.
A sharp voice cut through the noise.
"OI! GIRLS, SHUT IT!" Bakugo snapped from his seat, arms crossed, eyes glued to the screen. "I'M TRYING TO WATCH THIS MATCH!"
Mina blinked. "Wow, touchy."
"Like always," Jirou muttered.
Bakugo growled. "SAY THAT AGAIN."
Nearby, Kaminari and Kirishima sat shoulder to shoulder, staring at the screen… but neither was really watching.
"…Bro," Kaminari whispered, eyes glassy, "why does it feel like we're losing something important?"
Kirishima sniffed dramatically. "Manly tears, dude. Purely manly tears."
Bakugo shot them a glare. "WHY ARE YOU TWO LOOKING LIKE YOU JUST GOT DUMPED?"
"We never even had a chance!" Kaminari wailed quietly.
Kirishima nodded solemnly. "Tragic."
Momo peeked out from behind her hands, cheeks still pink, watching the screen as the next match unfolded.
Outside, the crowd roared again.
...
Izuku stepped onto the stage, the stadium's roar washing over him like background noise.
Across from him, Shoto Todoroki stood rigid, ice already creeping faintly along the ground at his feet, fire side conspicuously quiet.
Izuku glanced at him, hands in his pockets, expression calm.
"Shoto," he said, voice carrying just enough for the mic to catch, "remember what I told you."
Todoroki's jaw tightened.
"Stop being so edgy," Izuku continued mildly. "Not all flames belong to your father."
The words hit harder than any shout.
A ripple went through the crowd. Gasps. Whispers. A few stunned laughs that died almost immediately.
Todoroki's eyes widened, then narrowed, something volatile flashing behind them.
"You don't get to talk about him," Shoto said, voice low, strained.
Izuku shrugged. "I'm not talking about him."
He met Shoto's gaze directly.
"I'm talking about you."
The air temperature spiked, frost cracking underfoot as Shoto's emotions surged.
"I don't need that power," Shoto snapped. "I'll beat you with ice alone."
Izuku sighed, almost disappointed.
"You can try," he said evenly. "But if you come at me with half a kit and a full grudge, this ends fast."
Midnight stepped between them before the tension could escalate further, whip snapping once against the floor.
"Alright, boys," she said sharply. "Save the therapy session for later."
She raised her arm.
"Final match rules are the same! Win by ring-out, incapacitation, or surrender!"
The stadium held its breath.
Izuku shifted his stance, finally serious now.
"This is your choice," he said quietly, only for Shoto to hear. "Fight me as yourself… or keep fighting your own ghosts."
Midnight dropped her hand.
"BEGIN!"
The buzzer screamed.
Ice exploded from both sides of the arena.
A tidal surge of frost tore outward, jagged spires ripping up from the floor, freezing the air itself as the temperature plunged.
Shoto's eyes widened.
Ice?
How—
Izuku stood calmly at the center of it all.
[Iceberg] activated.
The arena floor behind Izuku surged upward in a violent, controlled eruption, a massive slab of ice thrusting into existence like a rising continent. Not Todoroki's ice - his. Dense, layered, engineered rather than emotional.
[Conjure Ice] followed immediately.
Dozens of smaller constructs formed midair: angled shields, narrow pillars, razor-edged platforms that snapped into place with surgical precision. None of it was wild. None of it was wasted.
The crowd lost its mind.
"HE HAS ICE TOO?!"
"That's Todoroki's thing!"
"WHAT IS HIS QUIRK?!"
Shoto skidded back, boots crunching against frost as he threw up another wave of ice in reflex, colliding head-on with Izuku's constructs.
The impact shattered half the arena.
Izuku stepped forward.
[Atlas] engaged.
He walked through the collision zone.
Ice walls shattered against his frame, shockwaves rippling outward as he punched straight through a frozen barricade, sending shards flying like shrapnel. Each step cracked the ground beneath him, raw force held just shy of catastrophic.
Shoto grit his teeth and pushed harder, ice thickening, piling higher, trying to overwhelm through sheer volume.
Izuku watched it all.
[Observation Haki] expanded.
He felt the flow of Shoto's power - the hesitation, the imbalance, the subconscious refusal to engage the other half. Every attack telegraphed not by movement, but by intent.
Too linear, Izuku noted. Too defensive.
He moved.
Not fast.
Exactly where Shoto didn't want him.
Izuku vanished into a curtain of ice dust and steam.
Then—
[Blackout].
Light died.
Not dimmed.
Erased.
The stadium plunged into sudden darkness.
Shoto's breath caught. "—?!"
His ice stalled, instinctively defensive, spreading outward instead of forward.
Izuku was already behind him.
A hand like iron clamped onto Shoto's shoulder.
"Your ice is strong," Izuku said calmly, voice steady in the dark. "But you're fighting with one arm tied behind your back. Stop it. Those are your flames."
He stepped past Shoto, releasing him and letting the darkness fade.
Light returned.
Izuku stood a few meters away, ice constructs surrounding them like a frozen crown.
"You can't beat me like this," he continued evenly. "Not because you're weak."
He met Shoto's eyes.
"But because you're only at half strength."
The arena was silent.
Shoto's fists trembled.
Izuku sighed.
"Then this ends now," he said simply.
He planted his foot.
[Atlas] surged.
The ground exploded upward in a controlled shockwave, ice and stone lifting Shoto off his feet as the arena cracked beneath them. Not a killing blow. Not even close.
A declaration.
Shoto landed hard, sliding back to the edge of the ring, barely catching himself on a spike of ice.
He looked up.
Izuku hadn't advanced.
He was waiting.
"Your move," Izuku said quietly. "All of your strength. Or none of it."
Shoto's teeth clenched. His shoulders shook as years of resentment, fear, and refusal collided in a single moment.
"…Damn it," he muttered.
Then—
Fire ignited on his left side.
Not a flare.
Not an explosion.
A steady burn.
Heat rolled across the arena, ice hissing and steaming as it met flame. The temperature spiked violently, fog billowing upward as opposing elements clashed.
The stadium erupted.
"He used it!"
"Todoroki's using fire!"
"HE FINALLY DID IT!"
Izuku smiled.
Not smug.
Not triumphant.
Relieved.
"There it is," he said softly.
Shoto exhaled sharply, flames surging higher as he straightened, both sides of his power finally moving in tandem. Ice stabilised the ground beneath him while fire fueled his momentum, balance snapping into place for the first time.
"I won't beat you," Shoto said, voice firm, eyes blazing. "But I won't give you half effort."
Izuku nodded once. "Good answer."
Shoto moved.
Fire blasted from his left, ice from his right, the two spiralling together into a devastating wave that tore across the arena with controlled fury.
Izuku didn't retreat.
[Observation Haki] flared, mapping the attack in perfect clarity.
He stepped forward.
[Atlas] engaged fully for the first time in the match.
The air buckled.
70% Atlas.
Izuku drove his foot into the ground and punched straight through the oncoming inferno, shockwaves ripping the attack apart mid-flight. Fire scattered. Ice shattered. Steam exploded outward like a storm.
The collision shook the stadium.
Shoto skidded back, boots carving trenches into the ice, eyes wide—not with fear, but with exhilaration.
"So that's it," he breathed. "That's your strength."
Izuku lowered his fist, steam curling around him like a cloak.
"This," he said calmly, "is me meeting you halfway."
They stood across from each other, both breathing hard now, both finally present.
No ghosts.
No borrowed grudges.
No holding back.
Just two forces colliding at full intent.
Midnight swallowed hard at the edge of the arena.
"…This," she murmured into the mic, "is what the Sports Festival is supposed to be."
Fwoom!
The space Izuku had occupied folded.
One instant, he was several meters away—
Next, he was right in front of Todoroki, close enough that the heat of Shoto's flames washed over him.
His fist was already drawn back, Atlas humming with restrained inevitability.
"Stand tall, Todoroki," Izuku said, voice calm, almost respectful.
"Because from today onward, you won't be chasing anyone's shadow."
Shoto's eyes widened.
Fire and ice surged together as he braced, power unified at last, his stance perfect—
and for that brief moment, he truly looked like the future.
Izuku smiled wider.
Then he struck.
Not downward.
Not to overpower.
Forward.
The punch landed squarely in Shoto's centre of mass, not with explosive violence, but with absolute direction. Atlas converted raw force into a single, clean vector.
The air detonated.
Fire scattered.
Ice shattered.
The arena floor cracked outward like glass.
Shoto was launched cleanly through the steam and debris, body carried in a perfect arc over the boundary line—
—and out of the ring.
He skidded across the ground outside the circle, coming to a controlled stop on one knee, breath ragged, eyes wide.
The buzzer blared.
Silence followed.
Midnight stared, then raised her arm.
"…Winner," she said slowly, clearly shaken, "Izuku Midoriya."
The stadium erupted.
Shoto stayed where he was for a second longer, steam rising off his body as he processed what had just happened.
Izuku didn't chase.
He walked to the edge of the arena and stopped, looking down at him.
"That power," Izuku said evenly, "is yours."
Shoto looked up at him, chest rising and falling, steam still curling off his shoulders.
"No one gets to define it for you," Izuku continued. "Not your father. Not the crowd. Not even me."
He paused, then added, voice firm but unpressured,
"So if you keep walking forward like that… you'll stand at the top one day. And you won't be alone."
Izuku extended his hand.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hold still.
Shoto stared at it.
At the hand that had just knocked him out of the arena.
At the person who had forced him to confront what he'd been running from.
His fingers curled.
Not in anger.
In resolve.
He reached out.
Grab.
Their hands clasped, firm and steady.
Shoto pulled himself to his feet, meeting Izuku's gaze and giving a single, decisive nod.
No words were needed.
The crowd roared again, louder than before - not in confusion this time, but in understanding.
Midnight finally found her voice, barely audible over the noise.
"…What a match."
Izuku released Shoto's hand, and they turned toward the tunnel, the semi-final now complete.
Behind him, Shoto Todoroki stood taller than he ever had before.
.....
Izuku smiled faintly as he watched his classmates from the opposite side of the waiting room.
They were loud. Animated. Still riding the high of the festival. Laughing, arguing, replaying moments over and over like they might change if examined closely enough.
He felt… separate.
Hoopa, he thought quietly, is it normal that I feel like some sort of observer? Like an outsider to all of this?
The air behind him rippled.
Hoopa spun lazily into view, rings rotating as it hovered upside down, golden eyes thoughtful. Izuku had realised not long after returning that words weren't necessary anymore. Thoughts flowed cleanly between them.
Of course, master, Hoopa replied lightly.
This world is infinitesimally small in the grand scheme of things.
It drifted in a slow circle around him.
You've seen more than most people here ever will. Other rules. Other skies. That distance you feel? It's what happens when your perspective grows faster than your surroundings can accommodate.
Izuku exhaled softly.
I think humans call it being a big fish in a small pond, Hoopa added, almost amused. Though ponds can still be precious.
Its tone shifted, gentler.
But they're still your classmates. Your friends. Even if we leave for other worlds someday, you shouldn't forget that.
Izuku watched Kaminari dramatically reenact something Kirishima clearly didn't remember happening. Momo stood nearby, calmer now, listening with a small smile. Bakugo barked something sharp that somehow made everyone louder.
"…Yeah," Izuku thought. I know.
Hoopa drifted closer, hovering at his shoulder.
Being an observer doesn't mean you don't belong, it said. It just means you'll have to choose, again and again, to stay connected.
Izuku's smile softened.
I can do that.
For now, at least.
He pushed himself off the wall and walked back toward the group, letting the noise swallow him up again.
Hoopa watched from above, rings glinting.
Good, it thought to itself. Every person needs anchors.
....
The stadium lights shifted once more.
The buzz that had never truly died down suddenly sharpened into something electric, dangerous.
Midnight stepped forward, voice ringing clear and sharp across the arena.
"For the final round of the tournament—"
The giant screen flashed, brackets collapsing into a single line.
"Izuku Midoriya… versus Katsuki Bakugou!"
The stadium exploded.
Cheers, screams, chants already forming without prompting.
"BA-KU-GO!"
"MIDO-RI-YA!"
"THIS IS IT!"
Bakugou stalked onto the field like a loaded weapon, explosions popping aggressively from his palms, teeth bared in a feral grin.
"ABOUT DAMN TIME," he snarled, cracking his neck. "I'm gonna blow that smug look right off your face."
Across from him, Izuku stepped onto the arena floor at an easy pace, hands in his pockets, expression relaxed.
He stopped at his mark and looked up.
Not intimidated.
Not excited.
Focused.
Hoopa hovered unseen above the stands, rings rotating slowly.
This one matters, it observed quietly.
Bakugou rolled his shoulders, sparks snapping louder. "Don't you dare hold back."
Izuku met his eyes and smiled faintly.
"I won't," he said. "That'd be disrespectful."
Bakugou's grin widened, wild and sharp. "Good."
Midnight stepped between them, whip coiled tight.
"Final match rules remain the same!" she announced. "Win by ring-out, incapacitation, or surrender!"
She raised her arm.
The crowd leaned forward as one.
Bakugou's explosions roared higher.
Izuku's stance shifted, subtle and precise.
This wasn't a lesson.
Wasn't therapy.
It wasn't a test.
This was a collision that had been waiting years to happen.
Midnight dropped her arm.
"BEGIN!"
The buzzer screamed—
[Active abilities: Atlas, Burden Breaker, observation Haki, Blackout, Light Step.]
Bakugou's blast tore through empty space as Izuku reappeared above and behind him, feet touching nothing as he twisted midair and dropped back down.
"STOP MOVING!" Bakugou snarled, spinning and firing again.
Izuku slipped through the barrage like it was choreographed, every step landing exactly where it needed to be. A blast clipped him—enough to rattle the ground—but he didn't budge.
Bakugou's grin widened. "THAT'S IT!"
He detonated point-blank, engulfing both of them in fire and smoke.
For a split second, the stadium lost sight of them.
Then Bakugou stumbled forward, suddenly heavy, his next blast misfiring just enough to throw him off balance.
Izuku was already there.
A clean strike to the body—no wasted motion, no excess force. Just enough to send Bakugou skidding across the arena, boots carving trenches as he blasted backwards to recover.
Bakugou laughed as he landed, coughing up smoke. "YOU'RE NOT EVEN MAD!"
Izuku stepped forward calmly. "Why would I be? You're trying your best."
Bakugou roared and rushed him again, faster now, smarter, explosions tighter and more controlled. He faked high, cut low, forced Izuku to adjust—
Izuku did.
He stepped through the attack, caught Bakugou's arm, and held on as Bakugou detonated at point-blank range.
The explosion tore upward.
When the smoke cleared, Izuku was still standing.
Bakugou stared at him, breath ragged, eyes blazing.
"…You're unreal."
Izuku pivoted, drove his shoulder forward, and sent Bakugou flying in a clean arc across the arena.
Bakugou hit the ground hard, skidding, blasting desperately to stop—
His heel crossed the line.
The buzzer blared.
Silence.
Then—
"…Winner," Midnight said, stunned, "Izuku Midoriya."
The stadium erupted.
Bakugou lay there for a moment, chest heaving, then barked out a laugh.
"…One day," Bakugou growled, looking up at him, "I'm beating you."
Izuku smiled faintly.
"You'll try your best," he said calmly. "But… I don't think I'll be there to see it."
Bakugou's brow furrowed. The fire in his eyes didn't fade, but it shifted.
"The hell'd you mean by that?" he demanded, pushing himself up onto one knee.
Izuku didn't answer right away.
Around them, the stadium was still roaring, Midnight calling for medical checks, the crowd chanting his name. None of it seemed to reach him anymore.
He looked at Bakugou the way someone looked at a road they'd already walked.
"…I mean," Izuku said at last, voice low enough that only Bakugou could hear, "that this place isn't where my finish line is."
Bakugou scowled. "Don't give me that cryptic crap. You quitting? Running away?"
Izuku shook his head. "No. I'm moving forward."
That only annoyed Bakugou more. "That doesn't mean anything!"
"It will," Izuku replied. "Just not yet."
Bakugou stared at him, searching for the lie, the weakness, the excuse.
He didn't find one.
"…Tch," Bakugou clicked his tongue, turning his head away. "Whatever. You better not disappear."
Izuku chuckled softly. "I won't."
He stepped back as the med staff approached, giving Bakugou space to stand.
"But Katsuki," he added, just before walking away, "when you finally do beat me…"
Bakugou glanced back.
"…make sure it's because you surpassed yourself," Izuku finished. "Not because I wasn't around."
Bakugou didn't respond.
But his fists clenched hard enough to tremble.
As Izuku walked toward the tunnel, the cheers swelling again around him, Bakugou watched his back with a strange, unfamiliar feeling twisting in his chest.
Not anger.
Not rivalry.
Something closer to urgency.
Like someone had just told him the clock was already ticking.
...
The stadium lights softened, the roar of the crowd settling into an eager hush as Midnight stepped back onto the platform.
"And now," she announced, voice bright and ceremonial, "for the closing ceremony of the U.A. Sports Festival!"
Applause thundered.
"Presenting today's medals," Midnight continued with a grin, "will be none other than the Symbol of Peace himself—All Might! And yes—he insisted on saying a few words to each winner."
All Might stepped forward, towering and radiant despite the fatigue hidden behind his smile. The podium rose. The medals gleamed.
"Third place," Midnight called, "Shoto Todoroki!"
Shoto stepped up to strong applause, posture straighter than it had been all day. All Might placed the medal around his neck and leaned down slightly.
"You took your first step today," All Might said quietly, only for Shoto to hear. "Not toward victory—but toward yourself. Keep walking that path."
Shoto nodded once, firmly. "I will."
"Second place," Midnight announced, "Katsuki Bakugou!"
Bakugou marched forward amid explosive cheers and boos alike, jaw set. All Might met his eyes as he placed the medal.
"Your fire is undeniable," All Might said, voice calm and steady. "But remember—true strength isn't just about burning brighter than everyone else."
Bakugou scoffed, then paused. "…Tch."
All Might smiled anyway. "You'll get there."
Finally, Midnight raised her voice.
"And your first place winner—Izuku Midoriya!"
The stadium erupted.
Izuku stepped onto the podium amid a wall of sound, expression composed, eyes scanning the crowd just once before focusing forward. All Might placed the gold medal around his neck, hands lingering for a heartbeat.
"You've grown strong," All Might said softly. "Stronger than many realise."
Izuku met his gaze. "I know."
All Might chuckled quietly, then grew serious. "Then remember this—strength isn't an end. It's a responsibility. Wherever your path leads… don't forget why you chose to walk it."
Izuku nodded. "I won't."
All Might straightened and turned to the crowd, raising his arm.
"Today, you witnessed the future," he proclaimed. "Not one hero—but many. Competing, challenging, and pushing each other forward!"
The crowd roared its approval.
As confetti rained down, the three stood together on the podium—different paths, different fires, all burning in their own way.
Izuku looked out over the stadium once more, medal heavy against his chest.
...
"Well done, Izuku!"
He barely had time to react before he was engulfed as he stepped into his home.
Inko's arms wrapped around him from one side, tight and warm, the kind of hug that carried relief, pride, and about three different kinds of worry all at once.
"Oh, Izu… you did amazing," she said, voice trembling just a little. "I was so proud I almost forgot to breathe."
From the other side, Himiko crashed into him with zero restraint, nearly lifting him off the ground.
"That was SO COOL!" she chirped, squeezing him like he might vanish if she let go. "Did you see Bakugou's face? And Todoroki! And the crowd! You owned that stadium!"
Izuku laughed softly, caught between them, hands hovering awkwardly before he returned the hug.
"Thanks," he said, genuinely. "I'm glad you were watching."
Inko pulled back just enough to cup his face, eyes shining. "You looked so confident up there. Not scared at all."
Izuku smiled faintly. "I wasn't."
Himiko leaned in closer, grinning up at him. "You know, you've officially become dangerous now. Hero dangerous. Heart-throb dangerous."
Inko blinked. "Himiko."
"What?" Himiko said innocently. "I'm just saying."
Izuku felt something warm settle in his chest - not power, not momentum, just grounding.
For all the noise, the spectacle, the futures being projected onto him…
This mattered more.
He hugged them both again, just for a moment longer.
Yeah, he thought. I won't forget this part.
"…Wait," Izuku said, pulling back slightly and looking between them, brow furrowing, "since when did Himiko get free rein in the house?"
Inko stiffened.
Himiko froze mid-smile.
There was a very brief, very telling silence.
"…Ehehe?" Himiko said.
Izuku slowly turned his head toward his mother. "Mom."
Inko coughed lightly, hands fidgeting. "W-well, you see, Izuku—"
"She's been staying over," Inko said brightly. "Like, a lot."
Izuku blinked. "…A lot?"
"She helps with chores!" Inko said quickly. "And grocery shopping. And she's very polite! And she makes sure you eat properly when you forget!"
Himiko nodded enthusiastically. "I also stabbed a guy once, but that was unrelated."
"HIMIKO," Inko hissed.
Izuku stared at them.
"…You disappeared for two days," Inko continued, soft but firm, "and I was worried sick. Himiko stayed with me until that night you got back. I didn't want to be alone."
Izuku's expression softened immediately.
"Oh," he said quietly before smiling, "that makes sense... thank you, Himiko."
"Oh," he said quietly, then smiled. "That makes sense… thank you, Himiko."
Himiko blinked.
Then grinned so hard it probably violated several laws of physics. "Aww~ you're welcome!"
Before Izuku could say anything else—
"Plus, she's your girlfriend!" Inko added brightly, swatting Izuku's arm with surprising force. "You can't be harsh on her!"
Izuku froze.
"…She's my what?"
Himiko gasped. "Oh my gosh, I am?!"
Inko nodded firmly, already committed. "Of course you are. You stay over, you help around the house, you worry about him, and don't pretend I don't hear you at night. It's obvious."
Izuku opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"Mom—"
Inko waved him off and turned to Himiko with a warm smile. "If he causes you any problems, dear, you tell me, okay?"
Himiko's eyes sparkled. "You got it, Mom!"
"WHAT—!" Izuku protested, ears burning.
Inko hummed thoughtfully. "Oh? But you didn't object to the girlfriend part."
Izuku short-circuited.
Himiko leaned in close, whispering loudly, "Looks like you're stuck with me, hero boy."
Izuku sighed, rubbing his face, utterly defeated.
"…I've fought villains," he muttered. "This is harder."
Inko laughed softly, clearly pleased, and pulled them both into another hug.
Watching the two of them, Izuku felt it again—that grounding warmth, ridiculous and sincere all at once.
Yeah, he thought, cheeks still warm. This part definitely stays.
...
Later that evening, the apartment was quiet in that comfortable, end-of-day way.
The TV played softly in the background, some variety show Izuku wasn't really watching. Inko sat curled into one side of the couch with a blanket, while Himiko lounged on the other, feet tucked under her, idly switching between paying attention and stealing popcorn.
Izuku stared at the screen for a long moment longer than necessary.
Then he spoke.
"Mother…"
Both of them looked at him immediately. Inko smiled. Himiko tilted her head, sensing the shift.
"How'd you feel," Izuku asked carefully, "if I said I could make you stronger?"
The room went quiet.
Inko blinked. "…Stronger?"
"Physically," Izuku clarified. "Healthier. More resilient. Less… fragile."
Inko's smile faded into something uncertain. "Izuku, are you saying something's wrong with me?"
"No," he said quickly. "Nothing like that. This isn't about fixing you."
He turned to face her fully now, expression serious but gentle.
"It's about giving you more margin. More safety. I've seen what happens when people don't have that."
Himiko stopped fidgeting, eyes sharp but silent.
Inko folded her hands together. "You sound very certain."
"I am," Izuku said. "But I won't do anything without your consent."
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, carefully wrapped bundle. When he opened it, a faint, warm scent filled the room - earthy, clean, almost comforting.
Nestled inside was a heart-shaped herb, its surface faintly veined, pulsing ever so slightly like it was alive.
Inko gasped softly. "Izuku… what is that?"
"Something rare," he said. "From somewhere else. It strengthens the body at a fundamental level. Not violently. Not unnaturally. It just… helps you become the best version of yourself."
Inko hesitated, looking between the herb and her son. "…Is it dangerous?"
Izuku shook his head. "Not to you. I wouldn't even be having this conversation if there was risk."
She studied him for a long moment. Not the medal. Not the power. Just her son.
"…Why me?" she asked quietly.
Izuku smiled, soft and earnest.
"Because you worry about me every day," he said. "And I want you to be around long enough to keep doing that."
Inko's eyes filled immediately.
"Oh, Izuku…"
Himiko subtly scooted closer, resting her chin on her knees, unusually quiet.
Inko reached out but didn't touch the herb yet. "And this wouldn't change who I am?"
"No," Izuku said without hesitation. "It just makes sure the world has a harder time taking you away."
Silence settled again, heavier now but not uncomfortable.
Inko took a slow breath.
She nodded,
"…So do I just eat it?"
Izuku paused for half a second, then nodded. "Yes. Just like that."
Himiko didn't react with surprise. No gasp, no questions. She simply shifted closer to Inko, completely at ease.
"It's safe," she said casually. "I already ate mine."
Inko blinked. "…You did?"
Himiko smiled, unbothered. "Yep. No side effects. If anything, I feel great."
She glanced at Izuku, then back to Inko, her tone steady and sincere.
"He wouldn't give it to you if there was even a chance it could hurt you," she added. "I trust that with my life."
Izuku looked away, a little embarrassed, but he didn't deny it.
Inko studied them both. Her son, who had carried too much responsibility far too early. And the girl beside him, utterly certain in her support.
"…You two really are something," she murmured.
She picked up the heart-shaped herb, turning it once in her fingers. It felt warm. Familiar, somehow.
"You've always tried to protect me," Inko said softly. "Even when you were little."
She smiled at Izuku.
"I suppose it's all alright if I let you do that now."
And then, without further hesitation, she ate it.
There was no flash. No shock. No pain.
Just warmth.
It spread through her chest first, then outward, steady and reassuring, like a deep breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding for years.
Inko blinked once… then again.
"…Oh," she said quietly. "That feels… nice."
Izuku let out the breath he'd been holding, shoulders relaxing.
Himiko grinned. "Told you."
Inko laughed softly, pressing a hand to her chest. "You really are full of surprises, Izuku."
He smiled back, smaller this time, but genuine.
The change wasn't dramatic.
That was the first thing Inko noticed.
No heat. No surge. No sudden rush of power. Just… warmth. Deep, steady, spreading outward from her chest like she'd finally taken a full breath after years of shallow ones.
She blinked a few times, confused.
"…Huh," she murmured.
Izuku tensed immediately. "Mom?"
"I'm fine," she said quickly, almost surprised by her own certainty. She placed a hand over her chest, then flexed her fingers. "Actually… I feel lighter."
Himiko smiled, relaxed and completely unconcerned. "Told you."
Inko let out a small laugh. "I don't feel stronger. Or different. Just… good."
"That's normal," Izuku said quietly, relief softening his voice. "It doesn't force change. It lets your body fix itself."
Inko nodded slowly, trusting him.
And that was that.
No fireworks.
No transformation.
Just a good night's sleep.
The changes came later.
At first, they were easy to dismiss.
Inko stopped getting winded halfway up the stairs. Her knees didn't ache when she stood too long. She woke up without that familiar heaviness pressing on her chest.
Then her clothes started fitting differently.
Not dramatically – just looser. More comfortable.
"…Did these always fit like this?" she muttered one morning, tugging at a blouse.
Izuku pretended not to notice.
Himiko noticed immediately.
"She's shrinking," Himiko whispered one afternoon, watching Inko lift a box of groceries with far too much ease. "Like… in a good way."
"I'm not shrinking," Inko protested weakly. "I'm just… less tired."
The real moment came a day later.
A loud crash echoed from the kitchen.
Izuku was on his feet instantly.
"Mom—!"
He skidded to a halt.
Inko was standing there, wide-eyed, holding the refrigerator.
The refrigerator.
It had tipped when she bumped it accidentally, and without thinking, she'd caught it – feet planted, posture steady, heart pounding but body unstrained.
They stared at each other.
Slowly, Inko let go.
The fridge didn't fall.
"…I," she said faintly, "don't think I should have been able to do that."
Himiko leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, grin soft instead of manic.
"Latent strength," she said. "Only shows when it needs to."
Inko sank into a chair, hands trembling slightly – not from weakness, but from shock.
Izuku crouched in front of her. "Are you okay?"
She nodded.
Then laughed.
A little breathless. A little incredulous.
"I don't feel powerful," she said. "I just feel… capable."
Izuku smiled.
.....
In his room with Himiko, Izuku looked at his most recent pull from the gacha. He'd gotten a ticket for winning the sports festival.
[The user has gained:
* [Modified Compound V]
|Rare Item|
The Boys - Upon consuming this, the drinker will gain a random ability from the Gold Gacha that they can use even when in ability storage with no side effects.]
He didn't react at first.
Then he exhaled slowly.
"…Himiko," he said, turning his head toward her, voice level and honest, "do you want another quirk?"
Himiko blinked.
Once.
Then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, not suspicious so much as confused.
"…Another?" she echoed.
Izuku nodded. "Well, similar to a quirk. A random power. Permanent. No backlash, no instability. You'd be able to use it even if your quirk else was sealed."
Himiko sat up properly now, studying his face.
"You're being really casual about something insane," she said.
"I'm being careful," Izuku replied. "That's why I'm asking you instead of deciding for you."
She leaned back, arms crossed, thinking.
"You know most people would kill for that," she said slowly.
"I know," Izuku replied. "That's why I won't give it to someone who doesn't want it."
Himiko stared at the glowing text again, then back at him.
"…What if I say no?"
Izuku shrugged. "Then I put it away. Or destroy it. Or use it myself later. It's not urgent."
That answer seemed to matter more than anything else.
She was quiet for a long moment.
Himiko's lips twitched.
"And you're not dangling this like some kind of upgrade?"
Izuku shook his head. "It's just an option."
She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers.
"…I already feel stronger than I ever thought I'd be," she admitted. "Not physically. Just… steadier."
"That wouldn't go away," Izuku said. "This wouldn't overwrite anything."
She glanced up at him, eyes sharp again.
"And you'd trust this thing enough to let me take it?"
He didn't hesitate.
"With my life," Izuku said.
That made her laugh softly, a sound that wasn't manic or teasing, just real.
"…You're ridiculous," she murmured.
She scooted closer and plopped down beside him on the bed, bumping his shoulder lightly.
"Let me think about it," she said. "Like, actually think. Not a snap decision."
Izuku nodded. "Take all the time you want."
Himiko looked at the hovering text one more time, then leaned back against him, gaze unfocused.
"…You know," she said quietly, "most people would've decided for me."
Izuku smiled faintly.
"I'm not most people."
She hummed in agreement, closing her eyes.
Then Izuku shifted slightly.
"…Another thing," he said.
Himiko cracked one eye open immediately. "Uh-oh. That tone means this is either really serious or really awkward."
Izuku exhaled. "Both."
She straightened a bit, giving him her full attention. "Okay. Go on."
He rubbed the back of his neck, uncharacteristically hesitant. "I talked with Momo, that Creation girl, earlier. After her match. I helped her think through what went wrong and offered to train together."
Himiko watched his face closely. No jealousy yet, just curiosity.
"…And?" she prompted.
"And," Izuku continued carefully, "I think I'm going to pursue her. Not recklessly. Not secretly. I just… wanted you to know."
There it was.
Himiko stared at him for exactly two seconds.
Then—
"Aww," she said.
Izuku blinked. "…That's not the reaction I expected."
She smiled, genuinely pleased. "That's cool. She seems smart, pretty, and serious in a way that's fun to poke at. Good taste."
He stared at her. "You're… okay with this?"
"Of course I am," she said easily. "You didn't hide it. You didn't talk around me. You just told me."
She leaned back, hands behind her head, grinning.
"Plus, it means when you're off doing hero stuff or world-hopping nonsense, I'll have a girl to have fun with."
Izuku nearly choked. "That's not— I mean—"
She laughed, delighted. "Relax, I'm teasing. Mostly."
Then her tone softened, just a little.
"You choosing people doesn't make me less chosen," she said. "And I don't want to be the only thing in your world. That'd be boring."
He studied her for a moment, then smiled, warm and relieved.
"…Thank you."
She scooted closer again, bumping his shoulder. "Just don't forget us when you're juggling all these futures."
"I won't," Izuku said immediately.
Himiko closed her eyes again, satisfied.
"Good," she murmured. "Now tell me everything about how flustered she got."
Izuku sighed. "…You're impossible."
She grinned without opening her eyes. "Learned from the best."
And for once, the future felt complicated in a way that didn't scare him at all.
....
Again ,you can find 2+ advance chapters on my pATre0n, @Djini. Thats like an extra 14 chapters or so of 1k~ length. Thanks for the support and hope you enjoyed it.