1A hovered just outside the Stadium's entrance, abuzz. No student had been in the stadium before—except for Yui—but she didn't say much about it. As such, when Aizawa gave them the rundown, they all listened.

He pointed out the basic structure of things—the lobbies under the stadium, the locker rooms flanking the hospital ward, and the bathrooms on the opposite end. With his signature offhand tone, he debriefed Kirishima and Shiozaki on the general proceedings.

The Sports Festival would consist of three televised sporting events, where winners moved on and losers dropped out. There would be three independent festivals—one for each student year. They would join the first years, of course, alongside 1B, 1C, 1D, and so forth.

This they were sure of. Most, if not all, of 1A grew up watching Sports Festivals, and they understood the basic premise. The things they were not certain of, however, were twofold. First, they would get zero insight into the random events. This did not surprise Izuku, but it seemed to generate some confusion. He couldn't imagine why—if U.A. wanted to tell them in advance, they wouldn't have waited until the last minute. Second, an extra class would join the fray this year.

It did not disturb Izuku to know that he would compete against 1Z. From the very first moment, he understood that this would be the case. Despite the fact that it would most certainly dilute the pool of competitors, that would be a secondary concern to someone like Nedzu. If a couple careers never kicked off thanks to 1Z overshadowing them, that was a small price to pay. Nedzu wanted to flex his school's muscles—to show off a little.

That did disturb him, given what happened the first time Nedzu did that.

1A and Izuku both knew this, but the event's proximity that suddenly churned guts and prodded at anxieties. Izuku's class was the traditional top-dog, but with these newcomers, they might as well have been in the General Course. He didn't doubt that some of his classmates now viewed themselves as underdogs.

He did not blame them. Most of them were outside the USJ, safe, when 1Z arrived. They did not get to see them act as a well-oiled machine. To most of 1A, they were facing a total unknown. In their minds, 1Z could be overhyped, but it was also possible that they were the opposite.

If not for the USJ, Izuku thought those suspicions never would've risen. Not because of anything 1Z did—but because 1A's blind confidence might've just deluded them enough. Any other class might just dismiss their prowess as hearsay. In fact, he suspected that might be the reality for multiple classes. 1B might be in for a seriously rude awakening.

Now, however, though not a well-oiled machine—1A was blooded. More blooded than even 1Z. While there was still some youthful bluster here and there, and sometimes they got in their own ways—1A long since abandoned the raw immaturity of a fresh class.

So, despite the overwhelming odds, they were all hopeful. Not confident—but eager to try their best.

Except Izuku. He didn't feel anything except dread.

Aizawa glanced at his watch. In the corner of Izuku's eye, he saw the way the man looked at him. For a brief moment, Izuku thought the man would break character and come console him—but he did not. Instead, he clapped once, and the low mutter of 1A ceased.

"Alright, kids." He said, and Izuku felt a change in the room. "One more chat before it all goes down. Anything—get it off your chest. Don't have any big ideas weighing you down when you might have to run a few kilometers."

One or two students cringed at the thought. Izuku swallowed what felt like a mouthful of sawdust without the loving texture.

After a second or two of silence, Ashido perked up.

"What do we get if we win? I, like, have no idea."

Aizawa considered her for a moment. Izuku recalled when he might've blasted her for such a question—but there was a new undertone in her voice. Before, it'd been simple insolence—now, honesty. He thought Aizawa could tell.

"If you're thinking of prize money, forget it," Aizawa said, scanning the class. A few shoulders slumped. Uraraka huffed. "But street cred goes farther than you can imagine. Word of mouth will, too. Make a spectacle of yourself, and you're bound to catch a pro hero's eye. That's invaluable for apprenticeships and internships."

"And "winning" is a spectacle?" Asui asked, raising up one of her large fingers. Aizawa shrugged.

"Not if it's by a technicality, but it's usually the first thing they look for, yeah. If you make it into the third round without being kicked out, do try your best to show off your abilities. Don't hold back—but don't be stupid, either. If you have to choose between the win or the spectacle, choose the win. They'll judge you on your decision making just as your abilities."

"What did you do in your Sports Festival, Mr. Aizawa?" Shiozaki asked. That created a stir in the crowd, and more questions like it began to pile up.

"Did you win?"

"Who won your Sports Festival?"

"What kind of events did you do?"

As the questions continued to come, however, Aizawa just endured them. It was less like an interview and more like a man without an umbrella weathering a heavy downpour. He looked uncomfortable, but he did not grimace. Izuku did, however, note his whitened knuckles. Taking a step forward from the back, Izuku pushed his way towards Aizawa. Not a soul in 1A resisted him. He was like a hot knife through butter—and his burn scorched all the questions left lingering in his wake. When he found himself face-to-face with his teacher, all other distractions hushed.

It was in that brief moment of silence that Izuku finally noticed the low rumble of the stadium above them. Chants and shouts and stomps revved the crowd's engine like a self-perpetuating machine. It was with their enthusiasm that Izuku found the strength to speak.

"Was it worth the effort?" He whispered, as that was all he was capable of. It seemed, to him, that he was the only person who already knew Shouta Aizawa's match history. The man placed in the top three of every competition he participated in.

Aizawa didn't say anything at first, considering his question. Perhaps it was something Izuku revealed in his tone on accident, or simply respected the question more than the others. Maybe it was favoritism, since they'd spent the majority of the last month together, re-training his hand-to-hand combat. He had the black eye from yesterday to prove it. Maybe he just wanted to get it over with.

He scratched at the unshaven hair on his chin for a whole five seconds before he sighed.

"I think I'm obligated to say "yes," since I'm supposed to encourage you all to do your best…but it's not so cut and dry. The first one was vital. I put absolutely everything on the line during my first Sports Festival—and while I didn't net the win, it was enough to pull me from General Studies and into 1B. The third one was equally as vital, as it would be a part of my resume if I wanted to join an agency. It broke me three ribs in the third event brawl, but it was worth every stitch. I could've cured cancer in my second year Sports Festival and it wouldn't have done squat for me. Still, I tried my best then too."

"So?" Izuku asked, his voice as thin as the whistling wind in a cemetery. While the insight was interesting, it didn't answer the question, and Aizawa knew it. The tall man shifted his weight from side to side before he answered.

"It depends on the circumstances, Midoriya. My circumstances? I think yeah. It was mostly worth the effort. Will it be for you? That's a question for the future. For the Z kids? Probably less. But," Aizawa said, pausing to rest his hand on Izuku's shoulder. He gave 1A a look in addition to the one he gave Izuku. "The only way to figure that out is to actually try. It'd be incredibly illogical to risk not trying when effort could theoretically give you better results. That goes for you guys, too. In fact, it goes for everyone. The school motto, in fact, is just a latin tongue twister for the concept itself."

Izuku allowed the contact to continue for another second before slipping away and merging back with the crowd. In his place, Uraraka stepped forward. With her, the general mood of the class didn't so much drop as it did sober up. She'd tied back her bob into a sporting bun—it was a rather cute hairstyle, if not for the glaring distraction. Uraraka's hearing aid was a stark reminder of the consequences of the USJ. Tokoyami's pointed beak rarely left the linoleum tiles when she was around. Now, it was almost glued to the floor.

"Go Beyond, Plus Ultra," Uraraka said, pausing to fiddle with the device latched onto her ear, "means to always try hard, then?"

Izuku cringed at her voice—but not for any fault of her own. Her natural speaking voice was nearly back, after much practice. It was the tone in her words. She'd said the same thing at the USJ, and the reminder brought him back for a brief moment.

Aizawa shook his head.

"No, it does not. It means to "Go Beyond" merely trying hard. It means to try harder than you think possible—because when effort is rewarded, it is awarded proportionally. To give beyond your means is to receive beyond your expectation."

Izuku gripped his U.A. pants around his pockets. Though his nails were trimmed military-short, he feared them tearing straight through.

He had to try, because he had no other options. Even if he didn't want to win—he had to. Aizawa made it seem like something impressive and honorable, but Izuku felt neither in the moment. His mind still rang with Katsuki's accusations.

Katsuki hit the nail on the head, after all. He didn't deserve 1Z—in fact, him joining might just be worse for everyone involved. But he couldn't not-go. Even if he shouldn't. Even if he really, really, really did not want to face his old friends.

He'd managed to delay joining 1Z by another month, but he still hadn't come to terms with it. Soon, he would have to face Setsuna—and Shoto. The thought made his blood curdle.

A crackle interrupted his thoughts. Midnight's voice echoed from the speaker attached to the ceiling, drawing the class's attention.

"Alright, kids, make your move! You're first up, but don't be nervous!" Midnight said, though her voice didn't sound quite as energetic as Izuku's normal experiences with her went. The archaic speakers crackled once again before cutting out.

The static it left behind, however, seemed to infuse 1A with newfound excitement. Anxieties fell away, alongside doubt and nausea. They perked up, raised their chins high—and when Aizawa shooed them out, their strides remained purposeful. Even Izuku, who trailed the end of the pack, walked out with a straight back.

It wasn't the noise that nearly broke Izuku's composure. It wasn't the roaring crowd, the VIP booth's attentive gaze, or the camera-drones that flew just out of earshot. It wasn't even Present Mic's dramatic announcement of their arrival—something even he, in his current state, couldn't help but smile at.

They say the simplest things can be overwhelming with enough shock and weight. It was the sunlight on his skin that nearly broke Izuku. After standing in the Stadium's shade for twenty minutes, it was the sudden warmth that almost did him in.

He fought a war in that shade. One of conflicting feelings and monstrous emotions and titanic instincts. His only break was his one question to Aizawa. Otherwise, Izuku spent the last half an hour teetering on the edge. Of what, he knew not—but it was abyssal and too much to consider. That abyss festered in the shade, growing with the darkness until his anxieties almost drowned him.

Perhaps it was all irrational. Maybe his fears were in his head. It was possible his stress had no ground to stand. Happenstance—fate—was fickle and unknowable. At some point, however, something dawned on him. His class, in their only group outing, was nearly systematically picked off and murdered. Now, for the second time, they would fight for their lives as a group… but under the sun. Not the cracked, artificial sky of USJ.

Izuku supposed, in the moment the soft sunlight purified his spirit, that he feared something else might go wrong. Some external factor—some malevolent intruder—could come to ruin this. And they could. It was possible. But now he had reason to doubt it.

Today, he wouldn't have to worry about protecting his life. Here, he only had to grapple with one opponent: Himself.

Plus or minus a hundred and fifty-odd students gunning for his seat in 1A. With a deep, unsteady breath, Izuku sucked in all that remained of his stress and put it aside. Even if he didn't want to win, he couldn't afford to lose.

As 1A walked towards the Stadium's center, he briefly considered the dimensions. Though it was his first time in the legendary U.A. Stadium, it wasn't his first time in such a structure.

It must've been twice the Colosseum's diameter, at the bare minimum, but more likely three times. Unlike the Colosseum, however, this one was open to the heavens. Huge, fluffy clouds rolled overhead like lazy whales in the tropics. Instead of a sandpit, the Stadium's floor was vibrant, lush grass. The center stage was a massive, off-white cement diamond that reflected the sun so brightly that Izuku couldn't accurately measure its length. A few harsh blinks allowed him to guess around seventy meters for each side.

In short, it was a beautiful setting for an enormous challenge. Every aspect of the Stadium seemed built for large scale, massive events. Not only was the base stage easily comparable to a small island in an emerald sea, the Stadium seemed to curl around the stage like a fish-eye camera. The circular nature accentuated the structure's sheer height. It seemed at a glance to beg for three-dimensional thinking, for flight. Izuku felt like he was the only person who noticed this however—his were the only eyes pointed at the sky. It made him somewhat sad, being more or less a grounded person. He wished he could fly—propelling was exhausting.

"And welcome to the center stage, 1A!" Present Mic said, warming up the crowd like a master hearth-tender. Their flames roared under his influence, shouts and screams and stomps bumping up their intensities. "These little survivors are our traditional top-dogs, so watch out! Not only are they talented, they're also the same kids who weathered the terrorist assault last month for nearly an hour! Without help! They're experienced, sharp, and beyond all else, hungry for the Gold!"

When Shiozaki and Kirishima reached the center, however, the crowd's enthusiasm dwindled. The two guided 1A into a neat, organized square, with Izuku in the back right corner. At first, Izuku thought the crowd was growing polite, but that was mere seconds before he noticed the other Stadium entrance ways. The other classes, like 1A, began to spill out—and then the crowd practically exploded.

Within three minutes, he began to grow concerned for the spectators' throats. Their enthusiastic screams were reaching painful decibel levels. As 1B lined up next to 1A, and 1C next to 1B, and 1D and 1E and so forth, the crowd sounded ready to abandon the stands and rush the stage itself. It was surreal, being the center of such outstanding attention. Izuku was familiar with being the center of attention. He'd been in massive brawls, the center of great and terrible moments, and had the world's eyes on him. Never before had any of it been about him though. It'd been about the moment.

Now, however, the world's eyes were on him—he was the subject, not the compliment. A drone whizzed by—lower and closer to the class than the others. Its precise camera lingered on him.

As the classes lined up together, however, a question began to form—both in his mind and in the spectators'. In any other Sports Festival, this moment when the classes gathered was the most special. It was here alone that all of U.A. would publicly gather. For the casual viewer, it was invaluable—like having the world in their palms. Any other day, this moment would be perfect.

But they were missing something. Where was 1Z?

"The past few years, my friends, have been difficult times." Present Mic said, all of a sudden. His tone shifted, sobering the crowd drunk on excitement. A general wave of discomfort flushed through the crowd—but also solemn agreement. "We lost many great men, and it all started with the greatest among us. Our loss, five years ago, was tremendous—but it hit no heart harder than U.A.'s very own."

The screaming faded. The stomping ceased. The applause fell away to reveal a quiet, reserved crowd—as though they weren't here to see a competition, and instead an orchestra. After the assault on Izuku's senses, the shift was jarring.

But nothing could quite compare to how jarring Present Mic's words were.

He wondered, briefly, if Present Mic meant those words. Izuku wondered if he believed them—or if he knew the truth. There was one person whose heart was more impacted than U.A.'s. A shudder ran down his spine. Hitoshi spared him a confused glance, before Present Mic continued.

"The loss has left everyone feeling like a shadow of themselves. I met the man quite a bit, in my day—and I miss him just as fiercely as I did the day he died."

Izuku only met him once. Izuku did not "miss" him. He was deprived of him—cut away from him like his very own hand.

"And I'm not the only one. Everyone misses him in their own way. His was a friend's death—one everyone can grieve as naturally as anything else. And just like any friend, he left behind something."

Whatever Izuku went through, he wouldn't call it "natural grieving." As much as he loved Present Mic, his ears bled with each word. His heart drummed painfully with the speech. At least Present Mic wasn't wrong about him leaving something behind. The power deep within Izuku was beginning to churn with mention of its old master. Unprompted, Five slid into his peripheral—but said nothing. For a blessed rare occurrence, he remained silent..

"Something to aspire to. He left behind dreams—and 40 centimeter shoes to fill. For five long years, our principal fought for those dreams—he picked up the embers, gathered them, fueled them—and then kindled them anew. And now, let us unveil the new flame."

It was Izuku who saw them first. Through quickly-wiped tears and black spots dotting his vision, it was Izuku's skyward attention that did it. His observation of the Stadium's sheer height revealed something more than the structure's hunger for elevation. It revealed a collection of falling stars. Ten, to be specific.

Instead of streaking away into the unknown, however, these stars only grew closer. And they weren't stars. It was daytime.

1Z, born aloft by Whirlwind's recovered powers, crashed into the stage with a concussive wind blast. It was enough to knock the surprised students onto their backsides. Most of 1E, J, and D fell. 1C clung together like herd animals, standing together so they didn't fall together. Half of 1B collapsed, their surprise as evident as their shouts of fear.

1A didn't budge.

"Welcome, little candles, to your first Sports Festival! Please, everyone, give a round of applause! Mark this in the history books, folks, as the day All Might's Legacy finally resurfaced!"

1Z stood opposite them, rather than lined up with the other classes. It was 1A—not 1B, or 1C, or any other class—who matched their stares. Izuku, not for the first time, felt separate from both classes, belonging in neither. He did not match 1Z's competitive proddings or 1A's serious response. His gaze remained on the off-white cement tiling below. Though he was behind 1A's bulk, he knew, somehow, that if he raised his chin even a little, he'd find her eyes.

The crowd did not applaud. They thundered. Cracks of lightning and power and raw, human passion rumbled the Stadium—so much so that Izuku feared a collapse.

It did not. The Stadium was stronger than it looked—sturdier. It couldn't just handle magnificent punishment, it craved it. Every aspect of the Stadium was built for it. The rounded, cone-like structure echoed every sound, every excitement, to the next level. He wondered if Shiketsu could hear them all the way in Okoyama.

A shape jumped from the crowd—Whirlwind, his abilities recovered—and flew into the announcer's booth. He looked good—healthier than when he'd nearly fallen to his death. Still, he was drenched in sweat despite the relatively cool and breezy day. Though his form remained straight and proud throughout his flight, it was obvious in his flight itself the difference from before. It was slower, less sure, and far less oppressive. It was with a heavy heart that Izuku finally saw that Whirlwind's cardiac arrest permanently crippled him.

Present Mic's excited voice faded away as Whirlwind took the microphone. In the background, Izuku thought he heard exclamations of surprise—it seemed this wasn't planned—as the old 1Z teacher began to speak.

"Hello, world," Whirlwind said, and Izuku turned to a massive flatscreen above the Stadium's western seats. The old man's serious, cracked face appeared, wearing Present Mic's flamboyant headset. "Just as 1A survived the challenges thrown its way, I too, have survived. My successors, my successor's successors, and my students themselves will continue to learn from me onwards. The world may try to replace me, remove me, and forget me, but they can not. While All Might himself might not hand down his experiences personally, I have worked longer than he lived, bless his soul. His and many others' knowledge are small parts of me. Do not think that his absence means his life's work will ever go forgotten. So long as I live, everything he was—everything you all are—lives. And I will not back down until all I am is at least all my Cadets are. Fight on, 1Z. Show them."

With that, Whirlwind tore the headset from his skull and tossed it off-screen. A terrible, scraggly noise echoed through the stadium as Whirlwind turned and left.

Moments later, a frazzled Present Mic returned, a few hairs out of place. He seemed surprised, but it was another reason Izuku liked him. He could always go with the flow. With a single pumped fist, Present Mic brought the crowd back out of its reverent stupor.

"Give it up for All Might, who this Sports Festival is dedicated to!"

It was with the following roar of thunderous applause that Izuku's vigor and spirit—renewed by the sun itself—withered. The saliva piling in his throat almost seemed to calcify, hardening, thickening, and choking him. Whilst Izuku struggled to reacquaint himself with breathing, however, Present Mic wasn't finished.

"For this very special Sports Festival, we shall marry the old traditions with the new! Please, 1Z and 1A, bring your representative forward! Give us a jointed speech from 1A's highest scorer and 1Z's most diligent worker!"

Izuku's tense shoulders relaxed by a fraction. He was not 1A's class representative—he'd given up that position to Kirishima. His serenity was only brief, however. Hands—over a dozen—grabbed his shoulders and pulled him into 1A's bulk. Almost like a slingshot, his position in 1A's backside only served against him.

He tried to scream—to say that he wasn't the class president and therefore not the class rep, before it clicked. Present Mic didn't say Class President. He said top scorer. More hands joined the others, and soon 1A shoved him out of their safe embrace.

Perhaps it was the newly-tripled weight of the crowd's expectations, or just the particular shade of green her eyes caught in the sun. Izuku wouldn't know. Regardless, his legs turned to jelly as soon as Setsuna broke from 1Z's class line. Every instinct told him to turn and run—and he might've, if Midnight hadn't appeared and to raise his fist like a boxing champion. She did the same for Setsuna on her mirror opposite side.

Izuku was so lost, he almost didn't catch what Midnight said to the crowd.

"...and give it up for student dedication! We have a good batch this year, folks. A magnificent one!" Midnight said, before releasing them and shoving her microphone in Izuku's hand. She gave him a foreign expression, something he couldn't hope to decipher. It only occurred to him, a moment later, that he was expected to speak.

When he failed to do so, Midnight gave his lower back a gentle smack, like he was a stubborn mule refusing to walk. It did the trick, helping him open his mouth—and yet, he didn't know what to say. It was all too sudden—it was all too much.

What could he say? Did they expect him to talk about All Might? The Sports Festival? The USJ? Himself? Heavens above and Hell beneath, he didn't want to talk about himself.

His eyes betrayed him for all of one zeptosecond, but it was almost enough to give him a brain aneurysm. Setsuna's eyes never left his face. The scar on his cheek burned.

The crowd seemed to curl around him, growing larger and more intimidating by the second. Their attention unnerved him. Every moment that ticked by felt like minutes, and the pressure never eased. It only grew. When he finally found words, they came out with all the strength of broken ribs and ruptured lungs.

"I will win," Izuku whispered, wincing as the mic peaked like a cracking whip. "B-because I… I no longer have a choice in the matter."

As soon as the words left his lips, he knew those hadn't been the words anyone wanted. The crowd didn't rumble with excitement, like they had before—they only watched him. Inspected him. Like he was an odd little experiment.

Moments later, he felt Midnight take back the microphone. His fingers remained curled, as if there was still something to hold. He manually uncurled them. It seemed Midnight noticed his discomfort, because she took matters into her own hands.

"A bold declaration from the second highest scorer in U.A.'s history! Please, forgive his volume. He injured his throat saving the lives of several people you've seen on stage today."

When the crowd burst into hesitant applause, he felt ready to kneel and kiss Midnight's boot. Without the audience's scrutiny, Izuku felt ready to float away in comparative bliss. At least, until Midnight passed the microphone to Setsuna. When she spoke, it hit Izuku like a truck. He hadn't heard her voice since the USJ.

…I knew you could hold out… thank god…

Izuku swallowed down that painful memory like a rusty marble. He screwed his eyes shut and screamed at his heart to stop pounding when her voice began filling the Stadium's massive cavity. The space between his fingers grew slick with sweat.

"Hey, world," Setsuna said, and heaven above, even her voice made him shiver. It was softer than it'd been in the USJ—easier than when Izuku's mistakes blew a hole in her shoulder. "I don't quite know what qualifies me as 1Z's representative, but I'll take what I'm given, and I won't look back."

Izuku didn't need to see the crowd to notice how they leaned forwards, entranced. He was, too. He always was, when she spoke.

"I don't have any real hunger for Gold. Perhaps, from an entertainment perspective, that makes me a terrible spokeswoman—but I would disagree. I think lacking any real ambition makes me clear-sighted. I can see, for example, how not a single one of my peers is after the same thing. Some of us have big goals, some small. Some love the fight, some the work. Some have magnificent intentions and otherwise ordinary desires. And while I fall into the latter, I expect all of you to savor the former. But, just because I have an ordinary desire, does not mean I won't fight for it with every fiber of my being."

Setsuna took a breath. The crowd didn't mind the delay. They remained tense, waiting for her on hand and foot, desperate to know whatever her desire was. As much as she tried to spin herself as ordinary—a dwarf among giants—anyone with ears could say it wasn't so simple. Every word—every syllable, every vowel and consonant—came off her tongue with the grace of a princess. She was captivating.

Izuku couldn't help himself. He could always sense whenever she was looking at him. With robotic, treacherous movements, Izuku unscrewed his eyes and met her gaze. She was pointing at him, her teeth bared and eyes ablaze. It was heartstopping.

"I will show 1A what it really means to be in 1Z!"

She held his eyes, and it was like staring into the depths of the ocean. A shadow passed by, and Izuku didn't need to wonder what kind of predator lurked in those waters. Setsuna smiled at him, and his heart squeezed. It was shark-like.

"Bravo! Oh I absolutely love the passions of youth! Feel the intensity!" Midnight said, stealing the microphone back after Setsuna gave the crowd a glimpse of the dazzling smile she offered him.

Midnight glanced between both students on her either side. They paid her no mind, instead just fixated on one another. Midnight stilled for half a heartbeat, before bringing the microphone closer to her curling lips. "...And I just adore a heated rivalry… right folks?"

Izuku didn't notice how the crowd cooed, or how Midnight's smile flickered between a mischievous knowledge and dreadful insight. Instead, she shooed Setsuna back into 1Z and Izuku 1A. He turned away with all the willingness of a hostage held at gunpoint, but she turned easily.

1A didn't congratulate him on his "speech." He knew it'd been lackluster. Maybe insulting. In all honesty, he wondered if they'd forgotten what he'd said, when she'd stolen the crowd's affections as she had. When he merged back with his class, he kept his head down and out of the crowd's view.

He studied his shoes, and made absolutely certain nobody saw his reddened eyes.

His breaths came in blocky chunks—almost like a stutter. Every neuron felt damaged—waterlogged, electrocuted, and burned at the same time. Each cell felt over-charged with energy—any more, and he was afraid he'd start to burn out like an overfed red giant.

What did she mean, "Show 1A what it means to be in 1Z?" He knew what it meant. Nedzu was perfectly clear, when he questioned Izuku's abilities and dedication. It was an All Might replacement program. Their collective worth was meant to equate to his, eventually.

It didn't even matter anymore, Izuku thought. The USJ proved his worth to Nedzu without needing all the aforementioned hoops. This was just a formality. Definitely not a distraction. Certainly.

Izuku didn't need to prove anything, anymore, if Nedzu's offer to join 1Z last month was anything to go by. This whole thing was a sham so Izuku could take a break. Certainly.

He understood the burden of All Might better than anyone. He lived it. He didn't need to be shown.

…Was One for All worth it, Nine?...

Sashimi's voice echoed in the back of his mind, as it often had throughout the last month. He tried to shake it off, but it clung to him like a particular stench. No amount of wiggling could cast it off.

As he thumbed away an incriminating wetness under his eye, Present Mic's domination over the crowd returned. For a moment, Izuku wondered if the spectator's would riot, deprived of their new favorite public speaker, but Present Mic was a professional. He could go with the flow.

"It's as Ms. Midnight said, folks! Today is a day to finish rivalries, to prove yourselves, and above all else, challenge your limits!" Present Mic said, letting his voice leech away the strength of Setsuna's impact. The crowd hesitated, but like a loyal dog, it dropped the stranger's treat and returned to heel by Master.

When Present Mic wrangled back control, something strange happened. The lights that lined the inner parts of the Stadium dimmed, leaving the stage ever-so-slightly darker than before. It was still a beautiful morning in broad daylight, but for once, Izuku noticed how much shade the Stadium generated on the main stage. It was near pitch black in the entranceways without the subtle lighting. At the same time, however, lights lining the spectator's seats brightened considerably—almost to blinding amounts. The power of contrast did the rest, giving the U.A. Stadium the impression of a nighttime game—or an indoor theater between sets.

Midnight then swept through the classes, her microphone abandoned, as she ushered each and every student off the stage and into the grass. She rushed them, and Izuku found himself leaping from the cement diamond as though abandoning a sinking ship. He was not alone.

Far above, Present Mic began concocting something. He began slowly, but as he spoke, he began ramping up his energy.

"...And the first of many challenges, my dear listeners, is of grave importance… This new generation is a very sensitive subject, you see… For what society can advance if they live in the shadows of their predecessors?"

Izuku felt it in his ankles first. The subtle rumbling of a world churning below him. He doubted the crowd could feel it, so high up—but with his sneakers digging into the grass, he could. It began deep, deep in the ground—but it was ascending quickly.

"All Might will always be remembered as a highpoint in our history, but it is U.A.'s duty to make sure he will not remain the peak. It would go against everything he stood for!"

The rumbling came to a sudden, nauseating stop. Izuku's ears popped, and a small, numb ping sounded off in his brain. Danger—but not of the malicious kind. Not true, galvanizing Danger. Just enough to make him take a second step away from the stage as it cracked in half.

One for All began squirming in his chest, pushing and prodding at his stomach like a caged cat.

In the exact middle of the cement diamond, between two tile columns, the crack widened. From Izuku's angle, he couldn't see anything—but he didn't need to. He could feel it.

"Listeners!" Present Mic said, raising his voice to match the rising noise pollution of massive pistons and expansive machinery. The more he spoke, the louder he grew—until his voice was just barely under screaming. "Are you ready?"

The crowd roared, devouring Present Mic's buildup like a flame would coal.

"Students?" Present Mic continued, now screaming—Izuku refused to believe Present Mic wasn't using his quirk—with every decibel in his arsenal. "Are! You! Ready?"

The student body did not roar, like the crowd—they matched the hero screaming at them with screams of their own.

Each half of the bisected stage flung open like a cakebox's top flaps, revealing a pitch-back pit of nothingness below the stage. Izuku blanched, realizing they'd stood over top of a cavern of unknown scale. The Stadium wasn't just tall—it was deep.

Every spotlight in the stands turned inwards, highlighting the pit. Izuku instinctually shielded his eyes from the sudden brightness.

The rumbling renewed again, stronger than ever. In one magnificent burst of unparalleled machinery and showmanship, Izuku saw it. Like from an unimaginably large elevator, a shape emerged from the dark pit. A massive, cylindrical pillar flew into the air, followed by a more recognizable shape to its side. At first, Izuku thought it was a giant marble globe, the diameter of several dining tables shoved together. Soon, however, he noticed the twin, gargantuan prongs sprouting from the front. Once he regained his senses, he noticed the flow of stone below the prongs, ridged like hair.

It crowned a handsome face with strong, powerful features. The sculpture from hairtip to chin was comically large, at least ten meters—and it wasn't done. Boulders, lined with climbing notches and carved like two absolutely titanic shoulders followed underneath. Those shoulders flowed out into two herculean arms. One remained lowered by a tremendous, shredded chest of pure marble musculature, while the other's fist soared skyward, rising even higher than the fantastical statue's head. Calling the statue's legs tree trunks did an overestimation of trees as a concept, dwarfing even redwoods in scale.

The feet were bulky—larger, even, than his flesh counterpart's were when Izuku last saw him—on account of supporting such a phenomenal feat of architecture, artistry, and scale. There was nothing like this in the eastern world—not in the last thousand years.

Izuku never, in his entire life, felt this way. He'd gone through innumerable challenges, experienced the most awful things life could offer, and experienced tragedy more times than he could count on his fingers. And yet…

He had never—not even on the bridge, or seeing Overhaul's monstrous form, or even against Darkshadow—felt as small as he did here.

All Might's smile was carved to perfection. Even if Izuku had some opinions about the statue's accuracy, he couldn't say that whoever designed this… masterpiece didn't understand All Might's smile.

The one quirk that Izuku remained curious of however, throughout the surreal, terrifying experience, was the cluster of little flags situated atop All Might's scalp.

"For your first challenge, U.A., you must ascend to the highest peak!"

[x]

AN: The colosseum and the stadium are like weenie hut juniors and super weenie hut juniors in my mind, lol. This chapter is sixthousandsixhundredandsixtysixwords.

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