Izuku was floating at the bottom of the ocean, crushed by its grand weight. Every ounce of him hurt. His every molecule weathered the power of a billion tons of sea water, the pressure so great that he felt it a miracle he still existed. Each atom should've cracked in half and fizzled away. It was like living in the heart of a blackhole.
He was on a team with the nephew of his enemy… and victim. And that nephew was on a team with him. A team. On his side. They had to work together. Izuku told U.A. and the authorities as much as he could stomach about Sashimi, and about how he'd renounced any involvement with his nephew… but he hadn't thought about the implications. On some level, Izuku thought Yoru might vaporize, change schools, and never stand within thirty miles of Izuku again. Yet he still existed, here, and with him. And he'd just left Izuku alone in the lion's den.
He blinked, his vision swimming. Izuku could see very little, his murky pupils made even more useless by his surroundings. Walls surrounded him on every side, each a meter wide and evenly spaced. His tile was far, far lower than its neighbors than it should've.
Kilometers underground, he could only imagine the climb necessary to escape his prison. The exit above was like a tiny, brilliant star in an empty night sky. He was at the bottom of the well of dreams. This was his tomb.
His gut dropped, and his imagination slowly dried up. Simplicity was his prison. He could not fly—not for kilometers, at least. His throat would mutiny, then commit seppuku.
Then, faster than a blink, the shining star exploded into magnificent brilliance. One wall lowered a meter, and suddenly he had room to jump, catch the ledge, and haul himself out. He allowed himself to re-examine his former tomb, confused. It was only four meters deep, at the lowest. Then his world exploded.
A flaming kick, almost faster than Danger Sense could react to, nearly removed his head from his shoulders. Tenya Iida—Ingenium Jr—flew over him, his engine-powered kick taking him far, far past where Izuku'd stood moments prior. Picking himself off the floor, Izuku only had a second to react before a basketball-sized ice bullet almost put a basketball-sized hole between his eyes. It passed between his legs, thanks to his raised tile. Feeling goosebumps on his nape, he just barely avoided the electric bite of a taser, fired by a nearby brunette. Under his feet, a random sprout of mushrooms nearly tripped him face-first into the silvery fist of a very buff young man. He slapped the fist aside, slid his front foot between Tetsutetsu's legs, and judo-threw the heavy boy over his shoulder. He disappeared into an unlucky pit.
Izuku blinked again, and at long last, his vision finally cleared. Whilst already dodging, ducking, and counter-attacking, he finally woke up. Now recognizing his situation, he knew he was cornered. Or, rather, surrounded. It wasn't like he was foolish enough to fortify in one of the stage's corners. Instead, in every conceivable direction, he saw an enemy with hunger in their eyes. Shoving Yoru's flag in his pants, he bent his knees and braced himself.
Another kick from Ingenium Jr almost took his head off, and his eyebrows singed as Phantom Thief threw a fireball at his left cheek. Curious, Izuku gave him extra attention—enough to notice the narrow lock of christmas-themed hairs clenched in his hand. Shoto's hair—red and white strands. Contact-based mimicry. Izuku slightly tilted his head to the left, avoiding another large ice bullet. Monoma's aim was alright, but nowhere near Shoto's.
Why did he have it? Izuku saw him use fire in the first event. Did they have a truce? Or just class solidarity? Did he steal some without Shoto's notice?
Did he have to have both sides of Shoto's hair to use both halves of his quirk? Or was it just a failsafe to have multiple hairs? Or was it to psych people out? Or perhaps keep them guessing…
A length of rope, undetected by Danger Sense, lassoed his wrist and yanked him off his feet. His shoulder crashed painfully against a tile's corner, leaving him dazed enough for Ingenium's next kick to come closer to landing than any others so far—but still not enough. Recovering mid-fall, Izuku slapped his palm against the ground and sprang forward in a somersault. Though he landed on an awkward tile, the ones he just flipped past rose with a sudden spike, blocking any follow-up.
His pit sank low, but it sank in a pattern with others, forming an escape tunnel without a roof. Running its length, he tried to break away from the assault's center—but then someone leapt into his trench, blocking his path. This was a newcomer—huge in his own way, despite lacking defined muscles. Gorilla-like fur lined his limbs, giving him a beastial appearance—something unignorable, given his massive frame. He was wide enough to block Izuku's escape path by existing alone.
But, his stance was too far apart. Never slowing, Izuku slid between his legs, letting his pants take the rough concrete's brunt damage instead of his skin. Popping up on the beast-boy's other side, Izuku kept running. By the time he reached the trench's end, the pattern changed, and each step took him higher and higher. Now back in everyone's line of sight, Izuku fell into ancient habits.
Blackwhip was so far from a viable option that it might as well not exist. Danger Sense was less necessary after the last month with Aizawa. Izuku was still saving Smokescreen for a rainy day. One for All got him into this mess, and it wasn't going to get him out of it.
Luckily, he'd trained for this exact scenario longer, harder, and more painfully than anything else.
The ever-shifting tile elevation faded away, alongside the projectiles seeking to divide his head and shoulders. 1Z, 1A, 1B, and General Education faded away. All that remained was Izuku, the flag clenched between his teeth, and the impact of every footstep echoing through his body. All that remained was the Course, Gran Torino, and a baseball cannon.
A baseball came screaming for his elbow, but Izuku's wrist snapped out and caught it. Another came for his unprotected ribs, but a spiking tile launched him into the air. He stretched his hand out, further and longer than his arm felt, and snagged a tremendously tall tile—nearly half as tall as Midnight's ceremonial one. Instead of crawling atop it, however, he closed his eyes, and let Danger Sense run wild.
With so much low-level danger, he could read the entire stage like echolocation. Izuku could feel every ounce of savagery this event brought out in U.A. He could feel how one quadrant was almost entirely still, held frozen by Honenuki's power to liquify solids. Whirlwind's son, on the other hand, was flying high above, hoarding his flags within the heart of a personal typhoon.
And, of course, he could feel the innumerable pieces of Setsuna stealing more flags than anyone else. Strangely, however, not a single one was close to him. He frowned—as much as he could with a flag in his mouth. She replied to his offense with too much generosity. She should be angry. She should hunt him down, and—
Feeling, rather than seeing, a pillar rise behind him, Izuku brought his knees to his chest and kicked. His flight was brief and wild, launching him onto the other platform with enough force to almost topple him over the other side. Managing to not fall, he let this second tile rise higher and higher. He felt like Midnight on her pedestal as all the spectators looked at him.
Yoru better make good use of this distraction, Izuku thought, blinking away a stream of sweat stinging his eye. If everyone wanted his flag anyways, then he might as well play up being bait.
Another baseball came flying at his face—a burning hot one. Unable to catch and with no room to dodge, Izuku did the only option available: fall. Tipping backwards till he fell, he cracked open his eyes. His world was crimson. The fireball, thrown by Monoma, flew past his nose by a hair's breadth. Izuku pulled his knees to his chest, flipped back once, and landed in a kneel.
Yaoyorozu, Monoma, Iida, Tetsutetsu, and Shishida converged on him before he could stand. As a team, they would've been unstoppable. There was, however, a fundamental flaw in their approach:
They weren't all on the same team. Monoma and Iida were, but one was playing close and the other far, and that slight disjointedness made all the difference. They might as well have never met each other. A grappling hook snagged his forearm first, but unlike the lasso, didn't entrap him. Instead, he grabbed the cable and dodged to the side of Iida's turbo-kick, letting his waist catch the cable's middle. It tore Yaoyorozu off her feet and sent Iida sprawling—made worse by the deepening tile-pit right where he fell.
On either side of him, two towering walls of ice appeared and blocked him in place. Then, like in the trench, Shishida jumped inside to block his escape. This time, however, he properly spaced his feet.
Rushing Izuku down, he made a desperate bid for Izuku's face, his thick, beastly fingers brushing the red of Izuku's King's Flag. Just as he almost closed his fingers around the pole, however, Danger Sense and groaning ice made themselves heard.
Ducking, he avoided Tetsutetsu's fist as it tried taking off the back half of his skull. Crouched, Izuku enjoyed the show of it missing him by a mile and smashing into Shishida's oafish face. The blow was powerful enough to send the sasquatch-man flying and surprising enough to freeze Tetsutetsu solid.
"Sorry!"
Having already flipped the boy once, Izuku figured it couldn't hurt to do so again. Grabbing Tetsutetsu's arm, he pushed his back into Tetsutetsu's hips and lifted the boy off his feet. Now handling him while off autopilot, Izuku could guesstimate his general resiliency.
With a heave, Izuku slammed Tetsutetsu straight into the ice wall, shattering it and opening his escape route. The boy gasped, sucking in half a breath before Izuku used his chest as a springboard to the nearest rising tile. He let the thing carry him high before vaulting over and making a break for it. Iida shouted something as he finally detangled himself from Yaoyorozu, but by then, Izuku was long gone.
He felt his immediate danger fade, but it wasn't by much. Having a brief moment to himself, he tried to get his breathing under control. His nostrils were burning with the morning air, and his chest was heaving like an overworked steam engine. Wiping another stream of sweat from his forehead, he tried to gauge the time he'd spent running. Five answered for him.
"43 seconds. You've still got double that before you get a break. Keep moving!"
A moan bubbled up in his throat, but he pushed it down. Spitting out the flag, he took in a heavenly breath before biting back down and setting his eyes ahead. Perhaps it'd become a problem that the supreme target of everyone's desires in his mouth, but he'd avoided everyone thus far. Hopefully the streak would continue.
Avoiding professionally trained heroes without overtaxing his quirk was exhausting, however. He was winded. Already, the limits of his natural stamina were beginning to show. Breathing was agonizing, though better than during the USJ… Though…
…Everything was better than at the USJ. Closing his eyes, he let Danger Sense begin anew, and the world faded back to the Course, Gran Torino, and a baseball machine. Hopefully, his training would be enough.
[x]
He really was a moron, Setsuna thought, as she watched his progress. A true, supreme-grade village idiot. Her village idiot, of course, but no less a fool for it.
Perhaps that said more about her than him
Though it wasn't optimal, she'd dedicated a whole eye to watching Izuku. Her other eye was in eight pieces, and they hovered around every part of the stage, watching. There was very little of her in tact, at the moment—even her important bits. Her heart was in at least four pieces…
In the four corners of the stage, her lip wrinkled. Five, now.
The irony of her broken heart was not lost on her. Though some properties of her blood transferred between her pieces via their telepathic links, such as her blood glucose, that wouldn't work if her heart wasn't whole. Setsuna would have to rejoin it periodically to stay in optimal condition—it was one of her two weaknesses. Unlike her heart, her brain didn't stop functioning in pieces. She would not trust it to regenerate, however. It was something she refused to test manually.
But that was all besides the point, anyhow. Thoughts of her limits and her brain did little to truly distract her from the irony of her broken heart. Simply put, seeing him hurt.
She watched as he struggled around the ever-changing arena, evading every kind of attack aimed his way. He vaulted over towers, dove into pits, and fended off anyone who came close—all without using his quirk. One-armed, biting his flag, and quirkless, he looked insane. In both contexts.
Her boy was a fool, and she would see him well again. She'd already helped him out once, when she'd seen his narrow failure and the first event's secret. Now, however, after welcoming him to her team with open arms and being rejected, she saw it hadn't been enough. Izuku was still holding back—both in the competition, and from her.
Why, she wondered, wasn't he using his quirk? It'd taken a small bribe, but she knew his medical information. He was fully cleared and recovered, yet he acted so feeble, so fragile, in ways she knew he was not.
Even when she watched him slam the hundred kilo Tetsutetsu into a wall, she felt it. He'd been gentle—too gentle. Not careful, like he'd normally be, but scared. Of himself—or of exerting himself.
Izuku ran like hell, and she felt herself smile in six different places. Just like the Course. Better times.
Her smile faded. Simpler times, too. Tragedy always defined Izuku, but only in recent months had that seemed a bad thing. It didn't begin in the USJ, but it was certainly the breaking point. She wondered how long he considered isolating himself, and how much turmoil he'd waded through in holding onto her. Maybe the USJ was only a tiny factor overall, but… She doubted it. The day was a disaster, but something about it felt off.
What happened to him in there? She'd seen his defeat, but she knew her boy. Izuku's whole ego wouldn't crumple after a single lost fight. Something more happened in there, something she couldn't name—something she doubted anyone knew but him.
What scared him so much that he'd pulled into his shell like a frightened turtle?
As she watched Kendou's intertwined fists crash down right beside Izuku, a plan began to form.
Izuku kicked Kendo's knuckles, shoving her off-balance. She regained her footing quickly, only for the tile below her left foot to suddenly buck. With a quick leg-swipe, Izuku sent her tumbling, and kept running. The interaction only lasted a second, but it was detrimental to his progress. He'd put good distance between himself and his many pursuers, and while Kendo's attempt might've been hopeless, it'd slowed him just enough.
Iida, carrying Monoma, reached him first, this time working together properly. Monoma created ice ramps for Iida to skate over, nullifying the randomness of the terrain. His legs ran so hot that the heat melted the ice ramps behind them, but that was fine—it seemed they had no reason to retreat or play cautious. Neither held flags of their own.
Izuku saw them coming, but could do little to counter. Like a ribbon, Monoma's ice encircled him, trapping Izuku at the bottom of a cone. Iida skated past and around Izuku, circling him like a high-speed shark. He used the ice-cone like a high-speed roller rink. Right when Setsuna thought they were about to make their move, Monoma hopped off Iida's back, and the boy's speed tripled. Monoma had a constipated look whilst holding together Iida's skating rink, but he was successful—a feat even Shoto might've saluted.
Half his body crusted over with sparkling ice before the tension snapped. Using all his accumulated momentum, Iida launched himself at Izuku. Throughout the whole encounter, Setsuna remained relaxed, because Izuku was better than the rudimentary trick. He could simply cloak in his smoke and then fly away.
But he did not. Unable to react in time, Iida clotheslined him, knocking his flag from his mouth and sending him sprawling. Several tiles sank where he fell, lowering him like a grave. She nearly recalled all her pieces then and there—but her eyes were sharp. They saw the thin green smoke drifting away in the wind.
She couldn't hear them, with her ears dedicated to other places, but she did see Iida's fist pump, King's Flag in hand, as he let out what she presumed was a war cry. Setsuna didn't know much about Iida—she thought he was pleasant, if uptight, and that was all. Bare minimum respect between classmates was the norm in 1Z. It was Whirlwind's way.
So, she respected him. But perhaps that meant she overestimated him.
Izuku emerged from his tomb with a rage, tackling Iida from behind and slamming his full weight into the ground. The King's Flag clattered out of his grip. Iida was bigger and stronger than Izuku, but his immediate reaction wasn't to abuse those advantages. It was his downfall. With a fervor that surprised Setsuna, Izuku pinned Iida's arms and cracked his fist against Iida's jaw. He slumped.
He'd blocked Iida's clothesline with a precise puff of his smoke. It'd only been a tiny bit, but when Izuku rolled off Iida's body and retrieved his flag, his labored breathing made it seem like he'd thrown up a whole cloud. Monoma, seeing this, yelled something, burned a hole in his ice cone, retrieved Iida, and escaped.
"Forty more seconds, folks!" Present Mic said, announcing to both the combatants and the spectators. "It doesn't sound very long, but anything could happen. Already, one of this competition's titans has fallen!"
Izuku didn't seem to hear the man. Instead, his eyes fixed on the frozen tiles below him, his shoulders quivering with each breath. He dragged a hand across the ice, then smeared his face with it. Setsuna traced the line of his shoulders, watching as he got his breathing under control
He was winded, but the cool breeze reflecting off the ice walls rejuvenated him. As the precious seconds ticked by, Izuku didn't start running again. He took every moment he could.
She could use that.
On the other side of the stage, she managed to snag a flag from a 1B student's grasp. That made her fourth additional flag. Finding Ojiro and Kirishima, she passed it along with the others and made her decision. With a single mental tug, she began pulling her pieces together.
She coddled him enough. If he was still too idiotic to not see her dedication, then it was time to change tactics.
Her obliques molded with her pectorals, which quickly connected to her breasts and her shoulders. Each arm muscle came in order, wrapping around her humerus from deltoid to tricep to forearm. Teeth met lips which met cheeks and nose. Setsuna's jaw latched onto her growing neck, and then the eight pieces of her left eye mirrored her right across her nose.
The shadow she cast, when finished, was of a legless girl. She left those behind with Ojiro/ Drifting to the side, she made sure her shadow remained far out of Izuku's line of sight.
With her chest back in order, she took in a deep, calming breath. Though she could function in pieces, there was an artificiality to it. Breathing always felt more wonderful when she did it like a normal person. Likewise, her heart beat a happy little song.
It was in stark contrast to her mind, which felt like a forgotten banana turning brown in the pantry's shade. Setsuna did not, however, allow that stress to eat at her. Izuku had the uncanny ability to know when a threat was coming his way. She'd lost enough blind-folded duels to know that.
If she wanted to strike, or even go near him, he would know. The moment it crossed her mind to make her move, he would know. He always did. The moment she felt disturbed, he would feel it too. It was like he could peel away her skin and look straight into her very core.
Izuku perked up, seemingly at her formation, but she knew better.
Setsuna trained like a demon to challenge him, but for this brief moment, she forced herself to forget that. She forgot all her bottled up frustrations. She forgot her goal. She forgot everything. When she made her move, she'd have to do so without a hint of aggression.
She just watched, waiting for her opportunity, as over a dozen dark shadows converged along the ice cone's outer ring.
[x]
Clapping his wrists together, Yoru channeled as much energy as he dared into his connected palms.
"Quatro!" He said, screaming as the energy did the same through his body, building first in his chest before barreling through his arms and exploding outwards. The shock to his nervous system was enough to stop him from following up, but a follow-up wasn't necessary.
Like a handgun, you couldn't dodge Yoru's beam attack, you could only avoid where he aimed. Unlike a handgun, however, his attack covered a wide area. A bullet train of angry red light smashed against the vine-wall like a battering ram. When the blurriness faded, he saw a charred gap in the 1A's Vice President's hair. Within seconds, the wind picked up the ashes and carried them away.
Sprinting into the man-sized hole, he locked eyes with the wall's source, Ibara Shiozaki. She was a pretty girl, but after his stunt, her glare was ugly. Uncrossing her arms, she screamed, and their enclosure changed. Her remaining vines unraveled and whipped towards him, seeking his extremities. If she'd been a little faster, she might've had him—but his cooldown was done.
"Uno! Uno!"
Quick, small beams left his hands, shot like finger-guns. After all his training, Unos were almost inconsequential. He fired off three more, all at vines encroaching on his weak spots. Though his eyes turned a little fuzzy, he'd already crossed half the gap between himself and the girl with almost six flags clutched by her side.
"You're not getting these flags! My teammates are relying on me!" Shiozaki said, before cutting through the air with a flat palm. A group of vines, woven together, crashed down where he'd stood a second prior.
Yoru'd spent the last minute bombarding this place. Shiozaki, despite her respectable position, had done the exact blunder he'd predicted: fortified a corner. In theory, not having to watch her back would've been good—but this was a living arena. Resisting dynamic movement was a fool's errand. Not only that, but no one was with her—her teammates seemed to be playing offense, trusting her with their stash while they left to collect more.
Morons. The whole lot of them. It was one of the many, many reasons he felt his placement was bullshit. How could they function when their strategies were so poor? If this was how they handled the USJ, then no wonder half of them come out injured and the other half traumatized.
He evaded a bundle of vines intending to swat him, but his toes caught on a tile that suddenly jumped up. Instead of tripping, however, he clawed his fingers and urged more energy to rev in his chest.
"Dos!" He roared, and aimed his blast low. It launched him skyward, helping him avoid a second vine attack. Yoru caught one as he flew, letting it slow his fall. Landing on his feet easily, he was only a few tiles away from Shiozaki. While he couldn't see her exact expression, he, for some reason, couldn't place the surprise that should've been there
If Yoru'd been at the USJ, the damage wouldn't have been nearly so drastic. He could've taken charge, fought off the villains, and led the class to safety. Instead, U.A. chose to bench him for the cripple.
"Surrender," Yoru said, still sprinting at the fuzzy Shiozaki, "and I won't have to hurt—"
Then, inexplicably, his foot slipped on flat ground, and a snapshot of his world froze in time. His shoe, level with his head. His other leg, off the ground, still attempting the stride he'd intended to take. Vines blocking out the sun. His jaw, an explosion of pain.
School-issued pants wrapped around his off-course shoe. He'd slipped on girl's underwear.
It wasn't Yoru's partial blindness that made the punch impossible to see coming. That was because it was invisible in the first place. Mid-fall, there was nothing he could do but take the punch's full force, enhanced by gravity. When his spine smashed against a slightly raised tile's corner, everything in his lungs voided him. Arcs of pain spread through his legs and arms. The world turned a little smudged. Before he could remember himself, a dozen vines wrapped around his limbs, crucifying and lifting him off the ground.
His vision was still swimming when he finally managed to suck down a disagreeable breath.
"Fuc—Ow!" Yoru said, his jaw popping back into place where the invisible punch had knocked it out.
"Oh, heavens—sorry!" Shiozaki said. The vines didn't release him, but they went slack around his neck. "That looked like it hurt?"
"It—" Yoru said, pausing to hack out a cough and screw his eyes shut, "i-it fucking does!"
The vines shifted again, this time squeezing him around the shoulders and back. It was more comfortable, which he would've appreciated if the pain wasn't like an open fire kindled on his back. Weakly, he kicked at his restraints, pain still bouncing up and down the length of his legs. He almost felt concussed. They did not budge.
"Forty more seconds, folks! It doesn't sound quite long, but anything could happen. Already, one of this competition's titans has fallen!" Present Mic said, bringing Yoru out of his stupor.
Finally relaxing, he opened his eyes, and was pleasantly surprised by the HD clarity—and unfortunately met with an indignant cry of alarm. Something unseen tore off the pants stuck to his shoe, and only now did he realize it was 1A's invisible girl. Toru something-gakure. She hadn't left to steal flags—she'd just gotten naked. Damn it.
"You stepped on my… You!" Her discarded garments lifted into the air, seemingly on their own accord. It was hard to make out, but there seemed to be a dirty shoe-print marking the otherwise clean clothes. "I-I-I can't believe you! This… oh my gosh… this is so foul!"
"Listen!" Yoru said, speaking through his teeth, "I'm sorry, but let me go! I don't have any flags."
The tile below Shiozaki rose, and Yoru rose with her. Something-gakure sank, still clutching her clothes in alarm. The vines not holding him still began to spread back out, forming similar walls to the ones he busted down not twenty seconds prior.
Shiozaki's face, already apologetic, turned skeptical.
"Toru?" She asked, turning to the girl. Something-gakure paused—Ma? Ha? To?—huffed, and dropped her clothes. Stepping over a shifting tile, she grabbed around his ankles, feeling them out. Mentally, he cursed as she felt the flag tucked into his sock. He'd snagged that one in a lucky break with a brunette, and hoped no one would notice. Yoru kicked at the girl's touch again, trying to stall—they couldn't take his flag if Present Mic called time, right?
As Ma-Ha-Togakure rolled up his pant leg, she paused, and Yoru could only assume she was giving him some sort of triumphant look.
"W-wait!" Yoru said, bucking away. The vines tightened around him, holding him still, but his mind was blitzing through a dozen ideas a second. They couldn't take his flag—only a few more seconds, and—
"Hey, what's that?" Yoru said, using the pointed end of his hair like an arrowhead. It was a wildcard—a final hail mary, one he didn't expect to work. To his surprise, however, both girls turned for the patch of Shiozaki's hair that he pointed at.
And then it exploded with quintuple the force Yoru ever threw at it.
"Die!"
[x]
With a long-drawn breath, Izuku collected every ounce of cool, refreshing air he could. He closed his eyes, savoring its reviving properties. Not once did he forget his situation, but for a brief moment, he didn't need to care. There was no immediate danger.
Monoma's ice-arena sloped away from him in every direction. They were smooth, after Iida's empowered-sprint. By melting the surface with his hot legs, and Monoma re-freezing them, he'd actually sculpted away the impurities. The slopes were even and slick as anything. It would be impossible to climb out.
Only Monoma's escape-hole wasn't sloped, but he'd closed it after leaving, perhaps assuming Izuku would make chase. He wouldn't have. His hand was already shaking from hitting a peer so hard. Doing the same to Monoma might actually upset his stomach.
Why had he hit Iida so hard? The boy had never wronged him, yet Izuku went overboard anyways. He felt disgusted with himself, for hurting another student. How many did that make now?
"Kid," Five said, looking over his own shoulder. Izuku waved a hand through his wispy visage before he could finish.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know." Izuku said, keeping his eyes carefully ahead. In his peripherals, someone had peeked their head over the ice-cone's rim. Someone familiar. He didn't want Five's redundant advice.
"Not them!" Five said, his voice warbling as Izuku shoved him back in his mental box. "I mean you're going to have to fight—"
Willing Five away was like dry swallowing a pill. Uncomfortable, but easy enough with practice. If what he wanted to say really was important, Izuku would hear him out after…
More figures cropped up along the arena's circumference, but few matched the first arrival's patience. Tetsutetsu slid down the ice slopes ahead of Shishida, who now wore a reddish green crooked nose. Kendo followed on their mirror opposite side. North of them, Yaoyorozu's obsidian black, spiral ponytail appeared. South came Shoji, sporting more arms than normal. Behind him followed Shihai, the shadow-hopper, and… Uraraka.
When Asui arrived, she slid down next to Shishida. Tetsutetsu, likewise, crossed the arena to join Shoji. Yaoyorozu stood beside the first arrival. Quickly, as though practiced, independent parties found their true partners and clustered together. Other groups came, too. Kaminari, Reiko, Sato and Sero joined the fray. Komori, Kamakiri, and Shinso weren't there yet, but they were quickly approaching. The rest were nebulous—General Education and 1B hovered in half-clumps nearby, but neither approached or left. They were opportunists, he supposed.
That was a worthless position to take, given the time sensitivity. Everyone converged on him in a blink—it was so quick, it almost felt organized. If those other students weren't willing to join the fray, then they didn't deserve the shot.
Even still, though Izuku dismissed them as cowards, he felt a sweatdrop roll down his neck, despite the cool breeze bouncing off the ice walls. He'd felt overwhelmed when the crowd placed their entire attention on him, but that fear had been irrational. Nerves. Now, he was a wounded gazelle in the lion's den.
"Hey, Izuku, you don't look so good. You sure you don't wanna surrender to us?" Shinso asked, the first to speak. Izuku narrowed his eyes, and thanked the flag between his teeth. He was the second most dangerous person on the field.
"Surrender to you? Ha! No—" Shihai began, before cutting off. Unfortunately, he was a fool. Slack-jawed and under Shinso' control, he began to sway in place.
"Hey! Quit that, Shinso. Rude," Uraraka said, glaring at the purple-haired boy. Then, she socked Shihai so hard in the jaw that he went sprawling. 1Z and 1B gaped at her, but none seemed more confused than Shihai himself, who stood up dazed but liberated.
"Where am I?"
"Never mind whatever the fuck that was!" Tetsutetsu said, before pounding his knuckles into his palm. "Lets get that damn flag before the timer runs out! Team Tetsu! Go!"
With one powerful step forward, Tetsutetsu launched himself at Izuku, his fist cocked back for a haymaker. Sloppy, Izuku thought. Was it all he knew how to do? With Danger Sense, he could read the exact timing and location of his attack, but with Aizawa's rudimentary training, Izuku could now see the trajectory, too.
When Izuku let the silver fist miss his face by a hair's breadth, it almost felt routine. Like each time before, Izuku slid his foot between Tetsutetsu's legs, shoved his hips into the boy's, and flipped him against ground so hard that the tiles cracked.
First blood. Tetsutetsu wheezed like a broken accordion. The floodgates opened a heartbeat later, and Izuku's world into a cacophony of wild, uncoordinated, and highly skilled attempts to steal his flag.
For the next twenty seconds, Izuku put every ounce of his combat, evasion, and tactical training to their maximum use.
Kamakiri rushed him next, aiming low—but by body slamming Tetsutetsu and cracking the tiles, Izuku freed them from their icy prison. Three tiles broke the even spread of the floor, as wild and alive as any outside the ice arena. Two dropped fast, and Kamakiri lost his footing before he even made it to Izuku. He couldn't relax, however, as a sharp horn thrown by Tsunotori nearly impaled his shoulder.
Shishida banged his fists against his chest, roared, and charged. Leaping over the still-downed Tetsutetsu, he intertwined his fists and tried smashing him overhead. Yaoyorozu shot blow darts leaking green fluid, missing him by hairs. Dodging the first, Izuku avoided Shishida's overhead slam and kicked him into her line of fire. He cried out as a dart impaled his shoulder with a light thump. Losing his footing, Izuku took the opportunity to kick his jaw. When Shishida hit the floor, his eyes were half-lidded and still closing.
Before Izuku could breathe, however, Shihai jumped out of his shadow and grabbed onto the King's Flag. He tore at it, wrenching Izuku's neck to the side—but his bite was strong. Grabbing Shihai's shoulders, Izuku rammed a knee into his gut. The dark skinned boy crumpled as more horns and green darts forced him to dodge.
Tetsutetsu almost recovered, but as Izuku ran past him, avoiding another barrage, he kicked his silvery temple—and with that, his metallic shell retreated back under his skin.
Recovered, Kamakiri rushed him again, this time with no tiles to stop him. From his forearms, two large organic blades appeared, their points arcing over his knuckles, giving him extended reach. The boy managed to make a large tear in Izuku's shirt pocket, but he celebrated too early. Letting his guard down after his semi-successful attack, Izuku kicked Kamakiri square in the chest, and tilted his cheek to narrowly avoid another dart blown by Yaoyorozu.
Then, Danger Sense screamed at him to duck. Dropping onto all threes, Izuku just barely avoided Uraraka as she tried tackling him. Landing on the edge of the ice-slopes, she slid away. He tried to stand, but likewise, he lost his footing on the slick ice. A dart would've pierced his upper arm if he hadn't caught its needle between his middle and ring fingers.
Shishida began standing in the corner of his eye. His big, imposing stature was a big enough concern for Izuku to give him attention—but it was a blunder. Before Shishida could even stand half-way, his eyes glazed over, his balance died, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.
With that brief distraction, however, came grave consequences. Just when Izuku confirmed those darts were full of tranquilizers, Shoji seized him from behind, wrapping him up in all six webbed arms. Izuku tried elbowing him, but his arm was pinned. Stuck in place, he was almost helpless as Shihai came back, wiped vomit from his lower lip, and made to pry his mouth open. He only managed a single yank before a net, shot from a cannon by Yaoyorozu, knocked him off his feet and entangled him.
"That flag is ours!" She said, her hand alight as she generated another net for her cannon.
Sweat stung Izuku's eyes as he wriggled and struggled in Shoji's grip. Vertigo almost took him as the large boy began running, him in tow, from pot-shots taken by Yaoyorozu and Pony Tsunotori. His dodging wasn't uncoordinated, however—it was calculated. He crossed the arena in seconds.
"Uraraka! Get him!" Shoji said, just as he made it to where the brunette stopped sliding. Standing on uneasy, slippery feet, the girl nodded and reached for him. He squirmed, kicking and failing to break free. Uraraka's quirk meant game-over. Shoji's incredible, steel-like muscles couldn't be wriggled free from—normally.
Unfortunately for these two, whatever was between his fingers wasn't normal. It was, by evidence, enough to knock out a gorilla in five seconds, and Izuku stabbed Shoji almost seven seconds ago. His grip didn't loosen slowly—it just went slack in one fell swoop. Uraraka went bug-eyed as Shoji slumped into an unconscious pile. In his adrenaline, Izuku brought his fist inches from the girl's face. Stopping just short, he surprised even himself—but as Danger Sense went nuclear, he quickly decided to shove her off-balance and make a break for it.
Sweat poured over both eyes as he ran, his bangs slick against his forehead. Danger Sense hummed, and he pivoted around a thin layer of water slickening some ice. His heart was beating fast and soft, like a hummingbird's wings—if hummingbirds flew around on fire. His muscles felt dull and soft, and he only barely dodged one of Yaoyorozu's cumbersome nets. Each breath was like drinking barbed wire. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and with it, time was beginning to speed up, leaving him in the dust.
Komori's mushrooms almost tripped him. Kamakiri's blades nicked his arms and his shoulder with shallow cuts. Asui managed to entrap his elbow more than once, nearly pulling him off his feet. Izuku's evasion turned sloppy. Things began to clip him. When he did manage to dodge, he'd practically dive on the floor, leaving him open for a follow-up. Yaoyrozu abandoned the net tactic and returned to blow-darts, which his eyes struggled to track as the action began to blur together. Shoji seemingly squeezed the energy out of him.
And all the while, the first person to arrive simply watched and bided his time. Izuku never once, for even a second, allowed his presence to leave his mind. Instead, feeling his heart in his throat and jelly in his knees, Izuku's attention turned to his one salvation: Monoma's escape. Though he'd closed the hole behind him, Izuku could see straight through it. The door was thin—only a few inches at most.
If Blackwhip would listen to him, he could just sling-shot himself over the side—and if his throat didn't ache so horribly, he could've just cut himself an escape hole. He wouldn't—he couldn't—do either, though. Izuku just didn't have it in him.
So, when the tile below his heel spiked up, he used its momentum to launch him forward, straight for the exit. Kamakiri tried to stop him, but Izuku barreled through him, shoulder-checking him. He took a rather painful cut in the process, but it wasn't important. His eyes locked onto the thin wall of ice, and Izuku sprinted at it full speed. He ignored how Yaoyorozu and the first arrival were right above it. Right before contact, he leapt, planted both feet forward, and kicked the wall with every ounce of power he had left.
He passed right through it.
"Alright, that's enough!" Shoto said, speaking for the first time since arriving, and stomped his ice-perch with all his strength. Danger Sense screamed. The ice didn't shatter under his shoes—it melted, alongside the entire arena. And Izuku was directly below it.
A massive wave crashed into him, forcing its way into his nostrils as he gasped. The water smashed him against the floor, its weight as strong as any punch from Shoji. It knocked the wind out of him.
Shoto, having stood directly above the exit before it melted, fell upon him. He pinned Izuku to the floor as Momo landed beside them. She didn't waste a moment, and began trying to pry the flag from him with both hands. Izuku choked, trying to regain his ability to breathe, but by keeping his jaw so clenched, he couldn't get any air. Izuku tried breaking Shoto's hold, but without a left arm, a tranquilizer, and any energy, he couldn't.
"Sorry, 'Zuku. You did great, but—it's time to give up," Shoto said, his teeth bared as Izuku kneed him in the stomach. Izuku did it again, and a third time, but Shoto held on tight, even as Yaoyorozu tried and failed to wrench the flag free. He'd never fought Shoto with such low tactics before, but the boy took it like a champion.
He bucked again, internally screaming for Present Mic to call time—but in his adrenaline, he'd lost track. It could end right now, or not for another minute—he couldn't be certain. If this went on any longer, Izuku'd lose his only realistic shot at moving on. He'd never get the flag back.
Then, footsteps—fast and heavy. An idea—a throughline.
As Yaoyorozu made one final, powerful tug, Izuku simply opened his mouth, and let her take it. Shoto froze in surprise, and Yaoyorozu, not expecting such little resistance, fell over backwards. Taking in his first true breath in almost five seconds, he relaxed. Shihai, finally free from the net that tangled up, roared as he tackled Shoto, leapt into his shadow, and jumped out of Yaoyorozu's to pin her.
"No, bitch, the flag is mine!"
The King's Flag clattered out of her grip, and with Shoto off him, Izuku was free. Before Shihai could make good on his claim, Izuku snatched the flag, scrambled to his feet, and booked it. Biting his flag, he ignored the cries of indignation and leapt over a growing tower of tiles. Dropping onto the other side, he relaxed. Perfect timing. No one could follow him.
He was home free. Danger Sense diminished to nothing, and in the corner of his eye, he spotted the big-screen countdown used for the spectators' convenience. Five seconds.
Izuku'd finally done it. Though his muscles felt like lava and his heart still beat like a war drum, he'd managed to evade U.A.'s best for two whole minutes, and only by using Smokescreen once. Maybe, now that some of the students were out for the count, the next round would be—
Gentle fingers laced his own, slowing his buzzing mind to a standstill. Warmth—achingly familiar—rushed up his arm like goosebumps. His spine tingled, and he could do nothing as Setsuna—where had she come from?—leaned in and met her lips with his.
It was everything he'd ever wanted, and everything he'd feared and dreaded and hated.
His insides bottomed out, his mind turned fuzzy, and every inch of skin and muscle not touching her petrified like stone.
Then she placed her hand flat against his chest and pushed him away. Her touch was so hot that he feared her fingerprints would remain branded into his chest like a hot iron. His mind was still sludge, his body still stone, his spirit still confused—but his vision was lucid. He could see her in all her glory.
Izuku gaped at her, fully appreciating her. Her dark hair glinted viridian in the sunlight, with tanned cheeks and luscious lower lashes giving her a doelike, curious expression. Though her cheeks were thinner and her brows pinched sour, she'd never appeared more gentle, caring, or otherworldly. His heart screamed when he pried deeper into her expression and saw sadness. It felt wrong for such a creature to stare at him with any melancholy.
And, of course, as he drank her in, he noted the King's Flag teetering between her lips.
"And that's time!" Present Mic said. "Round One closes out with a dramatic—and tender—last-second thievery!"
[x]
AN: Poor tetsutetus. lil bro just didn't learn his lesson
review!~