"I won't apologize," her lips read, after she spat out the flag. "And I'm not sorry."

He couldn't tell if she actually spoke those words, or if her lips just made the shapes. His hearing was far, far away—huddling with his sense of self and dignity both. Izuku felt as though he'd returned to the pit—kilometers underground, removed from reality.

Rough, stone-cut fingers brushed his lips. His own.

Had that really just happened? It didn't feel like it—but he couldn't feel anything, at the moment.

She mouthed something else, but his world was tilting sideways, and he struggled to understand.

"-it. Please, just try. Take the—...—back. I dare you. I beg you."

The tiles stabilized, no longer pistoning up and down. He could feel the crowd's roar as a change in air pressure, but their screams were mute to him.

Had that really just happened?

Setsuna remained an arm length away, her expression pensive. She was waiting—again—for him to do something. No matter what cog turned within him, however, his engine never started. He never started.

Slowly, her eyelids met her lower lashes, and she sighed. Then, before she could say anything else, an explosion of pain beat across his skull. All at once, his hearing returned. The crowd's scream was deafening, after being spared it for so long—but it was no louder than Yoru Sashimi's complaint.

"How does that even happen? Are you crippled in your brain, too?" Sashimi said, breathing like an overheated buffalo. The more he spoke, the darker her tone became. "A fucking kiss? You just fucking blew my expectations out of the water! I thought you were fucked, but then you made it. I was almost—damn near almost!—happy. Then…"

Then, he turned his furious glare at Setsuna.

"And you, the seductress! What kind of shit was that, you kinky freak?" Sashimi siad, shoving his finger in her chest. "That wasn't fair at all! You should give us our flag back!"

Without thinking, Izuku snatched the boy's wrist and wrenched it away from Setsuna.

"Do not," Izuku said, letting his words simmer, "touch her like that."

Dark lines shadowed Sashimi's face as he scowled—but when he ripped his hand free, he didn't poke her again.

"You don't control me, cripple," Sashimi said, before glancing at Setsuna and back. "Just like how you can't fuckin' control yourself. If I can't move on because you're a virgin, I will personally make your life a living hell. I lost my only flag, so while I get more, you better get that big motherfucker back. Or else."

Then, he shoved Izuku and stalked away, his shoulders curled like an angry cat. Before Izuku could fall, however, a strong arm caught him.

"What a jerk, dude," Kirishima said, helping Izuku to his feet. "Sorry about him."

He could only nod and pat the taller boy's shoulder. His throat felt more constricted than a boa and drier than the pyramids. Kirishima didn't seem to care—in fact, he leaned more into him.

"I saw some snippets of that big brawl, man, nice work! Er, sorry about, uhh…" He gestured at Setsuna, who was still standing off to the side, silent. Kirishima's cheeks reddened as he coughed into his fist. "Have you guys… ah, talked yet? I saw that little thing towards the end…"

Setsuna, for the first time since her lips left his, turned to Kirishima. She smiled at him.

"No, not yet," she said, before raising the King's Flag. In the background, the crowd whooped and hollered. Her eyes drifted back to his. "But I suspect we'll have another chance."

Biting his lip, Izuku dipped his head, then turned heel and sprinted away.

Sooner, rather than later, he found himself upon the stage's ledge, and he could escape no further. He hadn't run more than ten meters. For a brief moment, he considered leaping into the sea of grass and booking it to the nearest exit.

His mind felt like a clunky ferris wheel, ideas rotating over themselves. Her lips on his, Sashimi's insults, her lips on his…

"What an incredible show, folks!" Present Mic said, his voice echoing with the roar of the crowd's excitement. "We'll give our kids five minutes to rest and change gears while we replay the highlights…"

The excited hum of the crowd quieted, with quite a few turning to complaints. It was only a handful, at first, but soon an infection of boos swept through the stands. The crowd's irritation almost overshadowed Present Mic's chuckle.

"...Oh wait! Did I… forget something?"

A collective roar of affirmation was loud enough to pop Izuku's ears. While their cries dwindled, Present Mic's chuckle grew to an outright laugh.

"My bad, guys, let's look at the scores!"

The positive hum redoubled, and all across the Stadium, the massive screens turned white. One by one, names slid into place over one another. At the top, first place was written in blue. Then, second place was turquoise. Third was green, and so forth. Green faded to neon-green, and neon-green became yellow-green. Yellow-green became yellow, orange, and then red.

Of course, like the skies she conquered, Setsuna's team was the purest blue.

"Within the first round, there were many standouts—but the team with the most effective and devastating strategy was Setsuna Tokage's. Clutch your purses when she's around, folks, because 1Z's darling snatched four whole flags with nothing but her grubby little fingers! And, let's not forget that finish, stealing the King's Flag with charm where force of arms failed! Alongside Katsuki Bakugo, who managed his own impressive raid of seven flags, they accumulated almost fourteen hundred points!"

Izuku transcended blushing—he was the personification of crimson. When he lived this down, he would be dead. People across the stage—and the stadium—gave him mixed looks. Some were amused, others bemused, but mostly, they were blatantly envious. Despite his best attempts, he couldn't conquer his feelings. He glared back at those stares with a transparent jealousy he wasn't proud of.

He tried to steer his mind away from her. Hopefully, Present Mic's could help distract him.

"Besides our star players, there was the King himself—who, I might add, despite being a one-armed maniac, loves double-scoop mint ice cream. Though he was dethroned in a… spectacular manner, his brawl in the stage's very heart was incredible. Through sheer grit and what I can only assume torturous training, he fought like a wild animal! The two-man squad accumulated a comfortable score of just under thirteen hundred! Maybe second place isn't so bad, if you get a smooch for your injured pride."

As Present Mic continued to list off the scoreboard, Izuku felt himself wither.

He wished he could curl into a ball and die—but he could not. Too much was at stake. Izuku had more important things to do.

Winding back his arm, he gave himself the slap of a lifetime. With the sharp pain brought sharp clarity. Shutting his eyes, he began to sort through his practical thoughts and dance around the… impractical urges.

Thirteen hundred was a damn good score, for the first round. If he was correct, then Setsuna's team had sixteen flags, including the King's Flag. He doubted anyone else was even close to either of their scores—but that didn't matter. Every team that wasn't suffering a loss would catch up to and surpass him by round three. Without the King's Flag or a truckload of flags himself, he would slowly, round by round, fall out of the top five.

Maybe, if he'd been a stronger man, he could've retained the flag until round three. Then he could probably squeeze a fifth place by weakening the other teams. As things stood, however, superfluous pondering was useless. He had to be practical.

Setsuna's team was the most aggressive in round one. The others seemed content to play defense—but he bet that was going to change. Now that the Dragon had its hoard, it would get protective—and spiteful, greedy little knights would lust after some glory. And a kiss, probably.

What had Setsuna said to him, while his world went upside down and his ears felt stuffed with cotton? "I dare you, I beg you?" He didn't understand. Did she want him to try and take it back? Was she asking him to give up? That didn't seem right, especially considering what she did for him in the first event.

Did she want him to… kiss her back? Because—

No, Izuku thought, forcefully slamming the door shut on that idea. It wasn't an act of affection; she was just utilizing his weaknesses against him. Purely business. She had a tactical mind, and any of her intellectual peers with soft-enough lips and loving-enough eyes could've done the same. Simple manipulation.

Yoru gave him an order. "Get that big motherfucker back," was vulgar, but true. If he could get the King's Flag back, even for a bit, his comfortable lead would enlarge…

But that meant tackling the Dragon. Setsuna was an incredible opponent, and with Kirishima and Ojiro backing her up, let alone Katsuki… It might've been possible at the peak of his powers with Sashimi's full cooperation, but by himself, now, when his lungs burned and his bones ached?

He plunged his willpower into the depths of One for All, churning it like a whirlpool. Though he'd managed a timely puff of Smokescreen before, he'd been far less winded. Now, the morning air scored his throat like a red-hot knife. Breathing was as hard as ever, even with Aizawa's training.

Cupping his hand to his chest, he gently urged a Blackwhip to manifest in his palm.

Just a little one, Izuku thought. Don't do anything weird, please—

Like a plant growth timelapse, the seed of his hand exploded into finger-sized stems and branches—each hungry for nutrients and sunlight. Blackwhip, in miniature, groped at his fingers and shirt, tearing and swinging with reckless, tiny abandon. Before they could explode in scale, Izuku pinned his palm to his gut. The little snakes slipped between his fingers, wagging and waving—but trapped.

"Stop it!" Izuku said, whisper-shouting through grit teeth. "Listen to me!"

The micro-blackwhips didn't pay him any mind. They continued to struggle against the prison bars of his fingers, lusting after mayhem and mischief both. With a frustrated sigh, Izuku crushed them in a fist and dismissed them. He whipped his hand, trying to get his blood to flow faster.

He didn't understand why the little one listened to him earlier, yet collectively ignored him now. Izuku shuddered. The big ones were the same, and far more dangerous. Keeping them under lock and key was as imperative as finding a winning strategy. Hurting more people was the last thing he wanted.

Looking up, Five's voice returned to him in vivid detail. That day on the bridge, where the world slowed down and Five first appeared, replayed in his mind. He remembered the fear, the affection, and the cost.

…If only the blockage on his powers weren't there… if only he hadn't lost himself, that day on the train. Float would make everything so much easier. USJ would've been a breeze, and he wouldn't have had to overexert himself so much…

Izuku closed his eyes and imagined his weight fading, his feet rising, and the wind through his hair. Float, empowered by generations of One for All, must be Flight by now. If only.

Opening his eyes, the sky was as far from him as ever. His lungs contracted, then expanded. Blood audibly petitioned in his temples, pounding on the doors like an angry lobbyist. The tips of his fingers trembled in sequence with his heartbeat. Izuku stood very still, and made his decision.

He couldn't take on Setsuna's team. The Dragon would protect their hoard with tooth and fang and fire all together. It was too fierce a beast to challenge with his empty bones, weak lungs, and weaker heart. If he had to choose between a dragon-killing sword and a fire-resilient shield, he would choose the shield.

Instead, he turned to the other teams—slighted teams, greedy teams, or both. They wanted the gilded coins the Dragon nested in—they needed them, more than they needed their lives. It was a tunnel-visioning kind of greed that Izuku felt alien and separate from.

They would, like they had against him, band together to take on the Dragon. But, like against him, they would butt heads. Those would be his opportunities. Most of the people who chased after the Kings Flag wouldn't risk bringing their own into play—but some would. So, while Sashimi raided the defensive Fortresses, Izuku would pick-pocket the less cautious, greedy Knights.

Far beneath his feet, the stage groaned. Izuku found his world tilting off its axis once again—but this time, it wasn't due to his internal, ravenous conflict. One tile was tipping him over like an oblivious cow. Bewildered, Izuku sought the announcer's booth, where he spotted the tiny yellow outline of Present Mic standing on his desk, mic in hand. Panic leapt up his throat; when had the time gotten away from him? He was still exhausted.

"I hope you enjoyed your break, because your time is up! Five minutes is a blink in peacetimes, and two minutes in war feels like centuries! Hopefully the time was good to you, because I expect bigger things this round! Let the second round of the Second Event… Begin!"

With those closing words, the slowly-moving tiles beneath Izuku exploded upward, pistoning with extraordinary force. The comparison was laughable—Cementoss was dialing up the intensity.

Launched into the air, Izuku could do nothing but keep moving as he landed. Standing still was a deathtrap.

Sure, it might've been a little cowardly, but his strategy was necessary. Setting his eyes on the backsides of everyone surging towards Setsuna's team, Izuku followed.

[x]

"How are you feeling, Shoj?" Uraraka asked, rubbing circles into the large boy's shoulders. He sat between her, Tetsutetsu, and Shihai. All three were quiet, but for different reasons. "Still out of it?"

The boy groaned, rubbing his eye with his bottom-right hand. He blinked several times, as if just awaking—which he kind of was—before rolling his shoulders and standing. Uraraka took a step back, giving him space to stretch.

"I'm alright, I think… the world still seems a little… far away… kind've foggy. Like I'm looking through smudged bifocals."

Shihai kicked at the floor, annoyed.

"She shouldn't be allowed to do that. If whatever she concocted messes you up… God, I'm such an idiot…" Shihai said, trailing off as he drilled his foot against the floor. It was an odd habit, but one he'd done consistently since the first round ended. Uraraka wondered if it was a nervous tick or not.

It wouldn't surprise her if it was. They'd all committed themselves to getting Izuku's flag, but he'd fumbled right at the finish line. No one said a word about it, but he still sulked—side by side with Tetsutetsu, who was massaging his temples. Shihai made a poor choice. Shoji was outplayed and tricked. Tetsutetsu was bested not once, not twice, but three times in hand-to-hand combat—against someone with less hands than he had, at that.

As for herself? Under pressure, she'd flinched. It was somewhat embarrassing, but she hadn't decided whether to count it against herself or not. They had, after all, been facing the most well-trained and crafty student she knew. She couldn't truly blame Tetsutetsu or Shihai for not knowing better. Even diminished, he was impressive. Only Shoji and herself treated Izuku with his due respect—and still, he'd managed to slip them by.

While Shoji worked out a kink in his neck, her eyes drifted across the stage. Of course, they first found Izuku, who, unlike everyone else, stood apart and alone. His chin tilted back, letting the rough pink square on his jaw shine in the sunlight. His feelings, like her own, must've been a torrent of stress—especially after that… finishing play.

She shivered—and not just from the cold. Periodically, she grabbed sections of her pants and squeezed, letting water drip out. Monoma and Todoroki's accidental combination soaked her good, so she'd been distracted in the moment—but even now, they were replaying the clip on the big screens.

The kiss looked awkward, but it was also uncomfortably tender. After staring at it for a few seconds, Uraraka decided to look away. Just because she'd released her feelings into the wind, that didn't mean she liked seeing… that.

Instead, she began head-counting, thinking of new strategies. Todoroki's team would seek out Setsuna's purely for retribution, she was sure. Likewise, many of the other teams that'd worked with Uraraka's would continue to seek the King's Flag. The idea of taking on the green-haired girl seemed rather far-fetched, in her opinion, but they might have to. Her team was in the nebulous space between losers and winners—one of half the teams who maintained their flags without gaining or losing any. Their aggression had been a great defense before, but now…

Her train of thought derailed as her eyes, accidentally, crossed over the black silhouette of Tokoyami's feathers. Instantly, her stomach curled. The world pulled away from her, the sounds of Shihai's grumbled complaints fading away to a thin static. She blinked, but the motion felt like it took years.

A warm hand clapped down on her elbow, and she returned to the world—or, rather, a world quite a few feet higher.

"We need to go!" Shoji said, holding her steady as the tile propping her up dropped suddenly. Before she could fall, he slung her over his back. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she let him carry her like a backpack as the stage began moving again. "What's the…?"

He said something else, but her eyes screwed shut as her hearing aid peaked. The round started? When? They should've still had minutes to rest!

When the sound faded and she opened her eyes again, she found that Shoji, Tetsutetsu, and Shihai were running side-by-side towards the stage's center. In her peripherals, she could see other teams doing the same.

Ahead of them, an explosion tore through the air, and the Bakugo became a blur. The other teams converged on him, but none could get close. He threw blast after blast, keeping them at bay. His uniform was in shreds, with each torn fabric tying a flag to his person. At a glance, it looked like four total. Behind him, Kirishima and Ojiro fought back to back, each clutching two flags in either hand.

Shoji, and Uraraka clinging to him, came to a stop. Tetsutetsu did not.

"His heat won't affect my armor! I'll go get those flags while you guys find Tokage!"

"Wait!" Uraraka said, stopping Tetsutetsu before he could charge Bakugo. He spun, bouncing on the balls of his feet with impatience. She didn't quite know why she stopped him—but Shoji picked up where she left off.

"Don't do it, Tetsu. It's not the heat that hurts, it's the kinetic energy. We don't know if you're already concussed or not; a direct hit from Bakugo might knock you out for a week!"

Tetsutetsu's chrome teeth ground together, his bouncing slowing.

"It doesn't matter. We need their flags!" He said, glancing between them and where Bakugo renewed his blitzkrieg. All of a sudden, a giant icewall emerged, tanking a blast before Todoroki appeared and countered Bakugo with his own fireball.

"I don't think that's an option, actually," Shihai said, though not staring at Bakugo, but upwards. Following his line of vision, Uraraka's breath caught. Setsuna—whole, from head to toe, was flying above them, closely chased by Whirlwind's son, Yoarashi. She flew like a Peter Pan and a fighter jet had a baby, zooming between wind blades with the nimbleness of an engine-powered fairy. It was quite the dog fight, but more than that, it was a mystery.

Uraraka, for the life of her, could not see where the girl's many flags were. If Bakugo had four, and Kirishima and Ojiro had four, then where were the rest? Seventeen points per second were going unaccounted for.

Bakugo screamed something foul, and Todoroki's icewall cracked. With a great crash, a second blast blew it to pieces, and Bakugo launched himself through where it'd stood a moment prior. Seizing a surprised Todoroki by the shirt, he ripped free a flag—only for a rope to lasso his wrist and yank the flag back.

Yaoyorozu, the girl who'd… saved… Uraraka, planted her boot in Bakugo's side. Yanking the rope connecting them closer, she tried palm-striking his chest—but the second time, Bakugo was ready. Burned her lasso with a pop, he returned the favor. His boot's imprint on her stomach followed her as she flew back. Todoroki caught her with an iceslide, easing her impact—but a sudden pistoning tile shattered it, and she hit the ground hard regardless. Another fireball flew at Bakugo, but he countered it with his own explosion, using it to spring away.

Asui and Shishida got within close range of Kirishima and Ojiro, but before they could make a real move, Bakugo scorched their path, forcing them back.

Uraraka looked between Bakugo's furious explosions and the dog fight, where Setsuna was still weaving between Yoarashi's rapid wind blasts like some divine storm nymph.

"I-I don't think… We don't have any shot in this brawl. We should retreat." Uraraka said, wincing as her hearing aid peaked again. The ugly truth was that she wanted to join the fray… but with her hearing aid acting up, she couldn't be confident. It pinched her ear uncomfortably, but the pain was less irritable than Tetsutetsu's stubbornness

"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do, then? Those guys alone hold almost a quarter of all the points!" Tetsutetsu said, bracing his knees as his tile jerked up and down.

With a huff, Uraraka released her steed and dropped onto wobbly knees. Vertigo plagued her, but by steadying herself against Shoji, she remained upright.

She didn't know why the boys looked up to her, in this state. Uraraka felt more like a liability than anything—but leadership was the role she slotted into. Squeezing her fists, she took a step away from Shoji. Immediately, the tile below her rose, nearly bucking her off entirely, but she stood strong, and used the height vantage to make her next plan.

Shishida and Asui were circling Kirishima and Ojiro wide, looking for a new angle of attack. Toru was on their team, so Uraraka couldn't count on it just being the two of them… But it was their next best shot. All too quickly, her tile retracted, and she sank below her teammates—but right before she fell, she thought she saw something.

When her tile leveled out a moment later, she felt more confident. If Izuku was doing it, then it was probably the right course of action.

"We stay!" Uraraka said, gathering the boy's attention, before pointing towards Shishida and Asui. "But we go after the other teams going for the King's Flag. They'll be more focused on Setsuna than us!"

Tetsutetsu's eyes and skin lit up as Bakugo threw another explosive haymaker at Todoroki, but eventually, he nodded. Shoji and Shihai mirrored him.

"Right!"

[x]

"Die!" Bakugo screamed, his voice echoed by a barrage of fireworks. While Shoto couldn't do anything to help his ears, he didn't let Bakugo's attacks hit home. Fighting through a wince, he stomped, creating an unshapely ice-wedge to split the incoming explosion. It worked perfectly; it divided the attack like a bamboo stalk, with each sheared half surging past his and Yaoyorozu's peripherals. She clung to his cool side, weak to the heat, unlike him.

"Earplugs!" He said, shouting over the explosion's roar. Bakugo screamed again and another massive explosion cracked his ice-pillar. Reinforcing it with his right hand, he put his entire focus on not letting the pillar deform. Killing the heat-engine in his chest, he focused entirely on his mother's half while Bakugo's sparks kept him warm.

Deft fingers pried open his ears. Her touch was foreign and surprising, but he let Yaoyorozu put earplugs in him regardless. The instant relief was worth it. While his ears still rang, he could finally focus without flinching at every loud attack.

In the lull between assaults, Shoto placed his other hand on the pillar and melted it refreezing it into a new shape. Taking Yaoyorozu by the hand, they sprinted up the ice-staircase hidden in Bakugo's blindspot. When they reached the top, Shoto pivoted, throwing his weight sideways, and flung Yaoyorozu straight above Bakugo. Another explosion rocked the ice-staircase's bottom half, and Shoto smiled for two reasons.

The first, of course, was because when Yaoyorozu fell upon Bakugo, she instantly put him in a headlock. Twisting mid-fall, she body slammed him into the concrete. The second was because, in the brief moment he'd held them, Shoto'd noticed the pale brunette had rather nice hands.

His staircase collapsed a moment later. Bakugo's raw power was too great to withstand without Shoto's direct attention. With Shoto at its peak, the fall delivered him into spitting distance of Bakugo and Yaoyorozu's struggle. She had him in a full judo lock, with her knee hooked around his groin and her elbow squeezing his adam's apple. Bakugo thrashed against her like an antelope in a crocodile's jaws. He was done for. Having learned his lesson, Shoto created an ice-dome overtop of them, stopping any interference.

Shoto, seizing the perfect moment, grabbed two shredded ends of Bakugo's shirt and tore free the flags tied within. Before he grabbed the other two, however, something crashed against his ice-dome like a runaway train. Sparing it a split-second glance, he saw Kirishima stagger backwards, his hardened arms crossed in an X. Where he'd impacted, he'd put spiderweb cracks through the ten-inch-thick wall. While he wasn't quite successful, it looked like he was about to try again—

A dull scream echoed through the ice-dome, and Shoto only turned back in time to see the outline of Bakugo's knuckles. His vision went black for a half-second, and the pain hit once his vision returned. Having broken free from Yaoyorozu, Shoto could barely resist as Bakugo managed to steal back one of the two flags. The world was loud—far too loud—as Bakugo raised a palm and shattered his armored dome with a single blast. Then he was gone, disappeared like they'd never caught him in the first place. Damn.

Clutching his nose, Shoto briefly wondered if it was broken. Enough blood was dripping down his shirt for it to be. Yaoyorozu was already standing again, but she was clutching her side and short of breath. Bakugo must've elbowed her ribs with his full strength. Offering her the hand not pinching his nostrils, they stumbled away to regroup.

The sounds of Bakugo's relentless fury continued to bombard Shoto's left ear as they escaped. Standing close enough to avoid the tiles pulling them apart, they took a short reprieve.

"Are you alright?" Shoto asked, though it came out more as "Ahh yoo alite?"

Yaoyorozu released his hand, but still stood close enough to brush his shoulder. Coughing into her elbow, she nodded.

"Yes, more than alright, really," she said, before gently grabbing his wrist and raising up the single flag they'd stolen. "We actually took a point off him! This alone will probably net us fifth."

Shoto smiled, but it was probably lost under the blood flowing over his upper lip. He licked his lips, but more blood just replaced what it wiped away. Seeing this, Yaoyorozu frowned.

"Hold still, please," she said, and eased his hand off his bleeding nose. The moment he let go, the flow tripled, and his blue U.A. uniform gained a few purple spots. Before it could become more than a few droplets, however, Yaoyorozu's milk white hands flashed an even whiter light, and two cotton plugs stopped the bleeding. He wrinkled his nose, but they held tight.

"Thanks," he said, and tried to ignore how funny he sounded. Yaoyorozu didn't bother ignoring it, however—and that was ultimately what did him in. They laughed until their tile suddenly dipped and rose. Their tile lingered up high, giving them a good view of Setsuna and Bakugo's team.

Bakugo was still fighting like a madman, and it befuddled him. Over half the contestants lurked as he did now, seeking weak spots and perfect moments to take on the blond menace.

Monoma was alone, lurking on the mirror opposite side Shoto was. He was surprisingly sneaky. Shoto could only track him by the gut feeling he always got when Monoma used his borrowed quirk.

He wasn't quite sure why he permitted Monoma to use his quirk. Yoarashi denied him, when asked, and Bakugo… well, he'd not even dignified the request with a response. Perhaps Shoto just felt bad for him. Regardless, Monoma's victory was everyones', given that if any of them dropped out before the third Event, they'd all be punished.

As he was mentally tracking Monoma, Bakugo was suddenly taken from behind by a pink, rope-like appendage—Tsuyu Asui's tongue, if he was correct. It wrapped around his waist, pulling him off balance so the large, hairy 1B student—Shoto never caught his name—could slam both fists into Bakugo's chest. The impact echoed around the stage—but it didn't come from the 1B student. Instead, just as the boy attacked Bakugo, the blond shoved all ten fingers into the boy's ape-like hairs and unleashed a point blank explosion, sending him flying. Then, Bakugo yanked Asui's tongue over his head and whipped her against the floor. Their connection went slack, and then Bakugo was free to face his next challenger while the two remained dazed.

Watching him fight was uncomfortable. He was viscous—sparing little of his strength, yet he never quite went too far. Bakugo never wasted an advantage, but he never sought them out, only using what he saw. Kirishima and Ojiro should've been harder to watch—they were close-combat types, trained to bruise and break bones. The raw violence they were capable of should've been more disturbing than a medium-range fighter like Bakugo… but they simply weren't.

Why? What made Bakugo… Bakugo? He'd barely heard more than twenty words from the guy, yet Shoto had never met someone so transparent. The guy was angry; more than that, he was bitter. That bitterness gave him an edge, Shoto thought, on most of 1Z. Bakugo was an anomaly among them.

1Z were not friends—not as a whole, at least—but they all chatted amicably. Shoto could name everyone's motivations with ease, except Bakugo's. Yoarashi wanted to live up to his dad. Kendo wanted to challenge herself. Honenuki didn't believe anywhere else could teach him better. Iida wanted to imitate his brother. Monoma wanted attention. Setsuna wanted to put her talents to use, by the side of who she cared for most. Shoto… well…

He glanced at Yaoyorozu, and privately enjoyed the way her eyebrows furrowed, studying Bakugo's constant fighting. The longer they rested, the more aware he became of her shoulder, warm against his own. In his mind's eye, he saw several faces, from his family, Izuku, and to Yaoyorozu's untainted and sweet smile.

Shoto was Heatseeker, he reminded himself, and he wanted the best for everyone.

Then, his knees went slack and he collapsed, nearly falling off their tile-tower.

"Woah!" Yaoyorozu said, catching him before he could fall. "What—"

Before she could question him, his knees tingled again, and he felt something churn in his stomach, nestled between his hot and cold sides. On the mirror opposite side of the stage, a bomb of fire and ice-vapors went off. Monoma. Concrete shards flew everywhere. With a wave hand, a protective curve of ice grew around himself and Yaoyorozu. Three little stones peppered his shell, leaving tiny spider webs. When no more came, Shoto melted the shield to get a better look again.

The fire, with no fuel, faded while the ice vapors lingered, turning the air above the stage murky and opaque. To the normal eye, it might've looked like some giant yeti sneezed on the field, but Shoto knew ice vapors well. Naturally, his eyes tracked the densities only he could see, and like a campfire letting off a smoke signal, he dialed into the source. There was a wave of moving tiles between them for the moment, but they'd warp any moment.

"Hide!" Shoto said, before shoving the flag they'd taken from Bakugo into her hands. "Keep this safe while I check on Monoma—he might've hurt himself with my quirk!"

She recovered her shock a split second later and gave him a curt nod. Then, without delay, Shoto turned and began running over open air, creating ice-footholds where he needed them.

Sprinting over Bakugo's brawl and under Setsuna's flight, he felt like he was walking between a very narrow corridor. With Present Mic's smooth announcer's tongue running a mile a minute, the pressure was on to avoid both—lest he become the next attraction for the crowd. He'd already fought Bakugo enough, and had the nose plugs to prove it.

Heat ran the length of his arm before leaping outwards. Indiscriminate fire ate away at the icy vapor, clearing the air and his vision both. With a start, he saw Monoma wasn't alright—but he wasn't down, either. An angry red irritation marred half his face, but it was the scowl that made it ugly. Shoto could barely follow Izuku's feet as he kicked at Monoma again and again.

"Quit messing with me, you plebeian! There's a reason we're in different classes!" Monoma said, gritting his teeth as he parried Izuku with an ice-enforced forearm. Izuku landed well, however, and sent a second kick that shattered the cold shield off his arm. Then, before Monoma could react, Izuku grabbed him by the collar and shoved him off balance.

When the blond fell, a flag, hidden in his waistband, spilled out. Monoma clawed at the air, pitiful flames spurting from his fingertips, but Izuku simply side-stepped, kicked his hand, and stepped over him. He hadn't even needed his quirk—though he'd clearly had a close call.

As Izuku tried to grab the flag, however, Shoto chose that moment to drop from the sky, his left foot pinning the flag down. Monoma yelped, seeing him appear. Shoto gave the poor boy a flat look.

"Was this the best you could do?" Shoto asked Monoma, eyeing Izuku's empty sleeve as it flapped in the wind. It was charred and missing fabric. Monoma spluttered, but before he could excuse himself, Shoto stopped caring. Rolling the flag under his foot, Shoto hooked his toe and kicked the flag straight up. It landed in his open palm.

Izuku said nothing. He only slid his own foot forward and dropped his stance, palm chin-height and facing Shoto. It trembled. Looking between them, Monoma looked exasperated.

"Well, fuck this, and fuck you. I'm out," he said, before turning tail and disappearing into the forest of stone pillars.

Both his father and Whirlwind told him to seek out an Everest. Shoto knew what he wanted, but no matter what he did, he couldn't bridge that logic into motivation. Perhaps, the only way he could, would be by following their advice.

Sliding his foot back, he raised his own palm and matched Izuku's stance. Maybe he wouldn't have to wait so long to climb.

[x]

Authors note: 76 was funny, but not funny ha-ha, funny weird. I slap u with my white glove

review!~