When All Might sank back into the void from which he came, Izuku didn't know how to feel. He'd been on top of the world not five minutes prior, and now that peak was some unknown depth below him. Only the Stadium blocked his view of the Earth's curvature. If the statue was Everest, then this hanger below him was the Mariana Trench. This scale of construction numbed his conflicting feelings.
Reaching the top of All Might's fist had been a gambit. He had no real reason to climb it, other than flickers of delusion and spite—and yet he did, and he was rewarded for it. "Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!" Indeed.
In a way, he felt ill. Like a cheater. Eyes burned into his skin, the glare of a hundred or more flagless students weighing him down. Their anger was potent, but more than that, righteous. He did not deserve this more than them, yet he was moving on. Izuku was an insult to their struggles.
The Stadium rumbled as the original stage reappeared and closed over the pit. Many scrambled back, seeking a safe distance from whatever happened next, but Izuku resigned himself to stoicism. If the whole stage exploded, it would explode. Little he could do.
Plus, he could feel his safety. He was fine.
As the two halves of the old cement stage clamped together, he saw a few people stumble. Mostly the flagless knelt—but he also saw a few 1B struggling. 1Z, too, had one student fall to a knee—the blond Monoma.
The only group without a single struggle was 1A, flagless and flag-bearing. It was no great mystery why—the USJ shook enough for a dozen earthquakes. One learned to keep their footing under such pressures.
When the rumbling stopped, Izuku relaxe his knees—only to immediately need them again. The moment the echo settled, it redoubled, and the stage changed again.
Whereas the first event did away with the stage entirely, this event did the opposite. No grand structure appeared. Instead, each tile within the diamond became alive.
Individually, some tiles rose whilst others sank, revealing they weren't tiles at all. Instead, they were very tall rectangular prisms, shoved together so as to appear like a simple grid from above. Some "tiles" grew as tall as triple Izuku's height—and likewise, when their neighbors sank, they revealed an even greater scale. None were shorter than Izuku was tall, seven times over. Though the range was tiny, their capacity was extraordinary. It was an impossible feat of engineering, yet done as easily as a magician might retrieve rabbits from their top-hat.
Izuku's mind diverged into two streams of thought—firstly, theories on the non-euclidean stage's purpose. What was the intent? To confuse, to heighten drama, to emulate? What kind of real-world battlefield might move like a living, breathing beast?
As Izuku watched more and more, he began to notice inconsistent patterns—sometimes, tiles would ascend and descend in walls, moving from one corner to another, almost like waves. Othertimes, it would become random, like polka dots or mountain ranges. Then again, other times he saw one quarter rise as a group while the other three dropped. Combos and patterns and sculpted sequences made the stage practically impossible to predict. He liked it.
Secondly, how? Were there pistons below? Did they swap out the tile's bottoms when the stage closed over the pit? How much energy was such a task utilizing? These pillars seemed solid, and must've weighed multiple tons each. Perhaps it wasn't taking as much energy as he thought—they'd elevated a hundred-plus ton statue, after all. Perhaps they had some serious generators somewhere deep in the campus's heart.
Or… perhaps there were no pistons, or even mechanical engineering in the first place. The moving pillars, when moving as a group, were not uniform. When many rose together, a rare few were the same height—and the more Izuku studied them, the more he found inconsistencies. Some had concrete pores larger than others—some had chips, and others still seemed a slightly different color than others. These were not machine engineered.
Was Cementoss doing all of this from below the stage? How strong was the man?
He hoped U.A. paid him in wheelbarrows of gold. This was an eye-opening feat of the man's power, and no doubt a tall ask from Nedzu.
Nedzu. The rat's name echoed in his mind the moment Izuku considered it. He must be plotting something big, if Cementoss was slaving away like this.
Before he could consider the implications any further, Midnight stole his attention. She was the first to approach the stage, mic in hand. Almost like for a princess, the stage quieted. Tiles slowed down—not stopping, but growing complacent. Slowly, the corners began to sink, and an obvious slope towards the center formed.
Midnight walked up the slope like a staircase, walking in-time with the slowly rising tiles. By the time she reached the stage's very center, the staircase sank with the four corners, and the tile she stood upon grew even higher. By the time she finished elevating, Izuku's doubts faded. Her tower was some twenty meters tall—simply impossible to hide when all of the spectators saw the stage's underside. This was Cementoss.
Like before All Might's appearance, the spotlights keeping the Stadium bright faded focused upon Midnight. She was a little thing, compared to her stage, and yet the high beams turned her casual appeal into something like radiant beauty. Though Nedzu at a glance was a cuddly little creature, Midnight seemed the true "Mascot" of U.A., as uncomfortable as those implications were. Setsuna was right. She was gorgeous beyond measure, and very easy to look at.
The memory of her jokingly proclaiming the woman as "her's" almost made Izuku keel over like one of those unprepared students. Standing perfectly still, Izuku willed those disconcerting memories into a place deep within his stomach where he wouldn't find them again. As he tried to squeeze them into the "forget" box, however, he found it too difficult.
It was full.
"Hello, world! It's nice to meet eye to eye, right?" Midnight asked, her voice a mix of sultry pride and girlish excitement. There was an enthusiasm in her voice that hadn't been there before—probably because of her height. The fall probably wouldn't kill a hero like her, but only because she could save herself. If she floundered, she would certainly die. Perhaps the risk excited her.
The crowd roared for her, as they always did. Every titanic flatscreen connected to the drones' view changed their focus onto her as she sweeped a dramatic arm over the flag bearers.
"In our traditional style, U.A. comes out swinging with a crazy free for all! Now, fifty students remain…" Midnight said, starting strong before lowering to a whisper. She let her head fall forward, her bangs obscuring her eyes from every angle. The crowd's applause quieted, tension filling the space the sound left behind. Without a word, the stage below her rippled. It started small, like lapping waves in the storm's eye, before growing more chaotic and powerful, as though the storm's fury returned in full. In tune with the stage's enthusiasm, Midnight whipped her head back and pointed at a random drone. "And now they must learn to compete as a unit! Our second event, dear viewer, in our traditional style, begets trust and teamwork! We've seen them work alone, but the real test of heroism is in community work! How will these rigid little heroes work in a world that is constantly changing?"
The tiles grew even more wild, now snapping up and down like a furious whip's bite. Some of the headlights focusing on Midnight shifted towards him and his fellow flag bearers. Where he wasn't blocking out the spotlights with his hand, he saw himself appear on the big screen. He cringed when he realized it looked like he was intentionally raising his King's Flag.
Instead of Midnight continuing, Present Mic intervened with an oddly subdued tone.
"The world is rarely comfortable beneath a hero's feet, listeners. Things always change—the tide of battle can shift multiple times in a single second. This arena is but a pale imitation of the chaos in any war! In this battle, however…"
Midnight smiled at the camera, revealing pearly whites. Her face lit up the whole Stadium as different versions of her smile appeared on the big screens. She was beautiful… but… Izuku felt awkward.
"Teams of four shall face each other on the battlefield, vying for points! In five sets of two minutes, for every flag you hold, you and your team shall gain a point per second! Steal as many flags as you can, gain more points, and starve your opponents out! When the fifth set ends, the top sixteen players shall move on."
Izuku blinked as his mind tried pulling in two separate directions. On one hand, he was still conflicted over Midnight, but on the other, he knew basic math. Teams of four out of fifty people? Even by his best estimate, that meant twelve teams total, with two dead spots. How did those two dead spots affect the top sixteen? He longed to call out this inconsistency, but when he opened his mouth, the bare morning air singed his throat. Slowly, he lowered his King's Flag. It felt heavier than it had moments prior.
Setsuna was the one to call it out for him. Because of course she was. She floated above the crowd, missing her shoes. Flying up to Midnight, she almost looked as though she could truly fly.
Since when could she levitate with so little of her quirk employed? When Izuku last spoke with her, she needed to, at the minimum, cut her bodyweight in half. When she reached Midnight, his thoughts halted. He couldn't even feel the King's Flag in his fingers.
Midnight's spotlights darkened her silhouette, enhancing the detail. Her form… it wasn't as lithe as it once was. She was still slim, but much of her old softness seemed gone. Angles and hard lines constituted her back, with arms thicker around by at least an inch and her thighs by two. It didn't look like his—the old—Setsuna he saved at the USJ…
She looked stronger.
"I'm confused!" She said, meeting Midnight eye for eye. Though Izuku couldn't see her real expression from this distance, he could see the enlarged version on the big screens. Setsuna's face seemed… less lively. Paler skin, thinner cheeks, darker under-eyes. It made his stomach turn. Midnight's smile was still in place, but the more Izuku studied her, the more uneasy he grew. Something about both women was fundamentally… off. Setsuna should've been more like sunlight—warm and refreshing. Midnight's smile should've been more piercing—more worldly and knowing. Instead…
It clicked all at once. Though her smile was wide and bright, her eyes were walking the tightrope between dull and lifeless. Her eyes looked as confused as he felt.
"What are you confused about, Ms. Tokage?" Midnight asked, and her voice only confirmed Izuku's suspicions. Her eyes remained a tad wider than normal, even while speaking. Setsuna's waxy complexion matched Midnight's discomforting one.
To anyone else, this conversation might look almost normal. To him, he felt sick. When Setsuna next spoke, he felt his stomach curl even more—but for once, it wasn't from her existence.
"The math doesn't add up! Out of fifty, the most groups of four you can get is twelve. That means, since there's fifty of us, that two people get shorted—"
"Don't worry," Midnight said, interrupting her with a wave. "There's a built-in equity system! Though we are tragically short of a perfect thirteen, that is what the King's Flag is for. The King's Guard will consist of only one person, because that's all they'll need. While every blue flag will net a person and their team a single point per second, the King's Flag will grant ten!"
Danger Sense nearly imploded as, all at once, every single person turned to leer at him. Midnight wasn't done, however.
"In the event that the King's Team moves on, then the two least helpful players of the fifth team shall be booted!" Midnight said, looking down at him and the crowd. Izuku could practically hear knuckles crack as everyone's grip on their own flags increased tenfold. Turning back to Setsuna, she gave the girl a softened smile—more authentic. More knowing and familiar. "Does that satisfy you, Ms. Tokage?"
Setsuna didn't answer immediately. She turned as well, and her eyes bore straight through Izuku's with such sudden fervor that he froze. Midnight's radiance haloed her. Memories like a film reel flashed behind his eyes. His fingers prickled with pins and needles.
He managed a nod. She didn't acknowledge it, but she passed his message along.
"Yes, Midnight. I am satisfied," Setsuna said, before letting herself drift back down to where she left her shoes. A drone broke away from Midnight to follow her descent. The crowd murmured, but remained attentive and quiet.
Izuku's mind was already concocting strategies, depending on whoever he worked with. Maneuverability would once again be king, as the shifting arena could strand anyone without such in a blink. If he could help it, he would take anyone with flight. That seemed to be the winning strategy.
A shiver ran down his spine as Midnight turned to the crowd. U.A.'s attention did not follow her—instead, they remained on him. Their attention was heavy, thickening the air with the intensity of battle-hungry hero students. Through the nauseating weight, he barely heard Midnight's closing remarks.
"Hold onto your seats, folks, because whoever you're betting on might just upset you! Even the best might struggle with such strange terrain. Do you think your favorite will win? Well? Do you? Tell me!"
However the crowd reacted, Izuku did not know. All he felt from the crowd was static—a buzz at most. His eyes fixated ahead, his ears closed off from the greater world. Panic raked painful gouges through his stomach, but instead of hindering him, his mind grew sharper.
Nighteye's training came in good use. Long lectures and cognitive exercises let him recognize unspoken alliances before they went public. Proximity helped a lot, but more than that, it was body language. Clumps of 1Z leaned into one another—Mudman and Battlefist relaxed near Ingenium Jr and Phantom Thief. Shoto seemed at ease beside Creati, and though he seemed awkward and tense near Galeforce, he stood almost shoulder-to-shoulder with the tall boy. Among 1Z, few remained free agents. In fact, the only two that didn't actively seek anyone out were flyers, just like he wanted.
Unfortunately, they weren't his first choices.
Instead, he found himself studying everyone else and measuring his odds. Surely, someone amongst 1A or 1B might want to work with the King. Not everyone coveted him, right? Or at least, not everyone feared those who did so. As he searched the crowd more and more, however, he found himself wanting. Zero friendly faces showed themselves.
Calming his anxious heart, he cleared his head. If he couldn't partner with a flyer, then he'd change gears. Already, a strategy crossed his mind—throw away the King's Flag and let the others squabble for it while he collected other flags. It wouldn't be hard—with Smokescreen's mind games and Blackwhip's dexterity, he could easily…
Izuku swallowed down a painfully dry lump. He thought back to All Might's fist, where it'd taken all his self-control to make the little blackwhip bend to him. Would he even be able to grab another flag, if he gave up the King's?
"Alright, my little flag bearers!" Midnight said, breaking through his focus and drawing his eye. The spotlights were gone and the spectator seats were well-lit again. Even the stage appeared normal, except for the single tower Midnight stood upon. Without any other raised tiles to compare, her own appeared preposterously tall. She was looking at them—and for a second, Izuku felt, at him. All the tiles were level as Midnight waved them on. "Join the stage and form your teams!"
Caught off guard, Izuku was once again forced alongside the crowd's whim. They quickly filled out the stage, and for the first time, Izuku appreciated the spaciousness. When All Might appeared, he'd nearly forgotten about the stage's sheer breadth. The Stadium absolutely adored height, and seemingly begged for it—but it was wide, too. Even when everyone clumped an arm span apart, they only covered half the area.
The moment he finished climbing the stage's stairs, the crowd nearly shoved over. 1B and 1A rushed past him, their sights set on 1Z. Fortunately, he'd expected that, so he was able to catch himself. Izuku scanned the students from the sidelines, searching for someone—anyone, at this point—to partner with.
To his growing disappointment, however, that seemed a fantasy. Shoji formed a group on his own, bringing on Uraraka and two 1B students, Tetsutetsu and Shihai. Tsuyu joined Shiozaki and a boy who seemed more beast than man—Izuku thought his name might've been Shishida.
Then, a breakthrough. A floating pair of U.A. gym sweats hovered near him, hesitant. Before Toru could make a decision on him, however, a tongue lashed around her wrist and Tsuyu pulled her into her own team. Izuku almost glared at the frog girl, but couldn't find it within himself. Anyone would want Toru. Still, she'd been his hope.
The crowd began to thin out, instead breaking off into small chunks as more and more teams formed. Most already finished, and only a few stragglers remained.
He pointedly ignored the girl staring at him from across the stage. Instead, in a fit of panic, he snagged the sleeve of the nearest free agent—before dropping it. Tokoyami stared at him with wide, confused eyes. Izuku blinked, and found himself conflicted.
It was Tokoyami's fault he was in this mess, but he'd let him go. The boy had done him a lot of wrong, but it wasn't his fault at the end of the day…
For the first time since the USJ, Izuku allowed himself a moment to question his relationship with the boy. He remembered befriending him in a matter of moments—of jokes and private kindnesses between them. The boy, ironically, had been Izuku's shadow during his first days at U.A. Tokoyami tying his uniform's sleeve in a knot was, perhaps, his most fond memory of 1A.
But things had happened. Tokoyami accidentally crippled Uraraka, he nearly killed Sero and Ashido, and Izuku resolved himself to let the boy kill him if need be at one point. Those feelings were heavy, and hardly forgotten.
Did he forgive him for the USJ? Izuku knew better than anyone on earth how it felt to hurt someone when he lost control…
But it wasn't like he forgave himself. The world hadn't. Why would he forgive Tokoyami?
Every single atom in his body cringed as the thought crossed his mind. No. That wasn't right. Something about the idea felt fundamentally wrong—too cruel to be reality.
Izuku opened his mouth, but before he could squeeze the words from his delicate throat, an enthusiastic voice interrupted him.
"Hello, Fumikage Tokoyami? Are you the one with the companion quirk? You can join our team!" Someone said, their voice loud enough to seem like the only one amongst hundreds. Izuku spun around, seeking the source—but in the back of his mind, he already knew. Only Inasa Yoarashi had the power in his lungs for such a request. Tokoyami was powerless to accept.
He gave Izuku one last conflicted glance and joined the 1Z team. Izuku watched him go, disappointed but also relieved. The nuclear bomb of compressed, conflicting feelings faded as he grew further away. Tucking away those thoughts, he turned to the other students, and found his options even more slim than before. Only a handful of people remained.
And she was still looking at him. Her gait was open, her hands lax at her sides. Though her face seemed strained, her eyes were as focused and sharp as ever. They bore into him like daggers.
They dared him—no, they begged him. She'd already waved off a dozen potential partners in favor of waiting there. For him. He swallowed. The world grew a little fuzzy whenever her greens met his own.
Within the blur of the world outside them, he noticed groups slowly integrating the stragglers. There were less than ten people available, now, and the absolute best person to have on any team was still available.
And waiting for him. Breathing was difficult. Inhales came in tiny, starved bursts. Exhales left him only when he squeezed his lungs with all his strength.
After managing a rare inhale, he tried clearing his mind. Blinking away the blurriness, he tried to weigh the pros and cons.
The pros were easy. Too easy. Their teamwork exceeded anyone's. Her maneuverability was unmatched. Her agility, even before the USJ, neared a speedster's. Her arm strength was little more than half his muscle-wise, but she had two. Plus, even before she put on muscle, she could amplify her raw power with her telekinetic strength anyways. The girl had a mind for battle and strategy, and her ingenuity never failed to impress him in training. She was intelligent, skilled, agreeable, kind… and sweet… and…
She tilted her head as he toed a foot forward. It hadn't been a step—but she noticed his little shuffle. Not a word escaped her, but her expression said it all. Her eyebrow raised. "Is that all I'm worth? Not even a step? Not even half of one?"
She was worth that and so much more. The distance between them was not great. Only a few steps, a spoken word, and…
Just as his courage peaked, so too did his rationality. His foot stopped fidgeting.
He couldn't let her in—more than that, he had to actively shut her out. Everyone around him was destined to get hurt. Even if Karma wasn't real, Sashimi was. Eventually… they would clash again. Izuku knew it. And he wouldn't risk Setsuna anymore.
He'd hurt her by opening his heart to her once. He would not finish the job as well.
Setsuna saw his decision before he made it. Slowly, her lips whitened as she pressed them together. Her eyes were like tiny flames, flickering with hurt. She didn't give him a chance to reconsider. Turning, she waved down Kirishima, who happily joined her team. A moment later, Ojiro joined them—and at last, when only two people remained available, she chose Katsuki with a scowl.
Izuku turned, then, and met the eyes of the only person rejected by every team.
He had vibrant red hair that ended in a spikey point behind each ear. Though he was tan, his upper arm and collar were a shade paler than everywhere else. Since Izuku last saw him, he had put on muscle, but not as dramatically as Setsuna. The boy must've trained under the sun in his spare time.
Izuku supposed that was his only option, given how much work he must be churning through at night. U.A.'s General Course might've been where failed hero students went out to pasture, but it wasn't easy. None of that mattered to Izuku, however. Not his unsightly tan or his class or even what his quirk was.
What unnerved Izuku on a fundamental level was the fact that Yoru Sashimi, despite having a face, looked uncannily similar to his uncle.
[x]
Yoru's blood ran hot, but he wasn't cruel or stupid. That's what he kept telling himself, at least. He had decent evidence for at least half of that: his grades. When he failed the 1Z exam, he was angry, yes, but understanding. Some people were simply better than him.
When he failed the 1A exam, however, that's when the anger transcended simple bitterness. Righteous fury replaced irritation, made more potent by the simple existence of Midoriya—who did exactly what he did, yet got all the credit, and Yoru the blame. The bastard, like Yoru, also failed the 1Z exam. In fact, the dude got clobbered, shit-stomped, and clusterfucked. Yet he made it to 1A, and Yoru was relegated to General Education.
His blood ran hot, but he wasn't stupid. He knew it wasn't the end, and he was halfway to proving everyone wrong. Everyday, he set up his homework on a Tee, and then knocked it out of the park. Yoru studied like an animal possessed, acing all of his classes so far as he took them—all to protest the frankly ridiculous decision to put him in a lower class. So, he wasn't stupid.
Was he cruel? If asked, he would also say no. While he knew he could be a jerk, he'd never gone out of his way to hurt anyone. Being mean wasn't prohibited on the job. Everyone simply discouraged it. And he understood that, too, because he wasn't stupid. So, in addition to his first protest, his second protest was one of sheer character.
In the first event, his anger nearly spilled out. He'd spent most of his energy yelling at some bird-brained slowpoke holding up the line, and when he'd finally reached the top, Yoru's excitement nearly killed the dude. Shoving past him, Yoru only had eyes for the flags that meant the difference between winning and losing. Yoru would not waste a third chance.
Yet, when shoving the boy resulted in him tripping off the side, he'd shoved down his pride and tried to correct his mistake.
He failed, but seeing the boy land safely relieved him. Yoru spent the climb down, flag-in-teeth, in turmoil. Though he'd successfully moved on, he felt bad for ruining the bird-boy's chances.
That was, at least, until the boy appeared a few minutes later, the forty-ninth and last flag in hand. After seeing that, Yoru stopped knowing how to feel. He'd spent the next fifteen minutes wrestling with that mix of guilt and relief, before finally deciding on relief. His excitement got ahead of him again, yes, but he'd made an effort to correct it. That must've meant something, right?
He was wrong.
All Might was gone again, disappeared into the earth. He'd thought that the second event would be more difficult, but the gap between the first and second event surprised him regardless. Not only would he directly compete with students possessing nearly two months of professional training, he would challenge them on unfamiliar territory. It was a tall ask, but he, despite the challenge's intensity, felt confident. His combat skills were on par with the best, so while he might've been inflexible, he could slot in as any group's spear.
It shouldn't have been a big deal.
But they saw him shove the bird-brained idiot, and didn't trust him. The first team he'd asked rejected him—fine, whatever, he'd thought—but then the second had, too. Then the third and forth. Absolutely none of them wanted him—even the ones who didn't see the act itself. A twisted version of the event spread like a wildfire, and they ostracized him in a blink.
Only one group remained, but the moment he got close, half their members rebuffed him with a collective glare.
He wanted to scream. Maybe he should've. Did these people not see how he'd tried to pull the bird-brained idiot back to his feet? How could they only see the bad in him, and not the good? It made his blood boil. They were no different from anyone else, despite being hero students. Everyone always suspected him.
Was it because he was a grouch? A punk? A fucking ginger? He couldn't say.
At least the authorities agreed he was innocent. Sins of the Uncle wasn't exactly reason enough to call him a villain, yet, though he could feel how they itched to. It was bullshit.
Just like being stuck with the absolute last person he wanted to work with.
Midoriya's stupefied expression, seeing Yoru, pissed him off. Like, yes, no one wanted me either. You're no better. Instead of speaking those thoughts aloud, however, Yoru released his clenched fists and tried to un-ground his teeth. He only half succeeded. When he spoke, it came out clipped and hard.
"We're stuck together. So wipe that shit off your face."
Midoriya's eyebrows rose a fraction, but the glossy, unseeing nature of his pupils remained. His hand, flag in tow, felt around his chin, as if seeking to wipe away some forgotten shmutz. It moved with no purpose, as if on autopilot.
Yoru, just barely, restrained himself from slapping him. He could not stop himself from wrenching the boy's hand from his face and pulling him close, however.
"Fucking quit that shit, man. Get it together, or we're both fucking out."
Midoriya blinked, and his expression cleared. The exact nanosecond he recognized Yoru, he snatched back his hand with surprising offense. He blinked, staring at Yoru's face, then blinked again. Shaking his head, Midoriya finally met his eyes for real.
"...Right," he whispered. He glanced at the other teams and their arena. His face—already a grimace—fell another fraction. His voice was hollow. "Together, we'll gain eleven points per second. That's double everyone else. …To break even… we need to last at least half as long as everyone else."
Yoru grunted. His math was right, but nothing else was.
"Don't operate like that. Once the round starts, I'll get us more flags. You focus on holding onto that fuckin' cheatcode as long as you can."
Already, he could see the path he would take—the stage having four corners meant that at least four idiotic teams put up shop there. They would focus on preservation, meaning Yoru could besiege them without fear of a serious counterattack. That was his strong suit—though his quirk overloaded his nervous system, blinding him, that only happened when he overtaxed himself too quickly. While his tolerance grew everyday, he still stayed careful. With ten total minutes, he could certainly find an opening.
But Midoriya was already shaking his head.
"That's no good. I can't defend from everyone by myself, and you're not going to be able to steal flags. Setsuna alone will already have stolen half the easy ones by the time you even reach a team, meaning you'll be forced to take on the fortress teams."
Yoru scowled. Was he serious?
"You're not going to defend yourself, dipshit, you're going to run. Remember your quirk? Just smoke-bomb everyone and play the waiting game. Don't give me that "not powerful enough crap," I didn't need my vision to feel what you did in the exam. And don't tell me what I can and can't do. If I say I'm gonna steal some flags, I mean it."
Midoriya turned to him, his expression growing more troubled by the moment. It grated on Yoru's already frayed nerves. Each word he spoke added fuel to a budding flame.
"No, no, that's not going to work. I can't make a cloud big enough to cover half the stage, let alone keep it consciously in place. You should… stay here. With me. Other flags are pointless. If we lose the King's Flag, we're not going to get it back! Turtling will be a lot more reliable—"
"Good lord!" Yoru said, stepping into Midoriya and shoving him. "Are you some kind of coward? "I can't do this, you can't do that," are you serious? You fuckin' blasted a hole through the Zero Pointer—you damn near bench pressed it—and you survived the USJ. People call you a one man army, but you just want to sit here, twiddle your thumbs, and pray for good luck? The first thing people will expect from you is to play defense. I'm you're "Guard," after all. So, obviously, the best way to surprise people is to play offense! Is this how you survived the USJ? Finding a hole and hiding in it until the storm passed? Where are your balls? If you lose our flags, go get them back! Use your ropes, your smoke, I don't care! Just don't sit there, waiting to lose."
Midoriya's jaw fell open by a fraction. The stage rumbled below them. He blinked. Yoru began to rise as the tile he stood upon elevated.
"...Our flags?" Midoriya asked, still whispering. He could barely hear him over the sound of groaning concrete. Why couldn't he just speak up? '
Midoriya's tile sank, faster than Yoru's rose, and Yoru had to peer over the side to see him. He thought he saw the moment it clicked in Midoriya's mind, but he couldn't say for certain. Yoru left a mere second later, in tune with Midnight's whistle.
"Let the first round of our Sports Festival's second event… Begin!"
In shoving Midoriya, Yoru entrusted his own flag to him. Despite the dude's cowardice, he probably wasn't wrong about Yoru's inability to snatch easy flags. Now, however, without needing to worry about his own flag, he could cut a little more loose than he anticipated.
[x]
AN: Second Event dwarfs the first, unfortunately, and it has some fat, but overall I'm alright with it. I wish I was in a better place to give this story the full makeover and touchup it deserves, but the only way to get there is to finish it.
review!~