Izuku didn't move for a long while. With his hand cupping his cheek and his mind far off, he only returned to reality as someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, Mido, I'm up next, actually," a ginger girl said—Kendo, otherwise known as "Battle Fist." 1Z. He blinked, and felt a rush of blood heat his face.

"Sorry! Best of luck," Izuku said, ducking his head and turning back for the tunnel. He'd stepped into the open towards the previous match's end, but after Setsuna… stopped by, he'd simply forgotten where he was.

Tail between his legs, he almost made it back to the tunnel before she called him back one last time.

"It's alright! Same to you, and your match!" Kendo said, with ease. He forced a smile and waved, but deep down, he wished she hadn't said anything. Izuku wasn't sure the reminder was good for his health.

Finding a warm patch of wall, Izuku leaned against it and slid down, crossing his legs. He ghosted his fingertips across his cheek, and traced his jaw until reaching his chin.

The back of his throat tingled, and his mouth tasted like pins and needles. His nerves buzzed with energy, making sitting still hard. On one hand, he wanted to curl up and pass away, but on the other…

Well, he didn't have another to consider. But that didn't mean he couldn't feel its presence like a ghost, like an extension of himself he knew wasn't there yet one he couldn't ignore.

Izuku licked his lips, and turned to Kendo's match. It wasn't close, and he couldn't afford to memorize much of it, but it still intrigued him. He didn't know her opponent, but she seemed somewhat competent, and in possession of a quirk to counter Kendo's own. Still, as he'd once heard from Setsuna, Kendo was a monster.

The ginger girl dismantled the 1B student in a matter of minutes—all without a single flashy move. It was the kind of work Izuku felt drawn to—if not for entertainment, then inspiration. Regardless, the match was decided years ago. She and Honenuki would likely be the final matchup in the loser's bracket, as predictable as it might be.

Still, despite old habits, Izuku didn't drink in the match as he had the others. Bigger things troubled him, and he consoled himself with the knowledge that he'd see the reruns tonight with his mother. He wasn't missing anything by not paying superb attention now—U.A. would get it all.

U.A. would get it…

…All…

Reruns… …with… …his mother.

"Heaven above," Izuku whispered, pinching his nose bridge, "I'll never live this down…"

In just a few minutes, he'd be going against Shoto, as he'd promised. It was an inevitability, if Izuku was to succeed as he had. Shoto wouldn't lose to just anyone—especially not after all the training he'd done since they'd last sparred. Only a handful of people present today could beat him, and only a few were teachers.

Hell, Izuku still wasn't sure he could compete with the Shoto he used to trounce, let alone this new one. Hell, he didn't even know if he wanted to.

Izuku still didn't understand Blackwhip. He still couldn't tell Setsuna the truth. Now with Nedzu apparently deposed, he wasn't even sure if their deal to enter 1Z was even applicable anymore, let alone feasible.

He ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced. His scalp was a swampy mess. Wiping away the lingering sweat, Izuku pulled his knees to his forehead and closed his eyes. The Second Event replayed in his head, focused on his encounter with Shoto. Disappointment prominently colored his face, accented by a painful confusion. It stung then, and it stung now—even ignoring those questions, which haunted him still.

His accusations were razor sharp, as expected, but… Izuku couldn't help but linger on them. It was a moment that made him pause and wonder—were they still even proper friends?

Izuku imagined how his expression changed since then, tried picturing how it sat now, across the Stadium.

Was Shoto pacing? Were his hands clasped behind his back, feet pointed and shoulders straight? Could he be sitting like Izuku was? What was his vice—anxiety, anticipation, dread?

"What are you doing?" Shoto asked, scaring Izuku out of his skin.

Leaping to his feet, Izuku felt like Shoto'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar, freshly showered and improperly dressed. His jaw fell open, but he had no coherent thought to articulate.

"Uhh…"

When Shoto didn't reply, Izuku's brain coughed. Taking a moment to collect himself, Izuku tore the rip-cord and restarted the cold engine between his ears. It choked and popped, but as Izuku looked between his upcoming-opponent and Arena, the engine smoothed out to a single, unanimous purr:

"You're not allowed to be here!" Izuku said, and immediately cringed. The words felt silly as they echoed down the Stadium's huge, wide tunnel. Shoto must've come the same way he had, for no other reason than mistake.

Shoto just blinked, and proffered his hand.

Izuku accepted the open water bottle in silence. Shoto revealed a second one and twisted his cap off, pocketing two, and found a seat.

There wasn't much else to say, so Izuku took a sip and sat beside him. Shoto took off Izuku's cap for him, but kept it for himself. Now he felt obligated to drink the whole thing.

They didn't say anything for a while. Izuku wondered if what they shared was a tense silence or not—Izuku certainly felt uncomfortable, but in the end… Shoto was his friend. Despite the last couple months, their bond hadn't changed. Not really. He hoped.

"I see no rule that says combatants have to come from opposite sides," Shoto said, after Izuku powered through half his bottle.

"What? There are unwritten rules—how are we supposed to have a "Red Corner," and a "Blue Corner," if we both come out from the blue one?"

"Present Mic is a professional people pleaser," Shoto said, pausing to take a sip. "I think he'll improvise."

Izuku couldn't argue with that, though the thought of Present Mic immediately made his stomach hurt. Shoto and Present Mic were some of his oldest friends—yet between them, he was only keeping his secret from Shoto.

His eyes settled on his water. It wasn't large by any means, but it was still daunting to his queasy stomach.

Shoto's posture changed. Izuku's breath froze, noticing. It was a slight thing, but Shoto's casual slouch straightened and his bottle crinkled with a small squeeze. Had he noticed Izuku's derailed thoughts, or was he going to ask about—

"Oh yea," Shoto said, pulling a cap from his pocket. "Here."

Izuku let out his breath and accepted the cap, screwing it on while he held the bottle with his knees. If he drank even a drop more, he might've vomited.

Their silence resumed, as if they hadn't spoken. There was a small difference though—Izuku's mind didn't spin on itself, rattling ceaselessly. For once, there was a quiet calm.

Kendo's match fizzled out, and Shoto refrained from saying a word. Despite being her classmate, Kendo and Shoto didn't seem close. Even as Kendo won and escorted herself back the way she came, Shoto only gave her a firm nod, while Izuku congratulated her.

"Thank you! But, ah, why are you both here?" Kendo asked, her eyes darting to Shoto. He shrugged, Izuku shrugged, and Kendo shrugged. Wiping away the bangs plastered on her forehead, she flashed them a smile and excused herself.

"Oh, hey!" Izuku said, remembering his half-full water. He tossed it to her before she even turned, and she caught it over her shoulder. "Keep hydrated!"

"Thanks, Mido!" Kendo said, before disappearing down the corridor.

Pleased with himself, Izuku turned back to Shoto—only to remember it'd been a gift. Shoto didn't say anything—not "hey, that's my water!" or even "man, that was all my pocket money." He just stared at Izuku, not commenting whatsoever.

In all honesty, Izuku wished he would complain. At least then, the Stadium's tunnel wouldn't have felt so suffocating.

As Present Mic made his closing remarks on Kendo's match, Shoto stood and offered his hand. Izuku stared at it for a second before taking it. Together, with Shoto a few steps ahead, they made their way to the tunnel's mouth, stopping short of the exit itself. Standing behind Shoto's shoulder, Izuku got the full view of the shiver that jumped down his spine.

"We're going to look like fools," Shoto announced. "We're definitely supposed to come at one another from opposite directions."

"You're only realizing that now?" Izuku exclaimed, choking on air. "Then w-wh… why…"

He couldn't help it. Izuku broke down in laughter, exasperated by Shoto's logic.

"W-why did you even—heh, why—"

Shoto spun around, eyes wide. Even his scar crinkled, despite the deteriorated muscles. Izuku, in his delirium, even thought he saw a blush color Shoto's face. He glanced skyward—the planets must've aligned.

"Shit, how are we going to make t-this—" Shoto tried to remain serious, but Izuku's giggle eroded all pretenses. Soon, they were both laughing at Shoto's swapped attitude. Shoto, with his reserved, quiet huffs, and Izuku bent over at the waist, sucking air like he'd just finish drowning—it was a scene straight out of their childhood.

Eventually, however, Present Mic's voice cut straight through their moment together.

"Well folks, while the last match was a fun romp, I think it's time to settle down and buckle up! Our next matchup is one we caught a glimpse of before, during the Flag Battles in the Second Event."

From their place in the tunnel, they couldn't quite see how the big screen changed, but they could definitely hear it. The recording of Izuku and Shoto's earlier scrap sounded around the arena, echoing off the massive Stadium's walls. Izuku's smile melted off his face as those awful feelings made themselves remembered.

"As you can see, their last encounter ended poorly for Izuku—but can we blame him? Shoto Todoroki, prodigious son of Endeavor, is a favorite to win, if the polls are anything to go by. With all his father's fiery passion focused by his uniquely cold attitude, he's less of a student and more of a natural phenomenon! Dare I say it? Yes, I do—no matter his opponent, be them civilian, rival, or teacher, everyone here today would need to stay on their toes…"

Izuku, somehow, found the energy to raise his eyes to Shoto's. The boy was already looking at him, a passive swell of something Izuku couldn't place behind his eyes.

A strange sense of regret washed over him. For a moment, Izuku wanted to reach out and hold his friend, to take him in and give him a long overdue squeeze. Shoto was more than just one of his buddies. He was a borderline celebrity, with the entirety of Endeavor's legacy on his shoulders. It was never something they talked about, but all at once, Izuku understood.

Shoto's silhouette lost its mirth with Present Mic's monologue. He was back to his normal, sharp self—a reflection of the discipline Izuku knew was more of a shield than anything. Their friendship felt strained in recent months, and if he was honest, he was surprised to see they could still laugh together so easily—but now it all made sense.

Izuku wasn't the only one with a burden. Shoto's laid in the depths of his eyes, behind his stiff attitude's tough shield. It was hard to notice, and not something Izuku'd given much thought to. After all, he tried not to pry. His friend's privacy was his to leverage, not Izuku's, and it'd be hypocritical to try.

But… he thought back to his last match, against Ojiro. He thought of his own issues, how he failed to express them, how the chains that kept them quiet also kept him sluggish and tired. He thought of how stiff he'd felt, in the match's beginning, and he thought of how good it felt to just… let loose.

Izuku held out his palm. Shoto's eyes flicked between his and his hand, a small wariness replacing the dull facade he wore.

Was he ready to face Shoto?

"...But," Present Mic said, after a brief pause, "Let's not count out Midoriya just yet!"

It wasn't the only question he should ask himself. There was a second question, one just as important, but one he'd been too preoccupied to consider. Now, it'd snowballed into something larger than he could answer by himself.

"We saw his incredibly tight match with Ojiro, and not a soul has forgotten what happened when Midoriya cut loose, right? Perhaps, with enough control, finesse, and grit, these two might be on a closer playing field than it might look! Now, from the Red Corner, let me welcome…!"

Was Shoto ready to face him, too?

A tiny glimmer, shining in the far corner of Shoto's eye was all the answer he needed. Their hands clapped together, and Izuku pulled him in for a shoulder-bump.

"Sorry for making you wait, but I'm ready now. Give me everything you've got."

"...Uh, Red Corner? You there? Where are—hey! Woah!"

Together, Shoto and Izuku entered the open air, half-jogging towards the Stage. The thrum of spectators made a collective noise of surprise, and it took a second before Present Mic got his bearing back.

"Izuku! Todoroki! Fellas, my pals, buddies, amigos—what're ya doin?"

Izuku offered the crowd a sheepish wave and ducked low as they reached Midnight. Shoto kept his eyes dead ahead, as if nothing about their arrival was out of place.

"You guys realize that there's no Purple Corner, right?" Present Mic continued, his exasperation nearly as potent as Izuku's. "Red and Blue aren't supposed to mix—ah, whatever! Folks, welcome to the Stage Izuku Midoriya and Shoto Todoroki!"

Despite their oddity, the crowd seemed enthused by their conjoined appearance. Claps synced with stomps and hollers, and Izuku almost began calculating how loud the crowd could truly get—but Midnight was ruthless.

"Boys, are you serious? We're supposed to take our time to hype them up! Now the spectators are gonna get spoiled for content… I'm gonna have to assign you both homework on crowd work…" She said, sighing. Izuku might've cringed, if not for the hint of fondness in her voice. Still, he tried to ignore the way her eyes lingered on him, studying his face.

"Ma'am, you're not my teacher. You can't assign me homework," Shoto said, before glancing at Izuku. With a start, Izuku realized he was correct.

"He's right, ma'am," Izuku agreed, "and I'm on an awkward schedule. It'd be cruel of you to assign even more homework, when I'm already doing two loads…"

Midnight huffed, her stern facade cracking as she flipped her hair over her shoulder.

"Careful with that sass, kiddo, I might just give you a third load. But forget that!" Midnight said, before taking Izuku's elbow and dragging him a few feet from Shoto. Flicking on her microphone, she turned to the crowd and began her spiel. "I have it on good authority, folks, that there's a little bit of spice here! Through the magic of knowing a girl who knows a guy, a little birdie on the grapevine might've told me a not-so-little secret!"

Izuku froze in Midnight's grip, suddenly struck by the thought of her knowledge. Midnight was now just one of many who knew about One for All—and what secret could she possibly be talking about but that?

The crowd leaned in with her words, enchanted by the promise of drama—and drama, she delivered.

"Though Midoriya and Todoroki's backgrounds portray them as polar opposites, they're actually quite old friends! What we have here today is not a brawl between strangers, but the climax of a rivalry years in the making!"

U.A.'s Stadium practically imploded with energy, ranging from surprise, to doubt, to excitement—but mostly, Izuku heard their epiphanies. It seemed them coming out together made more sense, now.

When Izuku met Shoto's eyes, however, all he saw was the ridiculous expression of a man caught unawares. He mouthed something to Izuku, which he thought might've been "rivalry?"

Izuku could only shrug in reply, the anxiety of his overthinking stealing his voice.

When the crowd quieted, Izuku felt Midnight's hand slip away. In its place, her microphone appeared, her face looming just a few inches behind. He could feel her breath on his cheek.

"So, Midoriya, do you object to this awesome battle?" Midnight asked, searching his face for something—doubt, he presumed, but knew wasn't the whole truth. She sought something deeper. A hint of the secret divulged to her without his consent.

It was something he still didn't know how to answer. He just wanted to fight Shoto.

"I do not," Izuku said, turning his cheek and stepping away. She didn't hesitate to straighten out and ask Shoto the same, but she didn't get nearly so deep into his personal space.

"And do you object, Todoroki? Shall we begin?"

He shook his head. Stepping away, Midnight turned to the crowd, and from the bottom of her chest, bellowed five words.

"Then on my mark…!"

It was strange. Izuku didn't even think of how he wanted to approach this fight—he didn't strategize, choose his stance, or consider his disadvantages. He simply found himself already crouched, hand extended as if to bop Shoto's nose.

Exhale.

Promises made, promises kept.

Inhale.

"Begin!"

[x]

Shoto's vision erupted into a mass of brilliant, living sparks. Fire curled around him, lightening the load on his heels and making his heart flutter with excitement. He counterbalanced his temperature with a trickle of ice, keeping him relatively cool, even as the flames swirling vaporized the ice as it formed. It gave him a second, thicker aura made of pure icy mist, concealing his more subtle movements.

It could do nothing to conceal his strength, however. His power pulsed with his heart, most strongly around the hand in which he held a second, separate power.

It was a kindled flame, just as the suit he wore was—but this was different. Two flames existed in one place, yet the fire was no larger than one. Novelty had birthed this skill, rather than necessity—but without a certain person, Shoto wouldn't have given it a second thought.

Holding his hand out to his friend, Shoto let it go. While the fire's breadth was small, no larger than an apple's, its speed belied its simple origins. With the force of a small cannon, the firebolt screamed toward Izuku.

In a blink, his friend vanished. A familiar green smog replaced him, contorting itself as it met the firebolt. The shapeless mass pinched around its center and twisted till what remained was a wound, tight spiral. The drill-like shield whistled with a great force, showing off all of Izuku's applicable technique, skill, and raw willpower.

Yet, when the firebolt exploded on impact, it banished Izuku's construct straight to hell. The explosion rocked the stage and sent Izuku flying back, his smoke scattering with his concentration. Shoto was already sprinting, burning his footsteps into the concrete. Just as Izuku landed, Shoto unleashed a titanic pillar of ice from between Izuku's legs, swallowing him whole.

Present Mic screamed, the crowd hollered, and Shoto's ears roared. Blood pounded in his head as he searched his prison, looking for Izuku through layers of ice and steam clouds.

Had he won so easily, again?

With a hand, he waved away the walls of mist surrounding them and saw it. Disappointment soured his stomach.

The dark silhouette of Izuku, frozen head-to-toe in his iceberg's heart.

Only, something was off. He was sure that Izuku only had one arm. The moment it clicked, the silhouette warped, and Shoto's left ear exploded in pain. Izuku shrank into a ball of green smoke so tiny it could hardly be considered a marble, before widening into a disc no thicker than a hair. With a high-pitched screech, the disc sliced his iceberg in half as Izuku kicked him in the head.

Shoto's flames sputtered as he regained his bearings, his mind still racing as the smoke-saw devolved and melded against Izuku's frame, covering him chin-to-toe in a thin, filmy green. More and more smoke pumped out of Izuku's neck, making his smoke-like armor thicker and thicker until he could hardly see U.A.'s blue uniform beneath.

When Izuku struck out, it was far quicker than Shoto prepared for. He managed to ward off a second kick with a heat-shield, but he couldn't avoid how the armor leapt off Izuku's chest to batter against Shoto. It was a living multitool—a fourth and fifth and sixth limb. Izuku wailed into him, his range seemingly infinite as his punches leapt off his arm and his kicks jumped off his legs. Here, his friend was an outboxer, dancing beyond Shoto's range yet never too far to deliver utter devastation. His fire weakened the strikes, but he couldn't fully stop them without cremating Izuku or the spectators watching so closely.

It was gratifying.

Shoto blocked a kick with crossed arms and used the force to spring back. Landing in a crouch, Shoto stood and uncrossed his arms to release a spherical fire-pulse, fueling the blast with the flaming armor he wore. The pulse crashed against everything short of the Stadium, melting the two remnants of his iceberg and sending Izuku, protected by his dense smoke, careening across the Stage's length.

Ice crusted over his shoulders, starting in the small of his back. If his flames weren't enough to defend from Izuku's blunt force, he'd use something more tangible. It crept over his right side faster than his left, but Shoto embraced it. He pictured a master samurai, with asymmetrical pauldrons and a thick, powerful-looking gauntlet to match. He sculpted his armor in his mind's eye, not giving thought to the aesthetic yet submitting to it regardless. In a moment, Shoto's intangible aura was replaced by what could've been a master samurai's war equipment.

He stopped short of crafting a sword. Instead, he focused his efforts on keeping his form fluid, rather than statuesque and immobile. Ice spread from his toes, coating the entire stage in a thin layer of slippery ice.

Standing in the center of his now-frozen arena, Shoto watched Izuku twist mid-air as he sailed over the Stage's edge like a green comet. He didn't fear Izuku going out of bounds, however. He didn't fear anything, right now.

With a burst of motion, black whips sprouted from Izuku's shoulders to grip the Stage's slippery corners and pull him back in. Four thin, gangly tentacles latched onto each corner and cracked the ice, digging into the concrete as if it was puddy. With their leverage and a puff of smoke, Izuku returned to hover before Shoto, smiling crooked and wide.

Shoto thought back to their last encounter, when Izuku panted like a dying pug and lost his strength before a proper fight even truly broke out. He didn't know what'd happened to change Izuku, to wake up the hero Shoto knew thrived deep within, but he was glad for it.

His friend's fear was still heavily colored in his face, shining through his unsure smile, but for a moment, it didn't matter. At least he was smiling.

Clapping his hands, Shoto summoned an ice pillar beneath his feat to launch himself skyward. He caught Izuku's elbow before he could dodge, and challenged Izuku's smoke armor with the full power of a tundra. Instantly, Izuku's arm turned a sickly white-green and Shoto's left hand buried itself in Izuku's armor, likewise freezing his gut an off-green.

Izuku let nothing go unpunished, however. One tentacle snapped free to smack Shoto, but when it bounced off his armor, it entangled his waist and flung him with impossible strength.

Shoto barely landed on an ice ramp, nearly breaking his ankles. Sliding on both feet, he ignored the pain and skated across the arena at full speed, using a firebolt to rocket himself even faster. He hit another half-pipe ramp at full-speed, launching himself back the way he'd come. Jets loosed from his heels, and as he somersaulted forward, he brought both flaming feet to Izuku's shocked expression with an explosive boom.

This was what he wanted. After all these months, he wanted to see where he stood, what he could do, and how much he'd grown. He could feel a hint of the same, flowing through Izuku's every blow, every touch, every look. Izuku wanted this just as he did, and something more. Every hit grew more passionate, more familiar, and Shoto felt it coming.

Yet, despite giving it everything he had, Izuku hadn't caved an inch. Their battle's dynamic shifted from fluid blows into one of brutish dominance, and as if it'd never been there, Shoto's ice armor evaporated. Flames surged around him, strengthening him, fueling his struggle, and conveying every ounce of his need to Izuku.

He thought of the terrible lessons his father beat into him as a child. He thought of his family's disarray, his mother's lapse, and All Might's death. He thought of the change, the growth, the friends and promises he'd made. He especially thought of Izuku and what ailed him, what drove him, what pain he hid away, what secrets he held… and…

…Decided he didn't care.

Everything crossed his mind in a blink.

Shoto sought out the warmth reflecting back into him from Izuku's struggle, and made his final decision. If he could embrace Izuku for whatever he was, whatever he hid deep inside, he could embrace what lurked with himself, too.

And what lurked within his mother.

Izuku's strength surged, shattering their struggle in an instant. A familiar power sent Shoto ragdolling through the air, one he hadn't seen in months. Shoto found himself struggling to stay afloat as a massive arm of writhing tentacles and green smoke nearly swatted him out of the sky. Voidlimb took wide, sweeping arcs that came even quicker and faster than Izuku's jabs.

A slap. Regret.

A punch. Release.

A grab. Relief.

Throwing him across the sky. Resolution.

Through each hit, every blow, something unraveled in his mind's eye. The faintest silhouette behind Izuku's. A powerful vortex in his stomach nearly swallowed him, when he glimpsed the silhouette's face—but more than that, a flood of adrenaline reminded him where he was. He didn't cave easily; he fought on, embracing every hit and doing everything to react.

Voidlimb's vastness, however, was a mismatch for its speed and ferocity. This was no lumbering giant—this was like All Might had grabbed a red oak's trunk and swung it at Shoto like a baseball bat.

He sent fireblast after fireblast into the limb to repel it, and when that didn't work, he tried freezing it. But, while the smoke remained susceptible to his frost, the always-moving, never-slowing tentacles never let the chill win. What frost it accumulated shattered into a trillion sparkles of vapor, and Shoto's world was swallowed whole.

In his way, he smiled. He'd done exactly as asked.

[x]

Present Mic, perhaps for the second time that day, was at a loss for words.

Not three hours ago, he'd learned Izuku's terrible truth. He'd confronted his mentor, his boss, and his friend—all for the sake of a boy he hadn't even known that well. It was the kind of day that required a strong drink and a detox afterwards, yet Hizashi wasn't the type of man to sit still for long.

But now, as he watched the monstrous amalgamation of powers form the shape of a giant's arm, he found himself doing just that. With his commentary dried up, he simply sat, and watched.

Shoto Todoroki was, simply put, a phenomenon. While his mastery over his quirk was nowhere near his father's, that meant little. Endeavor was a freak of raw efficiency and technique, and comparing them was, at the moment, like apples to oranges. Todoroki's abilities already eclipsed rookie pros, reaching levels that many simply could not attain through training alone. He was a natural—but he wasn't a fighter. Not at heart. Anyone with a keen eye could see it clear as day. In the face of his overwhelming ability, however, it mattered little.

Yet, Present Mic saw glimpses of something in his opposition. His eyes remained peeled, afraid that if he blinked he'd miss a moment. Every single instance that Izuku shined was like gold dust, rare and beautiful and exciting.

Hizashi hadn't entirely written off Izuku, of course, but he hadn't been particularly confident. They all had, after all, gone after Nedzu in order to stop the snowballing problems affecting Izuku. He thought the boy would need some time in the sun, away from U.A., to regain his bearings…

But as his fight developed with Todoroki, something strange happened. With every exchange, it was like a layer of filth peeled off Izuku. The gold shining beneath all the grime of stress and trauma shone a little brighter, a little more often. Instead of buckling under his sublime opponent, Izuku was rising to meet him, despite it all.

When the black ropes jumped from Izuku's skin, Hizashi grew worried—yet they didn't rampage. Not like they did before. Izuku didn't turn into a monster—he was the master here. Maybe the difference was in the opponent—after all, he'd been struggling against Bakugo last time, in an intense free-for-all. Now, he could focus his entire attention on one, comfortable opponent. Maybe it was the way he'd hit his head earlier. Maybe it was Mashirao Ojiro.

Or, maybe it was the air—the oxygen filling his lungs, free of Nedzu's tainted stink. Maybe he was thriving with his newfound freedoms, even before truly understanding them. Hizashi'd seen the same before, in others. They simply sensed their safety.

It was when Izuku created his quirk-arm that Hizashi stopped commentating entirely. He'd seen the ability several times, in class recordings and in his Hero Course exam—but seeing it live was different. Hizashi felt like he was seeing a different version of Izuku entirely—one that wasn't snubbed in the Colosseum, one that wasn't traumatized in the USJ. A brave drone recording and streaming the fight up-close even caught the glimpse of an odd smile crossing Izuku's face.

As Izuku broke down Shoto's defenses, Hizashi focused on every detail. He committed every second of this moment to memory—so that he wouldn't forget it ever, even in his dying days. Ordinary students oh-so-rarely made such remarkable impressions on him, but Izuku was anything but ordinary. The grime was so thin, now, that the gilded skin beneath was merely blemished, rather than rancidly filthy.

When at last, Izuku managed to grab Shoto, it was like a boy playing with a doll. His fingers held Shoto in a firm grip, and though he spat fire and fumed steam, he was entirely enveloped. With a final slam, Izuku put Shoto out of bounds and out of the match, claiming his victory just in time for his seemingly endless storage of smoke to find its bottom. It sputtered, and he fell to earth, his tentacles likewise turning to dust and fading away.

He landed in a roll, and popped up next to Midnight. She surged forward and raised his fist high—and Hizashi remembered his job.

"With an incredible show of technique, Izuku has taken the victory over Endeavor's heir! To what heights will he climb?"

He rambled on, hyperbolizing every moment, uplifting and congratulating each opponent on their excellent match, and smiled while he did it.

Izuku Midoriya, the little boy who wanted to be a hero and All Might's heir, was moving on to the semi-finals.

[x]

He rid himself of Midnight's gentle, proud grasp the moment he could. Izuku ran to Shoto, finding him waving off a timid medic fussing over him. Their eyes caught the other with ease.

It was a damn good match. Simple, fast, and… fun. Liberating—for Izuku. But he was the victor, and the high was still intoxicating. Would Shoto feel…?

They captured the other's eyes in a long stare. A million things passed between them—Izuku saw their fight replay behind his eyes, and their fight before, and everything leading up to it and between. It was a scary thing, like being judged before the gates of heaven—yet Izuku was all the more afraid of Shoto's judgment than any deity's. Holding his breath, Izuku silently pleaded, though he didn't know for what.

Shoto held out his hand, and the sigh that escaped him was so easy, he hardly remembered the pain in his throat that he'd clung to for too long. He clasped Shoto's hand and pulled him up and in.

"I think I see it…" Shoto whispered in his ear, before pulling back and dusting off his pants. "Congrats on the win, Izu."

"Thanks, man—what is it you see?"

Shoto just blinked, his scar crinkling ever-so-slightly. He glanced around them, making sure no one was eavesdropping—besides a few dozen thousand spectators—and leaned back in.

"Your dad. You're an All Might lovechild, aren't you?"

Izuku choked, but before he could deny it, he was hit with a bolt of nostalgia as he remembered Setsuna making the same accusation ages ago. It was such a bewildering statement that he was shocked it happened twice—especially when he was certain Shoto's was baseless.

"Setsuna said the same thing, a while ago…"

Shoto winced, and patted him on the shoulder.

"Oh yeah, yikes. She's out for your blood. Can you handle it?"

It dawned on Izuku that Shoto spoke the truth, and the high of victory and rekindled camaraderie receded back from where it came. Nervous, he glanced over at the student section, but didn't see her. He swallowed.

"I… I don't…"

One for All churned in his stomach as the hairs on his nape bristled. A quiet adrenaline made him squeeze his fist till the nails dug ugly crescents in his palm. With a quiet command, a small blackwhip grew from his neck. It immediately twisted on itself, writhing in an uncoordinated dance.

A deep, clean inhale. A powerful exhale. The whip uncurled, straightening out under his focus, without any smoke as his crutch. He looked to Shoto, and dismissed the whip.

"Earlier, I wasn't so sure… but… I think so."

In the corner of his eye, he finally located her, but he granted her no attention. There would be time later.

"I think I'm ready to talk to her."

[x]

AN: I just finished Part I of what I think will be the climax. I actually was up late last night thinking about it (and Batcat, for some reason) which isn't something I've done in months. I'm somewhat excited!

review!