She was little more than a marble statue, as Izuku stepped up to her. Stock-still and frozen, Setsuna could've been carved from stone. Izuku lowered his eyes and nodded her way. Even… even through it all, he understood her worry. Of course he did. He'd be a fool and a bastard to not. It pained him, but he stepped close to her. She did not stop him.
Glancing around, he saw many were still staring. Leaning into Setsuna, he cupped his forehead so only she could see, and pushed back his bangs. She remained still, her only sign of life being the low whistle that left her lungs. When he was sure she saw it—the rough pinkness that now mirrored his jaw on the dead opposite side of his face—he stepped back.
Forcing down his feelings, he left her to her thoughts. He knew that if he wasn't direct, her anxiety would grow boundless; she'd overthink all the possibilities, and eventually wonder if Izuku was just a walking corpse. Showing her exactly what to worry over was the best kindness he could manage.
Carving out a personal corner wasn't hard. People parted for him like the Red Sea. Some gave him nods, other's congratulated his recovery, but most remained distant—almost afraid. He couldn't find it in himself to blame them.
Izuku knew he'd scared them. What he did was borderline villainous, certainly unheroic, and entirely unnerving. Powers like Blackwhip didn't do what Blackwhip did. The spectator's probably thought Izuku himself went wild instead of the stubborn, insatiable quirk within him.
"Please folks, guide your eyes to the screen as I establish the match order!" Present Mic said, his voice jubilant and excited. He seemed truly pleased to be in the announcer's booth, unlike before. Yes, it was just a show, but that'd been all it was, at first. A sham, a performance; a fake smile and fake excitement. Now, Hizashi sounded truly invested in their Festival.
It made Izuku ill. This was the nicest hero he knew. Thanks to Vlad King, Izuku knew that Present Mic, alongside several others, stuck their neck out for him—and in exchange, they now knew his secret.
They knew he killed All Might. Whatever friendship Present Mic and Izuku had before was gone, he was sure. Even if he sounded honestly happy, Izuku knew that deep down, the man was troubled. They all would be.
He could only stomach glancing at Setsuna for a single second before his nerves took over again. Yes, he promised to take charge of his life—but that was just a promise. Actualizing his desires suddenly felt far, far more complicated in the real world.
"The Winner's Bracket's first duel starts with…" Present Mic said, trailing off as a crude, power-point style animation displayed the names of the first round. One dropped from the sky, the other bubbled into existence. Squinting, Izuku could only barely make out the names before they grew crisp and defined. "Shihai Kuroiro and Fumikage Tokoyami! Oh baby, what a start!"
While the crowd celebrated the announcement, Izuku suspected they didn't quite understand the matchup. It was, in his opinion, quite interesting—and relieving. His pulse felt too quick to go first. The pressure might kill him—
No, Izuku reminded himself as Present Mic continued. Anxiety alone shouldn't be enough anymore. After the first two names appeared, the rest came rather quickly.
"After them is Shoji versus Uraraka! Then Tetsutetsu versus Kirishima, Bakugo versus Monoma, Iida versus Sashimi, Yaoyorozu versus Tokage, Yoarashi versus Todoroki, and finally, we have Ojiro versus the revived King, Izuku Midoriya!"
The crowd thundered and the students whistled. The matchups seemed fair, in Izuku's opinion, though Ojiro might not consider it so, after what Izuku did. Before, it might've seemed close, with Izuku aching and bemoaning his exhaustion, but after letting Blackwhip slip, any confidence Ojiro might've had probably disintegrated. Izuku wouldn't tell him otherwise, even if the validity of his impression wasn't entirely intact.
Izuku still felt it. Blackwhip writhed under his skin, and wanted to lash out. After letting it free, Izuku was terrified to do so again—but only until the dream. Something was said in it he couldn't quite remember… but it was enough to soothe his nerves. There was something different about the way Blackwhip lived within him, now—the only question was what.
By chance, their eyes met across the stage. The other students ebbed and flowed, but they never broke their contact. Izuku drank in Ojiro's expression, studying him, turning him over in his mind—would he be the one? Would Ojiro test him enough? He didn't know the boy well, and his instincts told him a resounding no—but his time in 1A had changed his mind on many things. Perhaps Ojiro will surprise him.
Izuku hoped he did.
Then, Present Mic began listing off the loser's bracket. When that was done, the students were dismissed to the sidelines—barring the first four fighters. A 1B student and an elated General Education student stood in the grass as Shihai and Tokoyami took up opposite sides of the stage. 1A and 1Z filled out a dedicated first-row seating block. Some chose to get food, others to take a brief nap, but many, like Izuku himself, locked onto the combatants.
Tokoyami… Izuku still had mixed feelings about the guy, but he hoped he did well. He knew what it was like to be afraid of the monster in your chest.
Izuku hoped he could conquer it—and if he did, then he could, too. With that in mind, he watched the proceedings very carefully.
[x]
The murmurs and whispers faded away as the classes receded. Even the other combatants drifted off, taking up places along the stage's outer ring. Tokoyami welcomed the quiet, after everything. His ears still rang and the world tilted if he didn't blink for too long. With the classes and the spectators compounded upon one another, the overstimulation nearly cracked his skull open.
He thanked everything for a second of breathing room. Inhaling a deep, slow breath, Tokoyami closed his eyes and savored the moment. The tinnitus faded. The spectators faded. The judgment faded. It didn't take long for Tokoyami to be alone in his own dark little world. It was a small space he shared with Darkshadow. Unlike in the real world, here, they occupied the same place. When they closed their eyes, they both came here.
"Thank you," Tokoyami said, "for helping our friend. I know you would've preferred the ulterior."
"Actually, no. If helping people always meant body slamming them, I'd become a therapist," Darkshadow said. "I was just defending you. Nothing—no one, else."
Tokoyami shifted, feeling the lie like a mosquito bite. He scratched at it, before noticing something odd in the mix of light and blood behind his eyelids. No matter where he turned his head or looked, a little white dot remained stationary.
"I…" Tokoyami began, before feeling the words die on his lips. He wanted to say he didn't believe Darkshadow, but he wasn't sure. Did he not believe him, or did he not want to? "I… —The hell is that?"
Now that he focused on it more, he realized that the little white dot wasn't stationary. It was slowly growing. Distantly, he was aware of Present Mic's announcements coming to a startling close.
"Hope you're ready folks, because we're diving straight in! Let the first match… begin!"
The white ballooned outward, and as Tokoyami opened his eyes, he was shocked to realize the white dot remained. Shihai's bone-colored hair stopped as he paused to throw a flying ax kick at Tokoyami's face.
Before he could guard himself, Darkshadow sprung from his collar and shielded him, crossing each fluid arm in an X. Anticipating the shock, Tokoyami flinched and screwed his eyes shut—but no power came. Instead, like wet clay slapping against wetter clay, Shihai's kick melted into Darkshadow.
Even with Tokoyami's eyes shut, however, he could somehow still see Shihai's highlights—most prominently, his hair, but as it vanished into a dark goo, his white sclera. The twin eyes raced across Darkshadow's form, enveloping Tokoyami and Darkshadow like a straightjacket. Unable to move with his eyes closed, Tokoyami opened them and stumbled back. Darkshadow's shifting, oily texture was now a flat, matte black as he struggled in place.
Darkshadow threw himself against the ground, slamming into the concrete hard enough to crack it. The force sent Tokoyami stumbling as Darkshadow continued to thrash.
"Yield!" Shihai said, before two arms emerged around Darkshadow's neck and put him in a choke hold. "Give up!"
Casting off his shock, Tokoyami took back his bearings and sent Darkshadow another mental command. Whenever he blinked, he froze, locked in battle against Shihai, but he was free when his eyes remained open. The fact that he could invade their personal space was freaky, but inconsequential. Whatever overlapping space they shared in the darkness, Tokoyami wasn't locked in. He was free to choose between it and the light.
Darkshadow squawked and squirmed under Shihai's influence, struggling to resist. Slowly, as Shihai choked him, Darkshadow stopped thrashing.
"C'mon, give up!" Shihai said, his head half-forming from behind Darkshadow's head. Darkshadow's shoulders quaked under the effort of holding himself upright. Pathetically, he tapped out. That was when Shihai screwed up.
Tokoyami knew Darkshadow was incredibly dangerous. After the USJ, he could never forget; but he also knew that Darkshadow was a living, thinking creature, separate from himself. Of course he wouldn't naturally hold the same reservations as Tokoyami. Of course he was prone to hurt people—and of course, that meant Tokoyami was responsible for rearing him in. To release that guilt would be like calling his own tantrum a natural disaster. That would be arrogance incarnate. Of course Tokoyami was responsible for Darkshadow, and of course that meant Dark Shadow was not, in turn, responsible for him. Not yet, at least.
As Darkshadow tapped out, Shihai eased on his chokehold. Tearing off his top, Tokoyami lunged forward and wrapped its length around Shihai's exposed chin. Though his frame was thin and wiry, it didn't take strength to pinch and twist. Shihai gagged, and in one fell sweep, Tokoyami wrenched off the darkness enveloping his partner.
Recovering, the dark boy tried escaping head-first through Tokoyami's shadow, but that was Shihai's second mistake. In ensnaring Darkshadow whole, he only gave it time to charge up energy away from the sun.
Screaming, Darkshadow seized Shihai's leg before his hips even met the ground, and pulled him back out like a sword from a sheathe. Then, with one great heave, Darkshadow flung Shihai off the stage, where he landed in a mess of indistinguishable limbs.
Panting from his own minimal efforts, Tokoyami retrieved his shirt and slowly slipped it back on. Jogging over to the stage's edge, it only hit him as he actually saw Shihai in the grass. He won.
The crowd thundered, cheering his name so loud that it drowned out the tinnitus still lingering in his ears. It was the same low buzz that Darkshadow left off in close proximity.
Darkshadow's brief surge of strength faded, and with it, his brief mania. Like an obedient dog, he slipped back under Tokoyami's clothes as he slipped over the ledge's side and helped Shihai to his feet. The boy grumbled something fierce but took his hand.
"I should've totally had you," he said, digging his shoe into the grass. "You weren't even looking at me."
Tokoyami considered telling him about the weird phenomenon, but chose against it. If it came up again, they could talk it over with more information. Instead, he leaned in close.
"You're definitely better than me, just not us. You had a few mistakes, but only one was so egregious that you should probably think on it."
The roaring crowd almost drowned out Shihai's next words, but the sound could do nothing to mute the glare in his eyes.
"And what's that?"
Darkshadow peaked out from under his collar, as small as a kitten.
"I don't breathe, dipshit," Darkshadow said, his voice no deeper than a squeaky toy. Tokoyami shook his head and sighed at Shihai's flabbergasted expression.
"I was going to explain that Darkshadow doesn't speak for me, and that you overlooked me as the winning condition, but indeed. Darkshadow doesn't breathe."
"For real?" Shihai asked.
"For real, dipshit," Darkshadow said, chirping.
"Damn."
Tokoyami closed his eyes and bowed as Shihai turned and limped into the Stadium's shadows. Tokoyami watched Shihai's hair bounce with each step, even as he disappeared around a wall. When he opened his eyes, he lost the ability. Whenever be blinked, though, he could still see it—even just barely, as the boy grew farther and farther away.
"What a nice throw to cap off the first round! The victory goes to Fumikage To-Ko-Yami!"
For the first time since the USJ, when Tokoyami found a seat within 1A's bundle, he smiled back at those who congratulated him.
He'd won, with Darkshadow's help. Perhaps…
The second round didn't begin immediately. Instead, the loser's bracket took up what would've usually been the advertising slot on traditional television. Anyone on a streaming service, however, could watch their fight with whatever interest they gave it. Despite it being a loser's bracket, however, Tokoyami found himself quite entertained. If Tokoyami recalled correctly, they didn't do loser's brackets in previous years. He imagined the General Education students were ecstatic.
That excitement transferred into their match, and the crowd felt it. For a brief moment, Tokoyami even forgot he was a competitor. It was just him and Darkshadow, cuddled together, watching U.A. on the big living room flatscreen again. They were just part of the crowd.
But, as with all good things in his life, it was swiftly replaced by dread.
As their match came to a close, Present Mic reminded him who came next.
"Now, back to the big dogs! Mezou Shoji! Versus! Ochako Uraraka!"
His satisfaction dropped from his stomach like a carpet bomber. He hadn't even noticed how Uraraka and Shoji weren't present in the conglomerate of combatants.
Watching them approach from opposite directions really put into perspective their size difference. Not only did Shoji tower over Uraraka, he was stockier and sturdier. His quirk dramatically enhanced his muscular strength, taking it beyond the natural peak of human power. That wasn't even mentioning his dexterity, which was better than most of the class', without even considering his advantage in numbers. Uraraka was very, very physically outclassed.
Far, far below him, those internal bombs went off, and he cringed. On a real level, this was unfair—made infinitely more so by the fact that he'd also crippled Uraraka. Not only was Shoji a prime physical specimen, Uraraka was disabled. Her hearing aid, so far as he'd been brave enough to learn, wasn't the best. It was clunky, uncomfortable, and only functional by the most generous margins. Tokoyami could hardly stand to look at her.
"You did this," he whispered to himself, feeling his eyes drift. Something uncomfortable curled within him—or, rather, on him. Darkshadow slithered under his shirt and up his spine, settling at his nape. The quirk said nothing, but its weight bowed his back.
Pursing his lips, Tokoyami forced himself to watch. It was like shoving two north ends of a magnet together, but he had to.
He'd done a serious number to her, but she still had a fighting chance. Zero Gravity was a powerful win-condition in a contest of strength. Quietly, Tokoyami pressed his knees together, kept his hands still, and gave himself to the match.
Shoji's first move was straight out of Tokoyami's book—he stripped off his shirt. Shredding it, he used each piece to cover his hands before charging. His arms liquified before snapping out like whips, growing half the Stage's length in a heartbeat. He sent a barrage of half-powered, quick palm-strikes her way, but never more than two at once. Some made contact, from shoulder to gut, but few were powerful, and none were critical. Uraraka ate each blow like a champion, otherwise dodging or weaving what she didn't have to.
It was impressive to engage with her whilst standing so far away, but Tokoyami supposed the dozens of eyeballs dotting his limbs helped. He could probably see her in a 360 degree angle. That, alongside everything else, gave him enough edge to make the first serious strike. A back-handed blow to the cheek knocked her hearing aid out and sprayed tiny blood drops across the stage.
Clenching his teeth, Tokoyami forced himself to remain steadfast. Uraraka didn't hide her cry as her hearing aid clattered on the ground. Falling to a kneel, she clutched at her skull in pain. Only Tokoyami's pants stopped his fingernails from drawing blood. Shame flushed him, but not him alone. Seeing her state, Shoji couldn't help but hesitate, struck with the reminder of her deficiency—
Only for Uraraka to suddenly right herself and slap one of his lingering arms full-force. He recoiled, surprised, as his legs lifted off the ground. Through sheer grit and a bleeding ear, Uraraka grabbed Shoji by the arm, stepped forward, and judo-flipped the weightless, giant boy like a bamboo stalk.
"Oh my goodness!" Present Mic said, his voice like a shrill rocket about to blast off. "Is this an Uraraka Original, or inspired choreography? Is Mezou Shoji—"
He shortened his arm-lengths before he hit the ground, pulling him inward and saving himself from automatic disqualification, but not from Uraraka's full-force stomach kick. Though his abs were like sculpted steel, without gravity anchoring him, he went flying back regardless.
Again, his arms grew tenfold in length, sacrificing size for tiny, quick fingers. He just barely managed to snag the Stage's corners—but once again, like an endurance predator, Uraraka was there. With an unforgiving finger-stomp, she smashed the tiny hands with her heel, and Shoji floated out of bounds. His giant form flailed with all his last ditch efforts, but it was too late.
His shoulder bounced off the Stadium's outer ring wall, some ten meters away from Izuku's cracked imprint. Shoji drifted some four feet away, unharmed but defeated, before Uraraka touched her fingers together and released him. He landed with a sad little thump, and the crowd exploded.
Uraraka walked around the Stage, ignoring Present Mic's incredulous congratulations for finding wherever her hearing aid flew. Before she did, however, a branch of tanned hands sneaked over the Stage's ledge and proffered the device she sought. The overhead screens caught a glimpse of her appreciative smile—though taut it was—and held the frame, highlighting the whole Stadium with her warmth.
She really was such a nice looking girl. It destroyed him inside, knowing the little trickle of blood flowing down her neck was his fault.
As Present Mic announced the next fighters, however, he realized something.
Picturing the bracket in his head, if he won the first round, and she the second…
Oh.
[x]
Katsuki's knee bounced, even after he politely told it to fucking quit it. Having taken up the furthest seat from the rest, Katsuki had room to sit how he pleased. Today, he sat forward, knees spread apart, and rested his chin on his knuckles. Thanks to his elbow being planted in his mid-thigh, however, his entire body shook.
He considered changing his posture. It didn't sound unappealing to lean back in the bleachers, stretch his shoulders and get some sun on his cheeks—but it was the principle of the thing. So little of his life made sense. In a world where everything confused and irritated him, he at least wanted the certainty of his most base desires met.
So, his knee bounced, and his arm and skull bounced with it. No matter what, he did, however, the bouncing continued.
"He just walked past me," Katsuki whispered to himself. "Like I was a ghost—or he was one."
Izuku Midoriya was alive, fighting, and had not acknowledged him. Katsuki tried not looking straight at him, but he still caught glimpses. The boy was deep in thought, muttering and scratching at his scars. He seemed entirely focused on the ongoing matches.
It just felt so ridiculous. Katsuki swore he killed him, and now he was up and about. He hit him with enough force to send him straight through the wall, yet he'd only cracked it—and face first, at that. Even if he hadn't taken Katsuki's full brunt, he shouldn't just be… enjoying the show? Nothing about it made sense. Just like his knee.
The Uraraka girl fought well in the last match, he thought, seeing her join the combatants. She slid in perfectly between the guys and girls, a rigid smile on her face.
Occasionally, her fingers would ghost over her hearing aid, now re-applied. He'd suspected her injury was worse than she'd let on. To the others, her scream might've come off as fake in retrospect, but Katsuki had his doubts. It worked well to throw off the mutant's balance, but it wasn't calculated. That shock and pain was real.
He didn't gossip, but he did listen. Yaoyorozu and Ingenium's brother saw the girl get vicious. Even now, with her soft smiles and pink cheeks, he thought he could see a small glimpse of it—something beneath. This girl was tough. One to look out for.
Turning back to the stage, Katsuki pretended he couldn't see Izuku scrutinizing every single movement. It was the secondary tournament's second round, involving a General Education student he didn't recognize, and his classmate.
He sat up.
"God damnit."
Katsuki hadn't noticed it, through his turbulence. In Izuku's slim victory, he'd booted out half of Mudboy's team, ironically leaving behind Mudboy himself and Kendo. That meant, when all was said and done, 1Z would be on cleaning duty.
It seemed the other members of 1Z came to the same conclusion as he did, watching the ongoing match. Groans filled the bleachers, one by one, as the light bulbs went off. Only himself and the Tokage girl didn't complain.
Cleaning was therapeutic. Keeping and maintaining a space clean often uncluttered his messy mind. He welcomed the chore—though he didn't blame the others. It could be… monotonous.
What wasn't monotonous, however, was the absolute mismatch happening on the stage.
Mudboy was dominating the fight. He was a good wrestler, made infinitely more potent by his skill—but he was, Katsuki supposed, a decent guy. The General Education kid seemed over the moon. Like an eager dog, he nipped at Mudboy's heels, and to a casual observer, kept him on the backfoot.
The contour of his jaw was knotted and bark-like. When he opened his mouth, he could shoot seeds out like a canon, which exploded into tiny plants on impact. He was rather good for a civilian, strafing Mudboy, keeping a strong distance, and even nailing him once or twice.
Each impact mattered little to Mudboy, as whatever he touched turned to sludge, but without that ability, it could've been formidable. When exploding, the little plants were vine-like, similar to Shiozaki's, but smaller and out of his control. They seemed prone to ensnaring whatever they touched, like a venus flytrap.
One wouldn't be enough to bind a grown man, but two might. Three would certainly catch any unprepared U.A. student. Good strategy, a good quirk, and a good attitude made him a prime candidate for upward movement—in fact, he was almost guaranteed to join 1B eventually. Just, probably not today.
The guy had his fun, but that was not to say they were truly competing. Everyone could see the moment the switch flipped.
Mudboy took two seeds to the shoulder and thigh, trapping his arms to his chest. Letting himself struggle, Katsuki's classmate put on a grand performance of almost getting caught. His acting wasn't great, but it was enough to trick anyone in the heat of the moment.
"What's this? Has our 1Z contender put his guard down too much?" Present Mic said, slobbering over his microphone.
Or idiots, Katsuki remembered.
Like with Uraraka, the feint worked, and the seed-blowing kid broke line and got too close. With a single touch, Mudboy melted the concrete below his feet, and with another, melted the vines holding him still.
The match ended once Mudboy re-solidified the ground, trapping the General Education student. It was good—he let the other guy show off, while also asserting his dominance. Elementary showmanship, but effective.
As Honenuki freed his opponent and they left the stage, Present Mic wasted no time.
"That was quite the match, but I think things are starting the ramp up! While our first taste of 1Z's overwhelming experience was fun, I think this next match will remind us why 1A is the traditional top dog! Eijiro Kirishima, President of 1A, please take up your corner!"
"Oh crap!" Kirishima said, standing up. Katsuki quirked an eyebrow as 1A's president stumbled out of the bleachers, having forgotten to leave earlier. As Katsuki was sitting on the aisle seat, Kirishima gunned for him, shimmying around and past everyone else. As he came upon Katsuki, however, a singular scarred hand stopped him in his tracks.
"Kiri," Izuku said, not acknowledging Katsuki. Kirishima turned, bouncing from one foot to the other as Izuku halted him. "Don't bother with the aisle. Just jump over the side. Good luck."
Then, without a glance Katsuki's way, Izuku released the red-head and turned back for his seat.
"Thanks bro!" Kirishima said before pivoting, facing the stage, and swan diving off the bleachers. Katsuki couldn't see his landing, but he certainly heard the thump.
Bewildered, Katsuki turned to the nearest person, and without thinking, spoke his mind.
"Is he an idiot?"
Izuku blinked, meeting his eyes for the first time since arriving, and shook his head.
"He's very good," Izuku said, as if Katsuki hadn't blown up on him, hadn't almost murdered him—
"And in the opposite corner, we have Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, the President of 1B! These two hard-headed heavy hitters going head-to-head is a dream of mine brought to life! Give us a great show, guys!"
"Oh shit!" Tetsutetsu said, standing up from where he, too, forgot to leave early. Following Kirishima's example, his pale skin suddenly reflected bright silver as he turned and dove off the bleachers after Kirishima. "Wait up!"
Izuku and Katsuki continued their eye contact.
"Okay," Izuku said, his voice sounding far softer than it had earlier that day, "that one might be an idiot."
Katsuki looked aside, forcing down an uncomfortable lump in his throat. In the massive screens across the Stage, he saw two simultaneous video feeds of Kirishima and Tetsutetsu leaping out of the stands. Kirishima didn't land on his feet, but he did roll and pop back up. Tetsutetsu, on the other hand, landed on his feet, and consequently sank into the soft grass up to his knees. Katsuki could almost hear his curses as he tried yanking his legs free.
"Of that, there's no doubt," Katsuki said, feeling a small bubbling of pride. For once, their conversation didn't instantly devolve. He turned back to Izuku, satisfied, only to find empty air.
Izuku was back where he'd been before standing, eyes intent on the Stage. He hadn't even made a sound when he left.
Katsuki's knee was still bouncing.
Nothing had changed.
Lowering his chin back to his bouncing knuckles, Katsuki lowered his eyes on the two idiot fighters below. He would be fighting one of them in the second wave, he supposed, so it would be good practice.
He'd rather be doing something else, though.
[x]
AN: thanksgiving
review!~