"For the Final Match of the Primary Bracket… let me re-introduce Best Jeanist's candidate…1Z's attack dog… Ground Zero himself, Katsuki Bakugo!"
When Katsuki entered the Arena, the world was alive. The air hummed with a wild energy, teetering on something tangible. Every cheer and stomp synced to his heartbeat. It came and went with an unsaid rhythm, building within an echochamber of hype.
Singling out any spectator required eagle vision. It was easier to view them as broad colors, rather than individuals. Blue splotches, white pockets, and red lines dominated the stands, reminding him of his uniform.
It was nauseating. The familiar colors grated on his nerves and made him itchy. Trying to imagine how many people contributed to his nausea made him even more sick. Reducing thousands to a handful was the only way to cope. Even Katsuki, with his big mouth, couldn't chew up all their attention.
He cursed his luck when Present Mic called him first. The whole world's attention was supposed to be shared between him and his opponent, but for the introduction, he felt like Atlas, holding it all on his shoulders. Each step was a burden, a willful trudge fueled only by spite. Again, he cursed his rotten luck.
But, it wasn't all bad.
"Friends, citizens, countrymen, I come to bury rumors, not spread them," Present Mic said, quieting the crowds as Katsuki stopped. "Some of you may have noticed this year's anomaly, just as many of you also took it for granted. This year, U.A. has made many mistakes."
Lingering chants faded. Katsuki looked up in surprise, straightening out as the weight he bore lessened. For a moment, the Stadium's attention shifted to Present Mic, and Katsuki could breathe.
But, he did not. Like the rest, Present Mic's somber tone swept up his attention, and he waited on every word with baited breath.
"The Class of Z has been a project in the works for years. In full transparency, our Principal has fought tooth and nail for such a union, but only recently have we been granted permission, and that is for good reason. 1Z is a drastic concept, not for peacetimes. Unfortunately, as great as our school may be, the world's demands only continue to grow. In years past, our methods were enough. A lesser school would've waited until their obsolescence consumed them, but for all U.A.'s faults, we are not lesser. We are the sharpest institution in this hemisphere, and 1Z is our answer to the resurgence of organized crime."
Lights dimmed. Drones quietly landed and silenced themselves. Screens stopped replaying the highlight reel and instead showed Present Mic in his announcer's booth, meeting the camera's eyes.
Something was strange about him. Not a hair was out of place, which was normal for him, but there wasn't a hair out of place… at all. Present Mic was a dynamic man. He moved and hollered and laughed. With his habits, buckets of hairspray couldn't maintain such a ridiculous hairstyle, even with meticulous and regular attention.
Present Mic couldn't have moved from his seat in over an hour, perhaps even two. It gave his words an extra kick. Knowing he'd prepared these words left Katsuki feeling dizzy, even as their meaning went over his head.
"For too long, we allowed our greatest talents to tarnish. Every year, there's a handful of students who have unique needs. They learn faster, easier, differently; yet U.A. always put them through the same molds that made All Might. In a few cases, this worked. Kamui Woods. Edgeshot. Best Jeanist. Japan knows them. But, I fear, had we just taken them a little bit more seriously, the world might have known them as they do Endeavor. That regret is what 1Z is, and I am proud to say we've made strides to correct our past failures… but in breaking new ground, we've made new mistakes."
Several screens faded to black and replaced Present Mic with a video everyone was familiar with.
All Might's debut, nearly thirty years ago. It's a dark video, showing All Might carrying half a dozen citizens on his back as a burning building backlights him. More clips come and go; famous rescues, public take-downs, infamous stalemates, and triumphant victories. Each were the greatest of All Might's highlights, and the crowd ate them up.
Before the crowd gained any momentum, however, the videos ended. Or, rather, the highlights did. What replaced them was a heavily censored, heavily edited version of All Might's last broadcast.
The weight returned to Katsuki, but it no longer rested on his shoulders. It became a boulder in his lungs, a stone pressed against his heart. Even pixelated, cut short, blurred, warped, and inverted, Katsuki knew what he was looking for. Who he was looking for. It was just for a single frame, in the bottom right. Brown. Off-color. But the color-correction was inline with everything else, and Katsuki's brain wasted no time translating that brown into mossy green.
"So," Present Mic said, as the screen showed his somber expression once more, "this is a formal apology to everyone who hears it. We mismanaged this Sports Festival's structure. In our excitement to flaunt our new class, we neglected who we swore to uplift in the first place. Our ambition guided our hand, rather than our wisdom."
For a brief second, Present Mic glanced away. It was impossible to say why; but Katsuki suspected he was looking to the Arena and his general area.
But… not at Katsuki. Instead, for an infinitesimal second, Present Mic paused his speech to check on Izuku Midoriya, who was hovering just opposite Katsuki. Katsuki swore under his breath. When did Izuku arrive? How long had he been there, staring at him? And how the fuck was he flying? And what the fuck was in his ears?
Katsuki thought he was hallucinating, but as the seconds ticked by, the music began to grow. It started as a whisper, but as Present Mic's speech crescendoed, so too did the music—and the crowd with it. It was their national anthem.
"So, on behalf of U.A., I swear a second oath. In the coming days, no one shall be left behind. No one shall fall through the cracks and no one will waste away on a pedestal. We shall judge carefully, consider thoroughly, and listen thoughtfully. We shall go beyond Plus Ultra, and enter a new world conscious of the old. It's never too late to plan for the future, so in the prelude to today's final matches, I swear that further Sports Festivals shall far outstrip today's.
With that, Present Mic visibly relaxed in his chair, a tired smile replacing his serious grimace. Spectators seemed a tad confused; some might not've even seen how fucked today was, but Present Mic's earnest speech convinced them regardless. With the end of the anthem, the Stadium returned to proud life, clapping to the rhythm of the unsung anthem verses.
"But enough of tomorrow!" Present Mic said, returning to a semblance of his normal self. "Today, our second finalist has arrived! Welcome Izuku Midoriya, Candidate of Sir Nighteye, Champion of 1A! I bid you and your opponent good luck!"
Midnight appeared in Katsuki's peripheral in a flash, smile wide and microphone sweeping in Izuku's direction.
"Well folks, as wild as today's journey was, can anyone say they're surprised? Midoriya's Chimera set him as a favorite to win, even considering his rocky start!" Midnight said, before switching to Katsuki. "And I think we all knew 1Z's attack dog had as good a chance to stand there as anyone! They've had many chance skirmishes today, so let's make some noise for the fight to decide it all!"
If only they knew, Katsuki thought. There was something to be said of the following applause being greater than during the national anthem, but Katsuki couldn't care what. Regardless, it was irritating, pompous, and deafening. Ignoring it was a simple matter of pretending it wasn't there. Turning to Izuku, Katsuki pushed aside the distractions.
He focused on the way Izuku floated; his posture, the way his feet pointed, the curve of his arm. His mind was a sharp blade, cutting deep into Izuku's every twitch, every move. Izuku's expression, frame, musculature, silhouette, this morning, the way he braced his empty shoulder, screaming at him in the 1Z—
Focus, Katsuki reminded himself. Focus, focus, focus.
"Do you accept this match, Midoriya?"
His leading foot, half a meter off the ground.
"I do."
Katsuki thought how he'd approach him, what angle of attack might work. He thought of flanking and misdirection and a direct assault. His knowledge of quirkology and physics scrambled to explain Izuku's flight. He thought of Uraraka's expression, and what he'd said—
"And do you, Katsuki, accept this match?"
He remembered his regrets. His shame. The loss he could never place, never rectify.
"Hell yeah."
"Then…" Midnight said, drawing back several steps. She raised her hand and held it. The Stadium quieted. Katsuki cursed his treacherous tongue and braced himself for the fight. Sliding his foot back, he bent low and captured Izuku's visage in his spread fingers. Despite it all, he didn't hesitate to seek the challenge in Izuku's eyes—
He froze, however, when he saw none. Katsuki short circuited. Where was his opponent, his opposition? The boy who floated across from him was as impassive as any spectator, like he was above it all, or separate from it. Like Katsuki was nothing. Midnight's arm fell.
It pissed him off.
"...Begin!"
Without hesitation, Katsuki's shoulders pumped like a shotgun, and Izuku's strange expression vanished in white light.
[x]
It clicked as Danger Sense tickled his brain. Izuku didn't need to command it, nor will it, or force it in any way. He just had to let Float do it.
The millisecond Katsuki's hands sparked, Float pulled him aside. Katsuki's explosion thundered through the air like a freight train. Without even needing to ask, Float continued to pull him along, circling Katsuki in a quick arc. The blond was already turning, already preparing his counter, when Voidlimb sprouted down his shoulder.
It felt better. Lighter. Less obstructive to his flesh and blood. He squeezed the "fist," and felt the fingers respond almost as if they were flesh itself. The limb was slimmer and shorter than before, but also tighter, denser, less unruly. It backhanded Katsuki's entire torso before either boy blinked.
Katsuki went flying, but he repurposed his counter to correct his trajectory. A second, third, and fourth smaller explosion fixed his posture and sent him hurtling back in Izuku's direction, head-first and fist clenched by his side. Zeptoseconds before contact, Katsuki threw an immense palm strike with every ounce of his built momentum.
There were a million things Izuku could do, Danger Sense whispered. He could cut Float and duck below the strike. He could expel enough smoke to push Katsuki off-course. He could tank the explosive strike with Voidlimb and counter with his arm. He could dodge and redirect Katsuki's momentum against him.
A couple years ago—no, a couple of minutes ago, the opportunities would've overwhelmed him. He'd hesitate between each long enough that his sluggish, heavy limbs wouldn't have time to actually react.
But now, Izuku felt light. Float pulled him into Katsuki's strike. Explosion burned his shoulder, but by grabbing Katsuki's wrist with one hand and his chest with Voidlimb, he flipped Katsuki into the ground with all the boy's own inertia.
He choked as his back hit the ground, and a dark whim in Izuku's brain said it could all be over. Smokescreen sprung from his open palm and coiled around Katsuki's throat. Izuku held the chokehold for one second, then two, before deciding it felt wrong. Katsuki clawed at the smoke as Izuku lifted him up and threw him across the Arena.
Katsuki landed in an ugly roll, but stood easily enough. He hesitated there for a second, staring daggers at Izuku, waiting for Izuku's next move. Izuku let him.
Float released its comforting embrace, and Izuku ignored Katsuki's flinch as his feet met the ground.
Chokeholds were fair, ethical, and sportsmanlike—but they didn't feel good. Squeezing the air from someone's lungs just wasn't heroic, in his opinion—although if that's what your quirk did, it's what your quirk did. No shame in that. In Izuku's position, however, his quirk did many things.
He took a slow step forward. One for All tormented him.
Another. It pushed him.
A third step closed half the gap between them. It guided him.
Or so he once thought. Now, it was obvious Izuku, rather than One for All, held the reins. He never thought he'd be ready for the guiding aspect, but here he was. Katsuki certainly wasn't going to take the lead.
With a deep sigh and flick of his wrist, Voidlimb receded under his skin, Smokescreen faded to thin air, and Danger Sense quieted. Sinking into his one-armed stance, Izuku slapped his stump and beckoned Katsuki in.
"Are you just going to let a killer push you around, Kacchan? What was all your training for, then?"
Katsuki's face whitened at the words, but flushed red seconds later.
"You don't know me, fucker!" Katsuki roared, before throwing his fists behind him and launching forward.
Chancing Katsuki's previous attack cost him a shoulder, but it wasn't his important one. Biting through the pain, he stepped in and met Katsuki in the middle, Explosion and all.
A huge right haymaker hurtled for Izuku's jaw, but never made it. Izuku flipped his wrist and grabbed the swing before it apexed. All it took to spin Katsuki over was hooking Katsuki's left ankle and twisting his hips with all his strength.
The result was a success, but wasn't as effective without Voidlimb. Katsuki caught himself on his palm and swept Izuku's legs from under him.
Izuku landed on his shoulder, but he kicked himself into a light roll, barely avoiding a follow-up explosion. Before Katsuki could register his escape, Izuku's spinning kick caught Katsuki's upper arm. Pushing his advantage, Izuku palmed Katsuki's lower ribs, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him into a rocketing knee.
Katsuki favored his off-hand to soften the knee strike, but even then, it nearly took him off the ground. Without proper balance, Katsuki went down to Izuku's vengeful leg-sweep.
This time, Katsuki didn't wait to land. He blasted the ground between them, flipping himself backwards and landing just out of reach. With no wasted movement, Katsuki dashed back into the action, and caught Izuku's gut with his shoulder.
He didn't relent after knocking out Izuku's wind. Keeping his shoulder buried in Izuku's gut, Katsuki forced Izuku off his feet and then slung him over his shoulder. With a potent explosion, he launched them sky high. Twisting mid-air, Katsuki pile-drove him into the concrete.
Izuku barely released a puff of Smokescreen below him, but the impact was still jarring. He could do nothing as Katsuki grabbed him by the face, lifted him an inch off the ground, and slammed his skull back down.
Nothing, that is, except smile. Even though Katsuki's sweat was running down Izuku's chin and he very much knew the danger it implied, Izuku couldn't help but grin.
Katsuki was meeting all the expectations Izuku's inner child had. Even on Izuku's best day, Katsuki had something Izuku didn't—dynamic, anaerobic strength. He'd never beat Katsuki in a strength contest, and in straight-up boxing, he was bound to lose. In a sad way, he was proud of the boy who haunted his nightmares.
But, it also meant Katsuki's fuse burned out fast.
"I think I figured out what fuels you," Izuku said, spitting out a bead of Katsuki's sweat. "As a kid, you said you'd beat All Might's ass. That's impossible, but I always admired that you trained anyway. Then he died, and you kept training. For the longest time, it didn't make sense, but it's all so obvious now."
Katsuki froze, and before he could recover, Izuku pulled his knees to his chest and kicked the blond off. Lingering smoke pulled him up. The tiny handholds then gravitated to his joints, reinforcing them. What didn't wrap around his shoulder and elbow pooled around his knuckles, building thick studs worth fearing. It wasn't the type of technique Izuku liked or needed, but something felt different. Smokescreen felt more sensitive than before, and in fact, everything at his fingertips felt a little more malleable, a little less unruly.
A fantastical idea waltzed by, the kind Izuku often ignored. Though he had thousands of ideas, few were worth trying, and less were worth practicing for one reason or another, be it his own inability or simple impracticality. Now, however, Izuku could feel his old inhibitions slipping away. With no further ceremony, he called on Five's quirk.
Innumerable blackwhips sprouted on his arm. He kept each as narrow as a needle's eye, hardly thicker than hair. More and more blackwhips sprouted, starting at his fingers and quickly spreading down his wrist and past his elbow, until everything up to his shoulder was writhing, formless black. To any spectator, it might've seemed like a miniature version of his tantrums, with a shapeless mass of uncountable black hairs—but to Izuku, the sensation was entirely different. His body was not consumed. It was covered. With a single squeeze, the blackwhips froze, listened, and obeyed.
"Fascinating…" Izuku said, marveling at his own powers. He'd wrapped himself in Blackwhip before, making a pseudo-armor, but it'd been rudimentary and next to useless, like a primitive wrapping himself in vines and bark. Now, a skin-tight gauntlet adorned his right arm. It was such a rich shade of mute darkness that for a moment, Izuku lost his sense of depth. There were no values in his arm, no highlights or shadows. It was more like someone took scissors and cut the shape of his arm out of the world.
Better yet, he could still feel the pulse in his thumb. Blackwhip was still disrupting his blood flow, but sensation alone told him that the severity was halved, if not quartered. Izuku squeezed his fist and felt a dramatic shift in his strength. By no means was it on Voidlimb's level… but it was close. Scarily so, for his very human arm. It would require new discipline and great discernment to apply this power without hurting himself or others.
"Why the hell are you spacing out!?" Katsuki shouted, breaking Izuku's reverie. Despite muting Danger Sense, a tingle went down Izuku's spine as his world grew brighter. Releasing his constraints, Izuku faced Katsuki head-on. "You don't get to mouth off, then ignore me!"
Heat washed over him as a quiet prelude to Katsuki's attack. Izuku braced himself as Katsuki's palm sparked, yet instead of unleashing immediate hell, Kastuki put his other fist between his palm and Izuku. He only had a split second to understand what Katsuki was doing.
With his second hand funneling Explosion through a pinhole, Katsuki focused all his strength in one tiny cylinder. Danger Sense told him the target was his stomach. His brain worried about his heart. His instincts settled in the middle.
"AP Shot!" Katsuki screamed, and unleashed a beam of pure concussive force.
Izuku, with his gauntlet, caught the shot meant for his ribs. It overpowered his guard and plowed his own hand into his stomach, but Izuku didn't falter. He slid back some ten odd feet and stopped.
He wasn't kneeling. He hadn't fallen. Groaning, he stood straight, and waved away the leaking smoke. The gauntlet was barely damaged, and in seconds, knit back over to perfect form.
Katsuki stared at Izuku as he returned to the Arena's center.
"I wasn't ignoring you, I was preoccupied. Things are changing, and I need to pay attention. I'm done letting life tug me along its leash," Izuku said. He took a quick breath, and let Smokescreen pool out of him. A full coat of green grew over his gauntlet, alongside the rest of his body. A second later, Voidlimb balanced out his stature, and without asking, Float lifted him off the ground.
He didn't fly high. Izuku didn't seek out any vantage points or angles of attack. Instead, he took the time to capture this moment in his heart.
Katsuki was many things. He was a wonderfully talented combatant, and an intelligent student. Even after all this time, it was obvious he still grieved the man he never met. It wasn't a sign of obsession, or weakness—but of boundless heart.
He was also a cranky, confused young man with a loose tongue and skewed morals. Every room he entered dimmed. Every word he said fell flat. Something about him radiated misery. That by itself was fine in Izuku's book. Some people… some people just drew the short end, and those people had to cope somehow. But Katsuki was different. The world should've bent for him. It was his oyster. The only thing holding him back was the weight he carried, yet Izuku knew from personal experience that there were two kinds of misery.
You either had it forced on you, or you gave it to yourself. And regardless of which, only you could save yourself. The only thing other people could do was help.
Izuku knew pain, offense, and hurt, but Katsuki bred them. Created with his own hands to sustain himself. Izuku was also familiar with that, but no more. He had far, far more important things to do with his time; one of which was sleeping just around the corner, waiting for him.
"You kept training after he died," Izuku said, as One for All kicked up a whirlwind. Katsuki seethed in silence, his wide shoulders convulsing with every labored breath. Danger Sense tingled. "Because until he died, it was all anyone ever told you. All you ever told yourself. But you weren't training to beat him anymore, were you?"
Danger Sense's complaints piled on one another, even as Katsuki made no visual changes. Katsuki was a word on the tip of his tongue, a crackle in the air. He was the warning. Yet Izuku continued on.
"You were training to beat the guy who killed him."
Izuku spread his arms as wide as they would reach. The whirlwind was loud in their ears and drowned out his words—but only for the drones and the crowd. Katsuki heard every word with sharp clarity. Izuku made sure.
"Well, I'm right here."
[x]
Every step was an effort. The wall was her aid, as without a crutch, she was totally immobile. Her body made every protest a body could—it burned, ached, throbbed, and cried in exhaustion—but she kept going forward. She couldn't miss this.
Uraraka would rather have Recovery Girl strangle her later than stew in her own thoughts now. After waking up next to Kirishima, she'd been forced to undergo a dozen check-ups and once-overs. The second she heard she wasn't concussed, she began biding her time. Recovery Girl was vigilant as a hawk, but even hawks took breaks. The moment Recovery Girl left for the bathroom, Uraraka threw off her covers and tumbled out of bed.
Kirishima tried to stop her, but she didn't mind him. He couldn't have stopped her if he tried, with his own body so battered.
It wasn't that Uraraka didn't respect his opinion. After all, they'd faced the same opponent. Hell, Uraraka's respect for him was skyrocketing with every breath. She'd only taken one direct hit from Bakugo and was in agony. Kirishima ate dozens of his attacks, and was only so much worse off.
Rather, she couldn't afford to listen, and especially not to Kirishima. He wouldn't have understood her gravitas before, but now he wouldn't even be able to conceive it. With a careless tug, she pulled off her hearing aid and tossed it in the bed, showing him his words were fruitless.
With her limited time, she knew she couldn't linger. It took a few failed attempts, but she managed to push herself away from her bed and to the nearest wall, and the rest was miserable history.
Her right leg had a hairline fracture down the femur, and her first degree burns sweetened the cold Stadium air. Someone changed her out of her sweats, but thankfully left her in loose fitting shorts and a t-shirt. Every few steps she needed to stop for breath. A cream covered her burned leg, and she periodically left a slimy smudge on walls she took breaks on.
Uraraka's arms weren't better off, but she didn't need them for walking, so she didn't mind them. She tried her hardest to focus her thoughts on the path ahead, but it was difficult.
Bakugo's final message replayed in her mind. It was all she could do to substitute it with her pain, but banishing it from her mind entirely was impossible. The venom, the real anger, the sneer besmirching Bakugo's face—it was on a looping reel, and Uraraka was strapped in for a long movie.
The implication that Izuku Midoriya killed All Might was laughable, but Uraraka didn't find it funny. In the moment, she wondered if she'd misunderstood or misheard him. After all, the premise was senseless.
Izuku was an unrivaled talent among 1A and sweeter than sugar. He had the aura of an old man, if she was honest; the kind that doled out wisdom and butterscotch in bulk. She felt drawn to him, and wasn't afraid to admit she crushed on him before the USJ.
He was an earnest, hard-working, and intelligent dude. Izuku never made her uncomfortable, scared, or miserable—and he smelled decent. Uraraka knew he was cut from a different cloth than most guys; hell, he was different from most people. Of course he drew her in. No way he harbored a dark secret like Katsuki implied.
Yet…
She knew the broadcast as well as anyone. She, too, had seen a green-haired boy in All Might's last battle. Everyone had. It was the talk of the whole world, for a little while—All Might died protecting a child from a Supervillain.
Sure, they had the same hair color, but that was a kid from years ago. The probability of that kid and Izuku being the same was frankly too far-fetched to accept.
…Right?
When she rounded the corner, her certainty faltered. With his back turned and arms held aloft, Izuku's silhouette against the sun held a new aura. The kindly old soul was nowhere to be seen. Uraraka's bangs fluttered as she swallowed her tongue.
Without his U.A. overshirt, Izuku's shoulders were surprisingly broad. With Katsuki beneath him, Izuku exuded a dominance that didn't suit her image of him.
However, his aura wasn't as Bakugo described it, either. There was no fear in his form. His conjured arm was comically larger than his other, yet the smaller, more lithe limb drew her eye. It was covered in something—his quirk, she realized, tight and controlled. Izuku said something, but it was lost in the wind.
She blinked. His toned physique was nothing like the boy from the news. This was a confident hero, a young man with a blazing heart—not a little boy. So what if his bushy hair was identical? So what if his past was shady at best?
Uraraka remembered every conversation, every encounter. Her mind combed through the years, the quiet moments.
The news broadcast. Her 1A exam. Meeting Izuku. His broken prosthetic. Aizawa's mock-battle. Terrorists at the USJ, her torture, and his silent body, carted off with Tokage's. Odd moments, strange inflections, weird ticks. Two scenes stood out. All Might's broken but not defeated silhouette above the green haired boy, and Izuku's firm silhouette above Bakugo's bent and exhausted one. Empirical evidence gave her nothing, but her intuition was supreme.
She swallowed with difficulty.
The wind stopped.
Her body complained.
The boy was Izuku, and Izuku was the boy. It was a revolting, devastating truth, but Uraraka hadn't doubted it for a second. As much as she tried to justify Bakugo as a liar, the moment Katsuki spoke it into her mind, she believed. Izuku's abstract oddities were suddenly so simple, if far-fetched.
But as Izuku hovered in the air, she didn't feel her opinion change. Bakugo's venomous words fell flat in her mind. Izuku wasn't a killer, just because someone died protecting him. That was absurd—he was just as much a victim as All Might.
She sank to her knees, her strength gone. Her head slumped against the wall as she watched the end of their fight play out. Bakugo's words were wrong. He was wrong.
Uraraka wasn't Izuku's partner, but she would stick by him through this, and knew the rest of 1A would uplift him as well.
And, as Katsuki slowly straightened his posture, she wondered if he just figured that out.
[x]
En curled around his shoulders, barely present, barely physical. He wasn't manifesting as Five did, solid and intrusively, but rather like Smokescreen, wafting off Izuku's skin in thin wisps. He didn't speak, didn't comment; but Izuku felt his concern all the same.
Float heard the silent request, and pulled him forward. Izuku bared his chest, not guarding the slightest weak spot. Danger Sense throbbed between his ears. Smokescreen, guided by Six, ebbed and flowed in waves, pushing the wind until the storm around Izuku moved by itself.
Katsuki, in Izuku's opinion, earned one free shot. He'd given the blond a quirkless tussle, and he'd exercised the peak of his powers. It was Izuku's gift to him; the full range of his skill, and for the finale, a test.
"So…" Izuku said, letting the syllable linger. "What would a hero aim for? My face? My gut?"
Katsuki's presence was a paradoxical mess. Danger Sense felt him as a hot furnace, thickening the air and watering eyes, but his form was labored. Sweat glistened off his limp arms, and he shook with every breath. What drew Izuku's attention, however, was his inexpressive eyes. His coals weren't burning. They didn't flicker. Each was silent and still, boring into Izuku with steadfast focus.
Izuku brandished his arm. Tears in the blackwhips rippled through the gauntlet, giving Katsuki fleeting glimpses of his pale, vulnerable skin. They healed over without a word.
"Or, you could go for my arm," Izuku said, ignoring the lead ball that formed in his stomach. "Aim for the shoulder, if you could—I'd hate to become lopsided."
He chuckled a little, but Katsuki didn't blink. Neither found it funny.
Katsuki straightened, casting off his weakness in a moment. His breathing slowed, his shoulders flexed and relaxed, and Danger Sense piqued. An immaterial storm of pure malice surged around Katsuki, nearly as large and hungry as Izuku's physical whirlwind.
He's going to take his shot, Izuku thought. It was an entirely neutral thought; there was no inflection, no connotation, no implication—Izuku felt nothing, realizing it.
"Nine," En whispered, drifting from one ear to the other, "you must defend yourself. He will hurt you again."
A hand clapped his shoulder, and he felt a powerful presence float behind him.
"Six is correct. I understand your intentions, but the experiment is over—"
As glad as Izuku was at their reconciliation, their intrusion was no less annoying than Five's inane comments. With practiced ease, he banished En and Nana back into his soul before she could finish. Four and Five's budding presences were likewise nipped. Only the original three didn't bother him.
Izuku permitted the warmth at his back to stay, but he dared not turn around. He leveled Katsuki with everything in his heart, but the storm of danger only grew, engulfing the real storm until the metaphysical and the physical overlapped. Droplets of sweat pooled beneath Katsuki's fists. Lightning crashed and thunder roared.
"I didn't lose my first with All Might, y'know!" Izuku said, screaming over the raging monsoon. "It atomized when my quirk awakened! Blew straight off my scapula! There wasn't even blood! Lucky me, I guess—his blood already stained my hands, I don't know what I would've done if my own flesh was added to the pool. But you know, right?"
Izuku snapped his fingers. The gauntlet empowered the decibels, forcing the sound to echo through the whole Stadium. Thin, nearly invisible walls of Smokescreen cut through the storm in every direction, eliminating the centripetal force and killing the self-perpetuating whirlwind in an instant. All that remained was the metaphor.
"You want to hit me! You want validation! You want the world to make sense again—where you're the hero, and you get to beat up your villain!" Izuku said, still yelling, but no longer screaming. "So who is it? The Kacchan I knew never minced words. I know you hate me, I understand you loathe me, so let's finally be honest. After all I've done, am I your villain?"
Izuku spread his arms and bared his chest.
"Show me you meant it all. Hit me!"
He could practically see the outline of Katsuki's anger, warping and spasming around him in a riastrad. The furnace itself began melting; old stones dripped orange, and the Blacksmith was dying—but Izuku spat in the raging flame's heart and waited. Danger Sense hissed, howled, and flatlined.
Katsuki's coals burned. Every ounce of terrible pressure on Danger Sense slackened with one word.
"No."
Izuku didn't react. Didn't fidget. Didn't speak. Didn't betray an inch. Katsuki squirmed in his non-reaction, but the decision in his eyes was absolute.
"Everything is your fault," Katsuki said, slowly opening his fists to gesture around them. "This fight. My anger, your anger. It all stems from you. Is that what you want? What you want to hear?"
Katsuki turned in a circle, and threw his hands up.
"Is everything your fault, in your world? Is that what people tell you, or what you've told yourself? Does the world revolve around you and you alone, Deku?" Katsuki asked, meeting Izuku's eyes once again. The nickname slid off his back. "What defines the truth? What defines bullshit? Are certain of fuckin' anything?"
The riastrad was back, but Danger Sense didn't make a peep. All the venom, all the anger and malice, it was held behind his teeth. It leaked out in drops, but it wasn't pointed at him.
"There are certainties in life, Kacchan," Izuku said, dipping his head. Float lowered him to inches off the ground. With Katsuki's height, it made them eye-level. "And I have responsibilities that don't care about my input. But they aren't my master. I didn't get that at first; but I understand, now."
Katsuki scoffed.
"You understand? The hell you do. You can't see the difference between a victim and a participant, let alone your duties from your goals. This life isn't your responsibility; it's just what you want."
"Then why are you here?" Izuku countered, watching the way Katsuki's expression twitched. "When you're not talking yourself into a corner, it's easy to see; you hate this. The fighting, the training—none of it is fun, let alone your goal in life. I'm here because I promised All Might, and I choose to respect that. The only thing that binds you here is—"
"You."
The simple word cut straight through Izuku. Katsuki rolled his eyes.
"That's why you'll never understand. Fuck, I don't know either—I just… I do. I do because… I do it so… so it never…"
Katsuki trailed off as Izuku's mind raced, puzzle pieces coming together in a jumbled, half-formed mess. He opened his mouth before any of it made sense—but that didn't matter. Words weren't either of their strong suits, and they were probably better off fighting, but none of that mattered, at this moment.
He sent a satisfied taunt down into the pits of his soul. His experiment, his test, his hope, did not fail—and he understood why.
"...Because I showed you this world," Izuku said. Anyone could've done it; and before long, someone would've—but in this life, when they were barely more than toddlers, it was Izuku who introduced Katsuki to his first All Might video. "And if it could happen to me, and if it could happen to him…"
"Then if I wasn't prepared, it would happen to me, too," Katsuki finished. "I do it because you shouldn't have been a victim. Because I was scared. Because it never should've happened, and it hurts so bad that someone needed to be responsible."
Float pulled him back, giving Katsuki his space. The venom was gone. The threat was gone. The fight was gone from his eyes. He looked up sharply at Izuku's slight retreat.
"Hey, fuck you! Don't run from me while I'm—"
"It needed to go somewhere," Izuku said, raising out his arms again. A smile graced his lips. "Your pain, my pain, and his pain. All bound so tight in your chest that it burns, right? You feel his weight, too?"
A silent, treacherous whisper added another's pain to the list, but this wasn't his moment. He hadn't paid blood, but took it, and didn't deserve Izuku's pain. If anyone did, it was the boy before him. The boy he left behind.
"So this is your last chance. Someone needs to bear the cross, and regardless of how you feel, this is another responsibility I chose for myself. If you want to blame someone, if you want to hurt someone, I'm right here, villain or no."
Katsuki's annoyance drained away. He didn't speak for a second, instead running his tongue over his teeth and rolling his shoulders. The temptation intrigued him, but only for a moment.
"I said no," Katsuki said, before turning away. "No more blood for blood. I've already taken it out on you before, on that train, and I still can't wash that guilt off. Everything I've done today, everything I've said… I'll never stop hating myself for it. I'm not a hero. Not like he was, not like you are. I'm just someone that your kind left behind."
Izuku's arms fell by his side as Katsuki walked toward the Arena's ledge. Midnight and Present Mic were saying something, but Izuku only had eyes for Katsuki's proud shoulders. They were still tall, even with his admissions.
1A cheered behind him, their cries growing louder. Some voices distinguished themselves from the rest—Tokoyami's, Toru's, Shiozaki's, and that boy in the hallway stood out. Their support washed over his back in waves, mixing with the warmth he refused to acknowledge. Both were a comfort. Both were a burden.
He thought about all the times he'd spent miserable, all the hours spent reliving the train, the trauma, the helicopters and blood. He thought about the USJ, and Sashimi. He thought about the hours spent resenting the vestiges, Katsuki, and himself.
"The man you fought in the USJ was my victim," Izuku said. Katsuki paused mid-step just before the Arena's edge. "You can say I didn't kill All Might—but when my arm atomized and my quirk awakened, I wasn't the only one hurt. He lost his face, his way of life, and everything good he stood for. He asked me something, just before you and Set arrived. Something that hurt. Something I didn't know how to answer."
"What was it?"
"Was it worth it?"
Katsuki glanced over his shoulder.
"...Well?"
Izuku thought of his teachers, his classmates, of Shoto, and of Setsuna. He thought of the boy he nearly bulldozed in the hallway and his family.
"It has to be. Some things… can't be controlled, but it's the choices you make in response to the world's stubbornness that defines who you are. I choose to be a hero, in spite of hurting people. I… I choose to view you as one too, despite the stupid things you've said. I won't leave you behind, anymore."
Katsuki chewed on that, hesitating on the precipice, before ultimately chuckling and looking downcast.
"I can't believe this is where we're having this conversation… The peanut gallery is pissing me off."
Izuku glanced around, feeling his own conviction flicker. It was a little embarrassing. Pushing down his own chuckle, he looked back to Katsuki—
Only to find him out-of-bounds and halfway to the nearest exit.
"I surrender!" He called over his shoulder, and vanished into the halls beneath the Stadium.
[x]
Izuku watched Katsuki's back for far longer than it was ever there.
His reaction was muted, even as Midnight declared him the champion and 1A cheered his name. Victory had never tasted so strange. He was happy with gold, and he appreciated everyone's part in helping him reach it… but despite this being a longtime dream of his, he barely felt a thing.
There was no euphoria as Midnight doled out her compliments. No pride when Present Mic showered him with praise. He didn't jump and cheer. Bombastic celebrations, perhaps, were only for people without phantoms haunting their every moment. Izuku was simply… satisfied.
Despite not properly exhausting himself against a worthy opponent, Izuku's victory didn't feel hollow. Katsuki absolved his guilt and extended an olive branch. Shoto rekindled their friendship. Setsuna affirmed everything they built together. He'd never felt better.
Izuku moved through the motions on autopilot. He bowed and waved and smiled at the cameras— but at some point, Midnight dismissed him and announced the encore match with the Secondary Bracket. He thought she might've said to visit the clinic for his shoulder, but his feet knew his priorities better.
Setsuna propped herself up when he arrived, blinking sleep from her eyes.
"Well, when does yer match start?"
"It won't. The tournament is canceled—every able bodied Japanese boy has to perform the tango, now, or face expulsion."
She squinted at him, contemplating the legitimacy of his words. Of course, she arrived at the natural conclusion.
"Well, while I love you, you're not strictly able-bodied. I imagine you're excused."
"It's a real shame. I was about to win my second gold for today."
"Not once in my entire life have you busted a move."
Izuku helped her stand and pulled her into a chaste kiss.
"I could if I wanted to. Walk with me?"
Setsuna rolled her eyes and glomped against his flank. The traditional inch-wide gap closed, the length of her bicep never leaving his ribs. They speculated on the final match, shared any missed drama, and just generally spoke to one another. He leaned on her more than she leaned on him, but her scalp was practically glued to his ear.
"How'd it go, by the way?" Setsuna asked, after a lull in discussion. He more so felt her words through her skin than heard them from her lips, and he relished the feeling. "I feel shitty for sleeping through it. You were really anxious."
Izuku hummed as they drifted around a cleaning robot. He noticed Joust was missing off the wall, and a heep of glass covering the floor. The robot flagged them around the danger, and Izuku nodded his thanks.
"It was hard, but not difficult. Please don't treat him too harshly for the things he's said. I didn't exactly hold my tongue back either, today."
"I can't really imagine you two of all people being civil, let alone being civil myself."
"There was nothing civil about it. We both just had some things to get off our chest. Once it was out in the air, we didn't even fight. He surrendered. I… I'm glad. He hated fighting me, and I hated fighting him. We weren't built for it. I'm glad he could finally admit that," Izuku said, giving Setsuna a sideways glance. "And I'm grateful to you for helping me be honest with myself, too. Really. It's all thanks to you that today didn't end with someone hurt."
"Mm. Praise me more," Setsuna said, and Izuku laughed.
When they reached the clinic, they witnessed biblical fury. Recovery Girl held nothing back, lashing her tongue against a half-collapsed and downtrodden Uraraka. Izuku almost intervened, but held his opinion. Some battles were hopeless.
She treated him only marginally better, and nearly treated Setsuna worse.
"You intentionally let him burn you! I saw the fight! Moron!" She said, before turning to Setsuna. "And you intentionally hurt yourself! What if there's an upper limit to your healing, and you're wasting it! What if sand or gravel sticks inside your broken bones when they heal! Idiot!"
"Well," Izuku mumbled, "we're reasonably sure her healing isn't based on cellular acceleration, given she can regrow limbs and doesn't scar. Please don't give her a hard time for my ideas…"
"You can do what!?"
Izuku was barely awake when she excused them, but swimming vision and delirium were better than two crippled shoulders. Despite the fugue, however, he was certain of one thing: Uraraka nor Kirishima returned his greetings, or his goodbyes.
That fact sat with him until he returned to the Arena, slightly more alert. Cementoss erected two podiums for each bracket, and as Setsuna helped Izuku up his, he realized he wasn't sure who'd climb to the other podium's apex.
While he'd hoped it'd be the boy, he wasn't surprised to see Honenuki take the secondary gold medal. As miraculous as the other boy's victory over Kendo was, lightning rarely struck twice. Still, his family should be very proud.
Uraraka had a clinic aid assist her into the fourth place position at Izuku's far left, and between them, Setsuna offered her a steadying hand.
Second place at Izuku's right was empty. They all waited, and Midnight even sent someone to fetch him, but they came back empty handed. Izuku figured this would happen.
"His train home left five minutes ago," Izuku said, recalling the route of their fateful encounter. "I promise he won't feel excluded if we wrap up without him."
Midnight and Uraraka's clinic aid looked at him strangely, but after a second, Midnight nodded. She spoke into her walkie talkie, and with a nonchalant wave, the crowds grew silent.
"Today, history was made," Present Mic said. "Not only did 1Z introduce themselves, and not only did U.A. evolve its conduct… for the first time in our existence, the gold finalist is an amputee!"
His words echoed around the Stadium with such unfiltered pride that the spectators couldn't help but clap and holler. His voice, however, commanded silence the moment he continued.
"It takes more than a good quirk to overcome such a disadvantage. It takes more than money to overcome social, physical, and infrastructural obstacles. It takes more than good fortune to overcome bad fortune. It takes people, working together, enabling the best in each other—and it takes a special type of person to truly blossom. What we have today folks, is a blooming flower. Don't take Katsuki Bakugo's surrender as anything less than a testament to Izuku Midoriya's iron presence in the Arena. So please, make some noise for "Going Beyond!"
Unilateral praise washed over him. He'd been the center of attention multiple times today, but this felt different; more like an apology. Izuku made a fool of himself during his speech, earning confusion and scorn with his haphazard arrogance—and by no means was it excusable.
He told the world he would win, because he had no choice. A short, lopsided kid with a stutter said he would win. Because he lacked the choice.
It was fortuitous everything and everyone proved him wrong. He had never been more grateful for choice in his life, and it was thanks to the people he dismissed. Izuku bared himself transparently to the crowd, and let them see the way their celebrations reflected off him. Their cheers only intensified.
He won, but only because he chose to. Sending Setsuna off to war would've been easier on his mind and body. Izuku could've kept fighting Katsuki instead of talking to him. Surrendering before reaching Shoto and Ojiro crossed his mind, after Nighteye's betrayal. Ultimately, however, his heart knew the path he needed to take.
The crowd saw it in him, and they screamed. Izuku told them something foolish in arrogance, but after a thorough beating, some humility allowed him to make due. He'd won; and they respected that.
Sunlight haloed Whirlwind as he descended carrying a box. His personal tornado held him inches off the ground. He glided to Honenuki's podium, and there he delivered the first medal. No one even felt a hair move out of place.
Izuku had a long time to prepare for what was coming, but not nearly long enough. Whirlwind gave everyone their individual time, praising and critiquing their journey in equal part. Or, at least, that's how it appeared. The personal tornado engulfed everyone he spoke to, privatizing their conversation. His authoritative whisper was equally silent to the crowds, save for the very end, where he'd loudly announce his congratulations, hand off their medal, and move on.
Each little speech he gave grew longer than the last. The only exception was Honenuki, who got a lengthy critique, and then Uraraka, who got brief, pure praise.
Setsuna caught Izuku's eye before a thin veil of wind separated their worlds. Whirlwind lingered on her, as if making up for his brevity with Uraraka. Izuku felt awkward; at this proximity, he could read their lips, and while Setsuna wouldn't mind, it felt a little intrusive to unravel her private discussion with her teacher. Instead, he focused on pushing aside his growing doubts.
After forever, the personal tornado receded, and Whirlwind moved on. Izuku braced himself—but it didn't come. Whirlwind passed him by to observe the empty slot beside him. He might've said a prayer. He might've not; his purpose was unknowable. All Izuku understood was that it put his nerves on fire and scattered his concentration to the four winds.
When Whirlwind finally reached Izuku's place, all his strength drained away. He met Whirlwind's eyes, exhausted, but prepared for his critique.
But no wind bubble surrounded them. Whirlwind's tornado slipped away. He dropped to his feet and craned his neck to meet Izuku's eyes, gold medal balled in his fist and box forgotten.
"While it is my job to teach, it is difficult to critique you, regardless of your obvious and numerous mistakes," Whirlwind said, his gravelly tone echoing around the Stadium. Izuku squirmed. "You, after all, are the youth who saved me when my age failed me."
"Get off the ground," Izuku whispered, so Whirlwind's neck-mic wouldn't pick it up. "You have full permission to put me on blast. I've done nothing special for you, so don't lower yourself."
Whirlwind's stone-carved face scrunched.
"Nothing special? You've done nothing special?" Whirlwind asked, turning to the crowd. "Have you heard, good people? Preventing Whirlwind's certain death is nothing special. He is a rather boring, uninteresting, camouflaged student of a regular school. Not a hero in his own right. His visage isn't even outstanding, I imagine he'll utter next."
Chuckles leapfrogged around the Stadium, thin but present. Izuku's face heated red. He reminded himself of what this man now knew of him, of what all of U.A. now knew.
"No, but I don't want your special treatment," Izuku said, this time loud enough for the whole Stadium. He hoped his message pierced everyone's ears, from 1A, to the teachers, and even to Nedzu, wherever he was. "I've done exceptional things. It's impossible to deny; but it's not because I'm special. My peers have done equally exceptional things. Uraraka, just to my left, saved me during the USJ. So did Toru, in the crowd, and on another occasion, Katsuki Bakugo and Setsuna working together, my opponents. Many in 1A saved a life, and if everyone's special for that, then no one is. We are all incredible, yet you treat them differently from me. I'm asking you to not."
The words felt powerful in his chest, but as they rang around the Stadium, accumulating opinions and reactions, he realized they tasted foul on his tongue. The heat on his cheeks felt incomparable to a growing warmth crawling up his neck and washing over his ears. Something—someone—was watching, and disappointed.
"Proud, insubordinate, and humble. Too smart to just follow orders; you have to consider them. Erratic. Inconsistent. Self-sacrificial and traumatized. Not to mention fundamentally crippled," Whirlwind said, his words more fuel to the fire growing behind Izuku.
"These I deduced at a glance. I could pinpoint the flaws in your skills, social habits, and daily routine. But, I refrain because it's not necessary; as I can so easily deduce your flaws, it is so much easier to see your virtues—and among them, your ability to grow. You're not necessarily special for saving a life, Izuku Midoriya, just as you're not necessarily evil for taking one. Yet, in a fluid world of maybes, you persist. That, son, is something special," Whirlwind said.
For the longest time, his words hung in the air. They whistled past every ear, lingered in every heart. Izuku felt them in every bone in his body. He opened his mouth, but Whirlwind held up a hand.
"You have a choice before you," he said, and Izuku felt himself shiver. "Nedzu has no power over you, in this moment. No one does but yourself. Wherever you go, mediocrity flees, but today you can choose to ignore this, or embrace it. I offer you one thing: an environment where you can release your doubts, where maybes don't exist and special people thrive, rather than struggle. Take leave of 1A, and join my class. Be special. Be… great."
Izuku expected the question. It had, after all, been his motivation for fighting so hard. By no means did he expect how much the question might hurt.
In a large way, he didn't want to join. Of course, he liked the 1Z students, and loved Shoto and Setsuna. Hell, he was even bridging the gap with Katsuki. There was a future there—but it was a future without the friends he'd made in 1A. The dark part of him whispered his doubts. What if another USJ happens without him? What if he misses them? Will they be alright without him? Would he be alright without them?
He looked to the crowd, where his friends sat in quiet anticipation. The entire Stadium wavered and moved—people clapped, walked across aisles, ate food, and spun around in their seats. 1A was dead still; a brackish pond in a vibrant forest. All their eyes rested on him.
Izuku swallowed, and looked to Uraraka. Her eyes barely met him before darting away. He heard her thoughts loud and clear; she and Kirishima didn't acknowledge him in the clinic because they didn't want to say goodbye.
What did special even mean? Who scribbled it down in Merriam Webster? Where was it first used; and how has anything else been "special" since then?
He wasn't special. The world, as Katsuki said, didn't revolve around him. Who was he to get this treatment, to go through these things, to fight this hard?
The warmth at his back sparked hot, lashing against his back—but there was no pain. The fire wasn't real, but the hand on his left shoulder was. It wasn't the original three. It wasn't Four or Five. It wasn't Six or Seven. It glowed a brilliant orange and squeezed his shoulder. He couldn't look directly at it.
Phantasmal blood drained down his throat, familiar and boiling hot. The smell clogged his nostrils and helicopters filled his ears. His heart bellowed and power crested in his gut.
Another hand rested against his hip, not nearly so hot—yet still so warm. It was softer and smaller than the fiery hand, and while it was more familiar, it was less… nostalgic. Setsuna was real, present, and she wanted the part of him he feared most. The heat was the part he feared most.
"Our meeting was the culmination of everyone's lives. That in itself was special," the heat behind him said. Every cell in Izuku's body resonated with the voice's strength. A wave of warmth rushed through his shoulder, and Eight rejoined his soul without once revealing himself to Izuku's eyes. His final words lingered not in Izuku's ears, but his heart. "Whatever you choose, I am proud."
Izuku stood frozen, staring at the empty space All Might's hand once occupied on his shoulder. His vision blurred, and something wet rolled down his cheek. He couldn't say how long he hesitated, but what brought him back was the slightest out-of-focus movement. Blinking, he checked again, and thought he must've been crazy.
Uraraka, still not quite able to look at him, raised her right fist. He blinked again, and looked to 1A in the stands. Their unfettered stoicism melted away in his disassociation, and as the world returned to sharp, agonizing clarity, he saw their raised fists as well.
They said nothing. They did not emote. But they endorsed him—they wished him the best. In that exact moment, Izuku made two choices. The first changed his life in a mere three seconds. The second would take a few days and a truckload of courage, but Izuku chose to face the danger head on.
"Please take care of me. Your insights and tutelage could become invaluable one day. If I must be special, let me be special with your people," Izuku said to Whirlwind, before turning to Setsuna. Izuku questioned how he'd ever considered letting such a radiantly beautiful person go. "I'm coming."
Whirlwind nodded, and handed up Izuku's gold medal. He threw it around his neck, and Float took him a few inches off the ground.
"Folks, give Izuku Midoriya, today's gold finalist, newest member of 1Z, and my little buddy everything you've got!" Present Mic hollered.
Izuku raised his fist, and the Sports Festival came to a thunderous close.
[x]
AN: Smells like horikoshi cooked. anyways :^3 katsuki managed some honesty... after izuku did last two chaps... this coulda been the climax, but i stand by the setsuna fight. gg, well played.
review!~