Chapter Twelve – Capture The Flag

"Now," Midnight declared, her voice commanding as she waved her flogger through the air like a maestro conducting an orchestra. "Divide into teams of seven!"

Clayton stood among the final forty-two students who had managed to reach the center, his breath steady as he surveyed the crowd. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of satisfaction; most of the faces surrounding him were familiar. Nearly all of 1-A had made it in time.

"And no, I'm not going to tell you what the next event will be! You have five minutes!" Midnight's voice rang out, punctuated by a countdown timer flashing to life behind her, its ticking numbers driving home the urgency.

As if on cue, Clay heard Midoriya's familiar muttering begin behind him. "The smart thing to do would be to get a balanced team, so we'd be ready for any challenge… but if we're balanced, that means my team won't be especially good at anything. It would be a gamble, but if we focused on one element and—"

"Hey."

The interruption pulled Clay's attention, and he turned to see a guy standing before him with dusty purple hair that was unsettling in its own way. His tired expression rivaled even Aizawa's on a bad day, but what really caught Clay's attention was the group behind him: Bakugo, Todoroki, and Sero, each staring blankly, like they were asleep with their eyes open.

"You're Clayton, right? The guy with the rats?" the stranger asked, his voice low and deliberate.

"Yeah, I—"

Clayton 'woke up' to find himself standing—though he didn't remember how he'd gotten there. Not only was he standing, but his Quirk was active, rats pouring from him in a wave of brown, gray, and black bodies. They hit the dusty arena floor and scattered in five directions, each swarm heading toward a different team.

"Wha?" he muttered groggily, raising a hand to his ear. Pain flared as his fingers brushed the bite mark left by Skipper, the sharpness of it evident from the blood trickling down his neck. He winced. "How did I get here?"

He turned, disoriented, and spotted Bakugo charging forward. But something was off. His movements were stiff, lacking his usual fiery intensity. Even stranger was the blank expression on his face, an unsettling emptiness that didn't belong to the loud, brash classmate Clay knew.

Nearby, a purple-haired guy leaned against a pole with a blue flag tied to it, his tired eyes locking on Clay. He looked genuinely surprised to see him there, though his tone suggested otherwise. "Clayton, do you know what's going on?"

There was an edge to the question, something deliberate that made it feel less like a request for information and more like a statement.

"No, I—"

Clay woke up again.

One hand gripped a pole with a green flag fluttering at its top, while the other was firmly pushing against Tsuyu's face. Her tongue was wrapped around the pole, tugging at it with surprising strength.

He blinked at her, then at the flag, the situation slowly registering. "I take it you're on green team," he said, his voice flat as he processed the absurdity. He glanced at her determined expression, then back at the flag. "Am I on blue?"

Tsuyu's tongue gave a sharp tug on the pole, almost pulling Clay off balance. "Yes, ribbit," she replied evenly, her voice distorted by the pole her tongue was coiled around. Her wide, unblinking eyes locked on him with the same calm determination as always, as though they weren't in the middle of one of the strangest tug-of-wars he'd ever been part of.

Clay's grip tightened instinctively. "Alright, so I'm guessin' me lettin' go isn't an option."

Tsuyu blinked at him once, her calm demeanor unshaken. "Not if you want to win, ribbit."

He sighed, glancing over his shoulder to see a small swarm of his rats scurrying toward him, each one carrying what looked like small bits of debris. "I think I missed a lot while I was out," he muttered, half to himself, half to Skipper, who had just reappeared on his shoulder. The little rat chittered indignantly, like he was scolding Clay for losing focus in the first place. With a final shove, Clay pushed Tsuyu's head away, and he watched as Skipper got to work prying the tongue off the pole.

It didn't take Clay long to realize just how awkward the situation was. He was locked in a tug-of-war with Tsuyu over what was clearly her team's flag, without even fully knowing the members of his own team. To make matters worse, Iida was sprinting toward them with the blue flag in hand, his expression focused and determined.

The sight of Bakugo hot on Iida's heels made things click into place—Iida's definitely not on my team. Acting on instinct, Clay extended his leg as Iida rushed past, sending the speedster tumbling face-first into the dirt.

"Ah, that mighta broken my shin…" Clay groaned, wincing as pain shot up his leg. He kept one hand firmly on the green flag, while his other reached for the blue one.

Meanwhile, a dozen rats scurried up the green flagpole, nibbling furiously at Tsuyu's tongue as she stubbornly clung to it. Between her struggle and Iida's disorientation from the fall, Clay managed to snatch the blue flag with a triumphant pull.

"Where am I supposed to bring this?" he shouted, holding both poles over his head as he scanned the chaos for direction. His eyes locked once again on the figure with unruly purple hair, the guy standing nearby with an air of exhaustion and curiosity.

"Clayton, what are you doing?" the stranger asked, his tone level.

"I don—"

"Clay, wake up. Clayton?"

Clay's eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he lay there, disoriented. This wasn't like the strange times he'd 'woken' up before. This feeling was different—familiar. This is what it feels like to wake up after being knocked out.

He was sprawled out on the dusty ground, Skipper perched on his chest, chittering softly. Next to him, far too close for comfort, was Midoriya, peering down at him with a concerned expression.

"Sorry, friend, I don't swing that way…" Clay muttered, his voice groggy as he slowly rolled over and pushed himself up. His head throbbed, but his focus shifted to the situation. "Gotta figure out what team I'm on…"

"Your team already won," Midoriya said brightly, his ever-optimistic grin in place. "Mine did too."

"What happened?" Clay asked, his voice still thick with grogginess.

"You were leading the charge to grab the purple team's flag," Midoriya explained, his tone apologetic. "And, well... Kirishima punched you in the back of the head."

Clay let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the sore spot as he finally managed to haul himself to his feet. "Good man," he huffed, shaking his head. "It'd be nice if I could remember any of it, though. I've always liked capture the flag."

He scanned the surroundings, taking in the clusters of students still milling about, some chatting animatedly, others looking as dazed as he felt. The chaos of the game might have been over, but the energy lingered in the air like static. Clay was used to the roar of the spectators, but what unsettled him was Bakugo and Sero, looking just as confused as he did.

"Sero," Clay said. "I guess we won. Did you rememb—"

Just then, the sharp crackle of Present Mic's voice boomed through the arena, startling everyone. "CONGRATULATIONS TO THE WINNING TEAMS! You've survived round two! But don't get too comfortable yet—round three's right around the corner! A fighting tournament! Go get some grub my listeners! We'll be right back!"

Clay almost wished Midnight had made the announcement. Present Mic's voice made him twice as uncomfortable.