Chapter Fourteen – Losing, With Style!
"Derreks Clayton and Hitoshi Shinso, you're up!" Midnight's voice boomed through the stadium, reverberating with a commanding authority that demanded attention. The echo lingered in the air, holding the crowd's focus like a spell.
"I'm here, ma'am," Clay called back, his tone casual as he climbed the few steps up to the concrete platform.
"And now, stepping up to the platform is Class 1-A's own Derreks Clayton!" Present Mic's amplified voice rang out, brimming with enthusiasm, as if he were introducing a star athlete. The crowd's murmur of anticipation swelled.
He turned his attention to the opposite side of the platform as Shinso emerged from the shadows, his posture relaxed but purposeful. The faint smirk on Shinso's face was unreadable, a mix of confidence and something sharper beneath the surface.
"And his opponent, representing General Education with gusto—Hitoshi Shinso!" Present Mic's voice echoed through the air, prompting polite applause from the audience.
Clay gave him a short, reassuring nod and a wink.
"Begin!" Midnight declared, her voice sharp and commanding.
The crack of her flogger echoed through the arena like a gunshot, splitting the air and signaling the start of the match.
As the sharp sound faded, the two contestants stood still for a moment, sizing each other up. The crowd's cheers rose and fell like waves, but neither Clay nor Shinso moved, their focus locked on one another.
Clay nodded once more, stepping forward with deliberate ease. When Shinso mirrored the movement, taking a few cautious steps closer, Clay struck first—a quick jab aimed at the liver.
The punch landed, and Shinso retaliated immediately, his right hook snapping toward Clay's head with surprising precision.
"Come on," Clay muttered under his breath, wiping at his jaw. "If you're gonna hit me, hit me. Make it look real."
Shinso narrowed his eyes, his hand lingering near his face like he was ready to defend or strike again.
"You want to be a hero or not?"
Another blow landed squarely in Clay's gut, hard enough to make him almost double over. The two continued their exchange, trading strikes in a rhythm that felt more rehearsed than competitive. Clay pulled his punches, leaving deliberate openings for Shinso to deliver flashy, crowd-pleasing hits.
Wiping a streak of blood from the corner of his mouth, Clay looked up at Shinso with a crooked grin. "Good," he muttered, his voice low but approving. "Get a few good ones on me, and then you can say somethin' about Tsu and take it from there."
He followed up with a light kick to Shinso's abdomen—not enough to hurt, but enough to sell the fight.
Shinso stumbled back a step, clutching his stomach, though the movement was more for show than genuine pain. His eyes flickered briefly toward the crowd before returning to Clay, his expression unreadable. "You're making this almost too easy," Shinso muttered, though there was a hint of begrudging respect in his tone.
"That's the idea," Clay replied, his voice calm and steady despite the fresh blood trickling from his lip. He wiped it with the back of his hand, standing firm. "You need this. Don't overthink it. Say somethin' about Tsuyu, loud enough for the cameras, and wrap this up."
Shinso's eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward again, his fist snapping toward Clay's jaw in a sharp, practiced motion. The punch landed clean, sending Clay reeling back a few steps. The crowd roared, their cheers blending with the rhythmic thud of Clay's boots against the concrete platform.
"Guess I better get serious then," Shinso said, his voice louder now, carrying over the crowd. His expression hardened as he added, almost casually, "You really think Tsuyu's impressed by this act? You could do better than her, you know. Drop her off at her lily pad and get a real woman."
Clay froze for just a split second, his muscles locking as the words hit their mark. The hesitation was brief, but it still looked natural. "Son of a—"
"Gotcha," Shinso said softly, his voice barely audible over the cheers, before Clay's expression slackened, his movements going still. Shinso's Quirk had taken hold.
"Now, walk to the edge," Shinso commanded, his voice steady and controlled, masking any strain. Clay's feet began to move, each step slow but deliberate, the crowd holding its collective breath as the distance to the platform's edge shrank.
Clay didn't 'wake up' until he felt a firm nudge against his shoulder.
"Earth to Clay…" Mina said, giving him another shove, this time with a bit more force.
"I'm here…" Clay muttered, blinking as the world came back into focus. "Mind control, and all that," he added, his voice still groggy. He reached up to scoop Skipper off his shoulder, placing the little rodent on his lap where he began to absentmindedly stroke his fur.
He glanced around, realizing he was back in Class 1-A's seating. His gaze shifted to the arena, where Kaminari was squaring off against the vine-haired woman, their match already underway.
"Why did you lose on purpose, ribbit?" Tsuyu's voice came from just in front of him. She had turned around in her seat, her wide eyes steady and unblinking as they fixed on him.
"Was it that obvious?" Clay asked, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite his exhaustion.
Tsuyu blinked slowly, her gaze unwavering. "You could've won if you wanted to," she said plainly, her voice calm but tinged with curiosity. "You didn't even try use your Quirk. Ribbit."
Clay shrugged, his smirk softening into something more reflective. "I reckon Shinso needed the win more than I did," he said, his tone casual but firm. "He's tryin' to prove somethin'. If I'd beaten him, it wouldn't mean much for me. But for him? It's everything."
Mina tilted her head, clearly intrigued but skeptical. "That's a pretty big sacrifice for someone who's not even in our class."
Clay leaned back, Skipper curling contentedly in his lap. "If he's got the guts to stand up there and put it all on the line, the least I can do is give him a fair shot. Besides…" He glanced at Tsuyu, his gaze steady. "I ain't losin' anything that matters."
Tsuyu's eyes narrowed slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "You're not worried about what Aizawa or the pros think? Ribbit."
Clay's smirk faded as quickly as it had appeared. "I take it Mina didn't have to spell out that I threw the match?"
"Nope. Ribbit," Tsuyu replied evenly, her gaze steady and unflinching.
Clay let out a sigh, leaning back in his seat. "Figures. I'm guessing Aizawa knows too, huh? Feels like I've been on thin ice with him ever since the Mineta thing. This probably isn't gonna help."
Mina crossed her arms, leaning back with an exaggerated shrug. "You're playing a dangerous game, cowboy. Aizawa isn't the 'let things slide' type."
Clay rolled his shoulders, his tone casual, though there was an undercurrent of unease in his voice. "I figure I've already made my bed. If he's got something to say, I'll hear him out. Might not like it, but I'll hear it."
Tsuyu nodded slowly, her wide, unblinking eyes fixed on him. "You should be ready for him to say something, ribbit," she said. "He cares about what we do out there—even if he doesn't always say it right away."
"Where's Sero and Kirishima, anyhow?" Clay asked, glancing around as if expecting them to pop up.
"Oh, they're getting ready," Mina replied, her grin practically glowing as she bounced slightly in her seat, unable to contain her excitement. "They're up against each other next."
Clay raised a brow, a smirk creeping onto his face. "So... you like one of the two, huh?" he teased, his tone dripping with playful accusation.
Clay didn't miss the way a bright red blush spread across Mina's pink cheeks. "No, I—" she stammered, flustered.
"Derreks..."
The low, almost growling tone of Aizawa's voice cut through the chatter like a knife. Despite its softness, it carried an authority that demanded attention. Clay's stomach dropped as he turned his head, meeting his teacher's piercing gaze. There was no mistaking it—his purposeful loss hadn't gone unnoticed.
"One sec, sunshine," Clay muttered, flashing Mina a faint grin to ease the moment. He stood, catching a supportive look from her before he gently squeezed Skipper for comfort. The small gesture steadied him as he climbed the steps toward what he knew would be a private—and thoroughly unpleasant—conversation.
Aizawa didn't wait for Clay to say anything as he approached. His expression was unreadable, but his dark eyes were sharp, flicking briefly to Skipper before settling on Clay's face. He gestured for Clay to follow him, leading them to a quieter corner of the stands, away from the chatter of the other students.
Once they were out of earshot, Aizawa crossed his arms and leaned back slightly, his posture deceptively casual. "You've got guts, Derreks," he began, his tone flat. "Throwing a match in front of a crowd this size, with pro heroes watching. With me watching."
Clay swallowed but kept his expression steady. "Shinso deserved the win," he said simply. "He's got the right Quirk, and he needed the win more than I did."
Aizawa's brow twitched, but his voice remained calm. "That's not your call to make. The Sports Festival isn't just about who wins or loses—it's about showing what you're capable of. You're here to prove yourself, not hand over opportunities."
Clay held his ground, though the weight of Aizawa's words settled heavily in his chest. "I get that, sir. But I've been lucky. I didn't have to work as hard as some of the others to get here. Shinso deserves to be in the hero course just as much as any of us, but he was stuck in Gen Ed to be forgotten forever. Still, he refused to be forgotten, and I respect that."
Aizawa's gaze didn't waver, but there was a slight shift in his expression—a flicker of something that could've been understanding. "You respect him. That's fine. But respect doesn't excuse undermining the integrity of the competition. You set an example for your classmates, whether you realize it or not. And right now, that example says it's okay to manipulate outcomes if you feel like it."
"If I save someone's life," Clay said, his voice calm but laced with a quiet intensity, "wouldn't that be me manipulatin' their outcome?"
Aizawa's silence stretched for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. When he finally spoke, his tone softened just enough to catch Clay off guard. "You've got potential, Derreks. A lot of it. But if you want to be a hero, you need to learn there's more to this job than making the calls you think are right. You'll face situations where doing what feels fair might cost lives."
Clay's jaw tightened, but he nodded slowly. "I'll keep that in mind," he muttered.
Aizawa's gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened, his arms dropping to his sides. "See that you do," he said. "And don't think this conversation means you're off the hook. We'll talk more later."
Without waiting for a response, Aizawa turned and strode back toward the arena. Clay exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he watched his teacher disappear into the crowd. Skipper nuzzled against his neck, and Clay gave him a small, absent scratch.
"Guess I got off easier than I thought," he muttered, heading back to his seat. "For now."