The crowd outside roared, but here it was quiet.
Itami sat alone in the breakroom, elbows on his knees, a half-empty water bottle clutched loosely in one hand. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly. The concrete walls didn't echo the stadium noise—they absorbed it, like the room was detached from the rest of the world.
He was grateful for that.
For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his breathing and the slow drip of condensation sliding down plastic.
Two fights...Two wins. And I'm still not sure what I'm even trying to prove.
He took a long sip of water, let it sit in his mouth before swallowing.
The flickers of memory came in fragments—Shinso's voice, the doppelgänger's smile, Akuma's forced grin, the feeling from Tetsutetsu's cracked skin, the electricity still singing in his bones after the Iida fight.
And then... Midoriya's scream.
"It's yours!"
"Not his!"
Itami stared down at his hand.
Still. Calm. But it felt heavier than it used to.
He wasn't thinking about winning anymore. He wasn't even sure he cared who watched.
Father... what would you have done?
His phone started to buzz in his pocket as he saw Lyra trying to call with a couple of missed calls from Yukiko.
Not now.
He stood, capped the water bottle, and set it down on the table beside him.
The break room was quiet. Still.
But beyond those concrete walls, the crowd was thundering. As the tv on the wall shows the conclusion of a fight, then annocing the semi finals, with his match starting soon.
Each step toward the arena felt heavier than it should.
Itami walked with his hands in his pockets, head low. The hallway lights above buzzed in a rhythm that matched the low thrum of noise outside.
He could hear it all now.
The roar of the crowd.
The echoes of the last fight ending.
Present Mic's voice rising with that signature edge.
"AND NOW... LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—IT'S TIME FOR THE FIRST SEMI-FINAL ROUND!"
The crowd roared louder.
"ON ONE SIDE—A POWERHOUSE OF CONTROLLED DESTRUCTION! CLASS 1-A'S ITAMI WYVERN!"
The crowd roared more as Itami stepped into the light.
The air was hotter now. The kind of heat that came from anticipation—not just from the sun.
Across the ring, Todoroki was already standing in position. Arms down. Calm. The faintest frost spread across the floor near his right foot.
"AND ON THE OTHER SIDE—THE ICE AND FIRE PRODIGY! SHOTO TODOROKI !"
A second wave of noise swelled around the stadium. Louder. Deeper.
"WE HAVE THE CREAM OF THE CROP HERE CONSIDERING HOW ELITE THEIR FAMILIES ARE! WERE IN FOR A WILD FIGHT!"
Itami's boots tapped against the stone as he came to a stop. Neither of them moved closer. Just enough distance to stare.
Their eyes locked in on one another as Midnight announces "BEGIN!"
Todoroki attacked first, releasing a wall of ice towards Itami. The ice covered him as he heard a muffled Presnt Mic.
"WOAH IS THIS MATCH ALREADY OVER?!!"
Itami shivered as he started to melt himself out of the ice. He then started forming a fireball between both his hands. Condensing it, adding more and more as the fire began to change. Calm but now more frantic as it's ready to explode any second.
He then shot it out, the fire shot through the ice like it was nothing as the erratic fire ball nearly missed Todoroki.
Itami heard the crowd's reaction as he made his way out of the ice. Once he reached the exit he boosted himself out of there. He flew towards Todoroki, surprising him as Itami grabbed him by the collar and flung him out of the arena.
Todoroki then saved himself as he skated on his ice, saving himself from being out. Itami shot out bolts of electricity barely missing Todoroki. Itami then set out two fireballs making their way to Todoroki. He blocked it with his ice but a direct hit from a bolt of electricity got him in the leg.
Todoroki skidded back, one leg buckling from the bolt that struck him through the ice.
Steam hissed from the melting floor as Itami advanced, fire swirling faintly from his arms—but he didn't attack again.
He stopped just a few paces away. Calm. Solid.
His voice came low, steady.
"You're not going to beat me with just half of yourself."
Todoroki's eyes narrowed.
Itami raised both hands—fire flickering on one, sparks trailing from the other.
"I'm using mine. All of it."
He didn't move to attack. Just stood there, grounded.
"This isn't about proving anything anymore. I just want to know."
Then, as Itami stepped forward again, the sparks vanished—replaced by fire.
Now both hands burned.
"Let's see whose fire burns brighter."
Todoroki's chest rose and fell with tight, even breaths. A shallow trail of steam hissed from his shoulder where the bolt had grazed him.
He stood tall, slower now—ice crawling at his feet, his right arm coiled back.
Itami didn't move.
He waited.
Then—from the stands, a voice rang out.
"Don't give up Todoroki!"
It was Midoriya—loud, firm, cutting through the tension.
"You can do it!!"
Todoroki's fingers twitched. His left hand lifted—just slightly.
And a flicker of flame bloomed in his palm.
The crowd gasped.
For a moment—it grew.
Alive. Strong. Real.
But then...
Todoroki's eyes lowered.
And the flame vanished.
Just like that.
Itami saw it—and he understood.
He sprinted forward. Not out of anger. Not for victory.
For clarity.
BOOM
His flames clashed with the air, and Todoroki didn't defend. He took the blow, still standing for a half-second before the impact launched him off his feet.
He hit the ground just outside the ring.
Unconscious.
The silence was louder than any roar.
Midnight checked him, blinked in surprise, and raised her hand.
"THE WINNER—ITAMI WYVERN!"
The crowd erupted, but Itami didn't react.
He stood alone in the ring, breath slow, hands still flickering with quiet fire. He looked once more at Todoroki—calm, laid out, hand curled near his chest where the flame had almost lived.
As the med-bots rolled out the gurney, Itami turned to leave.
And under his breath, he said it—not to Todoroki's face, not for the crowd.
"Thanks for showing me."
The echo of the crowd had faded by the time Itami reached the corridor just outside the ring.
He leaned against the wall, His breathing was steady, but his muscles ached and hands burned. Although he felt relaxed. Like something has been lifted from his chest.
The Todoroki fight wasn't just a match. It was a mirror. And for the first time in a while, he didn't hate the reflection.
He stared at the floor. As he enjoyed the silence, nothing flooded his mind. For a second, he thought about the beginning.
The roar of the crowd when he first stepped into the stadium. The pressure. The doubt. The attention.
Now it felt... distant. A small smile creept up on him as he said to himself.
Huh, that was fun too...
This whole tournament he felt like he was trapped, always being watched but now—
All he felt now was clarity. This wasn't about winning anymore. It never was.
He closed his eyes for a second and let his head rest against the wall behind him.
Man, I'm hungry.
The crowd was louder than ever, a chaotic roar of voices and stomping feet shaking the stadium walls. Present Mic's voice boomed over the speakers, nearly drowned out by the excitement.
"AND HERE IT IS, FOLKS! THE FINAL MATCH OF THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL! TWO POWERHOUSES READY TO CLASH—KATSUKI BAKUGO AND ITAMI WYVERN!!"
The tension was electric.
Itami stepped into the sunlight, calm, composed, and unreadable. No nerves. No grin. Just steady footsteps and a flicker of heat curling at his palms.
Bakugo was already bouncing on the balls of his feet, jaw tight with anticipation. "You better come at me with everything you've got, lizard."
Midnight cracked her whip.
"BEGIN!"
Bakugo exploded forward—blasting across the arena in a flash of smoke and fire. Itami moved just in time, pivoting to the side as Bakugo's opening shot tore up the ground behind him.
Itami didn't counter right away.
He stayed in motion, testing range, keeping the fire low and tight in his hands. A short flame arced out toward Bakugo's leg. Bakugo flipped mid-air and blasted it apart with a pop of smoke and pressure.
"Don't play defense with me!" Bakugo shouted, already closing the gap again.
Another barrage. Left, right, overhead—blasts fired with precision and speed. Itami dipped under a wide arc and spun back with a crescent sweep of flame, forcing Bakugo to leap back.
He landed, breathing hard, eyes sharp.
"...Tch. You're fast. But you're not really hitting me."
Itami's expression didn't change.
Bakugo grinned, but it wasn't amusement—it was irritation. "What are you doing, huh? Playing keep-away?"
No answer.
Itami surged forward this time, fire blooming across his arms. He swung wide, heat rippling across the stadium floor. Bakugo blocked with a blast, and the two collided in a brief storm of flame and smoke—then broke apart.
Bakugo's boots skidded on the scorched stone. "You're holding back."
It wasn't a question as Itami rolled his shoulder. "You done talking?"
Bakugo barked a sharp laugh. "Hell no—I just got started."
This time, Bakugo came in fast.
A sharp blast cracked under his feet, launching him forward like a cannonball. His palms sparked mid-air—crackling with raw pressure.
BOOM
The explosion came fast, wild—bursting just ahead of Itami's position in a thunderous shockwave.
Itami sidestepped cleanly, the edge of the blast licking past him in a rush of heat. He didn't flinch. Just turned into the motion and fired a stream of flame low across the arena floor.
Bakugo dropped into a slide, arms crossed over his face as he barreled through the fire, teeth bared in a snarl. He burst out the other side with a blast and aimed a right hook lit with combustion.
Itami ducked under it, twisting left—his heel scraped the floor, sending a wave of heat in an arc that forced Bakugo to hop back.
But he didn't stop.
Bakugo landed and launched again. No hesitation. His palm sparked mid-swing as he came in low and wide.
Itami blocked it with his forearm—flame meeting fire.
THWAM!
The blast went off point-blank, sending both of them sliding in opposite directions.
They reset—ten feet apart.
Bakugo breathed hard, sweat dripping down his temple. His palms still hissed with heat, fingers twitching, ready for more.
Itami stood calm.
Bakugo brow furrowed.
"...You're not using everything," he growled.
Itami didn't respond.
"You haven't thrown a single bolt." Bakugo's eyes narrowed. "You think I'm not worth it? You trying to prove something!"
Still nothing.
"You're holding back!"
Bakugo didn't wait for an answer. He launched again, feral now—explosions kicking him across the arena. One hand came back, palm sparking hard with a blast that cracked the stone beneath him.
He cocked his arm back—aiming for center mass.
"WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE IF YOUR NOT GOING ALL OUT!"
He fired—
And Itami caught his wrist.
The explosion fizzled out between them. Just steam. Heat. Pressure. And stillness.
Bakugo's eyes widened.
"You—"
"I'm not here to prove anything," Itami said, voice calm.
Bakugo fought against his grip, straining, pushing—but Itami didn't budge.
"This fight isn't mine."
He let go. Turned. And walked away.
Bakugo's breath hitched. His arms lowered slightly, like the fire inside him didn't know what to do with itself.
Midnight's voice hesitated, then called it—
"Itami Wyvern has left the ring. The winner... is Katsuki Bakugo!"
Cheers. Boos. Confusion. All of it blurred together.
Bakugo stood there, fists trembling, steam rising from his hands.
He stared at the spot where Itami had walked away.
"YOU DONT GET TO WALK AWAY! FIGHT ME DAMN IT!"
His body shook with fury—quivering with every breath.
He screamed, lunging forward, both palms raised as sparks flew wildly from his fingertips.
Midnight's voice snapped sharp.
"Enough!"
She ripped the sleeves off her costume as her fragrance slithered into Bakugos nose, Making him drop.
He hit the ground with a grunt, eyes rolling back for a moment, as smoke curled from his hands.
Midnight blew a strand of hair out of her face. "He'll be fine. Just needed to cool off."
The sun had dipped just enough to cast golden light across the stage.
The podiums stood tall, each slot filled.
First Place: Bakugo Katsuki.
Second Place: Itami Wyvern.
Third Place: Shoto Todoroki and Fumikage Tokoyami
Bakugo stood upright—but chained, arms restrained at the sides with reinforced bindings. His face was twisted in a glare, lip curled in protest. The medal around his neck looked more like a collar than a prize.
All Might stood before him, offering the medal with his usual booming charm.
"Great work, young Bakugo! You showed your spirit—maybe a little too much."
Bakugo growled, teeth clenched. "GET THIS THING OFF OF ME!"
Itami stood silently in second place, posture relaxed but alert. He glanced once at Bakugo—then looked away without a word.
All Might stepped toward him next, placing the silver medal gently over his shoulders.
"You didn't finish with fire," All Might said softly, "but I have a feeling you walked away with something stronger."
Itami didn't answer. But he gave a faint nod.
Todoroki stood beside him, silent, gaze distant. As Tokoyami thanked Allmight and stood stoically.
Itami turned his head just enough to look out at the crowd, the setting sun lighting the sky behind them.