Chapter 32: The Hunted and the Shield
The world outside the U.A. stadium continued to turn. In a sleek, minimalist office high above the bustling city, the Pro Hero Best Jeanist ran a hand through his perfectly coiffed, denim-like hair, a faint sigh of satisfaction escaping his lips. The report on his desk detailed the successful, and notably tidy, resolution of a downtown hostage situation.
"Excellent work, sir," his sidekick said, collecting the files. "Your schedule for the remainder of the day is clear. Shall I prepare the afternoon patrol route?"
"No, that won't be necessary," Best Jeanist replied, his voice a smooth, calm baritone. He swiveled in his chair to look out at the city. "There is nothing else on my agenda today." He paused, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Tell me, is the U.A. Sports Festival not today?"
"It is, sir," the sidekick confirmed. "Our talent scouts are already there, observing the first-years. They have a list of potential interns to approach once the festival concludes."
Best Jeanist turned back to his desk and opened his laptop, the screen illuminating his focused features. He navigated to the live broadcast of the festival. "That is not what I meant," he said, his eyes scanning the screen. "There is a particular individual whose performance I have been asked to observe."
He found what he was looking for. A grainy, long-distance shot of the students milling on the field. Among them, a small, solitary figure with crimson hair. All Might is staking a great deal on you, boy, Best Jeanist thought, leaning forward with a critical, analytical gaze. Let us see if the fabric of your character is truly worth mending.
In a quiet, private viewing box inside the roaring stadium, Yagi Toshinori sat, his skeletal form hunched forward, his shadowed eyes fixed on the field below. The raucous energy of the crowd was a distant, muffled hum through the thick glass. His phone buzzed, and he answered it.
"How are things on your end, All Might?" Principal Nezu's cheerful voice chirped from the speaker.
"The first-year festival is proceeding without incident," Toshinori replied, his gaze never leaving the students.
"I was not asking about the festival," Nezu clarified, a knowing tone in his voice. "I was asking about him."
Toshinori's blue eyes instinctively moved, finding the small figure of Gaara. He saw the impossible had happened: the boy was standing with a group. With his successor, young Midoriya, and his friends. A faint, hopeful smile touched Toshinori's lips.
"It seems my successor has taken the first step," he said, a note of pride in his voice. "Young Midoriya… he has a way of breaking through barriers. I believe he is the most likely person to successfully build a bridge between young Gaara and the rest of the class."
"Are you certain Midoriya is the most suitable one for that particular task?" Nezu asked, his question a curious, almost cryptic puzzle.
"I'm not sure I follow you, Principal," Toshinori said, a flicker of confusion on his face.
"No matter," Nezu replied breezily. "Just a thought. I must go, the third-year events are becoming rather… complex. Enjoy the show."
The line went dead. Toshinori looked down at the field, at the unlikely team forming around his successor and his new ward, Nezu's strange question lingering in the back of his mind.
Down on the field, the fifteen-minute timer was a merciless, ticking clock on the giant screen.
"I will take a horse position," Fumikage Tokoyami stated, his voice a low rumble. Dark Shadow coiled protectively over his shoulder. "My Quirk is versatile. I can provide the necessary defense and create openings from the front."
"Then I'll be in the back!" Uraraka said, her expression determined. She looked at Gaara. "You can be with me in the back! We can support them!"
"That seems like a perfect formation," Midoriya said, a grateful, nervous smile on his face. "I'm counting on you all."
"I believe I should be the horse," a quiet, sandy voice interjected.
The three of them turned to look at Gaara. He stood with his arms crossed, his expression as placid and unreadable as ever.
"Your Quirk is impressive, but I believe Dark Shadow is better suited for this role," Tokoyami countered, a hint of pride in his voice.
"I am the better shield," Gaara stated. It was not a boast. It was a simple, objective fact. "The goal is to protect the rider, Midoriya. The ten million points are the target. My defense is absolute. Therefore, my position should be at the front, where the attacks will be most concentrated. It is the most logical deployment of our assets."
He spoke with a quiet, unnerving calm, his analysis clear, concise, and completely devoid of ego. Tokoyami was silent for a moment, unable to refute the cold, hard logic.
He let out a weary sigh. "Very well. But if you prove to be a liability, we will switch positions mid-battle. We are counting on you."
Gaara gave a single, sharp nod.
An alarm buzzed, signaling thirty seconds remaining. Staff members circulated, handing out the headbands. Midoriya took his, the fabric emblazoned with the impossible number: 10,000,000. With trembling hands, he tied it around his forehead. It felt like a crown and a target all at once.
They took their positions. Gaara at the front, a silent, immovable bastion. Uraraka and Tokoyami took the rear positions, their expressions a mixture of anxiety and grim resolve. Midoriya, the rider, sat atop their linked shoulders. He looked at the determined faces of the other teams, the predatory smiles, the focused glares. Then he looked at the strange, mismatched, but loyal team he had assembled beneath him. A surge of warmth and confidence filled him.
"With this formation," Midoriya said, a brilliant, determined smile spreading across his face, "I don't think we can possibly lose, gu—"
"BEGIN!!!"
Midnight's voice cracked like a whip, and the roar of the crowd was a physical explosion of sound.
Midoriya's final, hopeful word was lost in the chaos. His smile froze on his face, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated terror. It was not one or two teams that moved. It was everyone.
The entire field, a tidal wave of forty other students, surged towards them. It was a stampede of Quirks and killing intent. He saw Bakugo, blasting towards them like a missile. He saw Todoroki, gliding forward on a path of ice, his eyes cold and focused. He saw teams from Class 1-B, their faces twisted in hungry, predatory grins. They were a pack of wolves, and he was the only prey.
"Uraraka-san, float us!" Midoriya screamed, his voice cracking with panic.
"I can't! I have to touch us to do it!" she cried back, her own face pale with shock.
They were paralyzed, completely and utterly surrounded. There was no path of escape. The walls were closing in. This was it. The battle was over before it had even begun.
Then, the boy at the front of their formation moved. Gaara's head snapped up, his hair whipping slightly, his teal eyes burning with a sudden, fierce irritation. He slammed both of his open palms onto the turf of the arena floor.
"Sand Tsunami!" he yelled, his voice a commanding, guttural roar that cut through the noise.
The ground trembled. A web of cracks spread out from his hands, and then the entire stadium floor erupted. A massive, perfectly circular wave of sand and earth exploded outwards from their team, a thirty-foot-high wall of grit that moved with the speed and force of a tidal wave. It did not crush the attacking teams; it shoved them, a colossal, unstoppable force that sent them sliding and stumbling backwards, their coordinated attack shattering into a chaotic mess at the edges of the arena.
In the space of three seconds, the entire battlefield had been transformed. The grassy field was gone, replaced by a vast, circular desert of churning sand, with Team Midoriya standing alone and untouched in its calm, quiet center.
A profound, stunned silence fell over the stadium. The crowd was speechless. The other teams were in shock. Midoriya, Uraraka, and Tokoyami stared down at the boy in front of them, their mouths agape.
Gaara let out a sharp breath, a faint cloud of dust puffing from his lips. It was the only sign of the effort the massive move had taken. His eyes, now fixed on their stunned opponents, were serious, focused, and ready for battle.
In the announcer's booth, Present Mic was silent for a full five seconds, his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed. Then, he exploded.
"WH-WH-WHAT WAS THAT?!!!" he screamed, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated shock. "IN A SINGLE, UNBELIEVABLE MOVE, TEAM MIDORIYA'S DEFENDER, GAARA, HAS REPELLED EVERY SINGLE ATTACKER AND REDRAWN THE ENTIRE BATTLEFIELD! THE HUNT HAS BEEN STOPPED DEAD IN ITS TRACKS! THIS IS, WITHOUT A DOUBT, THE MOST SHOCKING OPENING MOVE I HAVE EVER SEEN IN THE HISTORY OF THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL!!!"
And as his voice reached a fever pitch, the crowd's stunned silence broke, and they erupted into a roar ten times louder than before.
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