Chapter 28: Warmth in a Paper Cup
The arena was empty. The combatants had vanished into the tunnels, leaving behind a stage that looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster. The concrete was cracked, wet, and steaming as the massive heating vents around the stadium roared to life, fighting to dispel the unnatural winter that had gripped the venue.
The silence of the match was replaced by the low, excited hum of fifty thousand people processing what they had just seen.
"That Kuzan kid..." a man in the C-Block stands muttered to his friend, rubbing his arms to warm up. "I thought he was just a lazy and boring kid. But did you see that last move? He stopped fire. Actual fire."
"Yeah," his friend replied, looking at the replay on the giant screen. "We were booing him earlier for being boring. But looking at it now... maybe he's just on a different level. It's not that he's lazy; it's that he's efficient. It's kind of scary."
"The final is going to be insane," a woman added. "Bakugo vs. Kuzan? The explosion monster vs. the ice calamity? I'm scared for the stadium."
Up in the commentary booth, the windows were completely fogged over with thick white condensation.
"APOLOGIES, LISTENERS!" Present Mic shouted, grabbing a towel and frantically wiping the glass. "THE VISIBILITY IS ZERO UP HERE! WE'VE CRANKED THE AC TO 'TROPICAL' MODE! THE TEMPERATURE SHOULD RETURN TO NORMAL IN THIRTY SECONDS!"
Beside him, Shota Aizawa stood up. He was still wrapped in bandages like a mummy, moving stiffly.
"Hey, Eraser?" Mic asked, pausing his wiping. "Where are you going? The next match is about to start. It's the speedy Iida vs. the explosive Bakugo!"
Aizawa didn't answer immediately. His single visible eye drifted to the plastic cup of coffee sitting on Mic's console. Steam was still rising from it in a thin, inviting curl.
"That coffee," Aizawa rumbled through his bandages. "It's still hot."
"Yeah!" Mic gave a thumbs up. "Kept it near the server tower. Toasty!"
Aizawa reached out and snatched the cup.
"Hey! That's my dark roast!" Mic protested.
"You have too much energy already," Aizawa deadpanned. "Focus on the commentary. I have something to check."
He turned and walked out of the booth, the door clicking shut behind him.
Deep in the labyrinth of concrete corridors beneath the stands, the air was still chilly.
Kuzan Aokiji stood in front of a brightly lit vending machine. He stared at it with a look of profound betrayal. He pressed the button for Hot Black Coffee.
BEEP.
A red light flashed: SOLD OUT.
He pressed the button for Hot Cocoa.
BEEP.SOLD OUT.
He pressed Hot Tea.
BEEP.SOLD OUT.
"Seriously?" Aokiji groaned, his breath puffing out in a white cloud. "Does everyone in this stadium have hypothermia? I just fought a volcano. I need something warm. I don't care if it's milk or soup."
He leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the machine, defeated. "Give me a break..."
"Here."
A hand appeared in his peripheral vision, holding out a steaming plastic cup.
Aokiji lifted his head. Standing there, looking like a walking medical emergency, was his homeroom teacher, Eraserhead.
"Sensei?" Aokiji blinked.
"Take it," Aizawa said, his voice raspy. "It's Mic's, so it's probably terrible, but it's hot."
Aokiji didn't hesitate. He took the cup. The warmth seeped through the plastic into his frozen fingers, sending a jolt of relief through his system. He took a sip. It was bitter, strong, and burned his tongue. It was perfect.
"Thanks," Aokiji exhaled, leaning back against the wall. He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, legs stretched out. "I felt like my bones were freezing over."
Aizawa didn't leave. He leaned against the vending machine, looking down at his student.
"Don't lie, your already frozen.. You and I," Aizawa said after a moment of silence. "I guess we have a similar... vibe."
Aokiji looked up over the rim of the cup. "You mean looking like we haven't slept in a week?"
"I mean our approach," Aizawa corrected. "I'm an underground hero. The public doesn't know me. I avoid the media. I work in the shadows because it's logical. You... you stand in the biggest spotlight in the country, and you act like you want to disappear."
Aokiji swirled the coffee. "Is this a lecture on 'spirit', Sensei? Because my father always gives me a lot of them."
"No," Aizawa said. "I watched the footage from the USJ again. And I watched your fight with Todoroki."
Aokiji stiffened slightly.
"You say you're lazy," Aizawa continued, his visible eye sharp and analyzing. "You say you're only here because your father forced you. You act like everything is a drag."
Aizawa leaned in closer.
"So why did you jump in front of the Nomu to save me?"
Aokiji paused, the cup freezing midway to his mouth.
"Why did you stop your match with Midoriya the moment he was about to permanently damage his hand?" Aizawa pressed. "Why did you take a hit from Bakugo to shield Mineta? Why did you hold back against Hagakure to save her dignity and her skin?"
The hallway was silent, save for the hum of the vending machine.
"You move like a hero, Kuzan," Aizawa said softly. "But your mouth denies it. Why the contradiction?"
Aokiji stared into the black liquid in his cup. He saw his own reflection— messy hair, tired expression.
"I don't know," Aokiji admitted finally. His voice was quiet, stripped of its usual sarcasm. "My dad... he calls me a project. An asset. He put me here to be a symbol of the Kuzan family's power. I think I kinda hate that. I hate being used."
He took a slow sip.
"But... when I see someone in such a big or bad trouble..." Aokiji shrugged. "I want to change the bad scenes that happen in front of me sometimes. It feels... uncomfortable to do nothing. Is that heroism? Or is it just instinct?"
"Does the difference matter?" Aizawa asked.
Aokiji looked up.
"Intention is nice," Aizawa said, straightening up. "But results save lives. Whether you're doing it for your father, or yourself, or just because you're annoyed... you saved my life at the USJ. That's a fact."
Aizawa turned back. The sound of the crowd was swelling again.
"The next match is starting," Aizawa said. "Iida versus Bakugo. Are you coming?"
Aokiji shook his head. He pulled his sleeping mask down around his neck. "No. I think I'll sit here and finish this coffee. I need to defrost my brain before the finals."
Aizawa nodded once. "Suit yourself. But don't get too comfortable. The winner of this match isn't going to let you rest."
Aizawa walked away, his bandages trailing slightly. "They are my students, too. It would be rude not to watch them grow."
Aokiji watched him go, then leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. The warmth of the coffee cup in his hands was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
"WELCOME BACK, VIEWERS!" Present Mic roared, his voice refreshed. "THE ARENA IS THAWED! THE AIR IS CLEAR! IT'S TIME FOR THE SECOND SEMI-FINAL MATCH!"
The gates opened.
From one side, Tenya Iida walked out. He looked rigid, his engines revving with a low, aggressive hum. He was muttering to himself, running simulations.
Bakugo is a close-to-mid-range fighter. His reaction speed is god-tier. If I engage him on the ground, he will counter me like he did Uraraka. I must be faster than his reflexes.
From the other side, Katsuki Bakugo emerged. He didn't stomp this time. He walked with a deadly, silent focus. His eyes were fixed on Iida.
"START!"
Iida wasted zero time.
"RECIPRO BURST!"
Blue flames shot from his calves. The sound of tearing metal screamed through the arena. Iida vanished, moving faster than the cameras could track. He aimed a high-speed kick directly at Bakugo's head, intended to knock him out instantly.
But Bakugo didn't dodge left or right.
He pointed his palms at the floor.
BOOM.
A massive double explosion blasted against the concrete. Bakugo didn't step back; he rocketed upward. He shot into the sky like a missile, clearing Iida's kick by a vertical meter.
Iida's leg swept through empty air. He skidded to a halt, looking up in shock.
"He... he went vertical?!" Iida gasped.
Bakugo was high in the air now, twenty meters up and rising. He spun in the air, looking down at the blue speck of Iida.
"You're fast on the ground, Four-Eyes!" Bakugo shouted over the wind. "But you can't run in the sky!"
Iida grit his teeth. He's right. My Recipro Burst has a time limit. I can't reach him up there!
Iida jumped, trying to catch him, but his engines were built for horizontal torque, not vertical flight. He fell short.
Bakugo reached the apex of his flight. He hovered there for a split second, backlit by the sun.
Sparks began to dance violently in his palms.
Staying on the ground with a speedster is suicide, Bakugo thought coldly. So I'll just remove the ground.
"IMPACT!"
He didn't fire a beam. He ignited a spinning vortex of oxygen and nitroglycerin, turning himself into a human warhead. He spiraled downward, gathering momentum and air pressure.
"No way!" Midoriya yelled from the stands. "Iida-kun!"
Iida turned to run. He sprinted toward the edge of the ring, trying to escape the blast radius.
It was too late.
Bakugo slammed into the center of the arena.
KABOOOOOOOM.
It wasn't just an explosion; it was a shockwave. A massive mushroom cloud of black smoke and orange fire erupted, filling the entire stadium. The sound was deafening, a physical blow that rattled the teeth of everyone in the audience.
"Aghh!!" Iida screamed as the explosion touched his back while running away, lifting him from the ground.
In the corridor, Aokiji sat alone.
The liquid in his coffee cup rippled violently. Dust fell from the ceiling vents.
Aokiji stared at the ripples in his cup.
"Loud," he whispered. "It's over."
Back in the arena, the smoke began to swirl. The wind from the blast was slowly clearing the debris.
Present Mic was coughing. "WHAT... WHAT WAS THAT?! HE NUKED THE STADIUM!"
Aizawa walked into the booth just in time to see the smoke clearing. He didn't need to see the explosion to know the result.
"Look at the boundary," Aizawa said, pointing.
The smoke cleared.
Bakugo stood in the center of a crater, his costume dusty but intact.
Outside the white line, Tenya Iida was lying on the ground. His UA uniform was scorched black. His glasses lay a few feet away, cracked. He was conscious, but barely, trying to push himself up with trembling arms.
"IIDA IS OUT OF BOUNDS!" Midnight announced, waving her fan. "BAKUGO KATSUKI WINS! HE ADVANCES TO THE FINAL!"
The crowd roared, a mixture of awe and terror at the destructive power they had just witnessed.
In the stands, the students of Class 1-A looked at the charred form of their class representative.
"He didn't even stand a chance," Uraraka whispered, looking sad. "Whatever strategy he had... Bakugo just blew it away."
"That's Kacchan," Midoriya said, his face serious. "He doesn't let you play your game. He forces you to play his."
Midoriya looked up at the giant screen. The final bracket appeared.
FINAL MATCH:
KUZAN AOKIJI vs. KATSUKI BAKUGO
"Ice versus Explosion," Midoriya muttered. "This... this is going to be dangerous."
Down in the tunnel, Aokiji finished his coffee. He crushed the empty cup in his hand and tossed it into the bin.
"Well," He stood up, cracking his neck. "Time to go get yelled at."
.
.
.
.