The silence hung heavy in the room after Todoroki's exit, like the air itself was still trying to process what had just happened. No one spoke at first. A few students exchanged uneasy glances. Others pretended to stretch or adjust their gear, anything to avoid acknowledging the confrontation outright.
Then—
Mina broke it.
She flopped down beside Izuku with a dramatic huff, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at the door Todoroki had just walked through.
"Okay, seriously," she said, lowering her voice just a bit, "what did you do to that guy? He's acting like you stole his lunch money, burned his house down, and kicked his dog."
Izuku cracked one eye open and shrugged casually. "Couldn't tell ya."
Mina stared at him for a second, then snorted. "Wow. That's somehow worse."
Across the room, Momo had been watching everything quietly. She finally crossed her arms, brows knitting together in concern.
"Whatever it is," she said firmly, "he's not letting it go. You could see it in his eyes. He's serious about this, Izuku."
Izuku leaned his head back against the wall, eyes closing fully now. His voice came out calm, almost thoughtful.
"…He really is."
There was no bravado in it. No teasing. Just acknowledgment.
Mina leaned in closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.
"Ooooh," she whispered dramatically, "it's a rivalry thing, huh? Like Goku and Vegeta!"
She tapped her chin, studying him. "Though… you're kinda more like Goku."
Izuku let out a soft chuckle. "That's one way of putting it."
"And Todoroki's the broody, icy Vegeta," Mina continued, nodding to herself. "Yep. I see it."
The mood lightened just a bit. A few nearby classmates relaxed, some even letting out quiet laughs.
Soon after, the rest of Class 1-A filtered back into the room. Kirishima cracked his neck and grinned nervously. Kaminari collapsed into a chair with a groan.
Ochaco slipped in, glancing briefly at Izuku before sitting down, her expression a mix of relief and lingering nerves.
The tension didn't vanish—but it loosened. The calm before the final storm had arrived.
...
After that little confrontation, Izuku ended up unintentionally becoming the hero of Class 1-A in a very different way.
Mineta had barely finished pitching his "totally harmless and morale-boosting idea" before Izuku shut it down flat.
"No," Izuku said calmly, stepping between him and the girls. "Absolutely not."
Mineta froze. "C'mon, Midoriya! It's for team spirit!"
"It's for you," Izuku replied without missing a beat.
The girls didn't even hesitate. Mina visibly relaxed, Ochaco let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, and Momo shot Izuku a grateful look that lingered just a second longer than necessary.
"Tch… buzzkill," Mineta muttered, slumping dramatically into a corner.
Izuku ignored him, but the appreciative looks he earned made it more than worth it.
The mood didn't stay light for long.
Outside, the stadium's buzz rose steadily, building like pressure before an explosion. Even through the thick walls of the waiting room, the roar of tens of thousands of spectators seeped in, vibrating through the floor and up their legs.
The final event was coming.
And everyone could feel it.
Then—
Present Mic's voice detonated across the arena, blasting through the speakers so hard it practically shook the building.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! IT IS NOW TIME FOR THE FINAL EVENT! THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!!"
The crowd went feral.
"BETWEEN THE SIXTEEN MEMBERS OF THE FOUR WINNING TEAMS—WE'LL BE HOLDING A FORMAL TOURNAMENT!"
The cheers somehow grew louder.
"What kind of tournament, you ask?!" Present Mic paused dramatically. "A ONE-ON-ONE BATTLE!!"
The stadium erupted.
People leapt to their feet. Fists pumped into the air. Names were screamed at the top of lungs already hoarse from cheering.
"I WANNA SEE MIDORIYA VS TODOROKI!" someone yelled from the front rows.
"NO—MIDORIYA VS THAT BLONDE KID!" another shouted. "THE ONE WITH THE ANGER ISSUES!"
Laughter rippled through the stands—followed immediately by a few nervous chuckles as a boom echoed from Bakugo's direction.
The energy was electric. Heavy. Magnetic.
Thousands of eyes instinctively gravitated toward Izuku, like the arena itself had decided he was the centerpiece of the event.
And yet—
He stood there calmly, posture straight, hands folded neatly behind his back. No pacing. No nerves. His gaze remained locked forward as Midnight strutted onto the stage, heels clicking with deliberate confidence.
"The matches will be decided by drawing lots," she announced, twirling her whip lazily. "That way, no one can complain about favoritism or rigging."
She paused, then added casually, "Also—participation in the final tournament is not mandatory. If you feel you don't belong here, you're free to withdraw."
A murmur swept through the crowd.
Then Ojiro raised his hand.
"I'll forfeit," he said calmly, voice steady despite the pressure. "I was carried through by my teammates. Advancing wouldn't sit right with me."
The crowd gasped.
Even Midnight blinked in surprise before nodding approvingly. "Very well. That's one."
Not long after, Shoda from Class B stepped forward, mirroring the sentiment. "Same here. I don't want to advance on something that wasn't truly mine."
The stadium booed loudly, but rules were rules.
Their spots were filled by representatives from the fifth-place team—Kendo and Tetsutetsu—which immediately reignited the excitement. Cheers returned, louder than before, as anticipation spiked.
Finally, the lots were drawn.
Names flashed rapidly across the massive display board, pairing after pairing locking into place.
Izuku scanned the screen—and paused.
His eyes landed on his first matchup.
"…Huh," he muttered quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Guess it's fate."
Across the stage, Shinso stared back at him, eyes narrowed, jaw tight. There was no mistaking the hostility radiating off him—resentment sharpened into something personal.
Shinso clenched his fists.
'So it's him,' he thought coldly.
'The golden boy. The crowd's favorite.'
His gaze hardened.
'He looks like the type who likes to talk.'
A thin, dangerous smirk crept across Shinso's face.
'Good,' he thought. 'This'll be easy.'
Ten minutes were given to the contestants to prepare.
It wasn't nearly enough time.
The arena fractured into pockets of tension almost instantly—students scattered across the prep areas like pieces on a chessboard, each dealing with their nerves in their own way. Some paced back and forth, muttering strategies under their breath like mantras. Others stretched so hard it looked painful, forcing their bodies to stay loose. A few sat with their heads down, eyes closed, breathing slowly as classmates whispered encouragements beside them.
The air felt heavy. Pressurized.
This was it—the point where talent met expectation.
And then there was Izuku.
While everyone else was barely holding themselves together, he sat at one of the cafeteria tables just off the arena floor, posture relaxed, one leg casually crossed over the other. In his hand was a small carton of apple juice, which he sipped from leisurely, as if he were killing time between classes.
Across from him sat Mt. Lady, arms folded beneath her chest as she studied him with sharp, curious eyes. The contrast between the chaos around them and Izuku's calm was impossible to ignore.
"You don't seem all that worried," she said at last, her tone half-amused, half-intrigued.
Izuku lowered the juice box slightly and raised a brow. "Really? What makes you think that?"
She gestured vaguely around them. "Look around. Everyone else is probably saying their prayers or biting their nails down to the bone trying to keep their nerves in check. But you—" she tilted her head, lips curling into a grin, "you're drinking juice like this is recess."
Izuku shrugged lightly, slipping the straw back between his lips. "Well… we're all different."
Mt. Lady laughed, leaning back in her chair. "Yeah. You've got that right."
Her expression softened as her gaze lingered on him—not as a pro hero looking at a fan, but as a veteran evaluating potential. She'd watched his performances closely today. The strength. The control. The composure under pressure.
'He's way too mature for his age,' she thought. 'And that power… yeah. He'd be a monster with the right guidance.'
Her fingers tapped thoughtfully against the table before she reached into her jacket and pulled out a sleek business card.
"You should check out my agency," she said casually, sliding it across the table toward him. "I think you'd fit in just fine."
Izuku glanced down at the card, then took it between his fingers. He looked back up at her, a faint smirk appearing.
"I'll see what I can do."
Mt. Lady chuckled, already reading between the lines.
'That was a no,' she thought, smirk widening.
'…I like the kid even more now.'
Izuku took one last sip of his juice and stood, tucking the card away.
TO BE CONTINUED