The remaining matches rushed by in a blur. Some ended almost the instant they began—one clean hit, one misstep, one overwhelming quirk deciding everything in seconds.
Others dragged on, stretching nerves thin as stamina faded and desperation crept in. The crowd rode every high and low, cheering wildly one moment and groaning the next.
But one fight, more than any other, grabbed the stadium.
Katsuki Bakugo vs. Ochaco Uraraka.
From the moment the match started, something felt different. Ochaco didn't hesitate.
She moved.
Her footwork was sharp, her timing clean, her control over Zero Gravity far more refined than anyone remembered. She dodged explosions by inches, leaping, flipping, redirecting debris with practiced precision. Every time Bakugo tried to blast her away, she adjusted—using the recoil, the rubble, the air itself.
The stadium buzzed as realization spread.
This wasn't the "sweet, clumsy girl" people had written off.
This was a fighter.
Bakugo snarled, explosions roaring louder as he was forced to actually think, forced to change angles, forced to fight seriously. His irritation grew with every second she stayed standing.
Still, the gap in raw power was undeniable.
When Ochaco finally dropped to one knee, panting hard, arms trembling—but eyes still burning—the match ended.
She hadn't won. But she hadn't broken. The applause that followed was thunderous.
In the waiting room, Izuku watched the broadcast quietly, a small, genuine smile forming on his face.
'She did well,' he thought.
'I'm proud of her.'
---
Then—
The moment everyone had been waiting for arrived.
The massive bracket board flared to life, the stadium lights dimming just enough to make the names burn brighter.
Izuku Midoriya
vs.
Shoto Todoroki
The roar that followed was deafening.
People leapt to their feet. Commentators shouted over one another. Bets were whispered in frantic excitement. Gasps echoed as cameras zoomed in on the arena floor, anticipation thick enough to choke on.
In the waiting room, Izuku stood and stretched casually, rolling his shoulders, loosening his neck like he was about to spar after class. His green eyes gleamed—not with nerves, but excitement.
He stepped toward the stage with an easy stride.
Across the arena, Shoto emerged as well.
Cold mist rolled from his right side, ice forming beneath his boots with every step. On his left, faint heat shimmered in the air, subtle but unmistakable. His mismatched eyes were locked forward, expression razor-sharp, completely focused.
Present Mic's voice thundered across the stadium.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THIS IS IT!! ONE OF THE FIGHTS YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! TWO PRODIGIES! BOTH WITH INSANE POTENTIAL! BOTH STORMING THROUGH THE ROUNDS LIKE NATURAL-BORN CHAMPIONS!"
The crowd roared even louder.
"ONLY ONE CAN MOVE FORWARD! WHO WILL IT BE?!"
Up in the booth, Present Mic wiped sweat from his temple, grinning wildly.
'All my money's on Midoriya,' he thought. 'Kid's unstoppable.'
Midnight raised her arm.
"MIDORIYA VS. TODOROKI!"
A split second of silence.
"START!!!"
The horn blasted.
The sound echoed like a gunshot.
Izuku didn't move immediately. His hands remained buried in his pockets, posture relaxed, eyes calmly assessing Shoto as ice crept forward across the arena floor.
'Should I end this quickly?' he wondered, almost casually.
The air between them crackled.
And the entire stadium held its breath.
Shoto moved first.
He slammed his foot into the ground, eyes sharp and focused, and the arena exploded with sound as a massive ice wave burst outward from beneath him, racing straight toward Izuku like a frozen tsunami.
CRRRRSSHHHHHH—!
The temperature plummeted instantly. Frost crawled across the concrete in jagged veins, ice spikes erupting upward as the wave surged forward with crushing force. Spectators in the front rows felt the cold bite their skin even from behind the safety barriers.
Izuku's eyes narrowed—not in alarm, but interest.
A small grin tugged at his lips as he drew his arm back.
BOOM!
One punch.
That was all it took.
The ice wave didn't just stop—it shattered, exploding into countless razor-sharp shards that blasted back toward Shoto like a storm of frozen blades. The ground beneath Izuku's feet cracked from the sheer force of the impact, fissures spiderwebbing outward.
The audience gasped as the shards screamed through the air.
Shoto reacted instantly, slamming both hands down.
A towering ice wall erupted in front of him, thick and dense—but even then, it cracked under the recoil, chunks splintering off as shards embedded themselves deep into its surface.
Izuku didn't wait.
His figure blurred, sprinting straight through the collapsing ice like it wasn't even there.
Shoto's eyes widened a fraction before hardening. He slid backward, freezing the ground beneath his feet, momentum carrying him smoothly like a skater as he thrust his arm upward.
A massive ice boulder formed overhead.
It dropped.
"—!!"
Izuku didn't even blink.
He leapt—and kicked.
CRACK—BOOM!
The boulder exploded midair from the sheer force of his kick, detonating into a cloud of ice fragments and freezing mist. The shockwave rippled outward as cold vapor swallowed the arena.
Izuku landed a split second later.
Shoto was already there.
Ice coated Shoto's fist as he swung point-blank, breath fogging in the frigid air.
Izuku tilted his head slightly.
The frozen fist whooshed past his cheek, close enough to graze his skin.
Shoto pressed harder.
Punch after punch followed—ice bursting from each strike, his movements sharp, aggressive, relentless. The frost crept further along his arm, up his shoulder, across his cheek as he poured more power into every blow.
But Izuku?
His hands stayed in his pockets.
He weaved between the attacks with effortless precision, body shifting by centimeters, steps smooth and almost lazy—like he was dancing through the storm. His calm smirk only deepened, as if the assault barely registered.
Shoto clicked his tongue. "Tch…"
His left arm snapped forward.
A sudden, point-blank ice wave erupted straight into Izuku's torso.
KRSSHHHHHH!
The arena floor cracked violently as a surge of cold fog swallowed everything. Ice engulfed Izuku completely, freezing him in place in an instant. At the same time, half of Shoto's body glazed over with frost, ice crawling down his shoulder and across his face from the strain.
The crowd went dead silent.
"Did… did Midoriya just—!?"
Before Midnight could finish the thought—
CRACK! BOOOOM!
The ice exploded outward.
Shards blasted in every direction as Izuku burst free, leaping high into the air. From above, he looked down calmly at the battlefield below—UA gym uniform soaked, green hair dripping with melted frost, steam rising faintly from his body.
He sighed midair and brushed ice off his sleeve like it was an inconvenience.
'This is getting boring,' he thought flatly.
'And now I'm wet… pause.'
Below him, Shoto stared up, breath heavy, frost clinging to his skin—realizing, perhaps there really are levels to this shit.
The next second, Izuku dropped like a rocket.
The moment his feet touched the ground—
BOOM!!
The concrete floor of the arena collapsed inward, spiderweb cracks racing outward in every direction as if the earth itself had been struck by a meteor. The impact sent a violent shockwave rolling across the battlefield.
Shoto was thrown back immediately.
Ice coated the ground beneath his legs, smooth and treacherous. His boots slid uncontrollably, his balance breaking as he struggled to stabilize himself.
"WHAAAT'S THIS?!" Present Mic shouted, nearly screaming into the mic. "TODOROKI'S OWN ICE IS WORKING AGAINST HIM! HE CAN'T GET HIS FOOTING! WHAT'S HE GONNA DO TO KEEP FROM SLIPPING RIGHT OUT OF THE COMPETITION?!"
Shoto tried to dig in, ice forming under his heels—but it only made things worse. His breath came out ragged, fogging the air as he skidded backward, panic creeping into his movements.
And then—
He heard Izuku.
"You'd better release your other side," Izuku said flatly, his voice cutting clean through the mist and chaos. It carried effortlessly across the arena, calm and absolute. "If you don't, you'll be disqualified. That wouldn't be nice, would it?"
Shoto's teeth clenched.
"No!" he shouted, forcing his feet down, muscles screaming as he tried to stop himself. "I won't use his power!"
Izuku tilted his head slightly, almost curious.
"His?" he repeated. "You're only chaining yourself."
He took a step forward. The pressure in the arena shifted.
"This is your fight," Izuku continued, voice steady but heavy with certainty. "Not his. If you lose here without using everything you've got—" his eyes gleamed, a golden intensity bleeding through the green, "—you'll feel nothing but emptiness."
The crowd had gone quiet again. Every word landed like a hammer.
"Because you didn't try your best," Izuku said. Then his lips curled faintly. "So…"
His eyes burned brighter.
"…let go."
Izuku drew his fist back.
The air around his arm trembled, rippling visibly as raw power gathered. The ground beneath him began to fracture again, cracks widening as dust lifted into the air without any wind.
"Otherwise," Izuku said calmly, "with just one punch—"
WOOOSH!!
He lunged.
His fist tore through the air, the shockwave exploding outward like a hurricane. Debris, dust, and shattered frost were ripped from the ground and blasted violently into the arena walls. The sheer force flattened everything in its path.
Shoto's eyes widened.
Frozen.
"…you'll be down."
For a split second—Silence. Then the stadium erupted. Izuku stopped short. He relaxed his stance and stepped back to his original spot as if nothing had happened, the pressure vanishing instantly. His uniform clung wetly to his frame, water dripping steadily onto the shattered concrete.
Shoto finally managed to halt his slide.
He stood there, half-frozen, chest heaving, frost creeping up one side of his body while the other side trembled—not from cold, but from something deeper. Pride. Anger. Conflict.
His fists shook. His breath came out uneven. The weight of Izuku's words crushed down on him harder than any punch could have.
Then—
TO BE CONTINUED