The second match lasted four minutes and was, in strictly technical terms, the strangest of the tournament so far.
Not because Shiozaki wasn't competent. She was. The vines of her quirk covered the ring with a speed and density that made free movement a real problem, and her control over them was precise enough to create both defensive barriers and offensive restraints simultaneously.
The problem was Hatsume.
Hatsume Mei wasn't trying to win.
Mineta processed that within the first thirty seconds, watching from the waiting area. Hatsume moved around the ring dodging vines with that energy of hers—someone for whom immediate danger was secondary to what was happening to her devices in real time—activating one after another with the enthusiastic methodology of someone who had been waiting for this moment long before the Festival.
"The lateral stabilizer works perfectly under real combat pressure!" Hatsume announced—more to the stands than to Shiozaki. "And the back thruster has exactly the thrust-to-weight ratio I calculated!"
Shiozaki, who had launched three more vines at her while she spoke, looked at her with the expression of someone who had concluded that her opponent and she were not exactly participating in the same fight.
"Your inventions are impressive," Shiozaki said in her calm voice. "But this is a match, not a demonstration."
"It's both!" Hatsume replied, dodging a vine with a lateral movement that was technically competent, though clearly not the maneuver's primary objective.
From the waiting area, Kaminari:
"Is she… advertising her own inventions in the middle of the fight?"
"Yes," Sero said.
"On purpose?"
"I think so."
"Is that… allowed?"
No one answered, because technically there was no rule against it.
Shiozaki won when a vine caught Hatsume's ankle at the exact moment Hatsume was looking toward the stands to make sure the cameras had a good angle on the activated back thruster. The fall unbalanced her enough that she crossed the ring's boundary before regaining footing.
From outside the ring, with the same energy as before:
"The knee thruster needs adjustment, but overall performance exceeds expectations! If any agencies are interested in technological collaboration, you can find me after the Festival!"
Present Mic needed a second to process that.
"Shiozaki Ibara advances to the second round! And… Hatsume Mei has probably achieved the greatest technological visibility in Sports Festival history!"
Aizawa:
"That was the plan from the beginning."
"She lost on purpose?"
"Hatsume Mei didn't come here to win a tournament. She came to secure sponsors." A pause. "From that perspective, she won."
Mineta, observing from the waiting area, processed that with something close to professional respect.
That requires a clarity about your own objectives most people don't have. Knowing what you want and acting accordingly—even if what you want isn't what everyone else is chasing.
That's a form of intelligence.
The third match was Iida versus Yoarashi.
And it was the match that completely shifted the waiting area's perception of what the individual tournament could become.
Yoarashi Inasa was, physically, the most imposing person in the tournament. Six foot three, a build that made even Shoji look proportionally smaller, and a wind-control quirk that in open space was exactly what it sounded like: field control.
Iida had speed.
Not the kind visible in posture or warm-ups. The kind that only exists when the engines in his legs ignite and his body goes from still to maximum in the time it takes most brains to process that something happened.
The first ten seconds established the base parameter: Yoarashi generated wind pressure; Iida cut through it before it fully formed.
Not always. But enough times that Yoarashi had to adjust.
Iida's problem was that straight-line speed was his primary tool—and Yoarashi's wind was most effective the more predictable the opponent's trajectory. A straight line was the most predictable trajectory possible.
Yoarashi's problem was that wind needed a second of formation to reach the scale necessary to move someone of Iida's mass—and Iida didn't give him that second.
It was a problem of speed versus formation, and both of them knew it.
Mineta watched with the focused attention of someone whose own match was three ahead against a different opponent—but who was extracting information from everything he saw.
Yoarashi's wind has a radius of effect. If you're inside that radius when it activates, the force is significant. If you're outside, it's just wind. Iida exits the radius before the wind forms. I don't have Iida's speed.
What do I have instead?
The ground. The ground doesn't move with wind if it's adhered. And what's on the ground and adhered to it doesn't move either.
Wind physics works on free objects. Not fixed ones.
That's the variable Yoarashi can't fully control.
On the ring, the resolution came abruptly: Iida changed trajectory at the last moment during one of his runs, using the engine in his right leg to pivot instead of advance. The change of direction took him to Yoarashi's left flank at the moment the wind was oriented forward.
The physical shove from Iida into the unprotected flank was enough to destabilize him.
Yoarashi recovered his balance—but not his position.
Iida had already reached the opposite edge and was returning along the next trajectory before Yoarashi could reorient the wind.
The second impact carried Yoarashi out of the ring.
The stands responded with a level of enthusiasm Present Mic described as "exactly what the UA Sports Festival should always be."
From the booth:
"Iida found the correct angle," Aizawa said. "Wind has direction. Moving perpendicular to that direction at peak formation is the most efficient solution."
"Do you always see everything so clinically?"
"I'm teaching."
"We're on national broadcast."
"Also that."
Iida stepped down from the ring with the same composure that didn't significantly change between victory and defeat—because Iida processed both with the same methodical rigor.
He entered the waiting area and sat.
Mineta looked at him.
Iida noticed the look and gave a slight nod—formal, but entirely genuine.
"Match four is next," Iida said quietly enough for it to be conversation, not announcement.
"Yes."
"Are you prepared?"
It was a direct question from someone who genuinely wanted the answer—not a formality.
Mineta thought honestly.
"I have a plan. If it works, yes. If it doesn't, I'll have to improvise."
Iida processed that with characteristic rigor.
"How much confidence do you have in the plan?"
"Enough to execute without hesitation. Not enough to assume it's infallible."
"That's correct," Iida said with genuine conviction. "A plan you trust too much stops being a plan and becomes an assumption."
Mineta looked at him for a second.
Iida has more strategic depth than most people credit him for. People see rigidity and assume inflexibility. It isn't. It's discipline built on a base that is flexible.
"Your match against Yoarashi," Mineta said. "The last-second pivot. Did you plan that from the beginning or improvise?"
Iida took a moment.
"I planned the principle." An honest pause. "The specific pivot I found during the match."
"Good," Mineta said.
Iida looked slightly surprised.
"Good?"
"It means your plan had room to find things. Plans without that room fail when the opponent does something unexpected."
Silence for a moment.
"Yes," Iida said finally. "That is exactly correct."
From the ring, Midnight announced the fourth match.
"Mineta Minoru of 1-A versus Shoji Mezo of 1-A!"
Mineta stood.
The waiting area looked at him—not dramatically. Just the natural attention that turns toward someone about to step out.
Kirishima, from his seat:
"Hey." He waited until Mineta looked at him. "USJ. Cavalry Battle." A pause. "Today too."
He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.
Mineta nodded.
Ashido, beside him, gave a thumbs-up with that energy of hers that made small gestures feel larger.
Ojiro—technically his opponent in another bracket and therefore not part of this conversation—stared ahead with his usual neutral expression. But something in his posture suggested he had listened.
Good, Mineta thought. We both know exactly what we're dealing with. That makes the fight more honest.
He looked toward Yaoyorozu.
She was already looking at him. When their eyes met, she gave a slight nod. Not encouragement exactly. Recognition. The look of someone who had watched another person work for weeks and knew what that work was worth.
Mineta held the gaze for a second.
Then walked toward the ring.
The ring from inside was different than from the waiting area.
Mineta processed that in the three seconds it took to reach the center: larger than it looked from outside, with that peculiarity open spaces have of expanding once you're inside them. The floor was smooth. No irregularities. The edge was ten meters in any direction.
Shoji arrived on the opposite side.
Up close, the size difference between them was more visible than at any other point that day. Shoji had six additional arms folded, making his silhouette wider than tall—and that width carried the quality of something designed to cover space.
They looked at each other.
Present Mic:
"FOURTH MATCH! TWO FORMER CAVALRY BATTLE TEAMMATES NOW FACING EACH OTHER! MINETA MINORU VERSUS SHOJI MEZO, BOTH FROM 1-A!"
Aizawa:
"Interesting pairing. They know each other well. The question is whether that's an advantage or a disadvantage."
"What do you think?"
"Depends who uses what they know better."
Mineta looked at the floor.
Twenty-meter diameter. Smooth ground. No cover.
The plan is this: spheres on the ground before Shoji reaches contact range. Create an adhesion zone to limit his mobility. From there, use projectile spheres to force him backward toward the edge.
The problem is Shoji has six additional arms that can intercept projectiles before they reach him. And his mass means knockback requires more force than the spheres normally generate.
So the plan can't be direct force. It has to be geometry.
If I anchor him in one position and then create adhesion behind him—between him and the edge—any backward movement puts him into a trap instead of freeing him.
That requires him to move forward first.
Why would he move forward?
Because if he doesn't move, I do. And if I move toward him, he has to respond.
Midnight raised her arm.
"Match four! Mineta Minoru versus Shoji Mezo! Begin!"
Mineta didn't wait.
He threw the first four spheres onto the ground in front of his own feet, creating an adhesion zone between himself and Shoji before the match could properly develop.
It was establishing territory.
This ground is mine. What happens here, I decide.
Shoji observed without moving.
Then looked directly at Mineta.
He knows what I did, Mineta thought. He knows the ground in front of me is dangerous. And he knows if he approaches, he has to cross it.
The question is what he does with that.
Shoji deployed two additional arms, transforming the hands into eyes—two extra eyes scanning in different directions with the calm of someone expanding his information field before acting.
Read the field before moving, Mineta processed. Just like I did at the start of the Cavalry Battle. Shoji and I think in similar ways.
That makes him predictable in some aspects—and more dangerous in others.
The space between them was still clear.
Mineta threw two more spheres—this time not to the ground but to the right edge of the ring, adhering them at mid-height.
Shoji followed the movement with the additional eyes.
Good. Now he knows the right edge is compromised. That reduces his maneuvering space in that direction.
Two more to the left edge.
The ring began to acquire geometry.
Present Mic:
"Mineta is throwing spheres all over the ring and Shoji hasn't moved yet! What kind of strategy is this?!"
Aizawa:
"He's building the field before the real fight starts. Every sphere reduces the opponent's movement options." A pause. "Or his own, if he's miscalculating."
Shoji stepped forward.
Just one step. Controlled. With the calm of someone who has decided waiting gives less information than movement.
Mineta threw a sphere exactly where Shoji's foot would land on the second step.
Shoji saw it. Adjusted his step at the last moment.
Continued advancing.
Five meters. Four.
Mineta didn't retreat.
If I retreat, I lose the adhesion zone behind me. And losing that zone means my back isn't protected.
Hold position. Let him come. The ring is yours if the ground is yours.
Three meters.
Shoji deployed four additional arms outward, creating an opening that covered nearly a one-hundred-eighty-degree arc. With that coverage, direct projectile spheres were nearly impossible—the arms would intercept before impact.
As expected, Mineta thought. The arms cover the front arc. They don't cover what's already on the ground.
Two meters.
Mineta threw the last three spheres of his first load: one to the ground at Shoji's feet, one to the ground at his left, and one directly at Shoji's torso.
One arm intercepted the torso shot.
The other two reached the ground.
Shoji took the next step.
His foot landed exactly on the sphere on the ground.
It didn't fully adhere—the rubber sole resisted adhesion better than most materials. But the sphere underfoot created instability in contact with the floor, and that instability was enough to make the step less firm than Shoji had calculated.
A millimeter of instability at that speed and mass was enough to shift the center of gravity.
Shoji compensated.
And in the moment of compensation, all additional arms oriented downward to rebalance.
Mineta threw four spheres at Shoji's torso.
No arms in the way.
All four hit.
Adhering to the torso wasn't paralyzing. But it was real. And real meant the fabric of Shoji's tracksuit now had four adhesion points connecting him to the space between them.
It wasn't immobilizing him.
It was giving him weight in the wrong direction.
Shoji looked at the spheres on his torso.
Then at Mineta.
He knows what I did, Mineta thought. And he knows he has two options: rip the spheres off his torso—which requires using arms that then aren't in defensive position—or keep advancing with the added weight.
Which does he choose?
Shoji chose a third option Mineta hadn't fully accounted for.
He stopped.
And waited.
End of Episode 34.