Higawara Manor, Musutafu.

“Oh yes, I remember it very well,” Hayami said, covering her mouth to hide her smile. “He lost during the first round to some girl from Seiai Academy after she walked straight up and kissed him on the mouth—Sajin collapsed right there and then.”

“Bunch of cheaters,” Sajin complained, leaning back in his chair. “One minute, she’s sticking her tongue in my mouth; the next, I’m waking up in the waiting room, eliminated.”

“Katashi and I met with him after it was over,” Hayami said, still laughing. “We had the pleasure of watching him ask his opponent for her number—of course; nobody expected him to suffer his second defeat of the day from the very same girl.”

“You’re finding way too much amusement in my suffering,” Sajin said with a sigh. “You better be careful about stuff like that, Hisoka; there is always someone out there with a way to take you down.”

The advice mirrored a lot of what Shota had been reinforcing over the last week—just knowing the quirks, strengths and weaknesses of my classmates wasn’t going to be enough to navigate the Sports Festival. There would be hundreds of other participants—from a variety of different schools—and I had no real knowledge of what any of them could do. If someone like the girl from Seiai Academy was competing this year, then I had to make sure I didn’t take any risks that would end with my elimination.

“I understand,” I said, “I’ll make sure to be careful.”

“Three different year levels from multiple schools, all participating in the same stadium; the schedule must be absolutely packed,” Hayami said, furrowing her brow. “They used to have each year level compete on consecutive days, but now they’ve squished it all into one—how do they have the time to fit all of those events in?”

“Momo asked that exact question during our homeroom class on the final day before the break,” I said, “Each year level participates in the same three events one after another, and they are all kept isolated in the waiting rooms to avoid giving us a chance to prepare for the events.”

Sajin reached up to brush his moustache flat, eyes on the ceiling for a moment.

“The third years will be the first group to attempt the first event, then the second years, then my own year,” I said, “After all three years have finished the first event, it will start again with the third years attempting the second event.”

“Seems like a scheduling nightmare,” Sajin admitted, “How do they handle the tournament portion?”

“The tournament portion isn’t always present, but it’s the most popular event for viewers, so it’s most likely going to be included again this year,” I said, “It works the same way; my year will be confined to our waiting room while the third and second years complete their own brackets first.”

“So the first-year tournament will be the final event for the day,” Sajin said, “There is probably a drop in viewership over the course of the day, so getting the third years out first, when it’s the highest is probably for the best—considering they’ll be graduating at the end of the year.”

“That’s probably why,” Hayami said in agreement, “Hisoka, it looks as if you will be spending most of the day locked away in a waiting room—you can always call us if you are feeling restless.”

“Thank you, but according to Shota Aizawa, we will be asked to hand over our phones at the start of the day,” I said, “It’s apparently a restriction to prevent us from watching how the other year levels solved each of the events in real-time.”

“I suppose that does make sense,” Hayami said, “You’ll have your classmates to speak with, at least.”

“Yes,” I said, before pausing. “Uncle Sajin?”

Sajin lifted an eyebrow at the question, an unspoken acknowledgment that I should continue.

“This week, we were asked to start paying more attention to the Hero Agency we were interested in, and your recent trip to Fukuoka piqued my interest,” I said, “I believe I’ve found one that I am interested in doing my internship with, although I can’t be sure whether or not they will make a request to take me.”

“There’s quite a few of them in Fukuoka,” Sajin said, “But I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you’re talking about the Hawks Agency?”

“As expected of a pro-hero,” I said, smiling. “I cannot slip anything by you, Uncle Sajin.”

Hayami laughed out loud at the joke, or perhaps the too-serious tone I had affected before she reached up to cover her mouth, embarrassed at how loud she had actually been.

“I think I’ve heard more sass out of you in the last month than I’ve heard for the past ten years,” Sajin said with a laugh of his own. “Let me guess—one of these friends of yours is a joker?”

“Mina Ashido and Eijiro Kirishima,” I said, ducking my head at the unexpected derailment. “They often speak to one another like that, and sometimes I get caught in the crossfire.”

“Those are some of the ones that went with him to Tokyo,” Hayami said, smiling now. “I’ve been hearing a lot about them and a couple of other names as well—I’m hoping we will get a chance to meet them sometime soon.”

“Sounds like they’ll be participating in the U.A. Sports Festival as well, so make sure you point them out for me,” Sajin said with some interest. “As for the Hawks Agency, I actually worked with them while I was there, though most of that was with his sidekicks.”

“Velcrow and Red Bird were both listed on the website,” I said, in consideration. “Most of the other agencies had dozens of sidekicks, but the Hawks Agency only has two.”

“I’m guessing that’s because of Hawks,” Sajin offered, “Red Bird is a funny guy, friendly too. Velcrow is more of the quiet type, but he’s good with computers, logistics and tracking people down—he was the one handling the call-ins, reports and police intersection.”

“Hawks?” I asked.

I’d already done enough research on all three of them—along with every other sidekick, hero and agency across Fukuoka—but Sajin may have had access to more personal insight, considering he’d actually met them in person.

“Laidback, confident and unfazed by most things, but he also doesn’t wait around for anything; he just goes straight to work—very decisive, and he’s got a sharp mind,” Sajin said, tugging at his moustache. “He does flybys through the city every couple of hours but doesn’t really touch down or interact with anyone, and he leaves the cleanup to his sidekicks—as far as being a hero goes, he’s kind of a force of nature.”

“They sound interesting,” I admitted, “Did you spend a lot of time working with them?”

“Only a couple of days, all in all,” Sajin said, shaking his head. “Velcrow found the guy I was looking for in about two hours after meeting up with him, and then Hawks picked him up before I’d even gotten a chance to step outside of the building.”

“You were there for almost a week,” Hayami said, blinking. “What did you spend the rest of the time doing?”

“I went on some patrols with the three of them, but most of my time was spent working with the police force,” Sajin admitted, “Hawks is still pretty young, but he’s got a decent head on his shoulders—but as far as mentoring goes? I’m not sure I have enough of a basis to tell you whether he’d be any good for it.”

“I understand,” I said, “Do you think it would be a good fit, or should I look for something else?”

It wasn’t really a risk to ask a question like that because there were dozens of other agencies across Fukuoka—and Kyushu at large—but it would also avoid making it seem as if I was particularly desperate to apply for this specific one, showcasing that I wasn’t too attached to the idea would help alleviate some of that.

“Velcrow might be a good mentor for that investigative focus you were originally after,” Sajin said, tapping a finger against his chin. “I’ve got his number, so I’ll give them a call later on and see if they are going to be looking for anything in particular.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it; you should just focus on putting on a good showing tomorrow at the Sports Festival,” Sajin said, “The better off you do, the more likely you are to draw their attention, you know?”

“I understand,” I said, “I’ll work hard to stand out.”

“Hisoka, I know that you have been working very hard, but there are going to be hundreds of competitors,” Hayami said, sounding a bit concerned. “I just—I guess I don’t want you to feel bad or upset if things don’t go quite as well as you’re hoping.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that, Hayami,” Sajin said, shaking his head. “I still remember reading the report of him taking down that bamboo guy, and that was before he’d even left middle school—Hisoka, how well do you think you’re going to place?”

I had been coming up with strategies to defeat the members of Class 1-A since the Battle Training had taken place, and through Setsuna Tokage, I had learned some of what Class 1-B was capable of. The other classes at U.A. High School—hero, general, business, or support studies—were less known to me, and the students from other schools I had no information whatsoever. There were too many unknowns to accurately predict my own placement, but I needed a Hero Agency from Fukuoka to send a request for my internship, and that meant that I couldn’t allow myself to lose.

“I think I have a good chance of making it to the final event,” I said, “Provided none of the girls from Seiai Academy manage to get within kissing distance.”

#

U.A High School, Musutafu.

The front gates of U.A. High School were almost impassable due to the sheer number of reporters who were present. It was clear, however, that they weren’t untouched by the early hour, although some seemed far more present than others. I noticed the same reporter I had spoken to the last time, not quite standing in the same place, but close enough that I could almost imagine that I’d gone back in time. The woman had a microphone pressed against her lips as she made commentary about the sheepish students who were attempting to slip through the gate unaccosted, and when she spotted me, her eyes seemed to light up—I came to a stop as she turned towards me, now the only stationary teenager in the flow of sleepy students.

“—it’s the boy from last time—uh—” Yui said, struggling for a fractional moment before barreling on ahead. “How does it feel to be preparing for the U.A. Sports Festival? Are you nervous about being in front of so many people? How do you think you’ll do?”

I listened closely as she rattled off the series of questions before nodding.

“Good morning, Yui, it’s nice to see you again; my name is Hisoka Higawara,” I said, “We have been preparing for the festival for several weeks now, and the teachers have encouraged us to work hard, even throughout Golden Week.”

Yui Sado winced as I made the effort to use her name.

“I am looking forward to showcasing everything that I’ve learned here to the audience and the many Hero Agencies that are watching,” I said, “I’m going to do my best, and I believe that will carry me through everything that they have prepared for us.”

“So you have your sights set high,” Yui said, clearing her throat. “U.A. High School tends to dominate the festival—what do you think is the reason for that?”

“The unmatched quality of the instructors available to us,” I said, “All Might, Eraserhead, and Midnight are just some of the dozens of professional heroes we interact with every single day, and the collective experience they have at their disposal is vast.”

Yui, out of sight of the camera, rolled her eyes at the ringing endorsement I’d just given the school.

“Is that right?” Yui said, “Tell me, what do you think about their response to the USJ Incident?”

It was a question I’d expected to be asked the very moment I had seen her, although anybody could have predicted that—there were dozens of reporters asking that same exact question to the students that passed through the gates.

“My class was the one involved in that incident, so I have the unique perspective of seeing the events and the aftermath first-hand,” I said, studying her face. “The unprecedented scale of the attack has only served to increase the focus that the faculty of U.A. High School has on maintaining our safety—and in providing us with the best training available anywhere across Japan.”

“Do you think they’ve done enough?” Yui asked.

“U.A. High School is making sure that the next generation of heroes is as prepared as they can be to safeguard Japan from any future threats,” I said, “They have been doing this work for a very long time, and I do not believe that they have any intention of stopping now.”

Yui waved at the cameraman, and he let the rig drop forward as his grip slackened.

“They spend way too much time teaching you kids how to talk like politicians,” Yui said with a dry smile. “I was hoping for something more juicy, you know?”

“My apologies,” I said, “I’ll make sure to come up with something more interesting for the next time that we speak.”

“Yeah?” Yui said, fishing a card out of her front pocket. “Here then—in case you do find something good.”

I took the business card with care and placed it into my pocket before bowing my head to her.

“Thank you,” I said, “Please excuse me; I believe I’m now running a bit late.”

“Good luck out there, kid,” Yui said as I left. “We’ll be watching.”

I slipped past the rest of the reporters and through the gates, eyes searching the road beneath the main school building. There were already dozens of buses lined up in front of it, and though we’d been told to wait in the lobby, it was clear that everyone had already spilled out onto the grounds in search of more space. Students of all years were milling around, interposed by a few teachers, and a series of guards had posted up between the entrance and the school, searching the students who were coming inside for anyone attempting to sneak inside—it was odd seeing so many of the other students all wearing the tracksuits, instead of the standard uniform.

The decision to use the tracksuits instead of our costumes was probably one borne of advertising and to allow the viewers to identify which school each of us was from on sight. It didn’t preclude specialised equipment entirely, but everything you wanted to bring into the events with you had to be registered weeks in advance—and from what Shota had told us, the only ones who usually bothered to go through the complicated process were the support department students. As hero studies students, we were showcasing our skills, quirks, and talents, but the support studies students needed to use this opportunity to showcase their designs and all of the equipment they had engineered.

I stepped past the tall blonde boy I’d seen on the train several times—right now; he had the top half of his body stuck through the doors of the bus, passing through the metal and glass like it wasn’t even there as he carried on a conversation with the driver beyond. I caught sight of Mezo, towering above the other students in our class and acting like a beacon to orientate myself in the direction of our bus. Tenya came into sight a moment later, already posted up beside the still closed doors, in a position to funnel everyone inside—Mina stepped up beside him, her arm chopping down in a repeated, robotic gesture that had Tenya reaching up to fix his glasses on his nose.

“—not trying to organise everyone today?” Mina said, “All students, single file, or face immediate punishment.”

“There’s two of them,” Ochaco said, drawing in a sharp breath. “Which one is the real Ida?”

“I don’t know what either of you are implying,” Tenya said, clearing his throat. “It’s very clear that—all students form a line, single file.”

The doors of all the buses hissed open in a wave of noise, and Tenya immediately started trying to get everybody into line. Mina made a short-lived effort to help the boy, her arm chopping at anyone who wasn’t quick enough to straighten up, but it only lasted until Momo dragged her into the line herself, exasperated.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Mina said as she was herded up into the bus. “Hey—this one has the same goofy seating again.”

“It’s literally the exact same bus, Ashido,” Kyoka said, amused. “Didn’t you see our class ID painted on the side?”

I took my place at the back of the line, following behind Yuga as he rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles and nodded at Tenya as I stepped past him onto the bus. I scanned the interior for a moment, searching for a seat as I stepped further inside. Tsuyu patted the seat beside her—one of the oddly rotated benches right in the middle—and I turned towards her before sitting down. Mina grinned at us from the bench directly across from us, and I started wondering if sitting right in the middle of the bus was really such a great idea.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t go on the trip,” Tsuyu said, wringing her hands. “I felt really bad that it was cancelled.”

Eijiro shook his head as he slumped back into the seat beside Mina, half sprawled on the bench.

“I’m not worried at all, seriously,” Eijiro said, “We can always go another time.”

“Exactly,” Mina said.

Momo sat forward, leaning out on Tsuyu’s left side until I could see her face, and she smiled at the girl sitting between us.

“I don’t mind either,” Momo said once she had eye contact. “I would much rather wait until we can all go together.”

My own reasons for going to Shimoda had already been sated by the impromptu opportunity that had opened itself up to me when Sajin had left for Fukuoka, so I no longer had a reason to go there, at least for the moment.

“The general consensus seems to be that it’s completely fine,” I said in agreement. “I don’t think anyone is upset with you, Tsuyu.”

“Besides, you already told us all via text, call, and then video chat,” Mina said, ticking it off on her fingers. “Have I missed any?”

“I suppose it’s possible that she has sent us a letter in the mail,” Momo said with a small smile. “Should I check my mailbox?”

“I didn’t send any mail,” Tsuyu said, with a rumble in her throat. “I—guess I just wanted to say it in person, as well.”

“A true completionist,” Eijiro said, folding his hands behind his head. “Damn—I’m so restless right now, I can’t wait for this thing to start.”

Tenya stepped up onto the bus after he’d done the headcount to make sure everyone was present and then took his own seat. The doors shut behind him, and the first of the many buses started moving, the scattered parking turning into a long column of black as more followed along behind.

“What events do you think they actually picked?” Mina said, rocking forward on the bench. “There’s got to be a tournament for the end one, right?”

“I think it’s been locked down as a permanent fixture of the festival, considering how much the ratings change with its absence,” Momo said, “We will just need to actually make it there.”

“I’m totally down for the tournament,” Eijiro said, kicking one leg up over his knee. “I feel like we’ve all gotten pretty good at running, given how often Aizawa sends us out onto the track; maybe they’ll do that team relay for the first event.”

“That is more of a reflection on our behaviour as a class than anything else,” Tsuyu said, “A relay would work well for our class, though we have quite a few people who would excel.”

“It’s not exactly exciting, though,” Mina wondered. “What about that siege battle they did that one time, where there were like fifty people on each side, and you had to defend your castle from the opposing teams?”

“That would have been interesting,” Momo admitted, “I could have created a cannon placement up on the walls—”

#

Waiting Room 1, Sports Festival Stadium.

“I can’t believe we can’t even keep our phones,” Kyoka said, sullen. “This is actual torture.”

“It’s a matter of preventing us from seeing what the events are before our turn approaches,” Fumikage said, hands linked together in front of his beak. “However, it is possible that students from other classes and schools have access to quirks that will allow them to gather information from inside their waiting rooms.”

“You’re saying we should go into this with the expectation that they have an advantage,” Toru said, “If they’ve already solved the events before we go out there, we’ll have less time to strategise.”

It was something that I had done the very moment we arrived at the stadium, and even now, my sand was still crawling through every part of the building in search of everything noteworthy. Unfortunately, the middle of the arena was entirely empty right now, and it gave zero indication of which event would be taking place there—the outside of the stadium, however, was an entirely different story.

“We’re being watched as well,” Yuga murmured, gesturing to the camera in the corner of the room. “We should work to entertain our audience, not ourselves.”

Outside of the stadium was a massive pathway that circled the whole thing, fenced in by perfectly smooth concrete walls—ones that could only be the work of Cementoss—and along the entire route was a series of different obstacles. There were three open areas in total, each one with its own distinct zone and with its own set of challenges. The first area was filled with dozens of massive robots, some of which were almost as tall as the roof of the stadium itself, and scattered about beneath their feet were hundreds of smaller versions. The second area was a massive pit, whose shadowy bottom was just deep enough that the water at the bottom couldn’t be seen, and there were a series of pillars striking up out of it, each one linked together by cables. The third area was a minefield—according to all the warning signs that preceded it—and it was clear that the goal was to reach the other side.

Those with quirks that allowed for flight, long-distance gliding, enhanced mobility and teleportation would have zero difficulties with any of the obstacles. But an obstacle course couldn’t account for every single quirk in attendance, not when there were hundreds of students present at each year level. The main goal of this event was clear—they wanted to hinder the average student long enough for the stand-outs to take the lead and make themselves known. The previous sports festivals that had this event at the beginning curated the outcome through an elimination system in which there was a cutoff point. There had been two of them used in the festivals we had researched; the ones that would proceed would be either the first fifty participants to reach the finish line or the first forty-two—everyone after that would be eliminated. The outcome would narrow the possible events down to only a scant few, so I was interested to see exactly which format it would be taking.

Shoto, Ochaco, Fumikage, Mezo, Katsuki, Hanta, Setsuna, and Reiko each had a quirk that would allow them to no-sell both the minefield and the pit pillars. The mobility they had would also make it simple to avoid the robots—but if they were required to fight the robots to proceed, that would change the situation entirely. The smaller ones wouldn’t pose much of a threat to anyone in our class, but if there was a requirement to destroy one of the larger ones to proceed, then there were very, very few who could muster that kind of damage output on their own. There had never been robots in the previous obstacle courses, but there hadn’t been very many obstacles that required complex conditions to pass—most just required you to get through to the other side.

“Midoriya,” Shoto said.

Izuku stopped halfway across the room and turned back to face the other boy, looking surprised at being so suddenly approached by one of the quieter members of the class.

“Hey, Todoroki,” Izuku said, hesitating. “Did you need something?”

“From an objective standpoint, I think it’s fairly clear that I’m stronger than you,” Shoto said, watching him. “However, you’ve got All Might in your corner, helping you out.”

Everyone in the room was watching the exchange now, and Izuku seemed to go pale at the topic, sagging beneath the confrontation. I glance over at the camera in the corner of the room, where most of Japan was already watching us—why had he chosen now to make a statement like that?

“I’m not here to pry about what’s going on with you two,” Shoto said, “But you should know that I will beat you.”

“Whoa,” Denki said. “Is this a declaration of war?”

Eijiro rose up to his feet and stepped out from the table before clapping a hand on Shoto’s shoulder as he came to stand beside the two boys.

“What’s the big deal, man?” Eijiro asked. “Why are you picking a fight all of a sudden—and with Midoriya of all people?”

Shoto glanced down at the hand on his shoulder for a moment, looking almost startled by the contact, before he turned away from both of them.

“We’re not here to be friends,” Shoto said, “Don’t forget, this isn’t a team effort; it’s a competition.”

Shoto stepped away from them, moving back towards the door as the sounds of muffled voices rang out from the hall beyond.

“Wait a minute, Todoroki,” Izuku said, voice quiet. “I don’t know what’s going through your head or why you think you’d need to tell me that you’ll beat me.”

Shoto turned back for a moment, frowning now.

“Of course you’re better than me; in fact, you probably have way more potential than anybody in the entire hero course,” Izuku said, hands clenched at his sides. “That’s why you got in so easily—”

“Midoriya,” Eijiro said with a laugh. “Maybe you’re being a little hard on yourself—and us, you know?”

“It’s true, and he’s right because all of the other courses and all of the other schools are going to be coming after us with everything they’ve got,” Izuku said, lifting his head. “We’re all going to have to fight hard to stand out—and I want you to know that I’ll be aiming for the top, too.”

“Fine,” Shoto said.

Katsuki looked furious at the exchange, and I could just about hear his teeth grinding together from two tables away. But despite everything the boy seemed to be feeling, he kept all of it under wraps and beneath the surface, unwilling to damage his own chances by putting a voice to whatever he so clearly wanted to say.

#

Stadium, Sports Festival Stadium.

There were a dozen members of staff standing around and organising everyone into neat rows, the force of adults all dressed in matching grey uniforms. Though we had been the first class to exit our waiting room, every single first-year class from U.A. High School was now present in the hallway that led to the field at the centre of the stadium. I took the time to seed a grain of sand into the shoes of everyone present in an attempt to mark out all of the U.A. Students—it wouldn’t be enough to identify anyone, but it would be enough to know where they all were during the course of the events.

Present Mic’s voice echoed around the arena ahead of us, amplified about a hundredfold but somehow carrying none of the destructive power he was capable of—the idea that we were all one quirk-empowered shout away from stadium-wide deafness spoke of just how well trusted the hero actually was. It was impossible to determine what he was actually saying, a combination of the tunnel distorting all of his words into echoes and the thousands of overlapping voices washing down from just above, unbalancing the noise-to-signal ratio. Class 1-B was brought up to stand directly beside us, and I found myself watching Monoma near the front as he turned to look at us—the smile on his face made it clear that though he had managed to restrain himself from saying anything, the words didn’t really need to be spoken.

“Uh oh,” Mina said, “Think we should be worried about that guy?”

“I’m more worried about Bakugo,” Eijiro said, tapping a finger against his nose. “He looks like he’s about to break cover.”

Katsuki did seem to be struggling because the moment he’d spotted Monoma, he’d gone ramrod straight, his head tilted back and face set in a strained rictus—I could almost imagine evanescent sparks dancing around his claw-held fingertips.

“Kacchan,” Izuku managed.

“I know,” Katsuki gritted out. “Don’t talk to me.”

There had been a concentrated effort since Midnight’s first class on image and interaction with the public to work on how we presented ourselves. Katsuki, in particular, had been making great efforts to reign himself in, but it wasn’t in any way perfect for him or the rest of our class—the fact that he was trying at all showed that Midnight’s words had really stuck with him.

“We’re heading out,” The staff member at the front said, raising his voice. “Stay in your rows even after we reach the assembly area.”

The man started forward, hands folded behind his back with the clear expectation that we would follow, and that was exactly what we did. Sunlight washed over us, along with the full, unobstructed sound of the crowd surrounding us as we stepped out onto the grass. High above the stands was a massive monitor, and depicted on its screen was Present Mic’s beaming face—

“—the U.A. Sports Festival,” Present Mic said, “You’ve seen the third years, you’ve seen the second years, so now it’s time to welcome all of the first years to the stand.”

“It’s so strange to see one of our teachers hosting such a large event,” Momo said, sounding amused. “I suppose out of all of them, he does fit the role the best.”

“Present Mic seems like a natural choice for such a task,” Tenya said in agreement. “I must admit I am curious to see the rest of the commentators.”

“Hero Studies, classes 1-A and 1-B. General Studies, classes 1-C, 1-D and 1-E. Support Studies, classes 1-F, 1-G and 1-H. Business Studies, classes 1-I, 1-J and 1-K,” Present Mic said, “These are the first-year students of U.A. High School—let’s give them a round of applause.”

“There are so many people,” Izuku managed.

“We already knew that there would be,” Kyoka said, “Remember how many weeks we spent watching these things?”

“I know, it’s just—” Izuku tried, “I just can’t believe we’re actually down here and that they are all cheering for us.”

“This is a part of being a hero,” Tenya said, “We will need to grow accustomed to this, as well.”

“Midoriya is right, though,” Eijiro said, smiling. “I’m starting to get a bit nervous as well—what about you guys?”

“It just makes me want to win even more,” Katsuki muttered.

Midnight was already set up on a concrete stage that stood in front of the assembly area, in full costume and with her cat-o-nine-tails hooked on her belt. Cementoss was standing at the edge of the stage, no doubt responsible for its sudden appearance and for its eventual disposal. The large marked-out area on the grass was split into a series of segments, and the staff led us into the first of them, on the right-hand side, before directing us to face Midnight.

“That costume should come with a warning,” Denki said, impressed. “Although the surprise is nice too.”

“I’d never be confident enough to wear something like that in front of this many people,” Kyoka said, “Hey, Momo—bet you’re glad we’re wearing our tracksuits.”

“Yes, well, there are certainly a lot of people here,” Momo admitted, scratching her cheek. “I may have had to put in a rush order with the designers if that were the case.”

“Hero Studies, classes 1-A and 1-B. General Studies, classes 1-C and 1-D. Support Studies, classes 1-E and 1-F. Business Studies, classes 1-G and 1-H,” Present Mic said, flapping a dismissive hand on the monitor. “Give it up for the first-year students of Shiketsu High School—I guess.”

The crowd started booing at the lopsided presentation, and the obvious favouritism at work, but Present Mic pretended not to hear any of it.

“Wow,” Mina said, laughing. “Present Mic is really reigning in his bias here, isn’t he?”

The students of Shiketsu High School entered through a tunnel on the other side of the stadium. They had fewer students overall, but they looked every bit the heroes in training that they were supposed to be. The uniform tracksuit they all wore was black, with gold trimming, easily distinguishable from the blue and white of our own. They were led into the segment of the assembly area directly to the left of us before lining up in a series of neat rows.

“Hero Studies, classes 1-A, 1-B and 1-C. Support Studies, classes 1-D, and 1-E.” Present Mic said, “It’s their first time participating, so please give a warm welcome to the first-year students of Seijin High School.”

“They have more Hero Studies classes than we do,” Fumikage said with interest. “They also lack both General Studies and Business Studies.”

“Having more Hero Studies classes suggests they have a more lax threshold for entry,” Momo said, in consideration. “An easier entrance exam, perhaps?”

“Better not say that to them, Yaoyorozu,” Eijro said, laughing. “That’s bound to rile them up—hold on, are we competing against Shinobi?”

While every school that was currently present had a matching dress code for all of their students, Seijin High School had avoided the standard tracksuit that the rest had gone for. Instead, they wore a light grey uniform that included leg wraps, hand wraps, a cloth kabuto helmet and a headband. They looked almost identical, although, as they moved closer, it became clear that several of them had hair that wasn’t entirely covered by the helmets—that, and the variance in height, build and sex, were about all that could be used to distinguish between them. It seemed to run entirely counter to the goal of promoting themselves to the audience to hide so much of their individuality, but perhaps they had a reason for that which wasn’t immediately apparent.

“You bet we are,” Denki said, impressed. “Hey, Shoji, I think it’s time for a ninja feud—they’re totally cribbing your style.”

“Another time,” Mezo said, tugging his own mask up a fraction on his face. “Perhaps.”

“Hero Studies, class 1-A. General Studies, classes 1-B, 1-C, 1-D, and 1-E. Support Studies, classes 1-F and 1-G.” Present Mic said, with his nose up in the air. “It’s the girls-only club—I mean, let’s all welcome Seiai Academy.”

The students that stepped out of the tunnel were dressed in white tracksuits with golden trim, each one adorned by a large pink bow that was attached beneath the folded-down collar. As Present Mic had said, every single one of them was a girl—these were the potential first-round assassins that Uncle Sajin had warned me about.

“Only one Hero Course this time,” Tsuyu said. “Going by what you said before, do they have a higher threshold for entry?”

“Yes, that actually is the case, and it’s not just because they only cater to women; the written portion for the entrance exam is notoriously difficult,” Momo admitted, “Seiai Academy was my second choice after U.A. High School.”

“It was my first choice,” Denki bragged.

“We know, Denki.” Mashirao sighed. “You just keep on telling us.”

Denki let out a self-satisfied laugh at the words, entirely unaffected by the comment. Present Mic’s face grew large and bulbous as he leant all the way into the camera, eyes squinted in distaste at something only he could see, and when he spoke, his voice was entirely loaded.

“Oh, it’s these guys again—Hero Studies, classes 1-1 and 1-2. General Studies, classes 1-3, 1-4 and 1-5. Support Studies, class 1-6.” Present Mic said before miming being sick. “Ketsubutsu Academy High School—they couldn’t just choose one or the other, could they?”

Ketsubutsu Academy High School strode out of the tunnel in their grey tracksuits, the colours a distinct enough shade that nobody would have been able to confuse them for the horde of shinobi they were posted up beside, even without the helmets.

“These are the guys that always have it out for U.A. High School, aren’t they?” Eijiro said, craning his neck to see them. “They don’t look so tough.”

“Neither do you until you start using your quirk,” Mina teased, “Sure you want to write them off before you even know what they can do?”

“Whoa—friendly fire,” Eijiro squawked. “I absolutely look tough without my quirk.”

Mina gave a kind of sad shrug as if to communicate that she didn’t make the rules; she just lived by them.

“Last but not least, another one who is participating for the very first time—Hero Studies, classes 1-A and 1-B. General Studies, classes 1-C and 1-D. Support Studies, class 1-E. Business Studies, class 1-F.” Present Mic said, “Welcome the first-year students of Isamu Academy High School—what a trendy name.”

The crowd booed at the man’s overt and continued favouritism, but he just grinned through it all, unbothered by the response—it had become pretty clear to me that he was doing it on purpose now, as a way to get the crowd involved, and to set up rivalries for us to all play off of in an effort to draw more attention to ourselves. The students that emerged from the tunnel were far fewer in number than the other schools, the entire mass of them looking quite small next to the rest. Their uniform tracksuits were a grey and blue combination, with the word ‘ISAMU’ written horizontally down the left side of their backs. Tsuyu seemed to lean forward, oddly interested in the new arrivals, but the mass of bodies between our class and theirs, along with her short stature, made it impossible for her to see much of anything—

“Momo?” Tsuyu said, now straining to stand on her tiptoes. “Is there a girl in the Isamu group who looks like a snake?”

Momo glanced down at her before turning in an attempt to check, but there were too many people in the way for her to confirm it—I shifted a portion of my sand that was crawling through the grass beneath us together until enough of it had congregated to grant a point of perspective, and then aimed it at the Isamu contingent. Almost immediately, I spotted the girl she was referring to; the heteromorphic qualities were very noticeable, and the large mass of spiky red hair surrounding her head was bright enough to draw the eye all on its own.

“I’m afraid I can’t see.” Momo said, “There are too many people.”

“This morning, when we first arrived, the buses from the other school were pulling up outside the stadium,” I said, speaking up. “I saw a girl with spiky red hair and the heteromorphic traits for a snake; she was part of the Isamu Academy High School contingent.”

Tsuyu turned to look at me, apparently surprised at the information, and her hands came up in front of her chest, fingers curled around her other wrist in a gesture I couldn’t quite place—it was either excitement, nervousness, or perhaps a combination of both.

“Is she a friend of yours?” Momo asked.

“Yes,” Tsuyu managed, “I didn’t know she would be here.”

“Now that everyone is on-site, assembled and ready for some action,” Present Mic said with a cry of excitement. “I’ll be handing the reigns back over to U.A. High School’s one and only—Midnight.”

Midnight, still standing up on the stage, struck a hand up into the air in a dynamic pose before basking in all of the cheering that was washing down over them.

“Thank you for waiting so patiently, but don’t you worry because now it’s time for us to get this party started,” Midnight said, cracking her cat-o-nine tails. “The first event for our adorable little first-years is about to begin—but what on earth could it be?”

Considering that they’d already done this twice in a row—once for the third-years and then again for the second-years—it was clear that the speech was more for our benefit than the audience. The monitor hanging above the stand began to rotate through a series of blurring words, each on the title of a possible event, and continued to speed up until finally locking in on Obstacle Race.

“Every single one of you will be participating in this treacherous contest, and the track is four kilometres long—that’s more than enough to take your breath away,” Midnight said, “This little race of ours will take you around the outside of the stadium, through three key obstacles which you should aim to get past through any means necessary.”

Midnight lifted her arms up to her sides and turned her face skyward.

“Run, evade, climb, fight—the choice of how you complete this event is entirely up to you,” Midnight said, “You may also attack, lay traps or otherwise hinder your competitors, but make sure you stay within the boundary of the main track at all times or you’ll find yourself disqualified.”

If we had complete freedom in how to engage with each of the obstacles, then my concern about having to fight the giant robots could be disregarded. I was, however, attempting to play to a very specific crowd, and that meant making sure that I engaged with the events in a way that would resonate with those of the Hawks Agency. Hawks himself seemed to favour speed and efficiency during his own activities, so aiming for the conservation of energy and minimising any wasted movements would be the framework I would need to work within—but that was only one of my two main concerns. The second one was the sheer number of unknown quirks that were now present within the upcoming race, a race that actively encouraged interfering, attacking, and hindering the other competitors. Any one of them could possess a quirk that was capable of taking me out through some esoteric means, and that meant that I needed to actively filter out as many of those unknowns as early as possible.

“She is really having fun with this, isn’t she?” Mina said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “I’m so ready for this—no hard feelings when I win the entire thing, right guys?”

“You wish,” Katsuki muttered.

I had a grain of sand hidden in the clothing and shoes of every single student of U.A. High School, each one a tiny node in a network that was currently spread out across the entirety of the stadium. Using it to eliminate them all at the start of the race was possible, but it went counter to my goals. I didn’t have full knowledge of all of the quirks present in our school’s first-year classes, but I was far more familiar with them than I was with those of the other schools—which meant that the strategy here was clear.

“All right, all of you form up in front of the red gate; that is going to be the starting point for the race,” Midnight said, arm held out towards it. “Anyone that enters the tunnel or starts a fight before the buzzer goes off will regret it—go on now.”

The U.A. High School contingent was the closest to the gate, but that meant nothing because the neat rows that everyone had been organised into fell apart—students from every school rushed forward in an attempt to stake out their position at the front. I found myself near the front, mostly because Eijiro had caught hold of both Tsuyu and myself, dragging us forward at a pace far faster than I would have subjected myself to. Directly above us sat the three bright lights that would function as a countdown for the event, and though one had just turned black, my attention was entirely focused on the network of U.A. Students that were arrayed around us. Almost all of Class 1-A were at the front third of the crowd, but there were some that had been shunted further back—Yuga and Denki were the notable ones, far and away from my own position.

Sand crawled between the blades of grass at my feet, working their way outwards into a very specific pattern. Class 1-B had more people outside of the pattern, but there were enough inside that I was willing to accept the loss that came with it. Almost every single person present was looking forward, down the tunnel and towards the unseen obstacles and challenges that would greet us—with the singular exception of Shoto Todoroki, who was looking back over his shoulder. I watched from a dozen perspectives as the boy’s mismatched eyes darted around the area, skipping between faces and feet—he was judging distances, quirks, and proximity, just as I was. Shoto must have had a strategy of his own, one that would bolster his chance of success and help showcase his prodigious skill—a strategy that was very unlikely to account for friendly fire. Shoto had said as much to Midoriya, hadn’t he? Back when he’d declared his challenge in front of everyone who was watching us through the live feed. The second light went dark, leaving everyone braced and on a razor’s edge.

“This is it,” Eijiro said, leaning forward. “Get ready—”

“Eijiro, Tsuyu,” I said, voice quiet. “Get ready to jump.”

Both of them glanced over at me, but I wasn’t sure whether or not they had actually heard me over the overlapping mess of noise from the crowd above and from all of the students calling out their own excitement to the world—

“Begin,” Midnight said.

The third light went out, and Tsuyu burst forward off the ground, moving fast enough that she blurred to my normal sight—and then Shoto stomped forward onto the ground, a wave of ice bursting out from the point of impact. The pattern of sand beneath the grass came to life in the same moment, rising upwards and expanding all at once as a thick wall rose between the front third of the students and everyone who’d been caught behind it, trapping them all in the stadium. It wasn’t perfect, but the mixture of students that still had access to the tunnel was predominantly from U.A. High School—I surged forward as a diffused mess of sand, and a pathway washed into existence in my wake, providing safe passage across the ice that now filled up the entirety of the tunnel floor.

Despite Shoto’s attempt to freeze everyone to the floor, he was only the second person to emerge from the tunnel—in the first place was a face I remembered from the recommendation exam. The tall, well-built boy was encased in a whirlwind of visible air, just like he had been back then. Katsuki erupted from the mouth of the tunnel directly behind the two boys, his hands held behind him and a torrent of smoke trailing after him for the rest of us to deal with. Eijiro landed on top of my pathway, sprinting across it and the sight of it was enough to encourage the rest of our classmates to follow—the students from the other schools who attempted to use the path found it falling away beneath them, depositing them on the slippery ice and hindering their passage. Tenya burst straight through me, leaping from the end of the unfinished pathway and out of the tunnel, unwilling to wait for more stable ground, his prodigal speed carrying him forward. I followed behind him, keeping the pathway active just long enough for the rest of the U.A. Students who had actually made it into the tunnel to get out onto the track before letting it collapse behind them.

The wall at the entrance of the tunnel was rapidly eroding beneath the force of a hundred different quirks crashing into it, and soon, the flood of students burst through—and immediately found themselves dealing with Shoto’s trap. A boy with silver hair, who had been unlucky enough to have his feet frozen to the ground in the initial attack, cried out in outrage as the other students began to pass him by—and then he exploded. Pink gas washed upwards, filling the tunnel and leaving people coughing as they fought to clear the smoke with their hands. Everyone who came into contact with the unknown quirk found themselves struck by some strange affliction, their skin turning grey and apparently robbing them of all higher brain function.

The silver-haired boy didn’t seem immune to the effect of his own quirk because he fell to the same affliction—the ice holding his feet to the floor cracked, unable to withstand the boy’s sudden burst of strength. The crowd of grey-skinned students began to claw, bite and drag each other down into the ice and any who sought passage further into the tunnel were set upon, their treachery rewarded with nothing but an injection of the same curse. My plan had worked, for the most part. Almost the entirety of class 1-A and 1-B, along with a few dozen members of the other classes, made it through—and that meant that a significant portion of those who would fill the forty-two or fifty slots would possess quirks that I was already familiar with. The price of my plan, however, had been the potential for several of my classmates—and those of the other classes—from being able to showcase anything to the audience watching us.

Monoma, Juzu, Manga, Shihai, Togaru, Denki and Yuga had all been caught outside of the wall, and now, just like everyone else, they were all mindlessly attacking one another amidst the fading pink gas. I turned my attention ahead of me, towards the first of the zones, and to where Shoto, Katsuki and the boy from the recommendation exam were conducting a three-way war. The broken and ignored robots that littered the area were just a testament to their nature as nothing more than a backdrop to the sheer power all three were capable of generating. The Shiketsu High School student with the wind quirk seemed to have set Shoto as his main target in what might have been a continuation of the obstacle race they had participated in the recommendation exam—Katsuki was attacking both of them, either sensing an opportunity to showcase himself to the audience when set against two of the most powerful students present, or, more likely, simply feeling looked down upon by the state of the fight in which he wasn’t the main participant.

One of the monstrous robots was already in the process of turning towards them, its lumbering size shaking the ground as one of its feet lifted off the ground—I surged past all three of them, ignoring the battle entirely in an attempt to catch up to Tenya, who’d just made a dash to pass between the legs of the robot. Katsuki noticed us both passing him by and gave a cry of outrage before breaking off from the battle; a wave of force burst out of his palms, striking the ground and propelling himself upwards into the air. Shoto and the Shiketsu boy broke off as well, unwilling to fall further behind and finding a tenuous ceasefire as they fought to catch back up. Tsuyu leapt through the entry gate for the first obstacle area just as the robot’s foot smashed into the ground, the titanic step shaking the entire area under the weight of it and rocks, dirt and gravel were sent hurtling away in every direction.

I reached for one of the sand orbs I’d left behind to observe the rest of the competitors—a spear of sand erupted out of the side of it, striking the ground in front of Tsuyu just as she was about to land, and a wall of sand burst up out of the ground, catching the mess of projectiles before they could strike her. Eijiro came charging out of the entry gate with his quirk already activated, the hail of rocks shattering on contact with his skin as he ran straight out into the mess of robots without fear. The class president stormed along the pathway ahead of me, eating up the distance with his perfect form, and I kept myself a few meters behind him, able to match his pace in my diffused state. Tenya passed through the gates for the second obstacle, his feet twisting violently against the ground as he hit the brakes—he slid to a stop just before the ground fell away, eyes searching the massive pit and locating both the pillars and the cables that connected them.

He started forward across one of the cables, arms held out at his sides in an effort to find balance, but he was struggling, the speed he was so comfortable at reaching on stable ground impossible here—I passed him by, flying straight across the gap without slowing down at all. The boy from Shiketsu made it to the pit next, following in my wake, unhindered by the lack of earth beneath us. Katsuki was right behind him, a continuous rapid fire of explosives keeping him aloft and pushing him forward. Shoto was barely a step behind, riding a wave of fast-growing ice—it reached the edge of the pit, then kept on going as it became a bridge linking the pillars together and providing a pathway across the chasm for anyone who would follow in his wake. I could tell by the twisted expression of frustration on his face that he wasn’t happy about leaving it behind, but he clearly didn’t have the time to stop and dismantle it either.

I kept on moving, passing through the exit gate for the second obstacle, low to the ground and solid enough that the cameras could track my passing—the goal here wasn’t to win; it was to showcase versatility, efficiency, and an ability to navigate a range of situations while remaining entirely unfazed. The sand orb I’d left behind to track the progress of the others caught sight of Ochaco sprinting towards the pit with a cry of effort—her hands came together in a clap as she engaged her quirk one step before the edge, the force of her leap carrying her forward across the gap at a surprising speed. It took her about fifteen seconds to cross the entire length of it, but her elevation continued to climb, the angle of the jump too high, making it unsafe for her to drop back down in a single attempt—the sand orb twisted out into a tendril, looping around her foot and dragging her downwards towards the exit gate. Ochaco seemed alarmed by the sudden assist, but she managed to clap her hands together just before she hit the ground, stumbling forward through the gate with another battle cry as she took off down the path towards the next obstacle.

Tenya made it across the last cable before bursting forward and passing her by in a blur of movement—the tightly strung boy’s balance finally returned, along with his gift of speed. Mezo did almost the same thing as Ochaco had, starting with a massive leap and then gliding to each of the pillars in turn with his arms outstretched at his sides, the skin connecting them like a wingsuit. Tsuyu leapt across the cables in rapid succession, confident in her ability to land on what amounted to a thread of wire across an endless pit. Setsuna flew across it as well, in a cloud of scattered body parts, unaffected by the force of gravity or her own weight. Shoto and Katsuki were now fighting for third place—literally fighting again, as Katsuki attempted to harass the other boy into slowing down—while Tenya slipped past both of them with a burst of vanishing speed, simply untouchable on the straight and flat pathway.

The boy from Shiketsu caught up to me just as I reached the entry gate for the minefield, moving like a missile through the air, propelled by the very wind he was generating to keep himself aloft—a torrent of visible wind crashed down on me as the boy attempted to push me into the minefield below. I twisted out of the way, uninterested in participating in an unnecessary fight that would only slow both of us down. Between the Recommendation Exam, his fight with Shoto and Katsuki, along with his destruction of the robots during the first obstacle, I’d seen a fair amount of what he was capable of already. Fighting with him now wouldn’t result in an actual winner or a loser, not when we were so close to the end of the race, and it would only give him a chance to better learn how to combat me.

Despite the intensity of his attacks, the boy hadn’t stopped smiling since I’d first seen him back in the exam, an odd but vibrant good nature shining through—I dropped back a fraction, allowing him to move into an uncontested first place. He seemed entirely surprised by my giving up the ground, but he sped up, abandoning the fight in search of the finish line. The pathway curved back around towards the second tunnel that would lead us back into the stadium, and the boy from Shiketsu vanished down it with a cry of excitement. I passed into the tunnel a moment later, eyes on his back as I crossed the length of it—I reformed my body as I crossed the finish line, feet slamming down onto the grass as I slid into the stadium, content with the second-place finish. The noise from the crowd was deafening, but my focus was orientated behind us.

Tenya kicked it into an even higher gear and cut straight across the middle of the minefield, a trail of pink explosions erupting out of the ground in his wake, but he was moving so quickly that by the time they actually went off, he was already far enough ahead of them that the force of it couldn’t hope to touch him. Shoto froze a pathway across the minefield, the ice passing through the pink smoke and sealing the rest of the explosives underground. The boy skated across it in a low stance, once again leaving a pathway for everyone else to use. Katsuki remained directly beside him, the two boys no longer attacking one another as they simply fought to catch up to Tenya as he passed through the exit gate in a blur.

“Shiketsu High School takes the first place for the Obstacle Race with Inasa Yaorashi as their champion,” Present Mic said, voice reverberating throughout the stadium. “He’s blown away all of the competition and set a hurricane pace with that windy quirk of his.”

The monitor hanging above the stands changed, no longer showing Present Mic and instead showing a list of rankings that were currently only populated with two names—

“U.A. High School takes second place,” Present Mic continued, “That’s Hisoka Higawara of Class 1-A—”

“Congratulations on first place, Inasa,” I said, turning towards the boy. “You’re quite fast.”

“I simply can’t believe that a student of U.A. High School would be complimenting me,” Inasa said, with his fist clenched tight in front of his chest. “Thank you so much—but I must ask, why did you slow down?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Tenya burst out of the tunnel in third place, his leg engines smoking as he curved around into a wide circle around the field in an attempt to bleed off some of his speed.

“The difference between first and second place isn’t so large that I would risk slowing both of us down unnecessarily,” I said, “We still have two more events to complete, after all.”

“Exactly what I would expect from U.A. High School,” Inasa cheered. “I can feel my blood pumping; what an invigorating start to the day.”

Shoto passed over the finish line on his wave of ice, a hair’s breadth before Katsuki launched himself out of the tunnel with a cry of outrage.

“U.A. High School takes the third, fourth and fifth places,” Present Mic said, “That’s Tenya Ida, Shoto Todorok and Katsuki Bakugo—all from Class 1-A.”

Cementoss had moved from the stage to the starting tunnel of the obstacle race as he fought to contain all of the infected students attempts to spread the affliction to everyone else in the stadium—considering the cheers coming from the crowd directly above it all, they seemed to be enjoying their mindless escape attempts.

“U.A. High School continues to trickle into the stadium. Sixth, Tokoyami Fumikage. Seventh, Setsuna Tokage. Eighth, Mezo Shoji. Ninth, Reiko Yanagi. Tenth, Pony Tsunotori. Eleventh, Ochaco Uraraka.” Present Mic said, listing them all off as they came through the tunnel. “Twelfth, Ibara Shiozaki. Thirteenth, Jurota Shishida. Fourteenth, Mei Hatsume. Fifteenth, Momo Yaoyorozu.”

Two of the larger students who had been wearing the shinobi uniform passed through the gates, each of them wearing an eye patch that covered a different eye—

“Seijin High School is getting some attention now,” Present Mic said, “Sixteenth, Minamoto Daichi. Seventeenth, Matsumoto Daichi.”

—considering that they had the same last name, had identical builds, and were both in the first year, it seemed like a safe enough bet to assume they were twins.

“Tenya,” I said, “Congratulations on your placement, you’re as fast as always.”

“To you as well, Higawara,” Tenya said, “I’m afraid I wasn’t quite as prepared as I had hoped, and I will need to spend some time working on my balance.”

Inasa was practically vibrating now.

“Another student from U.A. High School?” Inasa managed.

“This is Tenya Ida, the student president of Class 1-A—he is very reliable,” I said, “Tenya, this is Inasa Yoarashi.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Yoarashi,” Tenya said, beaming at the introduction. “Congratulations on winning the event.”

“Thank you so much,” Inasa said, laughing out loud. “What a great day.”

“There is something strange going on here; it seems as if U.A. High School is once again dominating the rankings—why does this keep happening? So weird.” Present Mic said, with overtly feigned surprise. “Eighteenth, Tsuyu Asui. Nineteenth, Mashirao Ojiro. Twentieth, Mina Ashido. Twenty-first, Toru Hagakure. Twenty-second, Hanta Sero. Twenty-third, Eijiro Kirishima. Twenty-fourth, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu. Twenty-fifth, Izuku Midoriya. Twenty-sixth, Kyoka Jiro.”

The crowd booed the man’s favouritism again, but he just kept listing off the names as if to taunt them all—it seemed as if my plan had worked. Because so far, only three of the rankings had gone on to students from the other schools. Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen what quirks the two boys from Seijin High School possessed, so I would need to keep an eye on them in the next round—

“Seiai Academy makes their first appearance—Twenty-seventh, Okuda Yoshi. Twenty-eighth, Sugiyama Jun.” Present Mic called, “Two more from Seijin High School; Twenty-ninth, Sama Takako. Thirtieth, Ige Masato.”

Cementoss seemed to finally deem it safe enough to bring down the walls and let the dishevelled mass of students out of the cage. Most of them looked like they had absolutely no idea what was going on, but the silver-haired boy who’d nuked everyone seemed to be laughing his head off, visibly pleased with what he’d managed to accomplish.

“U.A. High School again—Thirty-first, Yui Kodai. Thirty-second, Itsuka Kendo. Thirty-third, Sen Kaibara. Thirty-forth, Kosei Tsuburaba. Thirty-fifth, Hitoshi Shinso.” Present Mic said, “Four more from Seiai Academy—thirty-sixth, Kaneshiro Mai. Thirty-seventh, Soda Momoko. Thirty-eighth, Saiko Intelli. Thirty-ninth, Minami Ren.”

That was a lot of unidentified quirks, and unfortunately, a lot of them were from Seiai Academy. It was probably irrational to assume that the six girls from Seiai Academy would have similar quirks to the one that had taken down Uncle Sajin all those years ago, but I couldn’t seem to dispel the thought.

“Isamu Academy manages to make it through on their first attempt; well done,” Present Mic said, “Fortieth, Kashiko Sekigai. Forty-first, Habuko Mongoose.”

The last girl panted for breath as she crossed through the gates before immediately tipping over onto her back on the grass, fighting to regain some of her stamina.

“U.A. High School fills the last slot with Kinoko Komori coming in at the Forty-second place.” Present Mic cheered, “The audience knows what that means—”

#

Waiting Room, Sports Festival Stadium.

“I can’t believe how many of us made it through,” Eijiro said, smacking a fist into his palm. “How good is that?”

“I kind of feel bad for Kaminari and Aoyama, though,” Mina admitted. “Did anyone see what happened to them?”

“I believe they were trapped on the other side of the barrier that Higawara created,” Mezo said, leaning against the other side of the table. “They were then caught in the pink gas that transformed everyone into zombies.”

“What barrier?” Mina said, blinking. “I didn’t see anything like that.”

A great deal of attention fell upon me at that; the link between what I’d done and our classmate's failure to progress to the second round was unavoidable now. Mina wasn’t the type to let the conversation drop either, not when she was this interested in finding an answer—I spoke up.

“There are an extraordinary amount of students from other schools participating in the sports festival, and because of that, we will inevitably find ourselves coming into contact with many unknown quirks, with unknown effects,” I said, prefacing it. “The best way to combat that danger was to ensure that it was predominantly students from U.A. High School that filled the forty-two available slots.”

I studied the faces of everyone present, attempting to determine if any of them were particularly upset by what I had done.

“To that end, I raised a barrier between the greatest congregation of U.A Students and the rest of the schools, preventing them from entering the tunnel after the race had begun,” I said, “The goal was to delay the other competitors long enough for all of you to gain a significant lead.”

“You realised that there would be limited slots because all previous Obstacle Course events in the Sports Festival share that feature—a remarkable strategy,” Fumikage said, “Todoroki, were you involved in this plan as well?”

“No,” Shoto said, with complete disinterest. “I was aiming to take all of you out.”

That sent a ripple of comments throughout the room, punctuated by Katsuki speaking up for the first time since they’d returned to the waiting room.

“Bastard,” Katsuki hissed, “You better not think that things will go your way next time.”

“Kaachan,” Izuku said, eyes locked on the camera in the corner of the room. “You shouldn’t—”

“I know,” Katsuki snapped, fists linked together in front of his face in a white-knuckled grip. “Don’t talk to me.”

“The pathway of sand over the ice was to serve the same function of getting us out of the tunnel as quickly as possible,” Mezo guessed, “I witnessed several of the other school students falling through it, but we were able to pass unobstructed.”

“Thanks for that, by the way—it totally saved my ass,” Eijiro admitted, “If you hadn’t told me to jump, I think Todoroki might have taken me out.”

“Well, he did take me out,” Mina complained, “I had to melt the ice with my quirk before I could do anything.”

“Yes,” I said in response to the initial question. “Having to climb over the ice would have mitigated any lead we might have gained from the barrier—it seemed sensible.”

“That’s not the only sensible thing he did,” Ochaco accused, with her finger pointing directly at my face as if she had just discovered a villain in our midst. “He also pulled me back down to the pathway after I almost flew out of bounds.”

I was halfway through coming up with a rationalisation for why I had done it when I realised that her words were entirely untethered from the crux of her argument, and for a moment, I was completely unsure if she was chastising me for helping her or praising me.

“Hisoka also shielded me from the robots when the zero-pointer started moving,” Tsuyu said with a rumble. “The timing was very fortunate—thank you.”

Ochaco was still pointing her finger at me with her eyebrows raised all the way up in some kind of great show of suspicion, so I wasn’t going to risk verbally accepting the thank you.

“Well, your plan certainly seems to have worked,” Momo said, smiling. “Although there were some who appear to have snuck through anyway, particularly those from Seiai Academy.”

“One student from Shiketsu High School, two students from Isamu Academy High School, four students from Seijin High School, six students from Seiai Academy and twenty-nine students from U.A. High School,” Toru said, listing them all off from memory. “Seems rather one-sided, doesn’t it?”

That was a rather detailed account of who was still in the Sports Festival, considering we’d only had about two minutes out there in the stadium before we’d been shuffled back into the waiting room.

“It is one-sided,” Tsuyu agreed, “If we are worried about unknown quirks, then perhaps we should share any information we have gathered on the other competitors?”

I almost smiled as she reoriented the entire conversation onto strategising about the largest threat ahead of us and away from my actions in the previous event—I spoke up.

“Inasa Yaorashi possesses a very strong wind manipulation quirk; he’s capable of fast, manoeuvrable flight and maintains a defensive wall of wind around his body that is strong enough to block Katsuki’s anti-personnel-level explosions outright,” I said, offering up what I’d learned. “He has a high enough degree of control over his quirk to send directed attacks at fast-moving objects and hit them accurately at a distance—those same attacks are also powerful enough to shatter Shoto’s defensive ice formations on contact.”

Katsuki made a noise in the back of his throat at his inclusion but managed to keep himself from saying anything in response—Shoto made no reaction other than to narrow his eyes down to slits as he watched us.

“That sounds like a whole boatload of trouble,” Eijiro said, drumming his fingers across the table. “I saw those two ninja-twins punch through a bunch of the smaller robots on their way through—I’m thinking strength enhancement quirks.”

“I saw them too, and that’s pretty much what I thought as well,” Hanta agreed, “One of the Seiai Academy girls—the one with the dark blue hair—can make all these metal spikes come out of her skin like a hedgehog; I saw her use it to block an attack from the little robots, and she didn’t really take any damage from it.”

Izuku, who’d been edging closer to the discussion ever since Katsuki had snapped at him, found the courage to speak up.

“The girl with ginger hair and freckles can manipulate her hair; it’s kind of like Ibara Shiozaki from Class 1-B,” Izuku said, “The silver-haired girl can make her arms turn into tentacles, and they stretch really far—they were both from the same school.”

With such a direct nature to the quirks, I was starting to have far fewer concerns about an assassin lurking in their number.

“The tall blonde girl from Seijin High School can send a powerful stream of mud out from her palms, and I witnessed her wiping out a dozen robots with it,” Mashirao said, “The shorter boy that was with her can do the same thing with water—they were working really well together, so I’m assuming they’ve done that before.”

“Tsuyu, you asked about the girl with red hair earlier today,” Momo said, humming. “Do you know what her quirk does?”

Tsuyu rumbled at the question, looking like she suddenly regretted suggesting the idea of sharing information.

“I do,” Tsuyu managed, sounding trapped. “I—she can paralyse anyone by staring into their eyes. It only lasts for a couple of seconds, but you can’t control your body at all during that time.”

“Is there a cooldown between uses, or can she just stun-lock us indefinitely?” Kyoka wondered. “If it’s the latter, we’re totally screwed.”

“There is a small period between uses, but I’m not sure how long it is,” Tsuyu managed, “Now I feel really bad—Habuko is my friend.”

There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence after that, and it lasted until Toru cleared her throat from her place sitting at the end of the table.

“Seiai Academy, Kaneshiro Mai—the one with the long brown hair—has a slingshot that fires shock pellets that hit hard enough to punch a hole in metal plating,” Toru said, “Her weapon is a support item, and the pellets are part of that, so her quirk is probably something related to accuracy or trajectory enhancement.”

I watched her from the corner of my eye as she spoke.

“Kashiko Sekigai—that’s the other girl from Isamu Academy—can create a holographic map that reveals the locations of everyone nearby,” Toru said, “It had my own location listed, so hiding from her is going to be a problem, and I’m not sure what other information she can get from it—I’m pretty good, huh?”

“The best,” Mina said, grinning. “Obviously.”

“That leaves two unknowns, both of which are from Seiai Academy,” Mezo said, “The girl with long light-blue hair and the girl with light-purple pigtails—do we know anything about either of them?”

“Their names are Saiko Intelli and Minami Ren, respectively,” I said, speaking up. “I didn’t see either of them use their quirks during the event.”

“Hard to do when you’re right at the front, huh?” Eijiro said, grinning. “Dude—second place?”

#

Stadium, Sports Festival Stadium.

I stepped out of the tunnel for the second time today, eyes on the large marked-out area in the middle of the stadium—white lines painted onto the grass, a massive rectangle that made up most of the field. I had already witnessed both the third-years and the second-years complete this event through the nodes of sand I’d scattered throughout the audience, so the excitement, curiosity and nervousness that some of those in my class shared was entirely absent for me. The monitor high above had returned to showing just the first-year rankings; all forty-two competitors were visible, and now there was a point total sitting beside each of our names. We came to a stop in front of the stage, and the withered remnants of the opposing schools made their way over to join us. The monitor started shifting through its false possibilities once we had all assembled, and Midnight spoke up to address us.

“Welcome back, my little first-years; it’s time for the real fun to begin,” Midnight said, raising her arms up into the air. “It’s time for each of you to step into the limelight, so make sure you give it everything you’ve got in the second event of the day—”

The monitor came to a stop on its preselected option, the large yellow font depicting the words ‘Cavalry Battle’ to the world.

“The rules of the Cavalry Battle are simple: each of you will form up in teams—a minimum team size of two and a maximum of four—and we won’t be starting until everyone has a team, so don’t even think about trying to trip me up,” Midnight said, snapping her cat-o-nine-tails at us in warning. “You’ll have noticed the point totals above; those will change over the course of the Cavalry Battle, and they will determine who passes through to the final event.”

I’d already spent the vast majority of our time in the waiting room working out how to construct the most efficient team for the event, and I’d come up with three different variations that would work, depending on who was available.

“There are sixteen slots to fill this time, and the only teams that will be proceeding are those with the highest combined point totals,” Midnight said, “Each team will be given a headband to represent your starting points, and the one you designate as the Rider will be responsible for holding on to them—no stuffing them down your underwear, they need to be visible at all times.”

“To think that such a warning is required,” Tenya said, startled. “Has someone tried such a thing before?”

The monitor changed, now showcasing a series of white headbands with different numbers stitched into them in red lettering.

“Your goal is to take the other team’s headbands for yourself, and you can do this through any means necessary; you will only have a few minutes to gather as many of them as you can, so don’t mess around,” Midnight said, “Don’t worry if you fall over, get knocked down, or have your headband stolen, you are allowed to get back up as many times as you like—I want to see your determination.”

“Eijiro,” Mina said, impressed. “She’s really looking out for you.”

“Oh, come on,” Eijiro squawked.

“There are a few caveats to keep things interesting. First, if any member of your team is forced outside of the boundary line, then your entire team will be disqualified. Second, while Horses are allowed to jump or otherwise leave the ground, at least one of them must have their feet on the ground at all times,” Midnight said, ticking them off on her fingers. “Third, while the Rider may detach themselves completely from their horses, they can only do so for a maximum time of six seconds, and they must not touch the ground at any point, or I’ll slap you with a red card—that’s a one-minute timeout, in which you’re not allowed to move or take any action.”

The result of one minute of activity was that they’d lose all of their headbands to one of the other teams, and while it wasn’t a complete elimination, it was close enough that making up the point difference after that would be almost impossible—if the teams were particularly goal-orientated, they could even use that time to push the stationary team out of the boundary for a full elimination.

“Now, it might look goofy, but this is a complicated, multifaceted event that will test your observation, organisation, ability to strategise, team building and group combat skills all at once,” Midnight said, with a little twirl that sent the crowd cheering. “But there is one more little thing to consider—the student who is currently ranked first will be in possession of a very special headband, one whose value is far beyond the others.”

The entry that belonged to Inasa Yoarashi on the monitor suddenly blurred as the point total beside it began rapidly increasing until, within a few short moments, it settled at ten million points. Everyone in the assembly area turned to look at the boy, either working out a strategy for taking his headband or for recruiting him onto their teams—and Inasa started laughing in response, entirely unintimidated by the sudden increase in pressure.

“Its value cannot be understated because that headband is a first-class ticket straight to the finals—so long as your team can keep hold of it until the timer runs out,” Midnight said, slashing her whip through the air. “Now, you have five minutes to build your teams, and I suggest you don’t waste a single second of it.”

Anyone here could have been a horse, so long as they had enough upper body strength to help hold up the rider. But the area wasn’t large enough to avoid a fight forever, no matter how fast your horses were, and eventually, you might even find yourself under attack by multiple teams. There was no way to conceal who you were targeting because it was an open field, and almost everyone present knew the basic details of each other's quirks, so the vector of attack would be obvious—at least to the students from U.A. High School. It was clear to me that the teams that would excel in this event were those who could reliably steal the headbands from a great distance and who could defend headbands from a multitude of different attack vectors.

That meant that when I was constructing my ideal team, I had concentrated on quirks that facilitated fast, accurate targeting of small objects at range and those who could bypass defences through unconventional means—a means that could be used in an open field, right in front of every competitor’s line of sight, and still have a chance at success. I was someone who was lucky enough to fit into both roles, but there were so many offensive quirks present that it would be far more effective if I took on a defensive role within the team—I scanned the group, searching out my two priority choices and smiled when I found that nobody had approached either of them yet.

“Toru, Tsuyu,” I said, raising my voice until they could hear me. “I would like to form a team with both of you—provided you haven’t already made other plans.”

“Okay,” Tsuyu croaked, “That was easy.”

Tsuyu had already been watching me out of the corner of her eye before I had even spoken up, and in combination with her words, I was left with the impression that she had been considering asking me as well. Toru’s tracksuit twisted as she turned and then stepped up to join us—the arms of the tracksuit were bent, and the material at her hips was bunched oddly as if her hands were planted there and preventing the material from falling properly into alignment.

“Not that I’m complaining or anything, but why would you want me?” Toru asked, “I don’t have the upper body strength to carry anyone for an extended period of time, and I can’t exactly use stealth if I’m sitting on someone’s shoulders with a headband strapped to my head.”

I nodded at the question but made no attempt to answer it. Instead, I turned and moved away from the rest of the students. The two of them followed after me, and once we had reached the far corner of the boundary, I moved until my back was facing the rest of the students and lifted my hands up between us. A trio of miniature scale sand models rose up from my palm, the details as close as I could make them to the real thing—

“How do you know what I look like—” Toru asked before sucking in a breath. “You checked somehow—in the desert zone when you buried me in the sand.”

I hadn’t been aware that she was still conscious at that moment, but it was a pretty solid guess either way.

“I did,” I agreed.

Tsuyu leaned all the way down to stare at the three figures, eyes wide as she studied the one that belonged to Toru.

“Is that what you look like, Hagakure?” Tsuyu said, “You’re very pretty.”

“I—thank you—Hisoka,” Toru managed, sounding a bit off. “Why did you pick me?”

“Please be aware that both Kyoka and Mezo can hear us right now and that we still don’t have a complete understanding of every quirk that is present,” I said, “Any discussion of strategy should be done through means other than voice-based communication.”

I lifted my hand as I spoke, directing their attention to the models once again and manipulating them into place; the miniature Toru took her place as the Rider in our configuration while Tsuyu and I carried her between us. I added a trio of blank-faced mannequins across from them before miming the two scenarios that we would likely encounter, showcasing the strategy to each of them. Once the general trend was obvious, I added a new headband to one of the mannequins, and its head began to carve itself into a rough approximation of Inasa’s grinning face, the details visibly less refined. I showcased a third strategy, completely divorced from the others, in which Toru acted as the attack vector instead of Tsuyu, and once I was certain they understood, I let the models vanish back into non-existence.

“This is why I picked you both,” I said, “Do you understand?”

“Yeah,” Toru admitted. “Asui?”

“I understand,” Tsuyu said, “Please feel free to use my name from now on.”

“Tsuyu then; are you sure you can—uh—hold me up?” Toru said, being deliberately vague. “I’m not exactly big, but neither are you.”

“I am much stronger than I look,” Tsuyu said before she let out a rumble. “But perhaps I should apologise now, in case this ends up being weird.”

“It’ll be fine,” Toru said.

It took me a moment to actually realise what they were talking about, and then I frowned as the problem revealed itself.

“I hadn’t fully considered the position I was putting you both in, though it’s rather obvious in hindsight,” I said, speaking up. “If either of you is uncomfortable with the third strategy—”

“I could say that a good strategy is worth undergoing a bit of discomfort,” Toru said, “But honestly, I just don’t really care that much.”

“I don’t mind either,” Tsuyu agreed. “It’s a good plan.”

Tsuyu did seem more reassured now that Toru had brushed it all off, but that may have been some form of peer pressure at work—I decided to just accept their answers at face value before making a show of turning to look at the timer that was ticking down next to the scoreboard even though I’d been keeping track of it from the point of perspective emerging from my cheek since it had first started. The two of them followed my gaze, and I witnessed the change in posture they both underwent at the sight of just how little time we had left.

“I will be taking independent action throughout the event, but know that everything I do will be in pursuit of one of those three strategies,” I said, glancing between them. “If at any point, you notice an opportunity, a danger, or anything else noteworthy, please speak up.”

“Got it,” Toru said.

I glanced over at where Inasa Yaorashi was standing and found that he had been joined by Kashiko Sekigai and Habuko Mongoose on the other side of the field—the fact that the one person who could detect Toru was also on his team was entirely inconvenient.

“The two students from Isamu Academy High School just joined up with Inasa,” I said, considering the situation. “By your own account, Kashiko is capable of locating you.”

“That makes the margin for error smaller, but it’s still doable,” Toru said, shaking her head. “It’s just a matter of finding the right moment—she won’t need to check if she can see me.

“I don’t want to be the reason Habuko fails,” Tsuyu managed.

“We don’t need all of their headbands,” Toru said, “Don’t worry, Tsuyu, we can leave the others with them.”

“Thank you,” Tsuyu rumbled. “Todoroki, Momo, Ida and Tokoyami have formed a troublesome team.”

“Tokoyami is defence, Todoroki is offence, Ida is mobility, and Yaoyorozu is utility,” Toru said, studying them. “What is Yaoyorozu making right now—are those wheels?”

“Rollerblades—Shoto appears to be the Rider,” I said, “Tenya would be hindered by wheel-based footwear, so they likely plan to use him to pull the rest of the group around.”

“There is another dangerous team,” Tsuyu said, “Bakugo, Kirishima, Mina and Hanta.”

“Bakugo spent most of the obstacle course fighting Todoroki,” Toru said, “Think he’ll try going after their headbands?”

“It’s Bakugo,” Tsuyu said, croaking. “He won’t be satisfied until he has every single headband in the stadium—competitor or not.”

Toru blew an amused breath out of her nose at the words.

“The four students from Seijin High have formed two separate teams of two,” I said, studying them. “Ige Masato with the water quirk and Sama Takako with the mud quirk are the respective Riders—the Dachi brothers are the horses.”

“They’ll be working together then; two teams give them more mobility to split up and attack from multiple directions, but it makes them individually weaker,” Toru said, “It also splits their point totals, which means they’ll need more headbands to actually pass—it’s a risky strategy.”

Once again, I noted the difference in how she spoke and behaved when compared to how she presented herself in classes—she wasn’t making silly jokes or large gestures here. Toru was quieter, more serious, and reserved. It might have been because we were in front of a much larger audience, and perhaps she was trying to present herself in a way that would increase her own internship opportunities. I’d noticed that almost everyone in our class had been working towards that end to some degree over the course of the day—Bakugo was restraining himself, Shoto was making unexpected challenges, and Izuku was rising to face them in turn. Seeing her now in this reserved, curated state reminded me of how she had acted on the rooftop, and I was left to wonder if this was an act or the real girl beneath all of the cheer—Tsuyu had clearly noticed the change as well because, with her usual directness, she actually spoke up to address it.

“You seem very different today,” Tsuyu said, “Toru—are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Toru said, sounding a bit startled. “I’m just trying to be cool for the cameras, I guess—is it working?”

“It’s working,” Tsuyu croaked in agreement. “You’re very cool.”

Toru might have had something to say to that, considering the odd twist of her uniform, but Midnight’s voice washed over the stadium before she could find the words.

“Looks like all of our teams are formed up and ready, so let’s get those headbands out, my sweet little gophers,” Midnight said, clearly having fun with it all. “First-years, go ahead and form up on the outside of the boundary line on whichever side of the field you want to start at.”

A series of staff members with the same grey uniforms as earlier made their way out, each one heading towards a different group. Toru took the premarked headband from our assigned staff member, the number ‘440’ stitched into it with a bright, crimson thread. I kept my eyes on the other groups, making a note of all the point totals as they were handed out.

“Riders, you may now mount your faithful steeds and begin preparing yourselves for battle,” Midnight said, pulling her cat-o-nine tails taut between her hands. “Things are going to happen real quickly now, so you better be ready.”

“I’ll need a screen to mask the change,” Toru said, being deliberately vague. “Something like the wall you used during the first round.”

I swung my arms back behind me, locking them in place by using my quirk, and then adjusted my balance as Toru stepped up onto my hands. Tsuyu stepped up behind us, slipping her hands beneath my own to help support the weight of the girl standing between us.

“I’ll take care of it,” I agreed, keeping my eyes forward. “Tsuyu, hard left, the team with Tetsutetsu is our first target, strategy one—I’m counting on you.”

“One hundred and ninety points,” Tsuyu said, tightening her grip. “I’ll get it.”

“Ten seconds,” Midnight said, counting it down, “Five, four, three, two, one—begin.”

I stepped over the boundary line, speeding up as I went, and Tsuyu kept up entirely without effort, her quirk-enhanced legs more than capable of reaching a natural running speed that far outstripped my own—we curved into a hard left turn, my sand already surging forward across the grass towards the three-man team ahead of us. Kosei, riding on top of the others, breathed out, and a panel of hardened air appeared in the perfect place to block my attack—the sand crashed into it head-on, washing over the sides, and then kept on going to sweep past the feet of the group beyond. Tetsutetsu’s skin flashed silver as he engaged his quirk, and my sand washed over his legs, the sudden increase in weight enough to keep him in place against the force. The entire formation collapsed anyway because Sen had no way to brace himself against it, and the boy lost his footing. The panel of hardened air shattered as Kosei lost concentration amidst his fall—and then Tsuyu’s tongue lashed out, tearing the headband off his head as I dragged Sen across the boundary by his leg.

“No way—” Tetsutetsu cried out.

“Disqualified; U.A. High School, Team Tetsutetsu,” Midnight announced, and then a moment later. “U.A. High School, Team Tsunotori.”

We continued straight past the fallen team without stopping, angling away from the boundary to avoid anyone making an attempt at pushing us across it. My sand spread outwards, vanishing into the grass and beginning to branch out across the entirety of the marked zone.

“Well done, Tsuyu,” I said.

“Thank you,” Tsuyu said, handing the stolen headband off to Toru. “It looks like Todoroki is going after the ten million points.”

“We’ll avoid both teams for now,” I said.

“I can see Ojiro, Jiro and the girl with all the support equipment,” Toru said, “Three hundred and fifty-point headband.”

I shifted direction, angling us in the general direction of Team Mashirao—but I caught sight of Katsuki’s team halfway across the field, looking to intersect with an odd team made up of Ibara Shiozaki, Jurota Shishida and the purple-haired boy who’d declared war on our class the day before we had all left for Golden Week—Hitoshi Shinso. My sand wasn’t quite close enough to provide audio feedback, but Hitoshi said something to them. Katsuki opened his mouth to respond and then sagged down onto Eijiro’s shoulders like a puppet with its strings cut, almost falling off in the process—a moment later, Katsuki ripped the headband off his head, threw himself off the top of his team and into a dead sprint towards the boundary line. Hanta lashed out with his arm, tape bursting forward to adhere to the back of the boy’s tracksuit in an attempt to stop him. The tape went taut, Katsuki strained against it—and then Ibara’s vines tore through the tape without stopping.

“Disqualified; U.A. High School, Team Bakugo, and Team Setsuna,” Midnight said, listing them all off. “Seijin High School; Team Ige.”

“What?” Tsuyu said, twisting her head around. “Bakugo lost?”

Ibara snatched the headband up off the grass with her vines, and Hitoshi tied it around his head, entirely unrushed—I’d spent all that time observing the students from Seiai Academy in an attempt to discover the last two unknown quirks and ferret out Sajin’s assassins scholastic descendant, that I’d somehow missed the fact that there was still a member of U.A. High School present whom I had absolutely no knowledge of—and who obviously possessed a very dangerous quirk. I wasn’t the only one who had decided the boy was a threat because a wall of ice cut across the field, penning Hitoshi’s team into the corner as Shoto continued his siege on Inasa’s team.

“Disqualified; Seijin High, Team Sama,” Midnight said. “This is really starting to heat up.”

Team Mashirao had long since spotted us moving in their direction and had already angled themselves further away, something which had placed them far too close to the ice wall—somewhere I had no intention of going near right now. Team Mai, a three-woman team from Seiai Academy—

“Hisoka—” Toru said in warning.

Sand erupted from the grass directly to our left, rising up to shield us as a series of glowing blue pellets smashed into it, each one sending a wave of electricity sparking away from the impact. Three more walls rose up around us, boxing us in, and Toru recognised it as the signal to start the switch—she ripped the top half of the tracksuit up over her head, and I caught it out of mid-air, lining the interior with enough sand to maintain it’s shape. I did the same with the bottom half and the shoes once she’d dragged those off as well. Kaneshiro continued her attempt to hammer through my wall with increasingly stronger impacts, and I sent twin streams of sand out to meet her assault, catching the next two pellets out of mid-air and letting them burst uselessly the no-mans land between our two teams. Toru crouched all the way down onto our linked hands, leaving space for the puppeteered uniform to rise back into place above her.

The two headbands rose into place above the collar of the tracksuit, held aloft by the sand I’d threaded inside the material and flapping in the breeze. Across from us, Minami Ren—acting as the front horse in their triad—took a deep breath and then blew it out in our direction. A wave of freezing cold air washed over us, seeping into the cage of sand and causing Tsuyu to let out a startled noise of discomfort at the sudden, significant drop in local temperature.

“I’m in position; we should deal with these three and then head towards our goal,” Toru said, her own breath coming out as mist. “Unless you want to hold out with what we already have—we are already in third place.”

That was the practical answer and one that would get us into the final event, but my goal hadn’t changed, and I couldn’t count on Sajin’s tenuous connection to the Hawks Agency to ensure an invitation. I had to make them see that I was the best choice for the internship, and that meant developing a strong enough reputation to draw the interest of the number three hero in Japan.

“Our other two prepared strategies have showcased some of what Tsuyu and I can do to the audience,” I said, offering a line of reasoning that was more closely tied to her own goals. “The third one is designed to fool the other teams, but the audience will know exactly what has happened—it was designed with the specific intention of showcasing your abilities, Toru.”

“Hisoka is right,” Tsuyu said, outright shivering now. “I think we should try and win.”

“Yeah?” Toru murmured. “Well, maybe I like the sound of first place after all.”

I nodded at the decision, made certain that she was balanced well enough that she wouldn’t fall off after we started moving, and then turned my full attention towards the team who had made the mistake of placing themselves in our path.

“I’m engaging,” I said.

I stopped playing defence; the sand that had been scattered about by the barrage of slingshot pellets branched out amongst the grass, surging out to form a hand and crashing into Minami’s leg—she crumbled beneath the force of it pressing against the back of her knee, and then let out a cry of surprise as it began dragging her across the field. Kaneshiro fell forward, suddenly without a horse in front of her, tucked herself into a roll, and then came up firing pellets even faster than before—Tsuyu’s tongue burst forward, and I intercepted the last second pellet that Kaneshiro had managed to align with it, my sand scattering with a burst of electricity as the headband was ripped off her head. Soda—the girl with the iron spikes just peeking out of her skin—tore off across the grass in an attempt to catch Minami before I could drag her over the boundary, but there was simply too much ground for her to cover.

“Disqualified; Seiai Academy, Team Mai,” Midnight said.

“So unlucky,” Kaneshiro managed.

Tsuyu held onto the headband just long enough for me to fill it with sand, then offered it up to the empty tracksuit, where I added it to the floating bundle with the others. The sand I’d left to observe Team Hitoshi witnessed the moment when Ibara’s vines broke through the ice wall, emerging directly beside Team Mashirao, and this time, I had enough of it present to actually hear the exchange that took place—

“Hey,” Hitoshi said, “Why don’t we team up?”

“You want to—” Kyoka started.

Kyoka slumped down and then, just as Katsuki had, kicked herself free of the formation. Mashirao made a partially successful grab for her leg, but they were already so close to the boundary line that his impressive reflexes weren’t enough to stop her.

“Disqualified; U.A. High School, Team Mashirao,” Midnight said.

Kyoka seemed to come back to herself after that, sitting halfway across the boundary line and looking confused as to how she’d actually gotten there. I angled further away from them all and set a course in the direction of our main target, unwilling to risk falling under the spell of his esoteric quirk. Team Izuku turned away from us, angling to cut across the field rather than risk an unnecessary battle, and we let them go unaccosted. The wind was starting to pick up now, and when we passed the second branch of the ice wall, two teams came into view. Fumikage lashed out, Dark Shadow crashing into the incoming torrent of air and barely managing to withstand the force of it.

Shoto swung out wide with his hand, a wave of ice cutting past Momo’s hip and shattering as Inasa sent another wind blast to counter it. The boy’s shield of wind was noticeably absent, either unable or unwilling to use it while he was carrying someone on his shoulders. Kashiko looked up from the holographic interface emerging from her wrist and glanced in our direction, looking tense—I directed us into a wide circle that kept the two opposing teams penned inside the walled-off area. Tenya’s leg engines flared up, the sudden force sending grass and frost scattering away from him as he readied himself to move. Shoto bent forward, bracing himself—the entire group burst forward at a ludicrous speed, carving a line through the frost-covered grass. Shoto stretched his hand out as they approached Inasa at a trajectory that would take them hurtling straight past the other team—Tenya suddenly went limp, and the entire group crashed into the ground at full speed.

The accident was clearly a result of Habuko managing to make eye contact with Tenya at the last moment. The timer hit the single digits, and our time to act was almost gone now. Kashiko checked her hologram one last time before the group turned to face us—and then, with no other teams nearby and the three of us in clear sight, she made the mistake of letting it wink out of existence.

“Toru,” I said.

Sand erupted upwards from my palms, washing up over her body and lifting her up into the air above us. The tide of sand surged forward into a massive curving column that carried her along at the top of it. It began to spiral downwards in an obvious trajectory towards Inasa, and Toru sprinted across the top of the column, the pattern of her feet against it enough to track her passage before she leapt out into the open air. Inasa’s arm came up, and an overwhelming torrent of wind burst forward, crashing into the mass of sand, and Toru passed straight over the top of the clashing attacks.

The wind started to drill its way into the column of sand, scattering it everywhere in the process—I split the stream into two, sending one of the columns twisting around the outside of the impact zone and directly towards Inasa. The boy’s other hand came up off Kashiko’s knee, where he’d been holding her in place, and as he generated a second blast to counter my own—and then Toru crashed down on top of him, heel first against his shoulders. Inasa gave a cry of surprise, his feet slipping out from underneath him at the sudden invisible weight bearing down on him. Kashiko was knocked backwards from the collision, and Habuko wasn’t prepared for the change in balance, her ability to support the other girl faltering as she started to fall backwards—one of the headbands was torn free of the bundle by an invisible force before it was struck up into the air.

“Tsuyu,” I said.

Tsuyu planted her foot on my hand, stepped up onto my shoulder, and then leapt directly upwards into the air—her tongue lashed out towards where the singular headband was floating in the air before coiling itself around the invisible girl before she could hit the ground. Tsuyu twisted violently in the air, reeling Toru back in towards us in a blur of movement. Uncontested by Inasa’s wind for the first time, my sand washed over all three of them, working its way into their clothing and pinning them down to the grass. Tsuyu—with the wrapped-up Toru now held in her arms—landed on the platform of sand I’d lifted up directly behind myself.

“—that’s the end of the Cavalry Battle,” Midnight said, “All teams stand down, and please form up at the stage for final deliberation.”

“Excuse me,” Tsuyu managed, voice muffled as she placed Toru down on her feet. “I think I misjudged where you were.”

“It’s fine, Tsuyu—you still caught me,” Toru said, holding up the ten-million-point headband. “We totally got it.”

I dropped the tracksuit top over her head, and after she’d managed to get her arms through the sleeves, I handed her the bottom half to deal with herself.

“Everything went as we planned,” I said, “Well done, both of you.”

“I feel like we should be saying that to you,” Toru breathed as she pulled the stack of stolen headbands down over her face to hang around her throat. “That wind guy is no joke—did you see him destroy Todoroki’s ice attack? That is crazy.”

Tsuyu, still sitting on the edge of the platform of sand, kicked her legs in the air at the furious cheers of the crowd above.

“It was hard to hear anything over all that wind,” Tsuyu said, “Did we actually make it before the match ended?”

“Toru had the headband in her hand, and you had Toru in your arms when Midnight called the match,” I said, “I would say that the headband was well within our team’s possession at that point.”

“This was a lot more fun than I was expecting,” Toru said, “Maybe I should let you guys carry me around more often.”

“That’s very generous of you, Toru,” Tsuyu said.

Toru laughed out loud at the words, and I glanced over at her, wondering what kind of expression she was making at that moment—I’d heard her laugh before, in classes or sometimes in the cafeteria, but nothing that had sounded quite so real as right now. Midnight ignored all of us as we approached, scanning through the rankings and talking to someone on an earpiece. The teams that had been eliminated were already gone from the stadium for the most part, hurried off the field and out of sight. Once we were all assembled before her again, and she had finished her own conversation, she turned back to address us; her voice suddenly reconnected to the speakers in the stadium.

“Well done, first-years, very well done, and I’m sure you little horsies are all tuckered out now and are in need of a nap—but the ride isn’t quite over yet,” Midnight said, “We have the final rankings, and it worked out so well that we don’t even need to have any volunteer dropouts, how neat is that?”

Midnight, rather than wait for an answer to her rhetorical question, directed us to gaze up at the monitor.

“In the first place, we have Hisoka Higawara, Tsuyu Asui and Toru Hagakure coming in with ten million seven hundred and fifteen points,” Midnight said, “In the second place, we have Hitoshi Shinso, Jurota Shishida and Ibara Shiozaki with twelve hundred and five points.”

Twelve hundred and five points—exactly how many teams had they managed to eliminate for that to work? Discounting the ten-million point headband, they had done more to accumulate points than anyone else in the entire event, and it was clear that Team Hitoshi was an unmistakable threat to all of the participants remaining.

“In the third place, we have Shoto Todoroki, Momo Yaoyorozu, Tenya Ida and Fumikage Tokoyami with seven hundred and twenty points,” Midnight said, “In the fourth place, we have Inasa Yaorashi, Kashiko Sekigai and Habuko Mongoose with six hundred and forty points.”

“I’m glad that Habuko made it,” Tsuyu said, visibly relieved that we hadn’t contributed to her failure. “Do you think she will be upset that we attacked her team?”

“They made it through to the next round,” Toru said, “Can’t really be upset at you for doing what you were supposed to, right?”

“That leaves us with three slots left to fill, and this was a close one with a mere twenty-five point difference,” Midnight said, “In fifth place, Izuku Midoriya, Ochaco Uraraka and Mezo Shoji with four hundred and twenty-five points.”

Izuku just about collapsed in his relief, tears building at the corner of his eyes as he clutched at the front of his tracksuit. Though our motivations for aiming for the top might not have been identical, the end goal that all of us were moving towards was a shared one—here, in front of all of Japan, we’d make our mark on the world.

#

Waiting Room, Sports Festival Stadium.

Sixteen students had progressed from the second event and moved straight into the final event of the day—the Elimination Tournament. U.A. High School made up the bulk of the remaining participants, spread across three different classes. Class 1-A had Shoto Todoroki, Fumikage Tokoyami, Mezo Shoji, Izuku Midoriya, Ochaco Uraraka, Tsuyu Asui, Toru Hagakure, Momo Yaoyorozo and Tenya Ida. Class 1-B had Jurota Shishida and Ibara Shiozaki. Class 1-C had only Hitoshi Shinso—though anyone who could have eliminated Katsuki Bakugo from the previous event without so much as a fight might well have been the most dangerous person in the entire tournament.

The other main threat of the tournament was Inasa Yaorashi, the only participant left from Shiketsu High School. It was clear to me already that he was more than capable of defeating any single person who still remained in a direct confrontation, and the only ones who may have stood a chance were Shoto and Hitoshi. Izuku may have been able to accomplish it, although he’d have to inflict grievous bodily harm upon himself to manage it—and the question of whether or not the wind force generated from his punches would even work against someone whose entire power revolved around manipulating wind was entirely unknown. Tenya had shown himself capable of incredible straight-line acceleration, and while it was possible that a single, accurate charge might be enough to knock Inasa out of bounds, I had a feeling that Inasa would be more than ready for such a direct attack—

“I still can’t believe that Kacchan lost,” Izuku managed, “Was there anyone here who actually saw what happened?”

“I didn’t see what he did, but the moment they came within a few meters of Hitoshi Shinso’s team, Bakugo broke formation and ran for the boundary line,” Momo said, biting down on the tip of her thumb. “They didn’t touch one another or throw anything either—I just don’t understand what happened there.”

The mental model that I’d built up from months of interactions with Katsuki and from witnessing his interactions with others was more than enough to predict that surrendering without a fight was completely outside the range of possible responses.

“I heard them speak to each other before Midnight announced the disqualification,” Mezo said, looking troubled. “Shinso told Bakugo that he’d been looking forward to beating down a weakling like him.”

“That would have only made him angry,” Izuku said, with a violent shake of his head. “He wouldn’t quit like that—did Kacchan say anything?”

“He only managed to say two words at most before he just stopped talking mid-sentence,” Mezo said, “Kirishima and Sero both called out to him to come back, but he didn’t say anything after that.”

“That can’t be right,” Tsuyu said, with a rumble in her throat. “This is Bakugo we’re talking about.”

Everyone fell into a troubled silence after that, and Izuku slumped down in his chair, looking even more uncertain about it all. I considered them all, and the sullen atmosphere for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not it was worth revealing my own understanding of what had happened to those who would soon become my opponents. If I kept silent, they may well find themselves eliminated by Hitoshi, the information gap allowing me to more easily rise to the top—but taking the path of least resistance, while rationale, would also be wasting a chance to showcase strategy to everyone who was listening to us right now.

I had no way of determining if the hero agencies were paying attention to the feed of our waiting box right now, but that had been the case for the entire day, hadn’t it? It was a trade-off because both options would technically contribute to my goal—Toru shifted, her tracksuit bending as she leant down over the table, the sleeves shifting forward until her invisible hands came to rest somewhere directly in front of me.

“Hisoka,” Toru said, “You’ve already figured it out, haven’t you?”

“He has?” Ochaco said, drawing in a breath. “I mean—have you?”

I stared at where I thought her face should be, somewhere above the hollow circle of material that made up the neck of the tracksuit—how could she have possibly known that when I hadn’t said anything at all? It was true that she had already confronted me about my ability to observe people remotely with my sand, but that wasn’t enough for her to just assume I knew the answer to the current topic of discussion. What was the trigger that had caught her attention? What was the foundation for her to even make a guess like this? Had she noticed that I’d kept myself entirely out of the conversation? Everyone in the room was staring at me now, and there was no real way for me to avoid speaking up because if one of them ended up getting eliminated by Hitoshi and I hadn’t said anything—

“Hisoka?” Momo asked.

I closed my eyes and then sat back a bit, attempting to regain some space from the invisible girl who was still half looming over me by way of the table.

“Hitoshi Shinso was responsible for eliminating several teams, and the result of each one was the same; someone from the opposing team would remove themselves from the formation and then cross the boundary line against their will,” I said, speaking up. “There was no physical contact and no visible attack vectors to explain how he was able to induce that behaviour, which means that the medium is something invisible, that works at range, and is commonplace enough that people will routinely trigger it just by being in his presence—”

“Sound,” Momo said, in understanding. “It’s his voice?”

“Remarkable,” Tenya said.

“His voice is the most likely delivery mechanism for his quirk, but while many people heard his voice during the last event, only a select few underwent the behavioural change,” I said, “In every case where I observed his quirk being activated, only a single person was targeted, and it only took effect after a specific condition was met—Hitoshi Shinso asks a question and the victim answers.”

“I heard him speak several times,” Mezo said, “But because I was never close enough that responding to him was feasible, I remained in control of myself?”

“Yes, and there were at least two other instances where others experienced the same situation as you did,” I said in answer. “After hearing him speak, Eijiro, Mina and Hanta all attempted to stop Katsuki from crossing the boundary line, while Mashirao attempted to stop Kyoka.”

“They were acting to save their respective teams, so they were still in control of their own actions,” Fumikage said, in consideration. “So the answer to combating Shinso is to avoid answering any of his questions.”

“We know it has one condition to activate, but there might be others that he hasn’t used yet,” Tsuyu said, eyes on the ceiling. “There might not be a safe way to be near him.”

“Verbal responses, receptive body language, and responsive hand gestures might all count as a response to his question,” Momo said, furrowing her brow. “Even making certain facial expressions could be considered as a response in certain instances.”

I nodded in agreement.

“This sounds like a difficult situation for those of us who must enter close range in order to defeat our opponents,” Tenya said, adjusting his glasses. “Nevertheless, it is sound advice—it is a shame we do not have any earplugs on hand.”

“Yaoyorozu,” Shoto said, speaking up for the very first time. “You could make them for us.”

I glanced over at him for a moment, wondering if he’d noticed the obvious mistake he’d just made or if he was attempting to trick everyone else into getting themselves disqualified.

“I could create them for myself while inside the stadium and within the bounds of the match,” Momo said, shaking her head. “I cannot make anything outside of the event because anything we bring in with us has to be registered as a support item with the administration—it would get all of us disqualified.”

Shoto leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, and looking oddly disturbed by the response—a genuine mistake then. The pressure seemed to be getting to everyone, even those who were normally quite collected.

“Regardless, even though we were required to come together as a team in the most recent event, you’ve made your stance quite clear, Todoroki,” Fumikage said, “You had no problem attempting to wipe us all out at the start of the Obstacle Race so the fact that you would request aid during the direct competition portion is rather galling.”

Shoto looked away from them entirely, eyes narrowed to slits and no longer willing to engage. Izuku didn’t seem reassured by getting an answer to how Katsuki had been defeated either. Instead, he seemed even more crestfallen by it all. My own mind was stuck on how Toru had managed to determine whether or not I actually knew anything about Hitoshi Shinso in the first place. She had been too confident for it to have just been a blind guess, which meant that I had some kind of tell to indicate when I was being evasive—and worse that she had noticed it.

#

1-A Competitor’s Box, Sports Festival Stadium.

“While we have been under surveillance for the vast majority of our time here, this is the first time we are seated in direct view of the audience,” Tenya said, with posture so straight-backed that my own back seemed to throb in sympathy. “Please continue to avail yourselves in a way that is befitting of our wonderful U.A. High School.”

“You’ve got it, Class Pres,” Ochaco said, firing off a salute. “We’ll be on our very best behaviour.”

“It’s so nice to finally be able to watch one of the events,” Izuku said, “Even if it is our own tournament.”

Toru stepped up to the railing at the front of the competitor’s box and then leaned forward over it to get a better view of everyone beneath us.

“It definitely beats staring at the same four walls and then waiting for our names to be called out,” Toru said, breathing out. “It somehow seems like there’s even more people from up here.”

The monitor hanging above the stadium was off-centre from us, at an angle that made it a little bit strange to actually watch, but even then, I could easily recognise our class being broadcast across in high definition—the camera slowly panned over my own face on it’s way past—I wasn’t sure if it was a result of the contrast of the video feed, or the lighting, but the dark bags beneath my eyes stood out starkly against my skin. Tenya’s beaming smile seemed to draw a rise in volume from the audience as the camera swept across him, and his glasses flashed as he pressed them up his nose with a satisfied nod. Shoto, sitting in the third row of seats, found himself the centre point for the camera as it zoomed right in on his face, and the boy glanced up at where the camera was floating high above us. He studied it for just a moment before turning his head away and allowing his hair to fall in front of his eyes—the noise of the crowd abruptly tripled.

“Maybe turn down the charm, Todoroki,” Toru said, amused. “Half the crowd just fainted.”

Shoto hummed in the back of his throat, in what was a simple acknowledgment of the words but neither a denial nor agreement to their actual contents. The monitor switched cameras entirely, and the competitor’s box for Class 1-B appeared—Ibara and Jurota were sitting together in the front row, the only people present. The moment she noticed that they were the focus of attention, Ibara clapped her hands together and bowed her head, a faint smile on her face. Jurota either hadn’t noticed yet or simply remained entirely unphased by it all, his eyes concealed behind the reflective glint of his glasses. Jurota Shishida was now the only student of the U.A. High School that remained in the tournament that I had no knowledge of—I’d seen no sign of him during the Obstacle Race, and though I had seen him during the Cavalry Battle, he hadn’t used his quirk a single time as far as I could tell.

The camera shifted again, and I found myself studying the face of Hitoshi Shinso, sitting all alone in the middle of his own competitor’s box, mouth rendered in a flat line across his face and with bags underscoring his eyes that were at least as dark as my own. For all of my theories, I hadn’t yet confirmed the full extent of his quirk’s conditional nature, and perhaps the worst outcome for me would be to face him in the first round—Hitoshi Shinso was, in essence, the kissless equivalent of the Seiai Academy assassin that had taken out Sajin. I’d already come up with several strategies to deal with him, including rendering myself deaf for the duration of the match, but I would much rather be given the opportunity to watch him compete in a one-on-one battle against somebody else first. Kashiko Sekigai and Habuko Mongoose appeared next, huddled close together as they spoke under their breaths to one another, apparently unaware that they were being broadcast across the entire stadium for all to see.

The camera switched one last time, and Inasa Yoarashi appeared at the railing of his own box, standing tall and laughing like a lunatic as he beamed up at his own face on the massive monitor. The tall boy began waving at the crowd, a full motion that sent his entire body rocking side to side from the sheer effort he was putting into it, and in return for his investment, he received what had easily been the largest crowd response out of everyone present. With the brilliant smile on the boy’s face, his height, and his immense muscularity, it was impossible to look at him without running headlong into comparison with All Might—and then, beyond even that, there was a vibrancy to him that brought an image of Nanami rising up within my mind.

“Inasa seems so happy,” I murmured.

“He really does,” Momo said, smiling now. “Doesn’t he?”

“He reminds me of Ida, just without the private school packaging,” Toru said, “Yoarashi isn’t one of your brothers, is he?”

Tsuyu raised her arm up and then chopped it down several times in a familiar, mechanical motion that had Tenya spluttering.

“That’s absurd—” Tenya said, his glasses vibrating in his pinched fingers. “There is nothing wrong with receiving a private education.”

“Yoarashi does seem like the crowd favourite today, though,” Tsuyu said.

“He has a very powerful and flashy quirk,” Izuku said, eyes bright as he watched the crowd. “The audience has likely been able to easily keep track of him throughout all of the events because of it—although the same could be said for Tokoyami, Todoroki and Hisoka.”

I glanced over at my inclusion—it had been difficult to determine the crowd’s response during the Obstacle Race because Inasa coming in first had made him the centre of attention, and during the race, the video feed had seemed entirely stuck on the running battle between Katsuki and Shoto. In the Cavalry Battle, the camera had once again been focused on the spectacle that was Team Shoto and Team Inasa battling it out in their corner of the field—and the last-minute upset when we’d taken the headband could hardly be disentangled from the rest of the fighting. But if Izuku had noticed an elevated audience response to my efforts, then perhaps I was more on track towards my goal than I had previously suspected.

“Ouch, Midoriya,” Toru said, dropping down into the chair beside the boy. “I guess you’re saying that the rest of us are just destined to fade away into obscurity?”

Izuku began waving his arms around in alarm, either from the words or her sudden proximity.

“No, Hagakure, I didn’t mean it like that,” Izuku managed, “I just—it’s easier for them—I mean—because they’re so visible, you know—”

Izuku cut himself off, appearing to choke on his own choice of words, and Toru’s tracksuit twisted as she leant forward towards him.

“Visible?” Toru said, “Are you teasing me right now?”

“No, of course not—that’s not at all what I meant,” Izuku tried, face reddening. “I think—I know that all of us have made it this far—so—so no matter what quirk you have—each of us have—we will have made a good—uh—impression?”

Izuku kind of trailed off at the end, looking mortified by his own inability to fix the miscommunication and growing more flustered by the second as Toru silently leant forward another inch—

“As expected of the boy who collected the most rescue points in our entrance exam.” Ochaco cheered, flashing the boy a thumbs up. “Nice save, Deku.”

Toru remained as inscrutable as ever, and her silence made it all but impossible for me to identify whether or not she was actually upset or if it was supposed to be a joke—Midoriya seemed to share my inability to read her because he sunk down into his chair to avoid her, arms raised to cover his face from view in what might have been a proto-form of stealth.

“Please stop picking on Midoriya,” Tenya chastised, “We are supposed to be conducting ourselves with decorum here—and it looks like the final event is finally about to start.”

Tenya was correct because the monitor had finally cut away from its loop of the competitor box participants to return to the announcers. There was a banner present on the bottom of the screen, the names of each person present written in clear font; Shota Aizawa was visible on the screen now, sitting beside Present Mic, and two women—Sanda Sango and Nyoko Nori. The former was unfamiliar to me, but the latter I recognised as the woman that Sajin had introduced me to at his birthday party.

“You’ve seen both the third year and second years beat each other up for our amusement, so now it’s time for the first years to take their lumps—welcome back for another battle-fueled, adrenaline-pumping final event,” Present Mic said, getting progressively louder as he spoke. “You’ve heard it all before, but I’m saying it again for good measure—sixteen competitors, each duking it out in a one-on-one elimination-styled fighting tournament, and I promise you now that you aren’t going to want to miss these epic matchups.”

The volume of the crowd rose in response, their excitement clear, and when Fumikage spoke up, he had to raise his voice just to be heard over it.

“This is where we finally discover who we are competing against,” Fumikage said, “I must admit, I’ve been overtaken by a burning curiosity.”

“So have I,” Mezo said.

“As you can see, I’ve got several co-hosts with me now; the three of them will be handling the commentating during the events while I get to kick back and relax for a bit,” Present Mic said, “Let me introduce you to; U.A. High School’s first-year commentator, Eraserhead. Shiketsu High School’s first-year commentator, Nyoko Nori. Isamu Academy High School’s first-year commentator, Sanda Sango—give them a round of applause for being here.”

I found myself wondering if Kiyoshi Nori had been one of the second-year Shiketsu High School participants and how well he had managed to place.

“Now we’ve already had each of the contestants roll for a number to decide the matchups, so I hope you’re all ready for this,” Present Mic said, “Match one: Shiketsu High School, Inasa Yoarashi vs U.A. High School, Izuku Midoriya.”

Izuku sat up straight at the sound of his name, fist clenched at his hip as everyone turned to look at him.

“Match two; U.A. High School, Shoto Todoroki vs U.A. High School, Fumikage Tokoyami. Match three: U.A. High School, Ochaco Uraraka vs Isamu Academy High School, Kashiko Sekigai.” Present Mic said, “Match four: U.A. High School, Toru Hagakure vs U.A. High School, Hitoshi Shinso.”

Toru would be the one that had to contend with Hitoshi in the first round—an unfortunate match-up, as she had no range attacks, and thus, she would need to get within melee range to defeat him. There was, however, a chance that the nature of her invisibility might interfere with the ability of Hitoshi’s quirk to actually detect a non-verbal response.

“Match five: U.A. High School, Tsuyu Asui vs Isamu Academy High School, Habuko Mongoose. Match six: U.A. High School, Jurota Shishida vs U.A. High School, Mezo Shoji.” Present Mic said, “Match seven: U.A. High School, Momo Yaoyorozu vs U.A. High School, Tenya Ida, and Match eight: U.A. High School, Ibara Shiozaki vs U.A. High School, Hisoka Higawara.”

“Of all the people,” Tsuyu managed. “I don’t want to fight her—she’s my friend.”

“That’s all of our first-round bouts, and they’re going to start as soon as our match one contestants get their butts down to the arena,” Present Mic said, “Move it, kiddies, it’s your time to shine.”

Izuku slowly rose up from his seat; the embarrassment he’d been wearing earlier vanished, unable to survive beneath the unseen pressure that had risen up—the first match of the entire tournament, and it was against what might have well been his perfect counter. The well-wishes from everyone in our class seemed to wash off him without effect as he disappeared into the building in search of the elevator that would take him down to the arena.

“This is going to be interesting,” Mezo said. “I think everybody remembers just how much damage Midoriya is capable of inflicting on his surroundings when he gets serious.”

“The question is whether or not he’s as serious now as he was back then,” Momo said, frowning. “I believe he had a personal history with Bakugo that made the circumstances rather unique, and there doesn’t appear to be anything of the sort here.”

Shoto stepped down from the aisle, approaching the railing to stand with the rest of us; his disinterest in the whole situation vanished in the face of the upcoming match.

“It wouldn’t matter even if there was something like that,” Shoto said, “That guy is simply outside of Midoriya’s ability to defeat.”

“That could be said about most of the people in the tournament,” Tsuyu said with a croak. “It’s a wide-open stage with no cover and no ability to come at him from a place of advantage.”

“Deku is really strong,” Ochaco insisted. “If anyone can do it, it’s him.”

Shoto just shook his head at the words, entirely unconvinced by her unwavering faith. I watched as Inasa’s face appeared on the monitor once again, the boy emerging from the tunnel with a massive smile on his face, unburdened by the upcoming conflict. Izuku’s own emergence was like a dark reflection, face shadowed by his hair, and his eyes locked on his feet as he approached the arena.

“Izuku is strong, but he’s at a severe disadvantage here,” I said, voice quiet. “Anything short of his full force won’t reach Inasa, and even then, the attack we witnessed him using during the Battle Training works by harnessing the wind force generated by his strikes—which is something Inasa can directly manipulate with his quirk.”

“It’s the worst opponent possible for Midoriya,” Fumikage said, “How unfortunate.”

“That guy only controls the wind, right? So Deku just needs to get close enough to hit him normally,” Ochaco said, leaning forward over the railing and raising her voice to a shout. “Try manipulating these hands, Yoarashi—pow, hi-yah, whack.”

Momo caught the shorter girl around the waist and made an attempt to pull her back from completely climbing over the edge to get at Izuku’s opponent, outright giggling at the sound of the sound effects.

“Uraraka, this isn’t your battle to fight,” Tenya said in alarm. “Stop trying to help him—”

“The rules are simple; immobilise your opponent or force them out of the ring to win—you can also win by getting the other person to cry ‘uncle,’” Present Mic said, giving a tortured cry. “Don’t worry about causing injuries because we have an entire wing filled with doctors, nurses, and heroes with healing quirks who are ready to get you back in tip-top shape.”

That alone would probably be enough for Izuku to pull out his best here, although breaking your own limbs in an attempt to win probably wasn’t exactly what Present Mic was actually talking about.

“Put your morals aside and don’t be afraid to play dirty—nothing outright lethal, of course, but anything short of that is within the rules,” Present Mic said, “You can see we’ve already got Cementoss down by the stage to intervene if anything goes too far, and if you thought Midnight was a tough customer, you haven’t met this guy.”

Cementoss, already seated on a concrete throne he’d built beside the arena, gave a friendly wave to the stadium, the friendly smile on his face telling a completely different story to the dire picture being painted of him by the announcer. Inasa reached his starting place on the arena floor only a few steps before Izuku did, the taller boy’s hands planted firmly on his hips and a bright smile on his face—in contrast, Izuku was tense, with his hands balled up at his sides.

“Everyone is in position,” Present Mic said, “I’m going to hand things over to our commentators from here on out.”

Shota Aizawa reached out a hand and shifted the microphone until it was settled in front of his still-bandaged face before clearing his throat.

“Izuku Midoriya is a member of Class 1-A from U.A. High School,” Aizawa said, “He doesn’t mess around in class and usually turns in his homework on time.”

Aizawa sat back in his chair, apparently done with the introduction, and Present Mic scratched at his cheek, looking like he wanted to interject.

“Well,” Tsuyu said with a croak. “That’s definitely our teacher.”

Nyoko adjusted her own microphone before speaking up, her faint voice sounding odd when cast across the entire stadium by the speakers.

“Inasa Yoarashi is one of Shiketsu High School’s precious first years, and as you’ve no doubt seen during the previous events, he possesses an immense amount of potential,” Nyoko said, “He always tries his hardest and does it all with a smile on his face; he is a wonderful student, and I believe he will go on to become a wonderful hero—the first match will now begin.”

Inasa gave a cheer, fists rising up at his sides as the wind began to warp the air around him, sending concrete dust scattering off the stage. Izuku’s hand came up in front of his face, bracing against the wind that was only growing stronger by the moment—and within seconds, there was a white-tinged gale of dust and grass encircling the entirety of the stage.

“This is crazy,” Ochaco said in alarm. “How is anyone supposed to fight against that?”

All of her previously unbreakable confidence seemed to have fled as the wind began to tug at our clothes, the effects of Inasa’s quirk reaching all the way up into the stands. The concentrated air blasts and the defensive wreath of wind were one thing, but this was far beyond everything else he’d shown during the previous events by an entire order of magnitude. Izuku, in the middle of the growing mess, brought his right hand forward, struggling against the wind with a finger poised ahead of him, and he curled the fingers of his other hand around his wrist as if to brace it in preparation for something. The words were lost, stolen by the wind, but the monitor showed Izuku’s mouth moving as he called something out—a massive burst of force struck forward, tearing through the circling winds and smashing into the now-floating Inasa.

The boy was sent flipping backwards through the air, but the force couldn’t seem to penetrate his looping shield of wind enough to do any damage, and he caught himself in mid-air. A second pulse burst upwards from Izuku’s hand, but this time, it was met head-on by one of Inasa’s own directed blasts, and the two attacks crashed into one another before exploding outwards with enough force to disrupt what had been starting to look like a hurricane encircling the arena.

“Look at the monitor,” Mezo said, raising his voice to be heard over the wind. “Midoriya is destroying his fingers with each attack.”

Momo’s hand flashed upwards, trying and failing to catch hold of her hair tie as it snapped under the strain of the wind, and the mess of dark hair broke free of her ponytail—she moved to cover one side of her face, keeping her vision clear as her hair whipped around her.

“To inflict so much pain on himself in search of victory,” Momo managed, “I think I might have been underestimating just how serious Midoriya is taking this.”

Serious or not, Izuku was burning through his fingers in an attempt to keep up with his opponent, and it was clear that Inasa had no intention of coming back down into melee range. Izuku ran out of fingers trying to counter the consecutive air blasts that were raining down on him, but rather than break beneath the assault; he simply pushed himself further. The visibly broken fingers of his right hand were sacrificed a second time as he started destroying them all over again—but that only lasted up until the wind grew too strong, and his feet left the ground, his body weight unable to contest the hurricane from dragging him up into the air.

Unable to maneuver in the air, Izuku drew his arm back over his shoulder and waited just long enough until he was spun around to face the ground before he struck downwards with an overhand punch—an overwhelming pulse of wind cut down through the hurricane, like the fist of a god, smashing into the centre of the stage and shattering it into a thousand pieces. With nowhere else to go, the force began spreading outwards in a sudden, visible wave that disrupted the hurricane entirely. For a single moment, Izuku was left tumbling through the air in the aftermath of his strike, completely out of control and unable to gather his bearings—and then he crashed down shoulder first on the grass outside of the shattered arena.

“Winner, Inasa Yoarashi,” Nyoko said, her faint voice struggling against the wind. “This might just be the biggest spectacle of the day, and from the first years no less; how surprising.”

I couldn’t help but note that Nyoko Nori didn’t sound even remotely surprised by what had just occurred—Uncle Sajin hadn’t mentioned her job, and neither had Kiyoshi, but it was pretty obvious that she was a member of the Shiketsu High School faculty, which meant she was well aware of what he was capable of.

“Deku lost,” Ochaco managed.

“Yes, but I can’t believe he managed to wipe out the hurricane with a single attack,” Momo said, sounding a bit shaken. “That kind of strength required to do something like that—it’s incredible.”

“To think they were capable of something like this,” Tenya said, hands clenched in a white-knuckled grip around the railing, “They destroyed the stage; it’s so incredibly irresponsible—and that boy even got the audience involved in the battle—”

Toru gave a startled laugh at the direction of the boy’s words before she patted him on the back in support.

“Class Pres,” Toru said, “Don’t lose your composure; people are still watching us, remember?”

Tenya made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, but he managed to regain his composure enough to cool down. Izuku was whisked away on a stretcher, vanishing down the nearest tunnel and out of sight, while Inasa left the arena on his own two feet, proud and his good cheer unruffled—perhaps the most noteworthy thing of the entire battle was that his tracksuit hadn’t so much as shifted from the defensive wind field snaking around his body.

“I’m not sure what they’re going to do about all the rubbish that got pulled down there,” Tsuyu said, “But at least Cementoss is already fixing the stage.”