The stadium felt tighter than before.
Not physically — emotionally.
Eight competitors remained.Eight names that had survived pressure, pain, and public scrutiny.
Midnight stood at the center, her voice steady but serious.
"These are the semifinal qualifying matches. No repeats. No second chances."
The holographic sphere spun one final time.
Then locked.
OFFICIAL QUARTERFINAL DRAWS
Shoto Todoroki vs Fumikage Tokoyami
Tenya Iida vs Mashirao Ojiro
Katsuki Bakugou vs Rikido Sato
Ben Tennyson vs Izuku Midoriya
A beat.
Then Midnight raised her hand again.
"However — Tenya Iida has officially withdrawn and will not compete."
The crowd quieted.
Respectful.
Understanding.
"Because of this," she continued, "Mashirao Ojiro will be reassigned."
The board shifted.
One final adjustment.
UPDATED MATCH – SEMIFINAL QUALIFIERBen Tennyson vs Mashirao Ojiro
(Winner advances to the semifinals)
I exhaled slowly.
Of course.
Across the arena, Ojiro straightened his posture, tail swaying calmly behind him. No theatrics. No trash talk.
Just focus.
"…Looks like it's you and me," he said, respectful.
I nodded.
"Yeah."
OTHER QUARTERFINALS – QUICK SUMMARIESTodoroki vs Tokoyami
This fight was quiet in a way that unsettled the stadium.
Tokoyami opened strong — Dark Shadow surged outward, massive and violent under the arena lights, forcing Todoroki to retreat for the first time that day.
No hesitation.
No words.
Todoroki planted his feet and unleashed ice only.
Not recklessly — methodically.
Walls formed in layers. Ramps redirected Dark Shadow's momentum. Pillars erupted at precise angles, herding Tokoyami instead of attacking him directly.
Dark Shadow roared, growing more aggressive.
And that was the mistake.
Todoroki froze the arena floor in widening circles, dropping the temperature steadily until Dark Shadow weakened — not from fear, but from environmental control.
One final ice column rose beneath Tokoyami's feet, lifting and immobilizing him completely.
Dark Shadow recoiled.
Tokoyami raised his hand.
Winner: Todoroki
No flames.
No spectacle.
Just control.
Bakugou vs Sato
Short. Brutal. Loud.
Sato powered up with sugar and landed a heavy blow — but Bakugou responded instantly, refusing to give him space.
Aerial pressure. Explosive feints.
One decisive blast sent Sato skidding out of bounds.
Winner: Bakugou
Bakugou didn't celebrate.
He just stared at the next bracket.
Midoriya – No Match
Medics ruled Midoriya unfit to continue after accumulated damage.
He bowed toward the arena anyway.
"I'll come back stronger," he said quietly.
The crowd applauded.
I watched him go.
Respect.
SEMIFINAL QUALIFIER: BEN TENNYSON vs OJIRO
The arena reset.
Brighter lights.
Clean floor.
No shadows to hide in.
Ojiro stepped forward first, rolling his shoulders, tail coiling with practiced control.
"I don't have tricks like you," he said honestly. "So I'll win the only way I know how."
I smiled faintly.
"By being solid."
He nodded.
"Exactly."
------
Up in the stands, Gwen leaned forward.
"He's dangerous," she muttered. "Not flashy — but he doesn't waste movement."
Grandpa Max folded his arms.
"Which means Ben can't either."
------
I touched my neck
The familiar sensation grounded me.
'No overthinking.No showboating.Just clean hero work.'
The moment Midnight's whip cracked, everything narrowed.
No noise.No crowd.Just movement.
Mashirao Ojiro moved first — low, precise, tail snapping forward in a clean arc meant to test balance, not brute force.
I didn't retreat.
I transformed.
XLR8
The world stretched.
Sound lagged behind thought.
Ojiro's tail passed through empty air where my legs had been a fraction of a second ago. I circled him once — not to show off, but to read.
His footing was perfect.His breathing steady.His eyes tracked motion, not panic.
' No wasted movement. If I stay fast, he'll adapt. '
So I didn't.
I skidded to a stop and switched again.
GRAY MATTER
The arena grew.
Or rather — I shrank.
The crowd gasped, confused laughter breaking out as I vanished between cracks in the stone floor.
Ojiro froze.
Not in fear.
In calculation.
"…He got smaller," he muttered, tail lifting defensively.
Smart.
He crouched, scanning the ground, tail moving in slow, controlled sweeps — creating a danger zone.
He's cutting off approach angles, I realized.So don't approach.
I ran under him.
Straight up his leg.
Before he could react, I leapt, slapped the Omnitrix again mid-air—
DIAMONDHEAD
Crystal exploded outward as I grew back to full size, my arm forming into a solid prism.
Ojiro reacted instantly — tail slamming into my side with enough force to crack crystal and send me skidding.
I felt the impact on my arm.
' He hits harder than he looks. '
But I was already moving.
Diamond spikes erupted from the ground — not at him, but around him, forcing his footing narrow. Constraining, not impaling.
Ojiro vaulted anyway, tail whipping to propel him forward.
Impressive.
Too impressive.
I didn't chase.
I switched.
Blitzwolfer
The transformation hit like a thunderclap.
White fur.Digitigrade legs.Clawed hands gripping the ground.
And lungs built for war.
I didn't rush him.
I howled.
The sonic blast detonated outward in a focused cone — not wide, not chaotic. A controlled shockwave designed to disrupt balance and inner ear function.
Ojiro was caught mid-motion.
His footing failed.
He staggered — tail slamming down instinctively to recover — but his timing was off by a fraction of a second.
That was enough.
I moved in, fast and low, shoulder-checking him just hard enough to send him skidding back across the stone.
Not injuring.
Displacing.
' He won't recover fast enough from that. '
Which meant—
No more switching.
FOUR ARMS
The arena shook when I switch.
Not rage.
Not spectacle.
Control.
I grabbed the reinforced restraints with one hand and crushed them cleanly, freeing him — because this part mattered.
Ojiro looked up, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face.
I met his eyes.
"This ends now," I said — calm, respectful.
He nodded once.
"Do it."
I moved.
One step.
One pivot.
One perfectly measured strike — not a punch, but a shockwave-driven palm thrust, angled downward to avoid injury and maximize displacement.
The air detonated.
Ojiro was launched backward, sliding across the arena floor and stopping just short of the boundary line.
He didn't bounce.
Didn't spin.
Just… stopped.
Silence.
Then Ojiro exhaled sharply and raised one hand.
"…I'm out."
Midnight didn't wait.
"MATCH OVER !"
The crowd erupted — not screaming, but impressed.
Four Arms faded away as I returned to myself, chest rising and falling steadily.
I walked over and offered him my hand.
He took it.
"That howl…" he said, smiling despite himself. "That broke my rhythm."
"That was the point," I replied.
Up in the stands, my family was on their feet.
And Grandpa Max ?
That quiet smile said everything.
The semifinals were set.
U.A. HIGH — OBSERVATION ROOM
The glass walls of the observation chamber muted the roar of the stadium below, turning the chaos of the arena into a distant, almost respectful hum.
Screens lined the curved wall, each one replaying moments of the fight from different angles:the initial restraint, the calculated transformations, the final clean strike.
For a few seconds, no one spoke.
Then—
Present Mic leaned forward in his chair, hands behind his head, a wide grin on his face.
"…You know," he said, breaking the silence, "he could've ended that fight in, like—"he snapped his fingers,"—seconds."
Death Arms crossed his arms, eyes still fixed on the screen where Ben's final transformation faded back to human form.
"Oh, for sure," he replied smoothly. "The moment he went Four Arms, it was already over. But he didn't rush it."
He remained quiet, thoughtful.
"He let Ojiro fight."
Shota Aizawa sat slouched as always, capture weapon resting loosely around his neck. His tired eyes, however, were sharper than usual.
"That wasn't hesitation," Aizawa said. "And it wasn't arrogance."
He rewound the footage to an earlier moment — Gray Matter slipping through the terrain, Diamondhead reshaping the battlefield, Blitzwolfer's controlled howl.
"That was deliberate pacing. He adjusted his power output so his opponent could adapt."
A pause.
"…Most students don't do that. They either overwhelm or panic."
All Might stood with his arms crossed, massive frame almost filling the space behind the chairs. His smile was present — but subdued.
"Indeed," he said, voice warm but serious. "A thero that doesn't just defeat an opponent…"
He looked at the screen where Ben offered Ojiro his hand.
"…he allows others to show their strength to the world."
Nezu sat atop the table, paws folded, eyes gleaming with unmistakable interest.
"Fascinating," the principal said softly. "From a purely strategic standpoint, prolonging the fight introduced unnecessary variables."
He tilted his head.
"Yet socially ? Professionally ? Symbolically ?"
A small, sharp smile.
"It was an excellent decision."
Midnight glanced sideways.
"You're saying the judges noticed ?"
Nezu chuckled.
"Oh, they noticed. Sponsors too. And so did the other students."
Aizawa nodded slowly.
"He didn't steal the spotlight," he said. "He shared it."
Another pause.
"That kind of behavior spreads."
Present Mic laughed.
"Man, that's gonna mess with the rankings, isn't it ?"
All Might's smile widened just a bit.
"It should," he said. "Because power without restraint is dangerous."
His gaze softened.
"But power guided by empathy ?"
He looked down toward the arena.
"That's hero material."
On the screen, Ben stood alone for a moment, breathing hard, the noise of the crowd swelling around him.
And inside the observation room, every single pro hero watching understood the same thing:
Ben Tennyson wasn't just strong.
He was choosing what kind of symbol he wanted to become.