Unknown Bar
"Tch. All this attention on a bunch of brats."
The voice was irritated, petulant, scratching at his neck with four fingers while his pinky stayed carefully raised. The dim bar was lit only by the glow of the television mounted on the wall, showing the UA Sports Festival.
On screen, Tsubaki Todoroki walked away from the frozen battlefield, his white hair catching the stadium lights, his expression cold and satisfied. Behind him, Endeavor knelt beside Shoto's shivering form, flames desperately working to counter the hypothermia.
The figure at the bar was young maybe early twenties with pale blue hair that hung in wild strands around his face. His red eyes were visible between the strands, gleaming with malice and barely contained fury. A preserved hand covered his face like a grotesque mask, fingers spread across his features.
Tomura Shigaraki scratched harder at his neck, the skin already raw and irritated from constant abuse.
"That kid again," he muttered, his voice carrying a whining edge. "The one from the USJ. Tsubaki Todoroki."
Behind the bar, a figure made entirely of dark purple mist moved with elegant precision, wiping down glasses with a cloth. Yellow eyes gleamed from within the mist, the only feature visible in the swirling darkness.
"Shigaraki Tomura," Kurogiri's voice was smooth, refined, almost gentle. "Please don't get worked up. Your injuries from the USJ incident still require time to heal properly."
His yellow eyes glanced toward Shigaraki's torso, where bandages were visible beneath his black shirt—courtesy of Snipe's bullets during their failed attack.
"I know that!" Shigaraki snapped, scratching more aggressively. "But watching these hero brats parade around while we're stuck hiding... it's irritating. Especially him."
His red eyes fixed on the screen, watching the replay of Tsubaki's final technique—the beam of absolute cold that had torn through Shoto's flames like they were nothing.
"He's gotten stronger since the USJ,"
Shigaraki observed, his voice taking on a more analytical tone beneath the irritation. "When he fought the Nomu, he was impressive. But this... this is different. More dangerous."
He turned away from the screen, one hand absently scratching at his neck while the other picked up a photograph sitting on the bar—a picture of All Might, smiling his signature smile.
"Once my injuries heal," Shigaraki said, his voice dropping to something colder, more focused, "we're going to make some noise. Something that makes all the headlines. Something that shows these heroes and their little students that we're not going to just disappear."
His fingers tightened on the photograph, and it began to crumble to dust beneath his touch.
"Something that makes them understand what real fear feels like."
Kurogiri nodded slowly, his yellow eyes unreadable. "As you wish, Tomura. The preparations will continue."
Unknown Location - Dark Room
In another place entirely, far from the League's hideout, another figure watched the same broadcast.
The room was pitch black except for the glow of a television screen. The light cast dancing shadows across walls covered in what might have been burn marks or deliberate scarring.
Clapping echoed in the darkness—slow, deliberate, almost mocking.
"Well done," a voice said, rough and damaged, like vocal cords that had been destroyed and healed wrong. "Very well done indeed."
A grin appeared in the darkness—white teeth gleaming in the television's light, the smile too wide, too sharp to be entirely sane.
On screen, the broadcast showed Tsubaki walking away from his victory, his back straight and proud. The camera panned to show Endeavor kneeling beside Shoto, the Number Two Hero's expression twisted with concern and something that might have been fear.
"I thought I'd be the one to bring such a look to Endeavor's face," the voice continued, amusement and bitterness mixing together. "But it seems I was beaten to the punch."
The figure leaned forward slightly, and the television light revealed more.
Burn scars. Terrible, extensive burn scars covering skin that had been damaged beyond normal healing. Purple, stapled flesh held together by surgical staples that gleamed dully in the light. The scars extended across what was visible of the figure's face, neck, arms—likely covering most of his body.
The grin widened. "Tsubaki Todoroki," the figure said, his damaged voice carrying genuine interest now. "I guess I'm not the only one who wants to make our dear father suffer."
He leaned back into the shadows, but his grin remained visible a Cheshire smile floating in darkness.
"At least someone will appreciate it when I take Endeavor to hell with me."
The figure—Dabi—watched as the broadcast continued, showing replays of the devastating final clash, the frozen prison that had encased Shoto, the absolute dominance Tsubaki had displayed.
"Maybe we have more in common than I thought, little brother," Dabi whispered to the screen, his voice carrying dark amusement. "Maybe we do."
UA Stadium - Tunnel
Tsubaki walked through the tunnel leading away from the arena, his footsteps echoing in the concrete corridor. The sound of the crowd was muffled here, distant, like he was moving through a dream.
His body felt... lighter.
Not physically—he was exhausted, his quirk pushed further than it had been in weeks of training. But mentally, emotionally, something had shifted.
'I proved it,' he thought, his blue eyes distant but satisfied. 'I proved I'm better than Shoto. Proved that Father's masterpiece couldn't match my power.'
He thought back to that final moment Endeavor's eyes meeting his across Shoto's frozen form. The recognition there. The acknowledgment he'd spent years desperately seeking, now that he no longer wanted it.
'Father watched as I destroyed his creation. Watched as everything he sacrificed our family for crumbled to ice at my feet.'
But beneath the satisfaction was something else. A quiet voice that sounded suspiciously like his grandfather.
'I held back Arctic Judgement. Could have fired it at full power but it would have killed Shoto instantly if I had.'
His hands clenched slightly at his sides.
'We're not on the best terms. Haven't been in years. But I wasn't aiming to kill him. Just... to beat him. To prove my point.'
He shook his head, trying to clear the complicated feelings.
'It doesn't matter. What matters is the next match.'
His mind shifted to the upcoming semifinal—Tokoyami versus Bakugo. Two powerful opponents, both with their own strengths.
'Tokoyami's Dark Shadow is formidable in the right conditions. But Bakugo's explosions produce light and heat—Dark Shadow's weaknesses. Bakugo will likely win.'
He thought about facing Bakugo in the finals. The explosive blonde's raw power, his combat instincts, his absolute refusal to back down.
'No matter who wins between them, I'll need to fight seriously. Can't underestimate anyone at this level.'
But beneath the tactical analysis was a feeling—a certainty that had been building throughout the entire festival.
'I'm close. So close. One more match. One more victory. And I'll stand at the top where everyone can see me. Where Father can't ignore me. Where the world knows my name.'
His pace quickened slightly, determination burning cold in his chest.
'Time to finish what I started.'
Hospital - Rei's Room
Rei sat frozen in her chair, her hands pressed over her mouth, tears streaming down her face in endless rivers.
The television showed replays of the match—the devastating techniques both her sons had unleashed, the terrible cold and burning heat, the final clash that had left one standing and one frozen.
'My babies,' she thought, her heart feeling like it was being torn from her chest. 'They hurt each other so badly. Threw such terrible attacks at each other. No matter who won, they both would have been heavily injured.'
The image shifted to show Tsubaki walking away, his expression cold and satisfied. Then to Endeavor kneeling beside Shoto, using his flames to counter the hypothermia.
'They got to this point because of me,' Rei's thoughts spiraled darker. 'Because I wasn't there. Because I broke. Because I couldn't protect them from Enji, couldn't protect them from each other, couldn't be the mother they needed.'
Her hands trembled as she stared at the screen.
"I can't stay away anymore," she whispered aloud, her voice breaking. "I need to see them. Need to talk to them. Need to try... need to try to fix what I helped break."
The nurse beside her placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but Rei barely felt it. Her eyes were locked on the screen as Cementoss worked to repair the destroyed arena, preparing for the next match.
'My sons. Both so strong. Both so hurt. Both carrying pain I helped create.'
Fresh tears fell.
'I need to see them. Before it's too late. Before the damage becomes permanent.'
Unknown Location
In a place far removed from the bright lights of the Sports Festival, in shadows so deep they seemed to devour light itself, two figures watched the same broadcast on a screen.
"The new generation truly is interesting, isn't it, Doctor?" The voice was cultured, refined, carrying the weight of age and power.
The second figure—the Doctor—leaned forward with obvious fascination, his eyes gleaming behind small glasses as he studied the replay of Tsubaki's Arctic Judgement technique.
"It is, Master," the Doctor replied, his voice carrying academic excitement. "Such an ice quirk is remarkable. Not only does he possess cryokinesis—the mental manipulation of ice—but that last attack was absolutely fascinating."
He gestured to the screen, where the beam of condensed cold was shown tearing through Shoto's flames.
"A beam of pure ice. Concentrated cold weaponized to that degree. It shows his quirk hasn't even begun to reach its limit. No..."
The Doctor's smile widened. "He's barely scratched the surface of what Absolute Zero can truly do."
The first figure the Master listened with patient attention, though his focus seemed to be on something beyond just the quirk itself.
"While his quirk is without a doubt amazing," the Man said slowly, his voice carrying dark amusement, "the hatred in him is just as interesting."
The screen showed a close-up of Tsubaki's face as he'd walked away from his victory—the cold satisfaction in his eyes, the absolute certainty.
"That look in his eyes," the Man continued. "That's not just competitive drive. That's personal. Deep. The kind of hatred that shapes people, that drives them to extremes."
A pause, then a low chuckle that held no warmth.
"Hatred like that... it can be very useful. Or very dangerous. Sometimes both."
The Doctor nodded, still fascinated by the technical aspects. "Shall we continue monitoring him, Master?"
"Oh yes," the Man replied, his voice carrying dark satisfaction. "Very closely. The Sports Festival has revealed so much about this generation. Their strengths, their weaknesses, their motivations."
The screen showed the stadium, the crowd cheering, the next match being prepared.
"And young Tsubaki Todoroki..." the Man's voice dropped lower, more thoughtful, "he may prove to be very interesting indeed. One way or another."
In the darkness, something that might have been a smile appeared.
"After all, hatred and power combined? That's a combination worth watching."
The broadcast continued, showing the festival's excitement, the crowd's anticipation for the next match.
But in the shadows, plans were being made. Observations were being recorded. And the watching eyes of those who moved in darkness continued their patient surveillance.
The Sports Festival would end.
But the consequences of what had been revealed there the power, the hatred, the potential those would echo far beyond one day's competition.
And in the darkness, both villains and greater threats watched and waited.
Their time would come.
To Be Continued...