The bus rumbled along the winding road, carrying Classes 1-A and 1-B deeper into the forested outskirts of Musutafu, the urban skyline fading into a blur of green.
Izuku Midoriya pressed his forehead against the cool window glass, watching the trees whip by in thick clusters, their leaves a vibrant canopy that blocked out patches of the blue sky. The hype from the first round still buzzed in his veins, the cheers, the rush of crossing the finish line first, but now it mingled with a persistent undercurrent of worry.
Ten million points, he thought, glancing down at the glowing band on his wrist that marked him as the top target. Everyone's eyes on me. He shook the thought away, focusing on the chatter around him.
Uraraka was giggling with Ashido about floating strategies, while Kirishima pumped up Tetsutetsu from 1-B with fist bumps. Bakugo sat alone at the back, arms crossed, smirking to himself.
Present Mic's voice crackled over the bus speakers, explaining the second round as they approached the drop-off point. "Listen up, future heroes! This is Capture the Flag, with a UA twist! You'll be divided into eight mixed teams of five. Each team gets a flag to defend in your assigned base. Capture an enemy's flag and bring it back to yours to score. But here's the kicker, scattered throughout the forest are point orbs, collect enough, and they convert to a replacement flag if yours gets stolen! Communicate via these mic chips," he added, as assistants passed out small earpieces that clipped on like earrings.
"No lethal force, but quirks are fair game. Top four teams advance to the finals based on flags held at the end. Show us what you've got!"
The bus halted at the edge of a dense woodland area, the terrain rugged with hills, streams, and thick underbrush that promised hiding spots and ambushes.
Teams were announced randomly, Izuku ended up with Kirishima, Tsuyu, Ojiro from 1-A, and Honenuki from 1-B, a solid mix of mobility, defence, and quirk versatility. As they trekked to their base, a small clearing with a flagpole staked in the ground, Izuku's mind raced.
Stay focused.
Kirishima's grin seemed forced, Tsuyu's eyes darted more than usual.
The starting horn blared, and chaos erupted. Mic chips crackled to life with team comms. "I'll scout ahead," Tsuyu said, her tongue whipping out to swing through branches.
Izuku nodded, activating 8% Full Cowl, his body humming with power as he dashed forward, weaving through trees. The forest was alive, quirks clashing in the distance, explosions from Bakugo's team echoing like fireworks, ice crackling from Todoroki's group.
Their base was secure at first, Ojiro's tail sweeping for intruders while Honenuki softened the ground into quicksand traps. But soon, shouts rang out, Class 1-B's Monoma leading a raid with Kendo and others.
"Incoming!" Kirishima yelled over the mic, hardening his skin to block a punch from Tetsutetsu. Izuku zipped in, smashing a path clear, but in the melee, Kaibara from 1-B slipped past, grabbing their flag with his drill quirk boring through defences.
"We lost it!" Tsuyu croaked, tongue lashing out to snag an attacker.
Izuku's breath caught. Points or retrieval? Orbs glowed in the underbrush, collect a hundred and fifty for a flag equivalent. No. Get it back. Prove I can handle this.
"I'm going after it!" he called, Full Cowl surging to 10% as he bolted toward the enemy base.
The chase was a blur of struggle, dodging shrooms from Komori, zigzagging through Awase's welds that fused trees into barriers.
He closed in on the enemies base, heart pounding. Monoma taunted over comms, stolen from a captured mic, "Come and get it, 1A!" Izuku feinted left, then exploded right with a Delaware Smash, shattering a barrier.
Hate surged again, Rip them apart for taking what's mine. No! He evaded Kendo's enlarged fist, grabbing the flag in a burst of speed, Tsuyu's tongue assisting from afar to yank him clear.
Back to base was hell, ambushes from other teams, points orbs tempting but ignored. He Used to be the scared kid. Now... I'm leading, winning. But with Yoshi inside, is it me?
He slid into base, flag secured, just as time expired. Panting, he collapsed against a tree, the forest's din fading. But before relief settled, a familiar voice crackled over a nearby mic, Bakugo's team close.
"Oi, Deku!" Bakugo emerged from the trees, smirking, explosions popping in his palms. "Think you're hot stuff now?"
Izuku tensed, backing up. "Bakugou, it's over. We don't have to..."
Bakugo advanced, blasts forcing Izuku to dodge. "Shut up! You've been dodging me since day one. Think you're better? That USJ stunt, what was that? You kill a Nomu and act like it's nothing?"
Izuku zigzagged, evading explosions that scorched earth. Hate rising, crush him. No! "I don't want to fight you!"
Bakugo laughed, closing in. "Too bad! I'll blow that secret wide open!"
The horn blared, round over. Bakugo stopped, smirking. "This ain't done, Deku."
Present Mic announced qualifiers, "Advancing to the finals, Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shoto Todoroki, Tenya Iida, Momo Yaoyorozu, Fumikage Tokoyami, Eijiro Kirishima, Ochaco Uraraka, Itsuka Kendo, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, Ibara Shiozaki, Neito Monoma, Setsuna Tokage, Juzo Honenuki, Mezo Shoji, Hanta Sero!"
___
The concrete hallway felt unnervingly cold, the distant roar of the stadium muffled into a rhythmic, pulsing thrum, like the heartbeat of a beast. Izuku clutched his arm, his fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve, hiding the faint, jagged lines of old scars.
He stopped dead when he saw the towering, flame-wreathed silhouette ahead.
Endeavor. The Number Two Hero stood like a wall of molten spite, his back to Izuku, facing a silent Shoto Todoroki.
"It is your duty to surpass All Might," Endeavor's voice boomed, low and heavy with a terrifying sense of ownership. "You were created for that purpose alone, Shoto. Forget this childish rebellion. Use your left side. Use my power."
Izuku held his breath, pressing himself against the wall. He's talking to him like he's a tool, Izuku thought, his heart hammering. That's not what a father, what a hero, is supposed to...
"Oh, look at that," a voice drawled, vibrating not in his ears, but in the marrow of his teeth.
A small, pale mouth split open on the skin of Izuku's inner wrist, unseen beneath his sleeve. Yoshi Abara's voice was a cold, liquid apathy.
"Another 'Great Hero' treating a child like a piece of meat."
Shut up, Yoshi, Izuku thought desperately, his eyes wide as he watched Shoto's knuckles whiten. He's the Number Two Hero. He's... he's just intense. He wants Shoto to be the best.
"He wants a trophy," Yoshi hissed, his presence leaning heavily against the back of Izuku's mind like a shadow cast by a dying fire. "He's grooming a weapon. And you? You're just like the boy in front of him. A vessel for someone else's legacy. One For All... and even me... we're just passengers in your skin, but at least I'm honest about being a monster. He pretends he's a saviour while he burns his own blood."
Endeavor began to walk away, the heat from his body radiating down the hall, making the air shimmer. He didn't even glance at Izuku as he passed, treating the boy as if he were nothing more than a crack in the drywall.
Shoto remained standing there, his head bowed, his breath hitching in a way that made Izuku's chest ache.
"Go on," Yoshi taunted, a phantom sensation of a grin spreading across Izuku's own face, though his expression remained one of terror. "Give him a speech about 'Hope.' Tell him it gets better. Lie to him the way everyone lied to you in junior high."
Izuku didn't move. He couldn't. He waited until Shoto turned and walked the opposite way before he finally let out his breath, his hands shaking.
He made his way back toward the light of the arena, the transition from the dark hallway to the blinding sun of the stadium feeling like a physical blow. The crowd was screaming, a wall of sound that felt aggressive rather than celebratory.
Present Mic's voice electrified the air. "ALRIGHT, LISTEN UP! THE BRACKETS ARE SET! THE SIXTEEN FINALISTS ARE READY TO COLLIDE! LET'S SEE WHO OUR FIRST MATCH IS!"
Izuku looked up at the massive jumbotron. His heart stopped.
MATCH 1: IZUKU MIDORIYA VS. KATSUKI BAKUGO.
The stadium seemed to go silent in Izuku's head. Across the grass, he saw Bakugo. The blond's eyes were narrowed, his palms already popping with small, murderous explosions.
Yoshi's laughter bubbled up in his throat, cruel, sharp, and finally interested.
"Well, well," the ghost whispered, his voice dripping with dark anticipation. "The boy who broke you versus the boy who's haunted by me. Let's see if your 'Hero's Heart' can handle a rematch with your nightmare, Midoriya. Or... you could just let me out. I've always wanted to see what an explosion looks like when it's shrunk down to nothing."
Izuku gripped his shirt over his heart, his emerald eyes flickering with a cold, unnatural grey light for just a fraction of a second.
"No," Izuku whispered to the voice and the rival alike. "I'm doing this my way."
___
The tunnel was a throat of cold concrete, swallowing the light of the waiting rooms and spitting Izuku out toward the blinding roar of the stadium. Each step he took felt heavy, not with the weight of wanting to impress All Might, but with the phantom weight of a yellow backpack and a burned notebook.
He was terrified, his heart was a trapped bird fluttering against his ribs, but beneath the fear, there was a strange, soaring heat. It was the thrill of finally standing where he belonged.
Musutafu felt like a lifetime ago. He remembered the shame of the scars he used to hide, the way he used to shrink into himself whenever a certain scent of nitroglycerin filled the air. But Tokyo had been a rebirth. Training with All Might, the gruelling hours, the feeling of 8% of a legendary power thrumming through his veins like liquid lightning, it had changed him.
He wasn't the "Deku" who waited to be hit anymore. He was a contender. He was strong. And more than anything, he was desperate to prove that the weak, quivering boy from the back of the classroom had died in Musutafu.
As he stepped onto the grass, the sound of the crowd hit him, but it didn't register as cheering. It was just white noise, a static hum that faded into the background as his world narrowed down to the boy standing across the field.
Katsuki Bakugo looked exactly as he always did, arrogant, explosive, and radiating a lethal sort of boredom.
"So," Bakugo's voice cut through the static, sharp and jagged. "The damn nerd finally crawled his way to the top of the pile. I don't know what kind of cheap trick you're pulling with this 'quirk' you suddenly 'found,' Deku, but it ends here. You're still just a pebble in my path. I'm going to blast that delusional look off your face."
Izuku stopped at the starting mark. He didn't flinch. He didn't look down. He looked directly into Bakugo's crimson eyes, his own emerald gaze steady and unnervingly calm.
"You've spent your whole life at the top of the hill, Bakugou," Izuku said, his voice carrying a weight that made Bakugo's smirk flicker. "You've looked down for so long that you think the view belongs to you by right. I spent those years at the bottom. I watched you. I learned exactly how you move, how you think, and how you break."
Izuku took a breath, feeling the power of One For All coil in his legs.
"I'm not that scared little runt from school. I'm the one who knows exactly how to remove you from that mould you've built for yourself. You think you're a mountain?" Izuku's voice dropped, cold and final. "This time, you're just going to be the little dustweed that flies with the wind."
Silence fell over the center of the ring. For a heartbeat, Bakugo looked genuinely stunned, his jaw tightening until the bone stood out. Then, a slow, terrifyingly jagged smirk spread across his face. He grit his teeth, a small, murderous pop of orange light sparking in his palm.
"I'm gonna kill you, Deku," he hissed.
Midnight stepped between them, her whip held high. "Both contestants ready? Then, let the first match of the finals,,,,!"
She stopped. The crowd didn't just go quiet, they gasped in a collective, ragged breath. People weren't looking at the fighters. They were pointing at the sky.
A massive, oily black cloud had manifested out of nowhere directly above the stadium. With a violent, atmospheric shove, a giant commercial jet was spat out of the darkness, nose-diving at a terminal velocity straight toward the center of the arena.
The Top Ten heroes, Mirko, Crust, Wash, and the others stationed for security, bolted into action instantly.
"GET THE CIVILIANS BACK!" Endeavor roared, his flames flaring to life as he looked up. "All Might, wait!"
But All Might was already a golden blur. He launched himself from the observation deck with a shockwave that cracked the concrete, ascending at record speeds to meet the falling metal titan.
"I HAVE YOU!" All Might's voice thundered, his hands reaching for the nose of the plane.
High above, small, distorted shapes began to spill from the cargo bay of the jet, Nomu, dozens of them, falling like grotesque paratroopers.
"I will divert it!" All Might screamed, his muscles bulging as he prepared to heave the entire weight of the aircraft away from the stands.
CRACK.
It wasn't an explosion. It was the sharp, clinical sound of a high-calibre sniper rifle.
In the same instant, a blinding flash of yellow light erupted from the perimeter of the arena. A translucent, shimmering yellow bubble surged upward, locking into a perfect dome over the stadium. It slammed into All Might just as he tried to bank the plane, acting as a hard, impenetrable barrier that blocked him from re-entering the airspace.
The scream of the crowd was cut short by a sickening thud.
Izuku's ears were ringing. He looked back toward the center of the field, his eyes searching for the source of the noise.
Bakugo hadn't moved to fight the Nomu. He hadn't moved to run. He was lying flat on the grass, his eyes wide and vacant, staring up at the yellow barrier. A dark, blooming crimson stain was rapidly eating away at the center of his UA gym uniform. The bullet had travelled through the gap in the barrier a split second before it closed, punching straight through his stomach.
"Kacchan?" Izuku whispered, the world turning into a slow-motion nightmare.
The "dustweed" he had promised to blow away was now pinned to the earth, unmoving, as the shadow of the falling jet began to swallow the stadium whole.
Deep in the back of his mind, for the first time in hours, Yoshi Abara's voice hummed, not with hate, but with a cold, analytical curiosity.
"So it begins," the ghost whispered. "The shedding of the skin."