CHAPTER 14: The Final Bracket and the Paradox of Effort
The stadium roared—a literal wall of sound that vibrated the concrete floor of the waiting rooms deep beneath the stands. After the high-octane chaos of the Cavalry Battle, the air had shifted. It was no longer about teamwork or shared points; it was about individual survival. The colorful camaraderie of the morning had evaporated, replaced by the cold, sharp edge of personal ambition.
In the center of the field, the R-Rated Hero Midnight stood before a massive digital screen, her whip cracking against the air with a sound like a gunshot.
"Now that we've had our fun, it's time for the final event! A 16-person, single-elimination tournament! This is where the wheat is separated from the chaff! This is where you prove you have the soul of a Hero!"
The screen flickered, the names of the sixteen qualifiers spinning like a high-speed slot machine until they locked into place with a definitive, mechanical clack.
THE TOURNAMENT BRACKET:
Match 1: Izuku Midoriya vs. Hitoshi Shinso
Match 2: Shoto Todoroki vs. Hanta Sero
Match 3: Ibara Shiozaki vs. Denki Kaminari
Match 4: Tenya Iida vs. Mei Hatsume
Match 5: Mina Ashido vs. Yuga Aoyama
Match 6: Fumikage Tokoyami vs. Momo Yaoyorozu
Match 7: Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu vs. Eijiro Kirishima
Match 8: Sherlock Sheets vs. Mashirao Ojiro
Sherlock stared at the path ahead. His analytical
mind immediately plotted the trajectory of the day. If he won his first round against the martial artist Ojiro, he would advance to the Quarter-Finals to face the winner of Midoriya vs. Shinso.
The bracket is a funreal, Sherlock thought, his eyes narrowing as he adjusted his hoodie. It is designed to force the 'Elite' into a collision. It is a meat grinder of public opinion. If I advance, the variables become increasingly violent, and the spotlight becomes a laser. But Ojiro... he's a physical fighter. A specialist in kinetic energy.
● Round 1: Midoriya vs. Shinso
"START!" Midnight screamed.
Sherlock watched from the shadows of the tunnel. He saw Midoriya freeze instantly, his eyes glazed over—the victim of Shinso's brainwashing. The crowd went silent, a collective gasp echoing through the stands. The "Symbol of Peace's Successor" was walking out of bounds like a mindless puppet.
A Quirk that triggers upon vocal response, Sherlock analyzed, watching the electrical signals in Midoriya's brain (as evidenced by his slack jaw and dilated pupils) go haywire. Simple. Elegant. It bypasses the physical variables entirely. It's the ultimate shortcut.
Suddenly, an explosion of wind from Midoriya's fingers broke the trance. The shockwave rattled the stadium. The crowd erupted as Midoriya executed a desperate shoulder throw, pinning Shinso to the concrete.
"MIDORIYA ADVANCES!" Present Mic howled.
"What a comeback! Talk about a heart-pounding start!"
Sherlock watched Shinso walk away, his head bowed. Why does he look so devastated? Sherlock wondered. He lost a game. Yet, the emotional displacement in his stride suggests he's lost his entire identity. Why do they tie their worth to these three-minute windows of violence? It's irrational to suffer over a loss in a rigged system.
● Round 2: Todoroki vs. Sero
Sherlock didn't even have time to finish his thought before the second match began. Sero tried to wrap Todoroki in tape, a desperate attempt at containment. But the reaction from Shoto was... apocalyptic.
A mountain of ice—a jagged, colossal glacier—erupted from the stage with a sound like a freight train crashing. It buried half the stadium, freezing Sero solid and reaching high enough to scrape the clouds. The temperature in the arena dropped twenty degrees in a heartbeat, a mist of frost rolling over the audience.
"S-Sero-kun... can you move?" Midnight shivered, her breath visible in the freezing air.
"No... way..." Sero groaned from the depths of the ice.
"TODOROKI ADVANCES!"
Sherlock watched Todoroki use his left hand to melt the ice, his expression one of suppressed, volcanic rage. That wasn't a tactical move, Sherlock realized, shivering despite his heavy hoodie. That was a scream. He's using his Quirk to vent his hatred for his father. He just wasted 15% of his thermal stability for a three-second match. Pure, unadulterated inefficiency.
ROUND 6: TOKOYAMI VS. MOMO YAOYOROZU
This time, Sherlock leaned forward.
Tokoyami struck first—Dark Shadow surging like a living storm, clawing toward Momo with overwhelming force. The crowd gasped as the shadow wrapped around her, lifting her off the ground.
But Momo didn't panic.
She thought.
In a flash of white light, a high-frequency strobe grenade formed in her hands. It detonated midair.
Dark Shadow screamed.
The light disrupted its cohesion, forcing it back into Tokoyami's body. Before he could recover, Momo created a carbon-fiber capture net, reinforced with weighted anchors. It snapped shut, pinning Tokoyami to the floor.
"TOKOYAMI IS UNABLE TO MOVE!"
"MOMO YAOYOROZU ADVANCES!"
The stadium erupted.
Sherlock exhaled slowly.
She didn't overpower him, he observed. She neutralized his strongest variable and ended the match in under forty seconds.
For the first time that day, Sherlock felt something unfamiliar.
Respect.
Creation isn't flashy, he admitted. But it's terrifying in the hands of someone who plans ahead.
● Round 8: Sherlock Sheets vs. Mashirao Ojiro
"AND NOW!" Present Mic's voice peaked, the speakers crackling. "The boy who treated the Cavalry Battle like a Sunday stroll! The Genius Technician of Class 1-A! SHERLOCK SHEETS! vs. The Martial Arts Master! MASHIRAO OJIRO!"
Sherlock stepped onto the concrete stage. The sun was hot, but the air was still heavy with the moisture from Todoroki's melted ice. Ojiro was already in a low stance, his center of gravity perfectly balanced. His tail, thick and muscular, twitched like a predator's.
"Sheets-kun," Ojiro said, his voice thick with respect and caution. "I saw what you did with the wires. I won't give you time to set up. I'm ending this with the first strike."
"Understood," Sherlock replied, his hand sliding into his holster. He pulled a single card, but he didn't hold it like a weapon; he held it like a scalpel. "Please, try not to exert yourself too much, Ojiro-san. The humidity is rising; your salt levels will drop if you over-sweat. Dehydration leads to a 12% decrease in reaction time."
"START!"
Ojiro exploded forward. He didn't just run; he used his tail as a fifth limb, slamming it against the concrete to propel himself at a velocity that defied his physical build. He closed the gap in 0.8 seconds.
Sherlock watched the movement in slow motion. 0.8 seconds. Enough time for a standard human to blink. For a technician, it is an eternity.
Ojiro spun, his tail becoming a blur of fur and muscle—a horizontal sweep intended to shatter Sherlock's ribs. Sherlock didn't flinch. He dropped a single card, coated in Ultra-Grip Glaze, directly onto the floor exactly 10 centimeters behind his own heel.
As Ojiro's support foot landed to provide the pivot for his tail-strike, it hit the card. The card didn't slide; it fused to the concrete with the strength of industrial epoxy. Ojiro's foot was suddenly anchored, but his 70kg body was still moving at full speed.
The result was a violent display of physics. Ojiro's momentum, denied its pivot, forced his body to whip around his own anchored leg. He went airborne, his own strength flipping him like a ragdoll.
But Ojiro was a martial artist. Even in mid-air, he adjusted. He used his tail to lash out at the ground, trying to vault himself back into a standing position.
"Predictable," Sherlock whispered.
He flicked a second card. This one didn't have glaze; it had a Vibration Frequency tuned to the density of the concrete. As the card hit the floor where Ojiro's tail was about to strike, the ground momentarily liquified in a microscopic radius. Ojiro's tail didn't find purchase; it slipped through the "softened" concrete, burying itself six inches deep.
As the vibration stopped, the concrete solidified instantly. Ojiro was now double-anchored: his foot to the surface, and his tail inside the stage.
"The pulley system is the oldest trick in the book," Sherlock said, flicking a third card carrying a Low-Friction Silk strand. He looped the silk around Ojiro's torso and the boundary pole.
"I... I can't break it!" Ojiro gasped, his face turning red from the strain.
"Don't," Sherlock said, standing over him. "You'll dislocate your hip before that silk snaps. Just... yield. It's the most logical choice."
"OJIRO IS IMMOBILIZED! SHERLOCK SHEETS ADVANCES!"
The crowd was silent for a moment before a wave of confused murmuring broke out. There were no explosions. No ice. No "Plus Ultra." Just a boy walking away while his opponent was defeated by his own movement.
"That was... boring!" a fan shouted.
"No," a Pro Hero in the scout box muttered, leaning forward. "That boy didn't fight Ojiro. He edited him out of the match."
● The Intermission: The Heavy Silence
Sherlock sat in the silent hallway, staring at the digital bracket.
Quarter-Final 4: Sherlock Sheets vs. Izuku Midoriya
.
He felt the temperature in the hallway drop—not from ice, but from the arrival of a presence. He looked up to see Midoriya standing there, his hands heavily bandaged, his eyes burning with that same "irrational" fire that Sherlock found so exhausting.
"Sheets-kun," Midoriya said. "That match... it was incredible. You didn't even use your Quirk to attack.
You used Ojiro-kun's own torque against him."
"It was the most efficient path, Midoriya," Sherlock replied, not looking up. "Why use a mountain when a pebble will do?"
"I'm going to give it everything I have," Midoriya said, his voice trembling but filled with a terrifying conviction. "I have to win this. I promised everyone... I promised All Might."
Sherlock looked at him. He saw the bruises on Midoriya's face, the trembling in his fingers, and the sheer, desperate hunger for a title.
Why? Sherlock thought as Midoriya walked away toward his own match. Why do you want to be a hero so badly that you're willing to break your own bones? Why do you all fight so hard for a world that only cares about who is standing at the end?
He looked at his cards. For the first time, the "Quiet Life" felt like a lie he couldn't tell himself anymore. He was surrounded by people who were willing to die for a dream, and here he was, calculating his way out of the light.
"Next match: Midoriya vs. Sheets," the intercom buzzed.
Sherlock stood up. The technician was about to face the heart of a hero. And for the first time, the math wasn't adding up.
The Weight of a Decision
Sherlock walked through the dark tunnel, the roar of the crowd fading into a dull hum. He needed to find a corner to recalibrate, but as he turned toward the staging area for the Quarter-Finals, he saw a familiar silhouette.
Momo Yaoyorozu was standing by the equipment lockers. She had just won her own match against Tokoyami, yet there was no triumph in her eyes. Only a sharp, focused concern.
"Congratulations on advancing, Sherlock-san," she said, her voice echoing in the narrow hallway.
"And you, Momo. Your use of the strobe grenade was... mathematically sound. 98% efficiency," Sherlock replied, not stopping his pace.
"Sherlock, stop."
He halted. There was a tone in her voice she had never used before—the tone of a leader, or perhaps a friend who was tired of being ignored. She walked toward him, her footsteps steady on the concrete.
"I saw that look again. After your match with Ojiro. You aren't happy. You aren't even relieved. You look like you're checking off boxes on a grocery list." She took a deep breath, her courage finally catching up to her intuition. "Sherlock... tell me the truth. Why are you really here?"
Sherlock adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting off them to hide his eyes. "I'm here to fulfill a contractual obligation to my father. Nothing more."
"No. That's a lie," Momo stepped into his personal space, forcing him to look at her. "I remember you from when we were children, Sherlock. I remember the way you used to smile when you solved a puzzle. It wasn't about 'efficiency' back then. It was about discovery. But that smile... it's been gone for years. And today, you look like you're trying to erase yourself."
Sherlock's jaw tightened. "The puzzle has changed, Momo. The variables of this world don't allow for smiles. They only allow for survival."
"Is that why you're quitting?"
The question hung in the air like a live wire. Sherlock didn't move. He didn't blink.
"Who told you?"
"I'm not blind, Sherlock. I see the way you look at the exit signs. I see the way you talk about 'probability' as if it's a prison. You're leaving UA, aren't you? After the festival."
"After the tournament," Sherlock corrected, his voice dropping to a cold, flat rasp. "My resignation is already signed. My father has agreed to the terms. I show the board I am capable of the 'Sheets' legacy, and in exchange, I get my life back. I go to a lab where the variables don't bleed. I go where the math makes sense."
"You're running away!" Momo's voice cracked, her composure finally breaking. "You have a gift, Sherlock! You saved us at the USJ! You didn't do that because of a contract; you did it because you knew exactly how to help. You can be the greatest support hero this country has ever seen!"
"And what if I don't want to be a hero?" Sherlock hissed, stepping closer, his own frustration boiling over. "What if I'm tired of calculating the death tolls of my peers? Do you know the probability of a hero's career ending in permanent disability? 22%. The probability of a premature death? 14%. I am not a hero, Momo. I am a technician. And a technician knows when a machine is designed to break."
"People aren't machines, Sherlock!"
"In this school, they are," he replied, turning away. "They are being tuned and overclocked until they explode for the entertainment of a crowd. I refuse to be a part of the wreckage."
Momo watched his retreating back, her heart aching. She thought back to the childhood version of him—the boy who would spend hours explaining the molecular structure of a snowflake just to see her eyes light up. That boy was still in there, buried under layers of trauma and cold arithmetic.
"I won't accept it," she whispered to the empty hallway. "I hope this next fight... I hope Midoriya breaks that wall of yours. I hope he shows you something that your math can't explain."
● The VIP Box: The Father's Gaze
High above, Arthur Sheets watched the monitors. He had seen the interaction. He saw the tension in Sherlock's shoulders.
You're fighting them all, aren't you, son? Arthur thought, swirling his drink. You're fighting Momo's hope, Midoriya's spirit, and my expectations. You think your logic is an armor. But you don't realize that the more you fight to stay 'cold,' the more friction you're creating. And friction... friction eventually leads to fire.
Arthur didn't want Sherlock to win the tournament. He wanted Sherlock to care about winning. He wanted the "bare minimum" to fail, forcing the boy to finally reach for the power he had kept locked away since Miyuri's death.
Coming Up in Chapter 15: The Collision of Logic and Will, where Sherlock is forced to decide if he will finally 'try' or if he will let Midoriya break himself against the technician's wall?
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