Chapter 29: The Weight of Ten Million and the Cement Wall.
The electronic buzzer that signaled the end of the Cavalry Battle didn't just sound; it severed the tension in the air like a guillotine.
For a few seconds, the stadium was suspended in a strange, ringing silence—the kind that follows a massive explosion. Then, reality crashed back in. The roar of the audience washed over the grass field like a physical tide, a wall of noise that vibrated in the chests of the forty-two students standing in the center of the arena.
The formation of the "Human Cavalry" broke apart. Riders slid down from the shoulders of their horses. The adrenaline that had fueled them for fifteen minutes began to evaporate, replaced by the heavy, leaden weight of exhaustion.
"We... we did it!"
Midoriya Izuku collapsed to his knees, tears streaming down his face in veritable waterfalls. His entire body shook, not from fear, but from the sheer, overwhelming relief of survival. Uraraka and Tokoyami stood over him, panting heavily, their smiles weary but genuine. They had scraped by. They had survived the chaos.
A few meters away, the atmosphere was volatile.
Bakugo Katsuki stood with his back to the cameras. His shoulders were hunched, trembling with a suppressed rage that was hotter than any explosion he could produce. He stared at the scoreboard, at the "4th Place" next to his name. To the world, he had qualified. To him, this was an abject failure.
"Second time..." Bakugo growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that made Kirishima take a step back. "Second time in a row... I didn't take the top spot. I didn't crush them."
He kicked the dirt, sending a cloud of dust into the air. His red eyes darted toward the center of the field, locking onto the spiky pink hair of the boy who had stolen the spotlight. The Dragon.
In the center of the field, the eye of the storm was calm.
Kyoka Jiro felt her boots touch the solid grass. Her legs were jelly. The adrenaline dump left her feeling lightheaded, and her earphone jacks hung limp by her sides. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to the massive screen towering over the stadium.
There it was. At the very top.
1st Place: Team Natsu.
She blinked, wiping sweat from her brow to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. The number "10,000,000" was listed right next to their names. They hadn't just survived; they had conquered.
"We... we actually kept it," Jiro whispered, her voice barely audible over the cheering crowd. She reached up and touched the golden headband still tied around her forehead. It felt heavy now, heavier than it had during the battle. It was the weight of victory.
"Yo! Partner!"
Jiro turned. Natsu Dragneel was standing there, grinning. He didn't look tired. He looked energized, as if the battle had just been a warm-up. He extended a clenched fist toward her.
"Good job, Jiro! You were awesome back there," Natsu said, his voice bright and sincere. "That sound attack was perfect!"
Jiro looked at his fist, then up at his grinning face. The tension in her shoulders finally broke. A small, genuine smile touched her lips—not the confident smirk of a rocker, but a soft, relieved expression.
"Yeah..." she breathed out. "We did okay."
She lifted her hand and gently bumped her fist against his.
Bump.
"Aye!" Happy floated down from the sky, landing softly on Natsu's head. "We qualified! But I'm hungry now!"
While the winners celebrated, the shadows of the arena held a different story.
Near the boundary line, Hitoshi Shinso stood like a statue. He was staring at his hands. His knuckles were white, his fingernails digging into his palms so hard that crescent-shaped marks were forming on his skin.
He looked at the scoreboard. Then he looked at the ground.
"Impossible..." Shinso whispered. The word tasted like ash in his mouth. "I was... so close."
Behind him, Mashirao Ojiro and Yuga Aoyama were beginning to stir. They sat up, rubbing their heads, their expressions shifting from blank emptiness to confusion and horror.
"What... what happened?" Ojiro muttered, looking around with wide, fearful eyes. "The last thing I remember... I answered him... and then..."
He looked up at Shinso's back. A shiver ran down Ojiro's spine. The memory of losing control, of being a puppet in his own body, was terrifying.
Shinso ignored them. He ignored the confusion of his former teammates. His eyes were locked on one person.
Natsu Dragneel.
The pink-haired boy was laughing, high-fiving the blue cat. He was so bright. So loud. So... heroic.
"It's his fault," Shinso murmured. The thought spiraled in his mind, dark and toxic. "Everything is his fault."
If Natsu hadn't formed a two-person team... the point distribution would have been different. The math would have changed. Shinso wouldn't be standing here, rejected by the system once again.
Something inside Shinso snapped.
He didn't think. He didn't plan. He just moved.
Shinso sprinted across the grass. His purple hair was disheveled, his eyes wide and bloodshot with desperation. He closed the distance to Natsu in seconds.
"You!"
Natsu turned around just as Shinso lunged.
Grab.
Shinso's hands clamped onto the white, scale-patterned scarf around Natsu's neck. He yanked it tight, twisting the fabric.
"Hey!" Jiro gasped, stepping forward. "What are you doing?!"
"Natsu!" Happy cried out.
A collective gasp swept through the stadium. The cheering stopped instantly, replaced by a confused murmur.
"What is this?!" Present Mic shouted from the commentary booth, his voice losing its usual hype. "What is happening on the field?! Is this a fight?!"
Natsu didn't stumble. He stood firm, his feet planted like tree roots. He looked down at the boy gripping his scarf. His expression wasn't fearful; it was annoyed. His onyx eyes narrowed slightly.
"What's your problem, pal?" Natsu asked, his voice low. "You want to play like this?"
"It's your fault..." Shinso hissed, his voice shaking with rage. "Because you made a two-person team... you messed up the numbers! You skewed the points! It wasn't supposed to be like this!"
Shinso tightened his grip, shaking Natsu slightly.
"How does a team with only two people even qualify?! You mocked the system! You mocked us! I needed those points!"
Natsu stared at him. He didn't understand the math. He didn't understand the politics of the points. All he saw was someone making excuses.
Slowly, deliberately, Natsu raised his hand. He clamped his fingers around Shinso's wrist.
"I don't know what you're babbling about," Natsu said coldly.
He applied pressure. Just a little.
Creak.
Shinso's eyes widened as he felt the crushing strength in Natsu's grip. It wasn't the grip of a student; it was the grip of a beast.
"But if you want a fight outside the rules..." Natsu leaned in, smoke leaking from his mouth, the heat radiating from his skin making Shinso sweat. "I'm right here. I'll take you on anytime."
Shinso flinched. His eyebrows twitched in pain and fear. For a second, looking into Natsu's eyes, he saw something primal.
RUMBLE.
Suddenly, the ground beneath them groaned.
Before Natsu could squeeze harder, and before Shinso could activate his quirk, a massive grey shape erupted from the earth between them.
Liquid concrete surged upward like a geyser, solidifying instantly into a thick, grey wall. It forced Shinso to let go and pushed the two boys apart.
"That is enough."
A deep, calm voice resonated across the field.
Cementoss, the Pro Hero and Modern Literature teacher, walked onto the field. He had one hand placed on the grass, his blocky face stern.
"Private fighting is strictly prohibited outside of the matches," Cementoss warned, looking from Natsu to Shinso. "Stop ruining the image of the festival in front of the public. If you want to fight, save it for the tournament."
"Tch," Shinso scoffed, rubbing his throbbing wrist. He stepped back, looking defeated.
"He started it," Natsu shrugged, releasing his grip on the empty air. "I didn't do anything."
"Alright, alright! Simmer down, youth!"
Midnight clapped her hands, the sharp sound cutting through the tension. She walked to the center of the field, regaining control of the event.
"Let all the qualifying teams gather here! We need to settle the bracket!"
The students shuffled forward. Natsu and Jiro stood at the front. Shinso grit his teeth, turned around, and began to walk away toward the exit tunnel. He was done. He had failed.
"Wait!" Midnight called out.
Shinso stopped.
"We have a slight irregularity," Midnight announced, looking at a clipboard. "Due to the unique point distribution and the withdrawal of Team Mineta due to... severe nausea... we only have fourteen participants for the final tournament."
She looked up at the crowd.
"A tournament bracket needs sixteen fighters. Therefore, we will be advancing two students from the losing teams based on individual performance!"
Shinso's heart skipped a beat. He turned around slowly.
"Based on the points..." Midnight pointed a finger at him. "Hitoshi Shinso from General Studies!"
Shinso's knees nearly gave out. He felt a rush of oxygen to his brain. He... he was still in?
"And..." Midnight pointed to the other side. "Neito Monoma from Class B!"
"HAHAHAHA!"
A manic, theatrical laugh erupted from the Class B crowd. Neito Monoma threw his head back, striking a dramatic pose.
"I knew it! Fate favors the truly talented!" Monoma shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Class A. "You thought you could leave Class B behind?! Think again! I, Neito Monoma, have arrived in the finals! Prepare to pay the price for your arrogance, Class A!"
His classmates from Class B patted him on the back, looking equally relieved.
"I... I have a chance?" Shinso whispered, his hands trembling.
"You should have just been patient," Midnight scolded gently, looking at Shinso. "I am not pleased with that behavior earlier. Control yourself."
Shinso nodded dumbly, too shocked to speak.
Natsu watched the whole scene with utter indifference. He punched his open palm with his fist, a small spark flying.
"I don't care who is in or who is out," Natsu grinned, the excitement returning to his eyes. "The final round is one-on-one battles, right? That means I can go all out!"
"You're not even interested in who your opponent is?" Jiro asked, raising an eyebrow. "You should be strategizing."
"Strategy is boring," Natsu laughed. "I just want to fight the strong guys!"
"I'm nervous..." Happy shivered, hiding behind Natsu's leg. "That purple-haired guy looks creepy."
"Now!" Midnight gestured to the massive screen. "Let's announce the matchups! Look at the board!"
The screen scrambled, names shuffling rapidly like a slot machine. The entire stadium held its breath. This was the moment that would decide their fate.
Natsu looked up, his eyes burning with anticipation.
"Bring it on!"
.
.