The locker room was quiet.
Not tense. Not awkward. Just… heavy. Everyone was dressed in the same blue-and-white gym uniforms, the lack of costumes making things feel strangely more serious. No masks. No armor. No personas to hide behind.
Just us.
I rolled my shoulders once, loosening up. My hands felt steady. Too steady, maybe. That always happened before something big.
Across the room, Todoroki stood still, eyes forward, posture perfect. He hadn't said a word since we arrived.
Then he spoke.
"Midoriya," he said evenly. "I won't hold back."
Midoriya stiffened, then nodded, swallowing. "I wouldn't want you to."
The air shifted.
Bakugo slammed his locker shut so hard it echoed.
"LIKE HELL THIS IS JUST BETWEEN YOU TWO!" he snarled. "I'M THE ONE WHO'S WINNING THIS!"
No one replied. No one needed to.
This wasn't the place for arguments.
The announcement came soon after.
"First-year students, move out!"
The stadium hit us like a wave.
Noise. Heat. Movement. Tens of thousands of voices merging into a single, roaring pressure that pressed down from every direction. Screens floated overhead, capturing every nervous twitch and confident stride.
Midnight stood at the center of it all, whip resting against her shoulder, smiling like she owned the chaos.
"WELCOME TO THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL!"
The crowd exploded.
Bakugo didn't waste a second.
"I'M WINNING THIS!" he shouted, fist raised. "EVERYONE ELSE CAN EAT DUST!"
Cheers followed him like fuel.
I didn't react. My focus narrowed, the noise fading into something distant and dull.
First event. Obstacle race.
I remembered the structure. The danger.
But the details… fuzzy.
Guess that's what happens when you stop treating things like a script.
Midnight raised her whip.
"ON YOUR MARK!"
Muscles tensed all around me.
"GET SET—"
Ice swallowed the ground.
For a split second, surprise flickered through me.
Then recognition snapped into place.
Todoroki.
A massive sheet of ice surged forward, flash-freezing the tunnel entrance and the ground beneath our feet. Students slipped instantly—some fell, others were locked in place mid-step.
Bakugo blasted forward in a violent burst, explosions tearing him free.
Todoroki followed, already sprinting across his own frozen path.
I was frozen to my ankles.
"…Right," I muttered.
Energy flowed into my legs—not violently, not recklessly. Just enough. The ice cracked, then shattered as I stepped forward, boots crunching through the frost.
I ran.
The tunnel opened into chaos—uneven terrain, falling debris, traps layered deliberately to punish hesitation. Students scattered, some panicking, others freezing in place.
Bakugo and Todoroki were already pulling ahead.
I didn't chase.
Instead, I moved cleanly—tight turns, efficient jumps, controlled bursts of reinforcement when needed. I passed students one by one, never stopping, never wasting motion.
By the time the dust thinned, I was running in third place.
There was a gap between me and the leaders—but not an impossible one.
Then the robots came into view.
Massive machines from the entrance exam, repurposed as moving barriers. They stomped forward in staggered patterns, forcing runners to dodge, climb, or smash through.
Bakugo blew past them head-on.
Todoroki froze pathways and sprinted across like it was nothing.
I reached the first robot and didn't slow.
This wasn't a student.
Energy sharpened.
I stepped in close and slashed.
Not wide. Not reckless. A precise cut across the joint of the robot's leg. Metal screamed, then collapsed as the limb severed cleanly.
The machine toppled.
I leapt over the falling mass, landed, and kept moving.
Another robot swung an arm down toward me.
I ducked, drove forward, and carved straight through its midsection. The slash wasn't flashy—but it was efficient. The machine split and crashed apart behind me.
"WHAT IS THAT CUTTING POWER?!" Present Mic yelled. "HE'S SLICING THROUGH THEM LIKE THEY'RE MADE OF PAPER!"
I didn't look back.
The course demanded constant adjustment—some robots required cuts, others needed movement. I mixed in elemental manipulation where slashes weren't ideal, shaping air pressure to shove myself sideways or lighten a jump just enough to clear debris.
Not perfect.
Not elegant.
But it worked.
By the time I cleared the robot zone, my breathing was steady, my output controlled.
Ahead, the race continued.
And the real competition was only getting started.