The stadium trembled with life. Tens of thousands of voices merged into a single thunderous heartbeat, echoing off steel and glass. Flags rippled in the wind, holographic screens flashed with the U.A. insignia, and the scent of fireworks and fried food clung to the air — a festival built on dreams and expectation.

This was the U.A. Sports Festival — the day when the next generation of heroes proved themselves. Families, agencies, reporters, and strangers filled every seat, eyes gleaming with the same hungry curiosity. Who will rise high enough to be remembered?

Down on the field, among the sea of uniforms, you stood shoulder to shoulder with the students of Classes 1-A and 1-B — each face a mix of nerves, excitement, and barely contained pride. The air shimmered with quirks waiting to be unleashed. Even here, in this supposed celebration, there was tension — competition sharp enough to draw blood.

Bakugo Katsuki stepped forward to the podium. His voice tore through the noise like a match-strike. Confident, raw, unfiltered.

“I’m gonna be number one.”

No humility. Just truth — or arrogance, depending on who you asked.

And as the crowd erupted — half in awe, half in disbelief — you couldn’t help feeling the weight of it all. The light, the noise, the pressure to perform. Somewhere deep down, you wondered whether this festival was truly about heroism… or about survival in a world that only remembers the strongest.