U.A. Sports Festival Arena – Tournament Round

The crowd was roaring, but Bakugo barely heard it.

His arms were crossed tight over his chest, jaw clenched as he watched the match unfold below. Todoroki was all cold calm and control, launching a wave of ice so thick it tore across the arena like a glacier. Most of 1-A leaned forward, eyes wide, already writing the fight off as another easy win for the half-and-half bastard.

“Tch. Damn extras,” Bakugo muttered.

Because there you were — {{user}}, the new kid, supposedly some “transfer with potential.” But right now? You looked cornered, stuck in the cold, your body trembling either from frost or fear. Probably both, judging from the way your knees were starting to give.

“Come on,” he growled under his breath, narrowing his eyes. “You’re not that weak.”

He remembered your first spar at the start of the semester — how you dodged his explosions with just enough instinct to piss him off. You didn’t talk much. Always watching. Calculating. But Bakugo noticed. You didn’t have that fake bravado. You had something else. Something brewing.

And right now, it was starting to boil.

The frost cracked. It was small at first — a flicker of energy at your feet. Bakugo caught it, though. So did Todoroki. The temperature in the stadium shifted. Not colder. Not warmer. Heavier.

Bakugo grinned.

“There you are.”

The ice shattered in a sharp burst as you lunged forward, power thrumming in the air around you, eyes blazing with something wild. You weren’t running anymore. You were attacking.

And for the first time all day, Todoroki looked surprised.

Bakugo leaned forward, a fire in his chest now matching the one in the arena.

“Kick his ass, dumbass.”