Chapter Text
After his fight with Shouto, Izuku booked it to the main preparation room, hoping that Uraraka was still there. Recovery Girl had mentioned that she hadn’t returned to the class yet, and Izuku figured she could use some encouragement. He wasn’t able to watch her full match against Bakugou, but he’d seen the beginning of it; Uraraka had fought incredibly well. But Bakugou was vicious, and had a way of shaking one's confidence unlike any of their peers.
As Izuku approached the room he thought Uraraka was in, he paused. Behind the door, muffled though it was, he could hear Uraraka crying.
For a moment, he was stuck in place, unable to move. He didn’t know how to deal with this, didn’t know if he even could. He didn’t know if Uraraka wanted to be alone, or if his presence would make things worse for her.
Izuku thought back to when Bakugou would target him in middle school. How humiliating, painful, scary it was.
He couldn’t undo any of that. But maybe… maybe he could make it better for one person. For his friend.
Izuku knocked on the door, and the sniffling inside stopped.
“Um, come in?”
Bracing himself, Izuku opened the door, walking inside the room and hesitating in front of Uraraka.
“Oh, Izuku! It’s um, it’s good to see you—” Uraraka said, wiping her face furiously, lips trembling into a semblance of a smile. “How, um, how did your match go?”
Izuku sighed, his eyes warm. For a moment, he and Uraraka just looked at each other.
He opened his arms. Uraraka’s face crumbled, and she stepped into his embrace slowly, as if expecting him to retract his arms and walk away at any sudden movement. Her shoulders were shaking as she wrapped her arms around his back, tucking her face into his neck, breath catching with a choked sob.
Izuku just held her. He’s not sure how long they stood there, in each other's arms, her tears soaking into his bloodied shirt.
When Uraraka pulls away, she’s not trying to fake a smile anymore. Her eyes are downcast, tears and snot still caked on her cheeks. She stumbled over to a nearby bench, nodding opposite her.
“Sorry, Izuku, um, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay , Uraraka,” Izuku sat down next to her, offering her a look of encouragement. “Want to talk about it?”
She sniffled, wiping her eyes before chuckling out a broken laugh.
“I just— I feel so weak . I, I thought I could win, but I didn’t even stand a chance against him.” She picked at the bandages wrapping her arm, not looking at Izuku “...I thought getting into UA that, that maybe I was… I don’t know, good enough? But everyone is just so much better than I ever thought, and then USJ happened and I didn’t do anything, and I can’t even beat stupid Bakugou in a fight!” Uraraka rubbed her face tiredly, her shoulders slouched and her gaze dark. “I don’t know, anymore. I just… I wanted to make my parents proud, that’s all. But I’m not proud. Not after that fight, at least.”
Izuku hummed in understanding, waiting for her to say more. She didn’t. He took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.
“You know…” Izuku started, his voice soft, “Bakugou and I grew up together. He, uh… well, he’s always been pretty passionate about being a hero. Everyone believed in him, encouraged him. He was always told how strong he was, how good of a hero he’d be.”
Uraraka looked up at him slowly, confused but listening patiently.
“And then there was me. Quirkless, and small, and weak. But I wanted to help people, and I wasn't quiet about my dreams. Bakugou kicked my ass so many times back then, it was almost funny,” Izuku chuckled humorlessly, before sighing, falling quiet for a second. He looked at Uraraka, letting his guard down as much as he could for just a moment. “Do you think I’m weak, Uraraka?”
“Wh— What?” Her eyes widened, mouth falling open. “Of course not! You’re like, the strongest person I know—”
“...I think I’m weak. I feel weak, all the time. I’m not as strong as I want to be, and honestly? I’m not sure I’ll ever get there.”
Uraraka stared at him in shock, trying to understand what he was saying.
“When I watched the first half of your fight, Uraraka, all I could think about was how incredible you were. Your strength, your quirk, your mind— I’ve never doubted what an amazing hero you will become. I know you feel like you failed. And I can’t change that; your emotions are valid, and fighting against someone like Bakugou is tough .” Izuku met Uraraka’s eyes, offering her a sad smile. “But we’re still learning. We’re still changing. And I know it doesn’t mean much, but… I’m so proud of you. Because you gave Bakugou one hell of a fight.”
For a moment, Uraraka was quiet. As she processed what Izuku said, her eyes started to water. “You… you thought I was incredible?” Her voice cracked as she looked at Izuku, mouth trembling.
“ So incredible. I wrote a full three pages of analysis on your meteor shower technique alone,” Izuku chuckled, cut off abruptly as Uraraka pulled him into a hug. It was… softer than usual, less bone-crushing. And warm. So, so warm. He could feel her shaking in his arms, her tears wet against his shirt once more.
“Thank you, Izuku,” she mumbled. Izuku just hugged her tighter, letting himself relax for once.
Izuku left a few minutes later after Uraraka got a call from her parents, congratulating her on her fight. They were celebrating so loud that he could hear them as he was leaving, could hear the pure joy in their voices. He knew Uraraka was in good hands, after that. As he made his way back to the stadium to watch the remaining fights before his next match, he felt… lighter, somehow. Like a weight had been lifted from his chest.
Izuku wasn’t able to watch Iida’s match with Shiozaki because of his talk with Uraraka, but he was glad to hear of Iida’s win. It wasn’t surprising, since Izuku had made a bracket in advance based on his analysis (borderline stalking, but he would rather be prepared). He wasn’t as well-versed with the students of class 1-B, but he knew enough. For now, at least. But fighting Iida was a good thing— Izuku knew of his abilities, knew his strengths. His weaknesses, too.
Instead of watching the next two matches (Tokoyami vs. Ashido and Bakugou vs. Kirishima), Izuku went over his strategy in an abandoned hallway of the stadium. Everyone was out watching the fights, so the inside of the stadium was practically empty.
Izuku didn’t really need to go over his strategy. He had it memorized and knew everything he had to do. But, as much as he wanted to analyze his classmates, he just… couldn’t. So, he sat on the floor, swallowed a few anti-inflammatories, and tried to focus.
On what? He wasn’t really sure.
He could hear Hizashi’s muffled commentating, the crowd cheering. Izuku hung his head, looking at his hands, his arms. In between the bandages and the small scrapes, he looked at his scars. Dozens of thin white marks swirled around his skin, raised just slightly from his flesh. Below them, pale and discolored, were remnants of his childhood.
They didn’t hurt, not anymore. He couldn’t even see all of them. But they were on his body, etched into his skin.
He didn’t want them. He’d never wanted them.
Izuku closed his eyes, slowing his breathing down. Now wasn’t the time to panic, to get in his own head. Now wasn’t the time to bring up the past.
Which made his upcoming fight against Bakugou just that much more difficult. Maybe he could just lose to Iida, throw the match. Then he could be done. He could go home, go to sleep, and be with his parents. A part of him wanted that.
But a bigger part of him wanted to finally win . He wanted people to look at him and think of strength, wanted to be free of the “quirkless freak” title for once in his life.
He’d lost to Bakugou. To the Doctor, to Overhaul, to Shigaraki.
Izuku was tired of losing. He didn’t think he cared about a stupid tournament, but he’d grown up watching UA’s Sports Festival, dreaming to be on stage like that one day with a medal around his neck and a grin on his face. As much as he wanted to remain uncaring and aloof, when it came to things like this, the quirkless little fanboy in him couldn’t keep quiet.
An announcement was made, letting him know it was almost time for the next fight. Which, if he was correct, was against Iida. Just as he had planned for.
Stepping into the arena to fight Iida, Izuku struggled to filter out the screaming of the crowd and the introduction by his parents. He looked at Iida: the boy’s face was serious, his shoulders tense. His brother was probably watching in the stands, along with his parents. Izuku knew how badly he wanted to win, to make them proud.
But Izuku wasn’t going to lose. They played the Sports Festival in schools, restaurants, shop windows. Practically everyone in Japan was watching. For one day of the year, the word “quirkless” was going to be followed by the word “winner,” and every single quirkist asshole would be able to do nothing about it.
He had the chance to make history. To propose a new definition of heroics. To show every quirkless kid watching that they can make it to high school and do so, so much more than what the world tells them they can accomplish.
All he had to do was beat Iida, then Bakugou, if his predictions were correct. Simple enough, in theory.
His strategy for this round was… risky, to say the least. But it would pay off in the long run, Izuku was certain. Or mostly certain.
Midnight stepped forward from the edge of the ring. Izuku could feel his heart pounding against his chest, his throat too tight as he fought to steady his breathing. He prepared himself, his gaze on Iida—
“START!”
Izuku dove into a roll towards the right of the stage, narrowly dodging Iida as he flew past him, already back on his feet and running in the opposite direction.
He had watched Iida’s fighting style during the one-on-one matches. In every single one of them, Iida attempted to push his opponent outside of the rink to end the match. It didn’t work on all of his opponents, but it worked on most. And while Izuku was fast, he knew he wasn’t faster than Iida. In a battle of speed, Iida would win. In a battle of pure strength, considering the fact that Iida was significantly taller and more muscular than Izuku, Iida would win. He’s stronger and faster than Izuku, with years of training under his belt.
But Izuku wasn’t trying to be faster or stronger than Iida. He just needed to be smarter .
Seeing Izuku dodge his first attempt, Iida charged at him a second time, his engines stalling as he turned quickly on his heels before reaching the edge of the arena.
Izuku dodged again, waiting until the last possible second to do so. Iida was incredibly fast, but he couldn’t stop and change direction completely while maintaining that speed. If he wanted to push Izuku out of the ring, he had to make sure Izuku couldn’t dodge.
Seeming to realize this, Iida changed strategies. He stopped charging at Izuku; instead, he ran at him without his quirk, throwing a punch that Izuku ducked under easily. Izuku jabbed out an elbow, but he knew it wouldn’t hit Iida. The boy was already shifting on his feet, gearing up to deliver a spinning kick, his engines flaring at the height of the arc—
There was a second, a single moment that Izuku sensed an opening; a spot to either dodge or attack.
Izuku didn’t dodge. And he didn’t attack, either.
He brought up arms to block the blow, bracing himself in the time that he could, the metal of his collapsed staff held against the arm closest to Iida like a makeshift shield.
The kick connected, and it hit hard . The pressure was so strong against Izuku’s arms that his body was forced into the ground, his feet breaking the cement of the arena. Even with his staff as a barrier, something had snapped in his wrist, a sharp twinge that had Izuku gritting his teeth against the pain. Without his prosthetics he probably would have broken both of his ankles, but he managed to remain just barely upright, pushing against Iida until his engines stuttered. Iida jumped backwards, regaining his balance, engines already flaring back to life.
Now without the force of Iida against him, Izuku dropped to a single knee, outwardly struggling to right himself. Iida watched him fall, eyes widening, witnessing the perfect opening—
(Izuku made sure he had a hand on his staff, hiding it just behind his back, his thumb on the button to expand it)
As Izuku pulled himself onto his feet, swaying, Iida rushed at him again, grabbing his shoulders and spinning him outwards, pushing him swiftly to the edge of the arena.
Now, Iida was a good opponent. He was smart, strong, and fast. But he fought fair , and he expected his opponents to do the same.
Izuku was trained by Aizawa and Hizashi. There was no fair— there was only survival.
Right as Iida made contact with Izuku, Izuku did three things in quick succession. First, he grabbed on tight to Iida, hooking his elbow around Iida’s upper arm. With his free hand, still clutching his staff, he pressed the button and dropped the expanding metal rod in between Iida’s strides. And then?
Well, then he judo-flipped Iida out of bounds.
The whole exchange happened in less than a minute. One second, Iida was pushing Izuku out of bounds, and the next, Iida was practically ejected from the ring with Izuku left inside.
For a second, the arena fell silent, shocked. Only when Izuku was announced as the winner of the match did the crowd erupt .
“In a surprising turn of events, it… it looks like Iida Tenya has been thrown out of the arena! Eraser, honestly, I’m not quite sure what just happened—”
“Izuku tripped Iida with his staff right before getting pushed out, causing him to stumble over his own feet. This allowed him to regain control of Iida, harnessing the momentum of his opponent’s own speed to flip him over his shoulder. I wouldn’t be surprised if he took the blow purposefully before, to get Iida to let his guard down.”
Izuku was already walking across the boundary line, offering his (not injured) arm to Iida, ignoring the booing and screaming of the crowd as best as he could. Iida looked dazed, his glasses hanging off of his face on one ear, his hair speckled with the arena’s dirt.
He glanced up as Izuku approached, shock marring his features that soon turned to disappointment. He took Izuku’s arm with a nod, wincing as he pulled himself off of the ground.
“I must say, that was quite— well, it was quite unexpected. I should have known you wouldn’t go down so easily. It was an honor to lose to you, Izuku.”
His heart still racing from the adrenaline, Izuku tried to come up with something to say. But looking at Iida’s dejected face, knowing the feeling of loss that weighed upon his shoulders, nestled in his chest— was this how Katsuki saw his victims, after he beat them in such finality?
The thought stopped Izuku in his tracks.
To be a winner meant that Izuku had made someone the loser. It was their memories he would taint, always looming, the bringer of pain and sorrow and hurt.
The crowd booed, and Izuku almost wished they would scream louder.
“Izuku, is everything alright?” Iida placed a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, eyes gleaming with concern. “I didn’t hit you too hard, did I? Please, let me accompany you to Recovery Girl—”
“Sorry, Iida, I’m— I’m fine. Guess I just zoned out.” Izuku rubbed his face with his hands, probably getting dirt and blood all over his cheeks in the process, but he didn’t really care. “You were an incredible opponent, Iida. I look forward to a rematch someday soon, okay?”
Iida smiled, but Izuku could tell that he wasn’t fully convinced. He let the teen guide him to Recovery Girl’s tent without complaint, let his wrist be bandaged and his vitals checked without a word. After a little while, Iida left him to be with his family. His brother and parents wanted to wish him well, after all.
Recovery Girl had let him go after forcing him to take some gummy vitamins, and so Izuku had shuffled his way over to an empty bathroom, walking as if in a haze, not really seeing anything around him. He washed the dirt and blood and grime from his hands, cleaning his face with some wet paper towels. He didn’t want to look at himself in the mirror, but he forced himself to. Two different shades of green stared back at him, dull and empty and pathetic; the sight made him want to scream. This is what a winner looks like?
Katsuki’s and Tokoyami’s fight raged on above the arena, shaking the ceiling of the bathroom every few seconds. Not soon after came the announcement of Katsuki’s win. He’d be fighting Bakugou soon, Izuku knew. He should prepare himself. He needed to prepare himself.
Izuku gripped the edges of the sink with whitened knuckles. He tried to run through some grounding exercises that his therapist had taught him, but grounding can only do so much when panic isn’t the target. Izuku wasn’t having an anxiety attack, he wasn’t struggling to breathe, he knew where he was and how he got there, but—
But it wasn’t right. Or, it didn’t feel right.
He had won. He had been winning, but still, he felt… powerless. Weak. No, that wasn’t right either. He had power, and he had strength. He felt corrupt .
It was a game. It is a game, he reminded himself. It is okay for there to be losers, and for there to be a winner.
And next, he’d be fighting Katsuki. He was going to win, and Katsuki was going to lose.
“The final round of the Sports Festival will begin in 20 minutes. Competitors, please make your way to your respective preparation rooms. I repeat, the final round of the Sports Festival…”
Izuku dried his hands. This time, he avoided his reflection with ease. His heartbeat was steady, his breathing normal. After all of this was over, he could schedule an appointment with his therapist. Right now, he had a fight to worry about. And Katsuki sure as hell wasn’t going to wait for Izuku to sort out his feelings.
Izuku knew, objectively, that he could beat Katsuki. He knew the other’s weaknesses, knew how to exploit them. He was confident in his own ability and had long since settled on a strategy to ensure his victory.
Still, with all of that in consideration, fighting Katsuki wasn’t going to be easy . He was strong, fast, and powerful. Not to mention the emotional trauma Izuku had to wrestle with every time he even looked at him.
As the two stood on opposite sides of the arena, waiting for Present Mic to finish his introductions, Izuku took a few deep breaths. He stared at Katsuki cooly, preparing himself for battle. Ever since he beat Iida, a memory had been clawing its way through the depths of Izuku’s brain. Now, facing Katsuki in the few moments they had before the start of the match, it made itself known.
They had cornered Izuku after school. Bakugou and three of his lackeys, all wearing matching grins and wicked eyes. They were so young for such malice, for such hatred. Izuku didn’t understand it fully, and he was sure that they didn’t either. But when something, or someone, is out of place, it is only natural for others to do anything possible to regain order. That’s what Izuku’s mother told him, at least.
Today, Izuku made a friend. Well, he had tried to. There was a new boy in school, one who didn’t know about Izuku’s quirklessness. He had introduced himself to Izuku, and the two played heroes and villains for a few minutes before anyone had caught on to what was happening. Before anyone realized that, not only was someone playing with the quirkless kid, but that they let the quirkless kid don the role of the “hero.”
When they did, they were quick to correct the error. Bakugou was quick to correct the error.
It was the first time he had known the smell of burning flesh. Izuku, curled up on himself with vision so blurry he could barely see, had tried to look at Bakugou after the fact. He wanted to see the look on his face. Was he smiling? Was he shocked? Guilty?
He wanted to know: How did it feel to win against someone who just wanted to play the hero? How did it feel to birth a villain before your very eyes, under the touch of your single hand?
Izuku hadn’t thought about that day for a long, long time. He was different, now. And so was Katsuki. But Izuku knew the anger that Katsuki held inside of him. The one thing that he could never keep in check remained the same, even after so many years. And Izuku would be a fool if he didn’t take advantage of it.
Midnight called the start of the match, and the two jumped into action.
As soon as Midnight’s arm dropped, Izuku was already pulling his expandable staff from his utility belt, snapping it open and dodging Katsuki’s incoming right hook, sweeping out one leg underneath Bakugou while his torso shifted, slamming his staff into his opponent’s stomach.
Bakugou jumped over the leg sweep but didn’t see the second hit coming, too over-extended from his punch to avoid it in time. He took the blow hard, reeling backwards, teeth bared in a vicious snarl. Izuku could feel the shift in the air as Katsuki’s hands crackled, searing explosions propelling him forward, just like Izuku had anticipated.
The way Katsuki actually fought was predictable. He starts without his quirk, to feel out the competition. After he’s sized up his opponent’s general strength and reflexes, he uses his quirk correspondingly. If he deems his opponent weak, he’ll start out strong, hitting them with something they’ll never be able to dodge. If his opponent is up to his standards, he’ll save the bigger explosions for the end of the battle. His tactics are almost animalistic, but incredibly calculated. If he keeps a steady mind, that is.
Izuku knew that he wasn’t going down without a fight. He’d have to be smart about his attacks, and couldn’t afford to take more than a few hits himself. Tire Bakugou out, get him to drop his guard, and Izuku would be just fine. Or… moderately fine.
The next few minutes were a flurry of movement. Bakugou, after the first hit, was enraged . He flew at Izuku with explosions blazing around him, trying to catch Izuku off guard. One moment he’d be on Izuku’s right, the next he’d propel himself towards the left, changing direction in seconds. It was quite impressive, and would have worked on most other opponents.
But Izuku had been studying Bakugou for years. Every twitch of his fingers, every change in his breathing– Bakugou was an open book, and Izuku had memorized the pages. He’d had to.
When Bakugou tried to hit Izuku with an explosion, Izuku moved with it. Bakugou’s explosions came from his palms; wherever his palms were pointing, that was where the explosion would go. Every time he evaded an attack, Izuku would make one of his own. Not debilitating, but enough to slow Bakugou down, to anger him even more.
A hit to the ankle, an elbow to the back, a blow to the back of the knee. Izuku danced through the explosions around him, uncaring of how his uniform was slowly charring, or the spots on his skin that burned away when he got too close to his opponent.
The more Izuku moved, the more unsteady Bakugou got. His attacks weren’t hitting Izuku in the ways he wanted them to, and his movements were sloppier than before, desperate.
Izuku knew the moment he had been pushed too far. Izuku had smacked his arm away with his staff to redirect an explosion, and Bakugou screamed . He let out the strongest explosion of the fight so far, blasting Izuku to the other side of the field. Izuku flipped in the air, using his staff to dig into the ground to stop himself from going out of bounds, pulling himself up the moment he hit the dirt. His head ached with a vengeance, ears ringing like he had run straight into a church bell.
Bakugou stood across the field, hands blazing, absolutely furious.
“ STOP PLAYING WITH ME, ” he shouted, voice breaking painfully. He was panting, hands popping with explosions, smoke billowing behind him in waves.
Izuku remembered a searing pain in his shoulder, a handprint on his skin, the smell of burning flesh. The teachers didn’t stop them, didn’t help him. Said it was just kids—
“Playing?” Izuku called out, head upturned, looking down at his opponent with a carefully collected blank expression. “You haven’t landed a hit on me since the round started. I figured you were just warming up.”
It would work. It had to work. Izuku was getting too tired, his energy too low. If things kept going the way they were, Izuku wouldn't win. He struggled to hide his heaving shoulders, desperate for breath. His hands were shaking, but he was counting on Bakugou being too distracted to notice.
There was a second of quiet, as Bakugou processed Izuku’s words.
And then they sunk in.
Bakugou went wild . His eyes were almost feral as he whipped his hands behind his body, springing off the ground with his legs and flying through the air towards Izuku, palms alight with explosions.
Years ago, Izuku would have run. He would have turned heel and prayed that he’d be fast enough, or that Bakugou would take pity on him just once.
But now? Izuku didn’t run.
He stood still, planting his feet and bracing himself, eyeing the edge of the arena, waiting for Bakugou to come closer, close enough–
He could feel the searing heat from Bakugou’s quirk wash over him, the scent of burnt caramel stinging his nose–
Bakugou turned his palms to face Izuku, the momentum from his explosions carrying him forward, armed with a wicked grin, the air around him burning hot.
He was coming straight at Izuku, clearly expecting two outcomes: either he would hit his target, or Izuku would dodge.
Except Izuku didn’t dodge; he waited, still, until the very last second. Waited even as his skin burned, until Bakugou was so close that he could see the sweat dripping down his face. But instead of dodging, Izuku shifted . See, the problem with Bakugou’s strategy is that, when he’s in the air, he can’t control his body without moving his arms to adjust his position. That takes time, and space.
Both of which Izuku made sure were not an issue. As he shifted his body to the right he dropped his staff, reaching out to grab Bakugou’s arm with both hands, aligning himself just right—
The whole exchange happened in less than a second. By the time Bakugou realized what was happening, it was already too late.
Bakugou had built up an incredible amount of momentum. Momentum that, when Izuku pulled back and slammed Bakugou’s side and stomach with his entire metal shin, carried him across the arena.
Bakugou’s explosions puttered out. He hit the ground hard.
The crowd went quiet.
Izuku picked up his staff, face empty of emotion. He watched Bakugou struggle to get up for a moment, quirk spluttering. His eyes found Izuku’s, wide and disoriented, and Bakugou howled .
“NO– this isn’t how it’s supposed to go!” Bakugou gasped, his voice breaking painfully as he clenched his teeth, trying to get up again. He managed to make it onto his feet before stumbling forward, landing on his knees.
Present Mic was saying something over the loudspeaker and the crowd was jeering in response, but Izuku didn’t care to listen. Neither did Bakugou, apparently.
“You’re weaker than me. You always have been. I won’t lose to you .” Bakugou spat out, glaring at Izuku, breathing heavily.
“You already have.”
Bakugou’s eyes widened as he finally looked down.
He was out of bounds.
In a fit of rage, Bakugou launched himself toward Izuku, palms crackling and eyes filled with hatred –
Before dropping to the ground, asleep. Midnight stood to Izuku’s left, pulling down her sleeve to use her quirk on Bakugou, eyeing the boy sadly. She turned to Izuku after calling for one of the robotic stretchers, offering him a tight-lipped smile.
Izuku just nodded at her in thanks, feeling numb. The screaming of the crowd was almost deafening at this point as Hizashi announced:
“Yamazawa Izuku is the winner of the Sports Festival!”
He turned to leave, glancing at Bakugou. The boy was being carried to Recovery Girl’s tent, motionless.
He looked down at his hands, his arms, covered in burns.
He knew he should go to Recovery Girl’s tent, too. Bakugou’s quirk had only gotten stronger since middle school; burns that were once first or second-degree were now well into third degree-territory.
Izuku turned the other way. They didn’t hurt that bad, not right now at least. And he really needed to be alone at the moment.
As he walked to the exit of the arena, closer to the crowd, he didn’t dodge the things being thrown at him. The words being screamed at him were muffled, his ears still ringing from the explosions. He tried not to think about what they were saying.
After a few minutes of wandering, he found an empty room. Slipping inside quietly, he sat in the corner of the room on the floor, pulling his knees close to his chest, letting his head fall against them.
He’d finally won. He should be happy, right?
Izuku thought about Bakugou’s words, and the hatred in his voice as he looked at him. How much had Bakugou really changed since then? How much had Izuku?
Was this what it meant to win?
Tears streamed steadily down his cheeks, stinging his burned skin as they embraced. Even after everything— death and villains and torture— it never got easier . He got taller and stronger and quieter but he still remained, somehow, inexplicably , the problem. He loses, and it’s not enough. He wins, and it’s even worse.
Izuku choked on a sob, hands tangling in his dirt-crusted hair. He pulled hard, ignoring the strands that came loose in his hands, welcoming the pain. He focused on a spot on the floor of the room, a cracked piece of tile below Izuku’s feet. He memorized the lines, the broken ceramic, the peeling grout. Even as he blinked, the pieces remained in his mind.
He honestly didn’t know how long he had sat there, curled up on the floor. It could have been a few minutes; it could have been hours. An announcement over the loudspeaker broke him out of his stupor.
“The awards ceremony will begin in ten minutes. I repeat, the awards ceremony will begin in ten minutes. All recipients please report to Tunnel E15 as soon as possible–”
Taking in a shuddering breath, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand, Izuku pulled himself off of the ground. His hands and arms were aching, the skin almost completely gone in some spots. The edges of his fingers were numb. Recovery Girl was going to eat him alive if he left them without treatment much longer.
With a sigh, he collected himself, standing up taller and straightening his shoulders. He left the room quickly, headed to Recovery Girl’s tent, hoping she’d be understanding.
She was not.
“You foolish child, throwing yourself in front of him like that. These burns are serious! Without me, you’d need skin grafts. And not coming to me immediately? It’s almost as if you want your nerves to die!”
Izuku took the scolding silently, head turned down. He fought the urge to flinch as her lips connected with his cheek, sapping the energy from him, but healing his wounds rather quickly. After just a few seconds, all that remained of his burns were faint pink splotches on his skin. He wondered if they would still scar. More marks from Bakugou, on his body, seared into his skin. It wasn’t a pleasant thought.
She pushed a cup into his hands, a few gummies inside.
“Eat them. And you better believe I’m telling your parents about this.”
Izuku nodded, face blank. He ate the gummies without complaint, throwing the paper cup into a nearby trash can before turning around to leave. Before he could make it out the door, Recovery Girl called out, her voice softer than earlier.
“You… you fought well, child. I know you tried to minimize injuries for the others. The worst that Todoroki boy just had was a busted knee, and Bakugou got away with minimal bruising. If you had fought for longer, I’m sure that their wounds would have been worse. I know the crowd may not be fond of you, but I for one quite appreciate your effectiveness. Although next time, come to me sooner rather than later. Got it?”
Izuku paused, chest feeling tighter than before. He swallowed, blinking away the stinging of his eyes.
“Yes ma’am… thank you,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice from breaking. Recovery Girl just sighed, watching him with sadness in her eyes.
“You go on now, you’ve got a ceremony to attend. The others are already there.” She shooed him out the door hastily, patting him gently on the back as he went.
The medal ceremony was quick. Tokoyami received bronze with grace, and Bakugou was strangely quiet as All Might placed the silver medal around his neck. He wouldn’t look at Izuku, and Izuku wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
All Might made some sort of speech about Izuku’s strength and courage. He, too, did not look Izuku in the eyes. Izuku didn’t mind. His heart was racing again, his hands tacky with sweat for what was to come.
Izuku had made Aizawa and Hizashi promise, that if he won, they would do something for him. It was stupid and brash and would probably hurt him in the long run, but Izuku didn’t care.
As he stood on the highest level of the winner’s podium, with every camera on him, All Might just having stepped away from placing the gold around Izuku’s neck, an announcement rang over the field.
“PRESENTING YAMAZAWA IZUKU, UA’S FIRST EVER QUIRKLESS WINNER OF THE SPORTS FESTIVAL!”
The crowd broke their silence, unleashing their fury on Izuku. Now, no one could pretend that he had some invisible, intelligence-enhancing quirk. No agility quirk, no subtle power booster.
Izuku looked straight into the closest camera and gave his biggest grin. He bowed, the symphony of hate washing over him like he was the conductor of the world’s finest orchestra. Let them scream, let them jeer. His win wasn’t for them. He was sure that he looked insane right now, and it didn't bother him in the slightest. Maybe it was time for him to regain the "quirkless freak title" after all.
To his surprise, they didn’t cut the cameras. They stayed on Izuku, on the gold medal around his neck, on his radiant smile.
He only hoped the footage would reach those who needed it.
As Izuku made his way up to the announcer’s booth, gold medal gleaming around his neck, he found himself overcome with apprehension. It was… strange. He had already had a breakdown earlier. The guilt of winning ate away at his insides, but he knew it would be resolved in time. This wasn’t that. This was something else, something— different. But everything was fine . He won, he fought well, he wasn’t badly injured. He was going to celebrate with his parents and eat Katsudon and have a good night.
And still, Izuku couldn’t let himself relax. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the hall as he glanced behind himself for the third time. Nothing. After the awards ceremony, half of the pro-heroes in the audience had practically sprinted from their seats, barely concealing some type of alarm, as if they were trying not to cause a scene. Nobody else noticed, but Izuku knew that something had happened. But none of the audience members seemed troubled in the slightest, which meant that the media hadn’t been alerted. Maybe something with the Hero Commission? Some new order, or training, or whatnot. Izuku tried to calm himself, putting on a shaky smile as he opened the door to the announcer’s booth.
It fell immediately at the sight before him.
Nedzu and Detective Tsukauchi were speaking with Aizawa and Hizashi. Aizawa was being held by Hizashi, quirk activated and gaze furious, terrified, broken —
Hizashi was crying.
“What’s going on?”
The room fell silent when Izuku spoke, the adults just now noticing his presence. All eyes were on him, filled with fear, worry, guilt.
“Izuku, it’s… it’s good to see you. Why don’t we sit down and talk—” Izuku ignored Tsukauchi, looking at Aizawa instead. Panic rose in his chest at the sight of his dad, his single eye blazing crimson, tears streaming down his face. Izuku noticed with a start that Hizashi’s arm around his shoulder was not for comfort; it was to hold him back.
“What’s going on?” Izuku demanded again, this time directly at Aizawa. The man finally met his gaze, his eye returning to its normal black. He looked angrier than Izuku had ever seen him before.
He also looked terrified.
The words that fell from his mouth next will forever be seared into Izuku’s brain. There’s no way to truly describe how, upon hearing them, his body was outside the realm of his control. He couldn’t move his arms or legs, couldn’t even twitch his fingers. His veins felt as though they had been pumped with arctic air, freezing and in shock with no warmth nearby to save them, his breath stuttering in his chest like his lungs had suddenly vanished because how else was he supposed to react when Aizawa said—
“Overhaul escaped.”