I pushed myself up from my seat, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension building there. The tournament bracket loomed above the arena, my name paired with Tokage's in the first match. Thirty minutes until we faced off.
"Gotta get ready," I said, adjusting my uniform.
Kirishima thrust a fist toward me. "Knock her dead, man. Avenge me."
I bumped his fist with mine. "I got you man."
"You'll do amazing," Hagakure's gloves clapped together excitedly. "Show everyone what you can do!"
Manga jumped up. "THE PROTAGONIST ENTERS THE ARENA!" His head tilted forward, expression changing to determined eyes. "VICTORY ASSURED!"
I smiled at his enthusiasm. "Thanks. I'll try not to disappoint."
"You'll need this," Yaoyorozu said, a small flash of light emanating from her palm as she created what looked like a thin metal disc. She pressed it into my hand. "It's a focusing tool—helps clear the mind before competition. Ancient meditation technique."
The cool metal felt oddly comforting against my skin. "Thanks, Yaomomo. Didn't take you for the superstitious type."
Her dark eyes softened slightly. "It's not superstition if it works." She smoothed her ponytail in a gesture I'd come to recognize as her nervous habit. "Good luck, Midoriya."
As I turned to leave, Camie stood up, blocking my path. Her light brown eyes held that mischievous glint I'd grown familiar with.
"Hold up, Izu. Forgetting something?"
Before I could respond, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine—brief but firm. The stadium noise faded momentarily, replaced by the sound of my heartbeat.
She pulled back, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips. "For luck," she said. "Though you won't need it."
Kaminari whistled from further down the row. "Get a room, you two!"
I rolled my eyes at him, feeling heat rise to my cheeks despite my best efforts. "I'll see you all after."
As I navigated the concrete corridors, the noise of the crowd became a distant rumble. The waiting area for contestants sat at the end of a long hallway, designed to give competitors privacy before their matches. Each door along the corridor marked a separate preparation room.
I found the one labeled with my name and pushed it open. Simple but functional—a bench, a small table with water bottles, and a screen showing the arena. Perfect for last-minute preparation.
I sat down, closing my eyes to center myself. Bang's training techniques came to mind automatically—controlling breath, focusing energy, clearing extraneous thoughts. The water bottle sat untouched; I wasn't thirsty, just ready.
A knock at the door interrupted my meditation.
"Come in," I called.
The door swung open to reveal All Might.
"Young Midoriya," he said, closing the door behind him. "I hope I'm not interrupting your preparation."
I stood up automatically. "Not at all, sir."
He waved a hand. "Please, sit. You need your energy for the tournament."
I sat back down, watching as he fully entered.
All Might's towering form filled the small preparation room, yet his presence felt warm, almost fatherly. His perpetual smile held a different quality than usual—less the blinding beacon of hope and more a quiet pride.
"That was quite the speech earlier, young Midoriya." He settled onto the bench, which creaked under his muscular frame. "You spoke from the heart about overcoming limitations. About proving that anyone can become a hero through dedication and hard work."
I met his bright blue eyes, remembering our first meeting—how different things were now. "I meant every word. Everyone has a path to achieve their dreams. No matter what quirk."
"Indeed." His smile widened. "You know, when I first met you on that rooftop, I saw a scared boy desperate to be a hero. Now I see a young man who already embodies what being a hero truly means."
The metal disc Yaoyorozu gave me caught the fluorescent light as I turned it between my fingers. "I had good teachers. Gramps showed me there's more to strength than just having a powerful Quirk."
"Ah yes, Bang." All Might chuckled, the sound resonating in the small space. "That old man and my mentor has forgotten more about heroics than most of us will ever learn. Though I must say, your progress goes beyond mere technique."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"That warmth you showed during your speech, that genuine desire to inspire others—it reminded me of something I've spent my whole career trying to perfect. Something my mentor had as well." He tapped his chest. "The smile that says everything will be alright. You have it naturally, young Midoriya."
"I'm just being myself."
"Perhaps that's exactly what makes it special." All Might stood. "You know, I came here to wish you luck, but watching you now..." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "You don't need it, do you?"
I rose as well. "No sir. I've trained for this. I know exactly what I'm capable of."
"That confidence..." He placed a massive hand on my shoulder. "It suits you."
"TWO MINUTES REMAINING LISTENERS!"
"Time for me to go," I said, rolling my shoulders.
"Indeed." All Might stepped aside, giving me a clear path to the door. "Show them what you can do, young Midoriya. Show them the future of heroics."
I nodded, my hand on the door handle. "Thank you, All Might."
"Thank me by winning." His grin turned playful. "After all, I have a rather large bet riding on you with Recovery Girl."
That startled a laugh out of me. "Wouldn't want you to lose money, sir."
"That's the spirit!"
The corridor outside felt cooler as I made my way toward the arena entrance. The crowd's roar grew louder with each step, but my mind remained clear.
Present Mic's voice boomed through the stadium: "AND NOW, ENTERING FROM THE EAST GATE..."
I took my position, waiting for the signal. My hands were steady, my breathing even. No nerves, just readiness.
"FROM CLASS 1-A, THE WONDER BOY WHO'S BEEN TURNING HEADS AND HASN'T LOST YET... IZUKU MIDORIYA!"
The gate opened, sunlight flooding in. I stepped out into the roar of the crowd, my eyes adjusting to the brightness. Across the concrete arena, Tokage stood waiting, her sharp grin visible even at this distance.
"AND FROM CLASS 1-B, THE LIZARD QUEEN HERSELF... SETSUNA TOKAGE!"
I took my position, noting how she shifted her weight, already preparing to separate parts of herself.
Midnight raised her whip. "Are both competitors ready?"
"Ready," Tokage called, her grin widening.
I nodded, settling into a relaxed stance. A smile tugged at my lips, not forced or practiced, but genuine. This was what I'd worked for.
"Begin!"
Tokage moved first, her body separating into dozens of pieces that shot toward me like guided missiles. Smart—trying to overwhelm me before I could close distance. But she didn't know what I could do. Not yet.
I didn't dodge. Didn't need to. My smile grew as the pieces approached.
I lifted a single finger on each hand.
The first piece—what looked like part of her shoulder—curved around my extended digit, spinning away like a deflected bullet. Two more fragments followed, each meeting the same fate. My finger moved in small, precise motions, guided by the principles of Water Stream. No wasted energy, just efficient redirection.
"Impressive control, Tokage," I said, continuing to deflect pieces with minimal movement. "But predictable trajectories."
Her eyes narrowed, more pieces of her body separating to join the assault. "Just warming up, pretty boy. Let's see how long you can keep that up."
Present Mic's voice boomed overhead. "WHAT'S THIS? CLASS 1-A'S MIDORIYA IS FENDING OFF TOKAGE'S ASSAULT WITH... IS THAT ONE FINGER? ERASER HEAD, WHAT DO YOU MAKE OF THIS DISPLAY?"
"He's reading the trajectories of her fragments," Aizawa's tired voice cut in. "Minimal movements for maximum effect. Efficient."
I kept my breathing steady as I redirected more pieces, each deflection creating a pattern. The scattered fragments of Tokage's body hung in the air around me like a deadly constellation. She hadn't fully committed to the attack yet—still testing my defenses.
"You know," she called out, her head floating separate from her torso now, "most guys would love having a girl throw herself at them."
"Sorry to disappoint." I shifted my stance slightly. "But I've got a girlfriend who'd kill me if I let another woman she didn't know get too touchy."
The crowd laughed. Tokage's grin turned predatory. "Cute. But let's see how you handle this!"
All her pieces shot forward at once, approaching from every angle. A solid strategy—overwhelming force from all directions. Against most opponents, it would work.
I wasn't most opponents.
My body moved like flowing water, each motion connecting to the next. Fingers traced precise patterns through the air, deflecting pieces with surgical precision. Where others might see chaos, I saw patterns. Trajectories. Points of impact.
"HOLY SMOKES! MIDORIYA'S TURNED THIS INTO A DANCE! HE'S NOT JUST DEFENDING, HE'S CREATING A RHYTHM!"
He wasn't wrong. Each deflection fed into the next, building momentum. Tokage's pieces spun away in increasingly elaborate spirals, her attempts to correct their course growing more frantic.
"Stop. Moving." Her voice carried an edge now, frustration bleeding through. "Just. Stand. Still!"
"That's not how water works." I stepped forward, maintaining my defensive flow while advancing. "It adapts. Flows around obstacles. Finds paths of least resistance."
Her head darted back, eyes widening as she realized I was steadily closing distance. The floating pieces of her body began to withdraw, trying to regroup.
"Oh no you don't." I surged forward, my movements shifting from defensive to offensive in a heartbeat. My fingers struck key pieces before they could retreat, sending them spinning in new directions—toward other fragments.
Chain reactions rippled through her separated parts as they collided, their coordinated movement dissolving into chaos. Her concentration broke, pieces tumbling from the air.
"What... what are you?" Her remaining eye fixed on me, pupils contracting to thin slits.
I caught her head before it could fall, my grip gentle but firm. "Just a guy who trained really hard."
"THERE IT IS, FOLKS! MIDORIYA'S TURNED TOKAGE'S OWN QUIRK AGAINST HER! THE PIECES ARE FALLING LIKE RAIN!"
She tried to separate her head into smaller pieces to escape my grip, but I'd already positioned my fingers at key points. Each attempt at division met resistance, my touch disrupting her control.
"That's the problem with splitting into so many pieces," I said, keeping my voice conversational. "Harder to maintain focus when your consciousness is spread thin. Especially after expending so much energy on elaborate attacks."
Her body parts lay scattered across the concrete, twitching as she struggled to maintain control over them. The distance and her wavering concentration made reassembly difficult.
"Impossible," she whispered. "This shouldn't—"
"Want to know the funny thing about water?" I started walking toward the largest cluster of her parts, still holding her head. "People underestimate it. Think it's weak because it yields. But water shaped the Grand Canyon. Carved mountains. Created valleys." I reached the pile of her fragments. "Not through force, but through persistence. Understanding. Precision."
The fight had left her eyes, replaced by something between awe and fear. "Monster..."
I set her head down gently next to her other parts. "Ready to yield? Or do we need to continue?"
Her shoulders—the ones on the ground—slumped. "I... I forfeit."
"WINNER BY FORFEIT: IZUKU MIDORIYA!"
The crowd erupted, their cheers mixing with excited chatter. I heard snippets of conversation:
"Did you see—"
"One finger—"
"Like something out of—"
"Who is this guy?"
I helped gather the rest of Tokage's pieces, making sure she could reintegrate properly. As her body reformed, her movements were shaky, either from quirk exhaustion or lingering shock.
"That was a good match," I said, offering her a hand up. "Your quirk control is impressive."
She took my hand but couldn't quite meet my eyes. "You... you were holding back the whole time, weren't you?"
I smiled. "Focus on recovery for now. We can discuss technique later if you'd like."
"Really? You'd do that?"
"Of course. We are on the same team at the end of the day."
As we walked back toward the tunnel, Present Mic's voice followed me: "AND THAT'S WHY THEY CALL IT WATER STREAM ROCK SMASHING FIST, FOLKS! THOUGH WE DIDN'T SEE MUCH ROCK SMASHING THAT MATCH—JUST PURE TECHNICAL MASTERY! WHAT A WAY TO START THE TOURNAMENT!"
What a way indeed.