Adjusts Stitch onesie and cradles a desperately needed cup of coffee
Hey everyone!
First of all, THREE THOUSAND POWERSTONES?! happy flails while trying not to actually spill the coffee this timeYou guys are absolutely incredible! I know I've been a bit quiet in the comments lately - midterms were trying to murder me with academic overload. But I survived! dramatic pose And now it's finally spring break!
settles into writing chair and pulls hood up, Stitch ears flopping adorably
I have to admit, seeing all your theories and reactions to the Sports Festival has been keeping me going through the exam chaos. Some of you are getting scary close with your predictions! mysterious author noises And others are coming up with ideas that are making me frantically scribble notes because they're too good not to use somehow.
The good news is I actually managed to get ahead on chapters during my stress-writing sessions between exams. Having at least three chapters ready means I can actually gasp relax during break! Maybe even catch up on some sleep?
Speaking of chapters, this bonus one was particularly fun to write. The dynamics between certain characters just keep evolving in ways that surprise even me sometimes. And yes, that's totally my way of saying "brace yourselves" without actually saying it.
adjusts glasses that have somehow gotten smudged already
Before we dive in though, I just wanted to say thank you again. Not just for the powerstones, but for all the thoughtful comments and discussions. You guys make writing this story even more enjoyable than it already is. Seeing your reactions and interpretations adds whole new layers I hadn't even considered.
pulls up document while sipping coffee
Now then, shall we see what our heroes are up to? I think it's time for another peek behind the scenes of the Sports Festival...
======
Hitomi Todoroki sat alone in her preparation area. The stadium was hyped for her match, but her mind lingered on Izuku Midoriya's fight against Setsuna Tokage two rounds ago.
The memory played like a perfect chess match in her head. How he'd outmaneuvered the girl who could split herself into pieces. How he'd remained calm while surrounded by flying limbs and body parts. How he'd turned Tokage's strength against her with nothing but precise touches and perfect timing.
"Just a guy who trained really hard," he'd said when Tokage asked what he was.
A faint smile touched Hitomi's lips before she caught herself. She schooled her expression back to neutrality, though no one was watching her.
What fascinated her most wasn't his victory—she'd expected that—but his method. No grandiose displays of strength. No overwhelming force. Just water wearing down stone, as he'd put it. Understanding. Precision. Patience.
She absently touched her left side, the side she refused to use. Her father's side.
Midoriya fought differently than anyone she'd ever seen. All Might had raw power. Bakugo had explosive aggression. Her father had overwhelming force. But Midoriya... he had something else. Something that made her wonder if there was another path to strength than the one her father had laid out for her.
Their conversation alone in this very room replayed in her mind.
"For what it's worth," he'd said, "I think you'd be formidable even without either side of your quirk. Your tactical mind, your precision—those aren't powers you inherited from anyone."
The unexpected compliment had caught her off guard. Heat had bloomed across her cheeks, and for once, it had nothing to do with her quirk.
"I—" She'd stopped, unsure how to respond to praise without agenda. Her father's compliments always came with expectations attached. This felt different. "Thank you."
She'd replayed those words countless times since. Had analyzed them for hidden motives, for the catch that must be there. Found none.
His eyes when he'd said it—calm, earnest green—had held no calculation, no manipulation. Just honest assessment.
Hitomi stood, needing to clear her head before her match. The hallway stretched empty before her, the sounds of the stadium muffled through concrete walls. Her match against Sero would begin soon. She needed to focus, to prepare herself mentally. The tape-quirk user was creative and mobile. Not a threat to her ice, but she shouldn't underestimate him.
She turned the corner toward the entrance and stopped dead.
A towering figure stood in the hallway, his back to her, flames dancing across his shoulders. The temperature in the corridor rose several degrees from his mere presence.
Her father.
Endeavor turned, sensing her arrival. His turquoise eyes locked onto her, cold despite the flames surrounding him.
"Hitomi."
She said nothing, her body rigid.
"Your performance has been adequate," he said, each word measured. "Though your refusal to use your left side continues to be an embarrassment."
The temperature in the hallway dropped sharply, frost creeping along the floor near Hitomi's right foot. Her voice, when it came, was as cold as her ice.
"I have nothing to say to you."
"You're acting like a child." Endeavor took a step toward her. "This rebellion has gone on long enough. You were created to surpass All Might. To achieve what I could not. This petty refusal to use your full power only proves your immaturity."
Hitomi's hands clenched into fists. "'Created.' That's all we ever were to you. Not children. Tools."
"I gave you power," Endeavor growled. "A perfect balance of fire and ice. And you spit on that gift out of some misguided defiance."
"Gift?" Ice crackled along the floor, spreading further. "You call what you did to Mother a gift?"
Endeavor's flames intensified. "Your mother was weak. Her breakdown was her own failure. I expected better from you."
Something snapped inside Hitomi. Years of controlled rage threatened to spill over. The temperature around her plummeted further, her breath visible in the suddenly frigid air.
"Her breakdown? After years of your abuse? After being forced into a quirk marriage? After watching you treat your children like breeding experiments?" Her voice remained deadly calm, but ice spread up the walls now, crackling as it expanded. "You don't deserve her. You don't deserve any of us."
"Enough," Endeavor's voice boomed down the corridor. "You will use your fire in the next match. You will show the world the power of the Todoroki bloodline. That is not a request."
Hitomi's heterochromatic eyes—one gray, one turquoise—hardened. "I will never be what you created me to be."
"Then you'll never reach your potential," Endeavor said, his disappointment palpable. "You'll remain a pale shadow of what you could become. Half-formed. Incomplete."
The words struck deeper than she wanted to admit. The same doubts she wrestled with in private moments, now voiced by the man she hated most.
Before she could respond, a stadium attendant appeared at the end of the hall.
"Todoroki? You're up in two minutes."
Endeavor stepped aside, his massive frame still blocking much of the hallway. "Remember who you are," he said, his voice low. "A Todoroki. My legacy."
Hitomi brushed past him without another word, her right side so cold that frost formed on the wall where her shoulder nearly touched it.
She didn't hear the crowd as she entered the stadium. Didn't register Midnight's introduction or Present Mic's enthusiastic commentary. The roaring in her ears drowned everything out except her father's words, repeating on endless loop.
Half-formed. Incomplete. A pale shadow.
Across from her, Hanta Sero took his position, his friendly smile faltering slightly at her glacial expression.
"BEGIN!"
Hitomi barely heard the command. She stood motionless as Sero immediately went on the offensive, tape shooting from both elbows toward her.
Half-formed.
The tape wrapped around her torso, binding her arms to her sides.
Incomplete.
Sero yanked hard, lifting her off her feet and beginning to spin her.
A pale shadow.
"Sorry about this, Todoroki!" Sero called as he prepared to fling her out of bounds.
Something cold and hard settled in her chest. The rage she'd contained for years crystallized into a single, frozen moment of clarity.
"Apologies," she said softly.
Then she released her power.
Ice erupted from her right side in a massive, violent surge. It engulfed the tape, freezing it solid, then continued outward in a monstrous glacier that consumed everything in its path. The ice mountain grew and grew, blasting past Sero and continuing upward, smashing through the stadium's upper boundaries and reaching toward the sky.
The entire stadium fell silent as the enormous ice formation towered above them, glistening in the afternoon sun. Spectators in the front rows found themselves dusted with frost, shivering in the sudden cold snap.
Hitomi stood at the glacier's base, half-encased in her own ice, her face a mask of barely contained fury. The air around her crystallized with each breath.
Through the ice, she could see Sero completely immobilized, only his face visible in a prison of frost. His eyes were wide with shock, his breath coming in visible puffs of panic.
The silence stretched for several seconds before Present Mic found his voice.
"W-WHAT INCREDIBLE POWER! TODOROKI HAS CREATED AN ICEBERG THAT DWARFS THE STADIUM ITSELF! I'VE NEVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS IN ALL MY YEARS OF COMMENTARY!"
Midnight, who had leapt back to avoid the ice wave, approached cautiously. Frost crunched beneath her boots as she neared Sero.
"Sero, can you move at all?" she asked, her breath visible in the frigid air.
His teeth chattered. "N-n-no."
"Are you able to continue the match?"
"I c-c-can't even f-feel my b-body," Sero managed through trembling lips.
Midnight nodded and raised her whip. "Sero is immobilized! Todoroki advances to the next round!"
The crowd remained stunned for a moment longer before someone started clapping. Then another person joined in. Gradually, the applause built, accompanied by a chant that grew louder by the second.
"NICE TRY! NICE TRY! NICE TRY!"
The supportive cheer for Sero snapped Hitomi out of her rage-fueled daze. She blinked, truly seeing the destruction she'd caused for the first time. The massive glacier. The terrified look on Sero's face. The frost-covered spectators.
She'd lost control. Something she'd sworn never to do.
Moving carefully, she placed her right hand against the ice and began to regulate its temperature, causing it to recede gradually. Steam rose as the massive formation began to melt, water cascading down in rivulets.
"I'm sorry," she said to Sero as he was finally freed. "I went overboard."
He rubbed his arms vigorously, still shivering. "Y-you think?" Despite his obvious discomfort, he managed a shaky smile. "Remind me never to make you angry."
Too late for that, she thought, continuing to melt her creation methodically.
It took several minutes to completely clear the arena, during which the crowd continued their supportive chant for Sero. By the time Hitomi walked back to the tunnel, the ice was gone, though puddles remained across the concrete.
She didn't look toward the VIP section where she knew her father was watching. Didn't want to see his reaction to her display of power—power she'd used out of anger rather than strategy. She'd let him get under her skin, exactly what she'd promised herself she wouldn't do.
The locker room was blissfully empty when Hitomi entered. She needed solitude to regain her composure after her display in the arena. Her hand trembled slightly as she turned on the cold water tap, splashing her face and focusing on her breathing.
The door opened behind her, and she tensed, expecting Yaoyorozu or Uraraka with well-intentioned concern. Instead, Camie Utsushimi strolled in.
"That was lit, fam," Camie said, leaning against the wall. "Pretty sure Sero's gonna need therapy, but respect for the power move."
Hitomi dried her face with a paper towel. "I overreacted."
"Did you though?" Camie examined her perfectly manicured nails. "Seemed like you had mad beef with someone who wasn't even in that ring."
Hitomi's eyes narrowed slightly. Camie often played the airhead, but her perception was sharper than most gave her credit for.
"My personal matters aren't relevant to the tournament," Hitomi said stiffly.
"Sure, sure." Camie pushed off from the wall, approaching the mirror to check her appearance, applying lip gloss. "Just saying, we all got our reasons for being here. Some more complicated than others."
Hitomi remained silent, unsure how to respond to Camie's unexpected insight.
"My match is soon," Camie continued, her tone lightening. "Against miss big fist. Got any tips? Girl to girl?"
"Your boyfriend would be better at giving tips than I would," Hitomi said, her voice carrying a bitter edge she hadn't intended to reveal. She busied herself with straightening her gym uniform, avoiding Camie's gaze in the mirror.
Camie's perfectly shaped eyebrow arched. "Ah... I see." A knowing smile spread across her face as she turned to face Hitomi directly. "Damn, you've fallen for Izu."
The accusation hit with unexpected precision. Hitomi's fingers froze mid-motion, a flush creeping up her neck that had nothing to do with her quirk.
"That's absurd," Hitomi said, her voice too measured to be natural. "I barely know Midoriya."
"Mmhmm." Camie leaned against the sink, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp. "That blush says otherwise, fam."
Hitomi turned away, irritated at her body's betrayal. "You're mistaken."
"Whatever." Camie shrugged, her blonde waves bouncing with the motion. "I'll tell you what I told Momo and Hagakure."
This caught Hitomi's attention. She glanced back, her heterochromatic eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"
Camie examined her nails casually, but her voice carried a subtle weight beneath its usual playfulness. "I have two requirements if you want to be with my Izu."
The possessive "my Izu" stirred something uncomfortable in Hitomi's chest. She should walk away. This conversation was inappropriate, irrelevant, and frankly beneath her dignity. Yet she remained rooted in place, caught between pride and curiosity.
The silence stretched until Hitomi finally broke. "And those requirements would be?"
Camie's lips curled into a victorious smile. "First," she held up a manicured finger, "I'm the wife." Her tone was playful, but her eyes held a certainty that suggested she wasn't entirely joking.
Hitomi blinked, taken aback by the directness. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Camie said, tapping her finger against her palm for emphasis. "I'm the wife. That's non-negotiable."
Hitomi opened her mouth to object to the absurdity of this conversation, then closed it again, unsure what response could possibly be appropriate. "And the second requirement?" she finally asked, her voice cooler than before.
Camie's expression shifted, the playfulness fading into something more serious. "You can't be a heavy burden on Izuku."
The words hung in the air between them. Hitomi waited for elaboration, but Camie seemed to be studying her reaction.
"What exactly does that mean?" Hitomi asked, her arms crossing defensively across her ample chest.
Camie pushed herself off the sink, taking a step closer. "I know his heart," she said, her usual slang absent. "He'll do anything to protect someone he cares deeply about. And I mean anything."
Hitomi thought of his matches, how he fought with calculated precision rather than reckless abandon. It didn't match what Camie was implying.
"You can't be weak," Camie continued. "You can't be too dependent on his strength. He'll burn himself to ashes for people he loves, and I won't let that happen."
The intensity in Camie's normally carefree eyes startled Hitomi. This wasn't some territorial girlfriend posturing—this was genuine concern.
"That's why I'm telling you this now," Camie said. "Before it gets complicated."
Hitomi looked away, her mind racing. The implication that she was weak enough to become a burden stung, especially after her display in the arena. Yet beneath her indignation, Camie's words resonated with uncomfortable truth.
Maybe...
Maybe there was something about Midoriya that drew her. Not just his fighting style or his unusual quirkless status. Something in how he saw people—saw her—as more than the sum of their powers or their pedigrees.
Maybe there was something compelling about someone who had built himself from nothing, while she fought against everything she'd been given.
Maybe—
"Anyway," Camie's voice cut through her thoughts as she turned toward the door, "Good luck in your next match."
"Wait." The word escaped before Hitomi could reconsider.
Camie paused, hand on the door, and looked back expectantly.
Hitomi hesitated, then spoke. "Kendo's quirk gives her tremendous striking power, but it sacrifices speed and creates obvious attack patterns. She telegraphs her big moves. If you create illusions that exploit her limited peripheral vision when her hands are enlarged, you'll have an advantage."
Camie's expression shifted into a genuine smile—not her usual playful grin, but something quieter and more appreciative.
"Thanks, fam." She nodded, studying Hitomi with renewed interest. "For real."
After Camie left, Hitomi remained in the locker room, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
You can't be weak. You can't be too dependent on his strength.
The words echoed in her mind as she touched her left side—the side she refused to use. The side that carried her father's fire.
Was her refusal strength or weakness? A statement of independence or a self-imposed limitation?
For the first time, she allowed herself to consider the question without immediately dismissing it.
The tournament announcement system crackled to life. "Ashido Mina and Yaoyorozu Momo, please report to the arena in five minutes."
Hitomi straightened her uniform one last time and headed for the exit. With any luck, she'd be facing Midoriya in the semi finals—assuming he defeated Manga, and she got past Iida.
The thought both unnerved and excited her in equal measure.