They both rushed forward.
Bakugo led with explosions. Both palms firing, propelling him across the concrete in a low arc, his body tilted forward, his right fist cocked back for the opening hook that started every fight he'd ever been in.
Manga opened his mouth.
"Hinyari."
The word left his lips and the temperature dropped as the characters flew out of his mouth.
It wasn’t anything like Todoroki's ice. Something more subtle. The air above the arena chilled by ten, fifteen, twenty degrees in the span of a breath. The warmth of the setting sun vanished. The sweat on the crowd's skin went cold. The concrete stage, still warm from the day's heat, cooled until it felt like morning stone.
Bakugo felt it immediately.
His palms dried. The nitroglycerin that had been beading on his skin slowed to a trickle, then less. His explosions, the ones propelling him forward, flickered. Not gone, but weaker. The blasts that should have launched him like a missile across the arena instead pushed him like a strong shove.
His eyes widened.
He's cooling the arena. My sweat. He's cutting off my quirk.
Manga was already circling. His hands were loose at his sides and his bubble displayed a single emoji: a snowflake.
"HE'S DROPPED THE TEMPERATURE!" Present Mic shouted. "BAKUGO'S EXPLOSIONS SEEM WEAKER! FUKIDASHI JUST KNEECAPPED HIS QUIRK BEFORE THE FIRST PUNCH!"
"He studied Bakugo's fights," Aizawa said. "Explosion runs on sweat. The more he sweats, the stronger the blasts. By dropping the ambient temperature, Fukidashi reduced his sweat production. It's a simple counter, but effective."
Bakugo landed on the cold concrete. His explosions popped and fizzled where they should have roared. He could still fight. He could still blast. But everything was turned down, like someone had put a limiter on his output.
He bared his teeth.
"You think a little cold is gonna stop me?!"
He blasted, sliding forward instead of rocketing. He crossed the distance fast and threw the right hook.
Manga avoided the punch and following explosion before he grabbed his arm and attempted to slam him into the ring back first. But Bakugo avoided his counter throw, explosions blasting from his palms, slowing his fall, as he landed feet first. He twisted right back up both palms aimed at Manga.
“DIE!”
“Mochi-mochi!” The characters for springy, elastic, and chewy formed into a soft barrier in front of Manga.
The blast hit the onomatopoeia and bounced. Bakugo's own explosion reflected back at him, nearly engulfing him if he did not blast into the air, barely avoiding it.
Bakugo glared. This bastard really wasn’t just all show… He came again. Faster. With his explosions dampened by those damn words hovering in the air, Bakugo was forced to attack at a much closer range than he was used to. Which Manga took full advantage of. So when Bakugo slammed his palm into Manga’s gut and fired off an explosion that should’ve taken him off his feet and sent him flying out of the ring.
Manga stood his ground, kept his feet under him, and clotheslined Bakugo to the ground. Bakugo growled in rage instead of succumbing to the pain that surged throughout his body. He blasted off the ground and leapt toward Manga who was already rushing toward him. Manga’s upper body crashed into Bakugo who was not expecting a reckless charge into his explosions. Bakugo was smashed into the ground, momentarily he blacked out as his brain smashed against his skull in a way he wasn’t expecting.
“I’LL KILL YOU, YOU BUBBLE-HEADED BASTARD!!!” Just like before, Bakugo shot up, using his explosions as a boost.
Manga prepared for him to rush at him again, but the guy was smarter than he let on. Instead of flying toward Manga, he actually flew toward his hinyari. Small explosions popped in Bakugo’s right hand as it neared the onomatopoeia, preparing for a large one.
"Zudon." Manga held his index finger out like a pistol as the words flew out of his mouth like a gunshot.
Bakugo’s explosion engulfed and destroyed his hinyari and at the same time a bullet-like onomatopoeia crashed into his waist, causing him to spiral out of the air before falling on the stage.
Manga was running toward him. Bakugo could hear the heavy footfall of his feet. He blasted himself sideway just as Manga’s foot was about to make contact with his skull. Spinning away in the opposite direction to give him time to process the pain and get back to his feet.
Bakugo got back to his feet as he wiped blood from his lip. He was sweating. He was sweating really really bad. Miniature explosions popped from his palms consecutively.
“Here’s where the real fight starts, bastard!” He flew upward. He rocketed several meters into the air with only one explosion.
"You're really something else, Bakugo…" Manga said respectfully.
"Shut up and prepare to die!!!" He began to propel himself through the air in a circular motion, the ensuing twister collecting oxygen and momentum to fuel the subsequent explosion heading toward Manga. Who was just standing there.
Manga was a man as well. How could he hold back when his opponent was going all out like this? As his opponent, it was only expected to give the same amount of effort. He grinned.
“DOKKAAN!!!” Manga shouted as a tiny onomatopoeia shot out of his mouth.
“CEMENTOSS! PROTECT THE STADIUM!” Present Mic screamed.
Cementoss immediately got into gear as soon as he heard the sound dok, using that pro hero speed. Cement quickly covered the the entire stage in a dome, formed a wall in between Manga’s word and Bakugo. However, it wasn’t enough. Even with the extra layers Cementoss created, remembering what he was told about what the boy did to the Zero-Pointer during the heroics entrance exam.
The hardened cement was destroyed and reduced to rubble as a massive contained explosion swallowed the field.
The dust was still falling when Bakugo hit the ground.
He crashed into the rubble on his back, bounced once, and rolled until his shoulder caught a slab of broken concrete. The air had been punched out of his lungs. His ears were ringing. His spiral attack had been swallowed whole, consumed by an explosion bigger than anything he'd ever produced, and the shockwave had thrown him out of the sky like a swatted insect.
He coughed. Spat. Blood and concrete dust.
What the fuck was that…
He couldn't hear the crowd. He couldn't hear Present Mic. The ringing filled everything.
Across the destroyed arena, Manga rose from a crouch. The blast had caught him too. His PE uniform was torn down the front, scorched at the edges, and a burn ran along his left forearm where the heat had licked close. Dust coated his bubble.
But he was standing. And he was breathing steadily.
"WHAT AN EXPLOSION!!!" Present Mic's voice broke through the ringing. "FUKIDASHI JUST MATCHED BAKUGO'S ATTACK WITH A SINGLE WORD! CEMENTOSS COULDN'T CONTAIN IT! THE STAGE IS... GONE! MOST OF IT IS GONE!"
It was true. The arena looked like something had chewed through it. Half the concrete was rubble. Cracks spider-webbed from the blast center. The boundary lines were buried under debris. Cementoss was already rebuilding, pillars of fresh concrete rising to shore up the damaged structure, but the fighting surface was a ruin.
Bakugo pushed himself up. One hand on the rubble. Then the other. His arms shook. His palms were burnt from his own spiral attack, raw and angry red, and the reflected heat of the Dokkaan had singed his eyebrows and cracked the skin on his cheekbones.
He stood anyway.
His eyes found Manga through the dust.
“You were holding back against me…” He growled.
“You saw what Cementoss had to do to contain our attacks. I can’t be using words like that recklessly or people can get seriously hurt, dude.” Manga explained himself.
“Whatever! I’m not finished yet!” Bakugo's teeth bared.
He charged with his right fist cocked. His left guarding his chin. Everything stripped down to the last thing he had.
Manga met him in the center.
Bakugo's right hook came fast and heavy, thrown from the hip with his whole body behind it. Manga slipped inside the arc. The fist sailed past his bubble by an inch. Manga's counter hit Bakugo in the liver, a short hook that traveled six inches and landed with the weight of a body trained under gravity that Bakugo couldn't imagine.
Bakugo's knees buckled. His vision whited out for a half second. A liver shot from someone with that kind of power wasn't just pain. It was an internal error. His diaphragm spasmed. His legs tried to fold.
He threw the left anyway.
It caught Manga on the side of his bubble and snapped his head sideways. Bakugo followed it with a palm strike, his fingers splayed, nitroglycerin igniting on contact. The explosion was small, barely a firecracker compared to what he'd been throwing earlier, but it detonated against Manga's chest at point blank.
Manga took the hit. Slid back half a step. Came forward.
His right fist hit Bakugo in the jaw.
Bakugo's head whipped. His feet left the ground. He landed on his back on the rubble and stared at the darkening sky for the second time in thirty seconds.
Get up.
He rolled sideways. Got his hands under him.
GET UP!
His arms shook. His vision doubled. The liver shot was still radiating through his core, a deep sickening ache that made breathing feel like swallowing glass.
He got up.
Manga was three meters away. Just standing there with his hands loose and his bubble smiling.
Bakugo swung.
A wide right that had nothing behind it except stubbornness. Manga caught it by the wrist, stepped inside, and drove his knee into Bakugo's stomach. Bakugo folded over the knee. Manga grabbed the back of his collar and pushed him away, giving him space instead of following up. Giving him a chance to quit.
Bakugo did not quit.
He fired an explosion from his right palm. Weak. A pop more than a blast. Manga leaned away from it without moving his feet.
Bakugo fired from his left. Weaker still. His sweat reserves were gone. The nitroglycerin was spent. His palms crackled with static and heat but nothing detonated.
He threw a punch instead. Then another. Then a third. All of them slow, all of them telegraphed, all of them thrown by a body that was running on nothing but spite and the absolute refusal to fall down.
Manga blocked the first. Slipped the second. Let the third graze his shoulder.
Then he hit Bakugo with a right straight.
Bakugo's eyes went wide. Then glassy. He hit the concrete face-first and did not move.
The arena held its breath.
"Bakugo is unable to continue!" Midnight announced.
Then the loudest roar of the entire day.
"AND THAT CONCLUDES OUR CONTEST!" Present Mic's voice cracked, recovered, and soared. "THE FIRST-YEAR WINNER OF U.A.'S SPORTS FESTIVAL IS FUKIDASHI MANGA OF CLASS B!!!"
The stadium shook from the noise. Class 1-B screamed themselves hoarse. Tokage was jumping at the railing, her sharp teeth catching the last of the golden light. Kendo was clapping with enlarged hands. Monoma was clapping on his feet, overexcited at Class B winning the Sports Festival overall. Tetsutetsu was smashing his metal body with his fists. The rest of them was on their feet cheering or clapping.
Class 1-A clapped along in good faith. Many of them didn't really hold positive feelings for Bakugo.
Midoriya was writing furiously in his notebook.
Todoroki watched with his arms crossed, his heterochromatic eyes unreadable.
Kirishima was clapping.
On the arena floor, Manga stood over Bakugo. His PE uniform was torn, scorched in places, bloodied from the shots Bakugo had landed. He was breathing harder than he had all day.
Bakugo had made him work for it.
Recovery Girl waddled out. She kissed Bakugo's forehead and his eyes fluttered open. The stamina drain hit him and he lay there for a moment, staring at the sky, processing.
He'd lost.
Not because his opponent held back. Not because of a fluke or a bad matchup or a trick he couldn't have predicted. He'd lost because someone was better than him. That’s all.
He sat up.
Looked at Manga.
Something passed between them.
Bakugo stood up on his own. Turned. Walked toward the exit tunnel.
He stopped at the edge.
"Oi."
Manga turned.
"Next time," Bakugo said. His voice was hoarse. His fists were clenched. His red eyes were burning. "Next time, I'll win, Fukidashi."
Manga's bubble shifted. A grinning emoji.
"Looking forward to it, Bakugo."
Bakugo walked into the tunnel. He didn't look back.
…
"NOW LET'S MOVE ON TO... THE AWARDS CEREMONY!" Midnight smiled and waved as fireworks popped off behind her, the explosive colors painting the darkening sky in reds and golds and greens.
The stage had been repaired one final time. Three podiums stood at its center, first, second, and third. Manga stood on the highest one. Bakugo stood on the second. Honenuki stood on the third, having defeated Monoma in the third-place match.
Monoma lost immediately. Honenuki not letting him get anywhere close to steal his quirk. He'd walked off the stage muddy and smiling, because third and fourth place didn't matter to him. What mattered was that his class had swept most of the podium. Two out of three. Class 1-B. And if there were fourth place, it’d be taken by Class 1-B as well!
"Now for the medals!" Midnight announced. "Presenting them this year is... You know who!"
A figure leapt from the colosseum's wall. The crowd noise, already loud, tripled.
"I AM..." The figure flipped through the air multiple times, cape billowing, and landed on the stage with a ground-shaking impact that cracked the freshly repaired concrete. "...HERE! With the medals."
All Might.
The Symbol of Peace stood before the three podiums in his silver age costume, his massive frame blocking out the fireworks behind him, his smile wide enough to light up the arena all on its own.
"He's everyone's hero... All Might!" Midnight introduced, though the introduction was unnecessary. Everyone already knew.
All Might approached the third podium first.
"Young Honenuki!" He held up the bronze medal. "You demonstrated incredible battlefield intelligence today. Your quirk controls the environment itself, and you used it with creativity and confidence. But remember, there will be opponents your quirk cannot reach. When that happens, the strength of your body and the sharpness of your mind will have to carry you. Train both. You have the potential to be a hero who changes the shape of every battle he enters."
He placed the medal around Honenuki's neck and gave him a hug and two pats on the back. Honenuki's skull-face smile was the widest it had been all day.
All Might moved to the second podium.
"Young Bakugo!" He held up the silver medal.
Bakugo was frowning. His arms were crossed. He wasn't thrashing or raging or screaming about deserving first. He was standing still, looking All Might in the eye, and accepting what had happened.
"You fought four battles today. You adapted, endured, and pushed yourself to the breaking point in every single one. You showed the entire country what it means to refuse to give up." All Might's voice softened, just slightly. "But you also learned something today, didn't you? That there are people in this world who will push you harder than you've ever been pushed. Accept this medal. Not as a consolation. As a wound. So you don't forget. So the next time you step onto a stage like this, the memory of today is what drives you to be even greater."
He placed the silver medal around Bakugo's neck.
Bakugo looked at the medal. Closed his fist around it. His red eyes were burning.
"No s-crap." He tucked the medal under his shirt. "I’ll be the winner next time."
"I believe you will do a thousand times better than you did this time." All Might gave him a hug and two pats on the back. Bakugo endured it with a scowl that was slightly less severe than usual.
All Might climbed to the first podium.
He stood before Manga and the crowd fell quiet.
"Young Fukidashi."
Manga looked up at him. His bubble was blank.
"Today you showed this country something remarkable. You showed them power, yes. But you also showed them heart. You gave an opponent his strength back before a fight because you wanted to face him at his best. You chose not to use your quirk to prove that you were more than your quirk. And when it was time to fight with everything you had, you did so with creativity, intelligence, and respect for your opponents."
All Might held up the gold medal.
"You are the first-year champion of U.A.'s Sports Festival. That is not a small thing. The eyes of every hero in this country are on you now. But remember, standing at the top means standing alone. The higher you climb, the more people will try to pull you down, and the more responsibility you carry for those who look up to you. Never forget why you're climbing. Never forget the people climbing with you."
He placed the gold medal around Manga's neck.
Manga looked down at it. Gold, gleaming, heavy with the weight of what it represented.
A single emoji appeared in his bubble. Small, bright, and steady.
A star.
All Might hugged him and gave him two pats on the back.
"Plus Ultra, young man."
"Plus Ultra," Manga said.
All Might stepped back and faced the crowd. His smile filled the arena.
"Well! These are your winners! But hold on, everyone!"
He raised his hand. The stadium leaned forward.
"Everyone here today has the potential to be standing up here! As you all witnessed! Competition! Encouragement! Pushing each other to climb higher and higher! The sprouts of today will grow into the heroes of tomorrow! In that spirit, let's have one final cheer!"
All Might raised his index finger to the heavens.
"Everyone say it with me! One, two, and... THANKS FOR THE HARD WORK!!"
"PLUS ULTRA!!!" The stadium roared.
"We're supposed to say Plus Ultra, All Might!" Midnight lectured him.
"Oh right, it's just they really did work so hard and..."
The crowd laughed. All Might rubbed the back of his head. The fireworks kept going.
With that, U.A.'s Sports Festival came to an end.
Afterwards, in Class 1-B's classroom, Vlad King stood at the front. His massive frame filled the space behind the podium and his expression was something none of them had seen before.
Pride. Open, unfiltered, radiating from every inch of his face.
"You all did exceptionally well today," he said. "First and third place. Class 1-B."
The class erupted. Cheers, fist pumps, Monoma being the loudest in his support of Class B superiority.
"Settle down." Vlad King waited for the noise to subside. It took a while. "You've earned a rest. Two days off from school starting tomorrow. When you come back, I'll have the nominations from the Pro Heroes organized and ready for you. Based on today's performances, I expect huge interest from the hero community for all of you."
He looked at Manga.
"Some of you probably more than others."
Manga's bubble displayed a thumbs-up.
"Now go home. Sleep. Eat. Recover. You've earned it."
The class filed out. Conversations overlapped. Replays of the day's fights were already being dissected and argued over. Kamakiri was claiming he could've beaten Bakugo if the bracket had been different. Awase was showing everyone the cutesy band-aid on his forehead left from the explosion he'd eaten. Shiozaki was praying for the souls of those who'd fought without honor, which may or may not have been directed at Monoma.
Manga walked through the hallway toward the school's exit. His gold medal hung around his neck, tucked inside his PE uniform, the metal warm against his chest.
"Hey."
He turned.
Tokage leaned against the wall with her arms crossed and her green eyes sharp.
"So," she said. "Champion of the Sports Festival."
"Looks like it."
"My boyfriend's the strongest first-year in U.A."
"Looks like that too."
"Are you going to stand there being humble or are you going to ask for my number?"
A blushing emoji detonated across his bubble.
"I, uh... Can I have your number?" His bubble flushed pink.
She pulled out her phone. They exchanged contacts. Her name in his phone was "Setsuna" with a lizard emoji. His name in her phone was "Manga" with a pink heart emoji.
"Text me tonight," she said. "Or I'll blow up your phone."
"That sounds like a threat."
"Its a promise."
She kissed his bubble, quick and light, and walked away with her hands in her pockets and her green hair bouncing. He watched her go with a bubble so red it could've been mistaken for a stop sign.
…
Home.
The Fukidashi household was modest. A two-story house in a quiet neighborhood, close enough to the nearest train station that the commute to U.A. was manageable, far enough from the city center that the nights were quiet.
Manga's mother was waiting at the door.
She was a small woman with a round face and kind eyes.
"MY BABY WON!"
She grabbed him in a hug that was stronger than a woman her size should have been capable of producing.
"Winner winner chicken dinner, baby." Confetti popped in his bubble.
"MY BABY WON THE SPORTS FESTIVAL! YOUR FATHER WOULD BE SO PROUD!"
"Mom..." He was feeling a little embarrassed now.
"COME INSIDE! I MADE EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!"
She had. The kitchen table was buried under dishes. Katsudon, gyoza, yakisoba, tempura, onigiri, tamagoyaki, miso soup, and three different kinds of dessert. Enough food for five people, laid out for two.
They sat across from each other and ate. His mother talked nonstop, replaying every fight with a running commentary that was more enthusiastic than Present Mic's. She'd recorded the whole thing on tv and kept playing it back, as if he hadn't been there.
"And when you suplexed that ice and fire boy! I screamed so loud the neighbors checked in!"
"Sorry about that."
"Don't apologize! They should be honored to live next to the mother of the First-Year Sports Festival champion!"
Manga laughed with a warm full heart.
After dinner, he helped clean up. Then he went to his room.
He sat on his bed for a moment. Looked at the gold medal on his desk. Looked at his phone, where a text from "Setsuna" was waiting.
"Where’s my text, champion?"
He smiled. Typed a response. Set the phone down.
Then he stood up.
"Zusshiri."
The gravity in his room tripled.
His body compressed under the weight. His knees buckled. His spine curved. Every muscle in his body screamed as the force that had been 2.5x for two weeks jumped to something new, something harder, something that made even standing up feel like pushing through wet concrete.
He took a step. Then another. Then he dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups.
One. His arms shook.
Two. His chest burned.
Three. His face was an inch from the carpet.
The gold medal glinted on his desk. The phone buzzed with another text from Setsuna. The house was quiet except for his breathing and the soft creak of floorboards under triple gravity.
Manga Fukidashi. Fifteen years old. Winner of U.A.'s Sports Festival. The #1 first-year in the country. A boy with a speech bubble for a head and a quirk that turned words into weapons and a girlfriend who'd confessed to him on live television.
One step closer.
One step closer to being the man who surpasses God.
This was just another step forward.