Last chapter we had:
-Tokoyami vs. Yamaoka
-Kirishima vs. Inouye
-Tetsutetsu vs. Matsumura
-Mezo vs. Kaya
- A check in on our Triathlon
Enjoy Everyone!
Chapter Text
Midoriya took in a deep breath as he squared off with his opponent. Not a threat to him, not by any measure, and yet, the man standing in front of him had Midoriya honestly contemplating committing acts that would see him on trial in the Hague. It was as if being told that he did indeed have to wrestle the quirkless man had flipped some kind of vitriol switch in the guy's brain. Midoriya let the intrusive thoughts roll away as he took another breath.
The only redeeming factor to this situation, in Midoriya's mind, was that the man's career was effectively dead. The audio wouldn't make it past the U.A. broadcasting studio, Nedzu would make sure of that, but anyone with eyes would be able to see the reactions of the people standing near the mats. Students and heroes alike looked as if they had just swallowed Bitrex. The audience, much to Midoriya's growing and ongoing internal struggle, seemed torn, rather. For the most part, they were disapproving. The most part seemed to be a sizable pill to swallow for the two first-year classes watching the audience reactions.
…
"Oh, come on, he could kick every one of their asses, regardless of quirk." Kirishima's low, vicious muttering was met by Sero's own anger at the comments they'd overheard since the match announcement. He had disliked Midoriya because of the way he'd done things, because he hadn't known if Midoriya could be trusted. There was no indication that he could, of course. If anything, it seemed to be the opposite.
Sero had learned better at the USJ. He still didn't trust him, but he knew that Midoriya would protect them. If he and the professors were to be believed, Midoriya had been in the field for quite a while. At this point, their relationship was closer to careful tolerance than familiarity, but even still, Sero couldn't help the sneer that came to his face when confronted by the Shiketsu student. "Fuckin quirkists."
…
Midoriya was entirely too used to the words being thrown his way. Rather than give the man any kind of verbal response, he simply took his stance and waited for the whistle to blow. Vlad signaled the opening with a sharp, cool look, which Midoriya chose not to think too carefully on as the whistle sounded. The Shiketsu student came straight at him, and Midoriya simply stood there. The man impacted directly with his body, moving him absolutely nowhere. Balefully, Midoriya stared down at his opponent before digging his fingers into the man's left shoulder and, his right hand on his hip, flipping him clean over with a twist before slamming him into the ground.
Midoriya didn't move but chose to look at Vlad, instead. "This is why weight class is more important than quirk usage." The man on the ground hissed as he reset. Anger radiated from his expression and from his too-stiff, jerking movements, anger which was only met with icy indifference. He charged again. Midoriya didn't so much as twitch as his opponent met him, grabbing onto his arms and attempting to twist and drag Midoriya. Midoriya simply hooked one foot around the man's leg and swept.
The Shiketsu student hit the ground and rolled away, expecting Midoriya to chase the pin. He popped up and found Midoriya standing in the same place he had a moment before, disdain and disgust the only discernible emotions on his otherwise expressionless features. Angrier now, the man stepped in again, only to have Midoriya sweep him under again, this time placing his foot solidly enough on the Shiketsu's student's spine to pin him to the mat.
"What, you have nothing to say, defect?" An ounce of pity dripped through into the cool chill of Midoriya's control. How pathetic.
"There is no need to waste words on someone like you." Midoriya heard the whistle blow and released the man under his foot. His opponent laughed as he got up and reset. He came again, grabbing at Midoriya's singlet when he was simply pushed back, stumbling far enough that he'd almost taken himself over the boundary line. Vlad debated on warning Midoriya for being passive, but, judging from the deserved bruising he was handing out and the roar of the audience as Mic gave the play-by-play, Vlad could afford to let it continue a bit longer.
Midoriya put the man down again. Cold efficiency, he never moved from his spot. It was an embarrassment for the Shiketsu student and a calculated one on Midoriya's part. He didn't allow his opponent to show anything other than how utterly ineffectual he was against the supposed defect.
It was funny, in a way. If the student had had a verbal quirk, then Midoriya could have taken this in stride. It would have been a reason, a good excuse, and the man would have been damn good at it, too. Midoriya wouldn't have been able to say a thing. He had been teaching Shinso exactly this. But the Shiketsu student didn't have that excuse.
"You know, I hope you make it through training and get a license. That way, when everyone around you is dead, and it's all your fault, the entire world will see just how useless your kind are."
Vlad registered the words a moment after they'd left the man's mouth and saw the shift in Midoriya's eyes, even as he blew the whistle to resume. Fuck. Vlad opened his mouth to call for a stop as the Shiketsu student blitzed forward again. The comments before had been grounds to remove the student from the competition. Such views were in no way acceptable of a prospective hero, something that Vlad was certain their president would bring up with Shiketsu's. He had let it go for the moment, though, because Midoriya was fine with continuing. He had still planned on removing him after the match. That comment, however, had been a line too far.
Midoriya watched as the Shiketsu student stepped quickly toward him again, felt the moment when the fabric around his chest constricted, seeking to freeze him in place. In that moment, Midoriya felt the control he had constantly preached to Setsuna snap. And funnily enough, Midoriya didn't care. Midoriya stepped forward, moving through the tearing of his singlet's shoulder straps and with enough force to inflict a satisfying amount of pain with his impact. In half the time it should have taken someone to clear the distance, Midoriya met the Shiketsu student in the middle. The fingers of his right hand dug into the chest of his opponent. Gripping his singlet in one hand, Midoriya lifted the man from his feet, then slammed him onto his back on the minimally cushioned concrete.
…
Not for the first time, Shoji was glad that he wore the mask that covered his face. It hid the full-bodied, malicious smile that had formed when the crack-crunch sound had echoed out from the Shiketsu student's impact. When he glanced to the side, Shoji noted that it wasn't just his own classmates who were just barely managing to display carefully neutral expressions.
Kirishima still grimaced as he looked at Midoriya. His singlet had been shredded, and the upper half of it, likely what the guy had used his quirk on, rested in tatters around his hips. Midoriya had never had problems with any of them seeing his scars. There is no reason to be ashamed of scars, Kirishima. They're proof that you fought and survived. The scars on his arms had already been visible, though no one's attention was on them now.
Midoriya's chest and back were a patchwork of healthy skin and scar tissue. Handprints, burns, the jagged slices of knives, pockmark scars that many would recognize as bullet scarring. The worst, though, were the surgical scars. Fresh and old, the incision lines acted like a map of the human body.
Still, Midoriya stood with his back straight, not an ounce of hesitation as he turned away from his opponent. The man from Shiketsu lay there gasping, trying with little success to pull in air. The medical bots came forward, shuffled the choking man onto a stretcher, and began to move him toward the medical office. The crowd cheered and cried. Chanting for Elysium, any hint of the previous disgust and hesitance was lost in their excitement and emotion. Not for the first time, Midoriya felt nothing but disgust.
…
Sero and Tokoyami stood side by side at the edge of the mats. Dark Shadow had crept up Sero's back and decided to rest its head on its arms atop Sero's shoulder. Both stood watching as Cementoss repaired the platform that they had been competing on. When the mats had been rolled back, much to the media hounds and audience's glee, the concrete underneath had been shattered from Midoriya's final takedown.
"I am so, so glad that I've never beaten you outside of group spars right now, Tokoyami."
"There is always the chance that you will best me, Sero."
"Not if I have anything to say about it~" Dark Shadow practically trilled as it crowed, a wide smile on its face.
"Thank you, Dark Shadow."
"Do not thank the demon for dooming us both."
"That's too harsh, Fumi." The surface of Dark Shadow rippled, a mimicry of ruffled feathers. "Izuku won't break our spines, too." Sero felt a bit of his color bleed out as he and Tokoyami looked at each other. The mats rolled back out as Sero spoke.
"You," a pause, "you don't think Midoriya actually broke that dude's spine, right?" Admittedly, Sero couldn't read Tokoyami's expressions very well. He hadn't grown up around bird people, after all. The minute feather and muscle shifts in Tokoyami's face that would normally denote changes in expression were hard to read until one got used to it. Sero lucked out this time when a full-bore grimace crossed Tokoyami's face. A cacophony of cheers suddenly sounded out. Must be the general entry event, Sero thought.
"If he did, then all the better. Bastards like that don't stop with one group of people." Even Dark Shadow was silent as that statement hung in the air. Sero was, well, he wanted to say surprised, but he had seen the glee in Tokoyami and Shoji's eyes when Midoriya had sent his opponent to the mat.
…
Sero breathed heavily as he dipped between Dark Shadow's outstretched claws before firing another strand of tape at the ground, setting another sticky trap for Tokoyami. Speak of the devil. Tokoyami had gone low while Dark Shadow had gone high and was rewarded for his effort by getting one of Sero's legs wrapped in his arms.
Sero went weightless for a moment as Tokoyami pulled and lifted, picking him clean up off the mat before forcing his back into the ground. Sero sucked in a breath as he pushed his body to move. Sero rolled with Tokoyami, placing himself on his stomach before scrunching up. Tokoyami placed himself up and onto his back. Sero forced his legs out to the side, raising his hips. Tokoyami followed him, hooking an arm around Sero's waist and front arm. Sero dropped his shoulder, letting it hit the mat where his knee was while kicking up and over, rolling out of Tokoyami's grasp. Tokoyami moved to chase but realized with a grimace that he had to detach himself from one of Sero's tape traps. Sero popped back up onto his feet, a bit breathless from the near catch.
"FUCK." And immediately was forced off his feet again as Dark Shadow barreled into his gut.
…
Kirishima winced, almost hardening in sympathy, as Sero's back hit the mat again. They had been able to hear the impact of Dark Shadow meeting Sero's stomach from all the way back where they sat. The problem Sero was running into was just numbers, plain and simple. He wasn't the best during their hand-to-hand training. Some of the students in 1-A just took to combat training like they were born for it, but he was better than Tokoyami. The problem was that outright combat wasn't allowed in this event, and he was outnumbered.
You could get away with a bit. It came with the territory when grappling. Jabs, knees, and all sorts of other blows were just going to happen, but outright combat wasn't permitted, and that was the edge that Sero needed if he was going to have a chance at dealing with both Tokoyami and Dark Shadow.
Kirishima glanced over to where Midoriya stood with Vlad King, the other observers, and Yoshio, whom Kirishima still felt the need to shudder at. Yoshio had his hands up and was shaking his head, probably disavowing any connection to his ass of a schoolmate. Another thump came from the mats. Kirishima glanced over and felt his eyes widen as Sero had actually managed to get Tokoyami into a pin. Aaaand there he goes. Dark Shadow grabbed Sero and whipped him up and over its head. Sero hit the mat hard for—hell, Kirishima had lost count—the umpteenth time this match when the end whistle finally blew.
Midoriya glanced up at the mats where Tokoyami was helping Sero back up to his feet. As they began to limp back toward their seats, Midoriya stepped away from the group with a few parting words, cleanly intercepting the two before they could sit.
"I would say you need to stop hitting the mat, but that was kind of unavoidable."
"Yeah, could really do a lot there." There was no hostility in Sero's dry sarcasm, just low-grade humor.
"For what it's worth, you did a damn good job."
"I got my ass handed to me."
"You held on for a lot longer than in training." Tokoyami's tone wasn't placating but simple as he spoke this fact with a shrug.
"Still didn't look good."
"I'd have to disagree. Holding on and keeping the score relatively low with only grappling techniques while outnumbered will catch quite a few people's eyes. Again, good job, Sero." Midoriya reached down, grabbing Sero's water before handing it to him. He turned, wordless in his movements, to retrieve his bag that had been sitting in his own seat. He pulled out a labeled bottle and, returning to the two, handed Sero a relatively small, white pill with a G32 marked on it.
"Naproxen. It'll help." Midoriya turned to walk back to the small group he was talking with before when Kirishima called over to him.
"Everything alright over there, Midoriya?" Midoriya's eyes flicked back to Kirishima. He just sighed and shook his head.
"Perfectly fine. Yoshio swears up and down that his class has been looking for a reason to be rid of that asshole for weeks. They just got handed the best case they're going to get with this."
"That's a good thing, right?"
"Yeah, yeah it is. Doesn't make it burn my ass any less, though. Fucking quirkist prick. Should have broken his legs, too." Midoriya muttered the last bit to himself as he wandered back to Vlad King. Kirishima shrugged. As long as that was taken care of, he could put it out of his mind. Put it in that awful little box called compartmentalization. With a deep breath, Kirishima gave a big smile and stepped up onto the mat across from Matsumura Kasumi.
Notes:
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