Chapter 8
₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄.
⤷ attempt to make an actual friend.
ODA WAS HALFWAY DOWN the hall, hands shoved deep into his pockets, when he heard rapid footsteps behind him—much too energetic—and he resisted the urge to simply levitate himself through the ceiling.
“Hey—hey! Edogawa! Edoooo!” Kaminari’s voice pitched higher and more frantic with every syllable.
Oda didn’t slow down.
He didn’t look back.
He prayed Kaminari would trip.
No such luck.
Kaminari skidded up beside him, panting, cheeks flushed like he’d sprinted half the building. “Dude—why do you walk so fast? You walk after than Iida.”
Oda didn’t stop walking. “Go away.”
“Nah,” Kaminari chirped, falling into step with him. “Listen. Listen. We should get lunch.”
“No.”
“C’monnn.” Kaminari nudged his arm with his elbow. “Don’t make me eat alone like some tragic side character. Have mercy.”
“You talk too much.”
“That sounds like a yes.”
Oda halted so abruptly that Kaminari nearly face-planted. He turned his head slowly, black eyes narrowed into something between a warning and a death threat.
Kaminari grinned widely, a spark literally popping off his hair. “So that’s a yes.”
“I didn’t say—”
“Cool! Awesome! Perfect! Let’s go before the lines get long.”
And Kaminari grabbed his sleeve.
Oda glared at the hand, then at Kaminari, then at the universe for whatever karmic sin resulted in this being his life. But he didn’t pull away.
Reluctantly—painfully—stupidly—he let Kaminari drag him toward the Arena Cafe.
The Arena building’s café was loud, cramped, and buzzing with students riding the high of surviving the first rounds. The smell of ramen, curry, and burned tempura filled the room. Kaminari practically vibrated.
“There!” Kaminari pointed triumphantly to an empty two-person table near the window. “Prime real estate!”
Oda slid into the chair with all the enthusiasm of someone being strapped into an electric chair. Kaminari dumped his tray onto the table—something fried, something steaming, something definitely unhealthy—and Oda set down his plain bowl of noodles.
Then Kaminari leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So hey. You’re actually doing really good today.”
Oda blinked at him. Suspicious.
Kaminari grinned. “No really. Like—your quirk stuff? The gravity thing? Super cool. You saved Bakugo like—twice.”
“He would’ve just yelled at me if I didn’t,” Oda muttered, poking a noodle.
“Aw, look at you pretending it wasn’t heroic.” Kaminari stuffed a fried shrimp in his mouth and spoke around it. “You’re like—secretly super nice, right? Deep down? Reeeeal deep down.”
“I am going to leave.”
“No, wait—wait—hold on, I’m being serious!” Kaminari waved his chopsticks. “I mean, I thought you hated everyone. Like, Bakugo-hate levels of hate. But you actually give a crap.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
Kaminari stuck out his tongue. “You totally do.”
Oda stared at him flatly. Kaminari just beamed back, unfazed.
They ate in relative silence after that—well, Oda ate in silence; Kaminari hummed, slurped, chattered, dropped things, and at one point got tempura crumbs in his hair. Oda wasn’t sure how one person could produce so much noise.
Eventually Kaminari leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, satisfied. “Man… this is nice. We should do this again sometime.”
Oda paused mid-bite.
Kaminari tilted his head. “What? Don’t give me that serial-killer look. I’m just saying we’re friends.”
“…We’re not.”
“Whaaat? We so are!”
“We’re not.”
“Bro,” Kaminari grinned, “I’m literally eating lunch with you. That’s peak friendship. You’re trapped.”
Oda sighed deeply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. But he didn’t deny it again and Kaminari noticed.
And he smiled—softly this time, less loud, less spark-filled. “Thanks for coming with me. I know you didn’t want to.”
Oda shrugged, noodles dangling from his chopsticks. “You wouldn’t shut up.”
Kaminari laughed.
And for the first time all day, Oda didn’t feel like bolting.
𓏵
“GET THOSE FOAM FINGERS IN THE AIR!” Present Mic’s voice boomed—no, doomed—over the arena as the students of Class 1-A and Class 1-B re-entered after the lunch break. The stadium lights blazed to life again, reflecting off banners, camera rigs, and thousands of excited spectators.
“IT’S ALMOST TIME FOR THE LAST ROUND! BUT BEFORE THAT: GOOD NEWS FOR EVERYONE WHO DIDN’T MAKE THE FINALS. SINCE THIS IS A SPORTS FESTIVAL, WE’VE PREPARED SOME SUPER FUN SIDE GAMES EVERYONE CAN PARTICIPATE IN. AFTER THEY’RE OVER, THE 16 STUDENTS FROM THE TOP FOUR TEAMS WILL BE DUKING IT OUT ONE-ON-ONE IN A TOURNAMENT-STYLE FIGHTING COMPETITION! I PROMISE YOU’RE NOT GONNA WANNA MISS THESE EPIC MATCH UPS!”
The cheering was deafening—so loud the platform under their feet trembled. Oda found himself squinting up at the stands, wondering how so many people had the energy to scream for this long. Kirishima, of course, soaked it in like it was sunlight.
“Ah yeah! Finally gettin’ the chance to show what we’re made of,” Kirishima grinned, arms behind his head, chest puffed proudly. “I watch these finals every year and now I’m actually in them!”
“So wait, is it always a tournament?” Mina asked, smoothing out her uniform as they shuffled into formation.
“The final’s always a one-on-one competition,” Kirishima answered confidently. “But they switch it up every time. Last year it was a foam sword fighting match.”
“Somehow I think a fighting tournament is gonna be much harder,” Oda mumbled under his breath. His eyes stayed down, his organs already felt tight from quirk use in the earlier rounds—great.
“Come closer and draw lots to see who you’re up against,” Midnight instructed in her usual sultry voice, cracking her whip for emphasis. “Then enjoy the pleasure of the recreational games before we start. The 16 finalists have the option of participating in those activities or sitting out to prepare for battle. I’m sure you all want to conserve your stamina. I’ll start with the first place team!”
As Todoroki, Momo, Kaminari, and Iida stepped forward, Ojiro suddenly lifted his hand.
“Um, excuse me?” Ojiro said, voice steady but strained. “Sorry, but I’m withdrawing.”
A wave of gasps rippled through the classes around them—students backing up a step, turning, whispering.
“Ojiro. No way!” Midoriya sputtered, looking genuinely distressed.
“But this is a rare chance for you to get scouted,” Iida added, chopping the air with his hands.
“It just wouldn’t be right,” Ojiro decided firmly. “I barely remember anything from the cavalry battle until the very end of it. I… think it was that guy’s quirk.” His eyes tracked across the field to where Shinsou stood, tense and silent. “I know this is a great opportunity. I wish I could take advantage of it, but my conscience won’t let me.”
“Just think about this,” Midoriya tried again, voice pleading.
“I have, okay?” Ojiro said, more force than usual slipping out. “Everyone gave their all in round two, but I was just someone’s puppet. No way. I don’t wanna advance if I don’t even know how I got here. It wouldn’t be fair.”
“You’re making way too much of this,” Hagakure said from somewhere vaguely cheerleader-shaped. Her pompoms bounced enthusiastically in the air. “Just kill it in the finals and prove you should be here.”
“Yeah, what she said,” Mina chimed in—also unfortunately in full cheer attire. “I didn’t do much in the battle either. Those two were the stars of the show.” She jabbed a thumb between Bakugo and Oda.
Bakugo scoffed. Oda shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
“That’s not it,” Ojiro insisted. “I’m talking about my pride here. I refuse to give that up.” He paused, doing a double take as he finally registered something odd. He looked around. “Also, why are all the girls dressed like cheerleaders?”
Instantly the girls flinched, shoulders snapping upward, faces dropping into mortified expressions. Mina hid behind her pompom. Hagakure looked like she wanted to turn invisible twice. Ochako squeaked.
“Nirengeki Shoda from Class 1-B.”
A quiet student stepped forward from the grouping of 1-B finalists, “I think I should withdraw for the exact same reason. Regardless of how strong I am, this isn’t how I wanted to get here. It would go against the values of the festival to advance without earning my spot.”
Another ripple went through the crowd—surprise, respect, confusion, all of it.
“Listen to these guys, they’re so manly,” Kirishima exclaimed, fists clenched.
“This sort of talk is incredibly naive, my boys,” Midnight purred—then snapped her whip with a sharp crack. “That turns me on! Shoda! Ojiro! You’re withdrawn!”
“Did she say it turns her on?” someone whispered in terror.
“She did,” Oda muttered under his breath, eyes dead. Kaminari snorted.
“Now let’s see…” Midnight swept her gaze over the remaining students. “We’ll have to move up two students from the fifth-place team so we have enough contestants.”
Immediately, Kendo raised her hand. “We were frozen most of the time. Honestly, we barely did anything in the cavalry battle. Isn’t that right?”
Her teammates nodded, visibly relieved someone else said it first.
“You should choose from the group that kept fighting the whole time. Team Tetsutetsu.”
“T–Kendo!” Tetsutetsu’s jaw practically unhinged. His eyes sparkled like she’d just handed him a puppy.
“I’m not doing this as a favor, it’s just fair,” Kendo told him, the tone of someone trying to stop a child from hugging her.
“Seriously, you guys. Thank you!” Tetsutetsu sniffed, overwhelmed.
Team Tetsutetsu huddled for a moment—murmuring intensely—before turning back to Midnight with their selection.
“And so, Tetsutetsu and Shiozaki have advanced to the final!” Midnight announced. “Take a look at the bracket, my dears! These are your opponents!”
The stadium lights flared. The giant screen spun like a roulette wheel. And the matchups appeared one by one.
Midoriya vs. Shinso
Iida vs. Todoroki
Shiozaki vs. Hatsume
Edogawa vs. Kaminari
Mina vs. Aoyama
Yaoyorozu vs. Tokoyami
Tetsutetsu vs. Kirishima
Bakugo vs. Uraraka
The crowd erupted—cheers, gasps, some laughter—while Oda just stood there, shoulders stiffening. His eyes locked on his own matchup.
Edogawa vs. Kaminari.
He felt Kaminari freeze next to him before the boy slowly turned his head. Kaminari looked like he’d just been told his show had been outlawed.
“Oh come on! Why us?” Kaminari whined, stomping his foot. “Dude, this is gonna suck! Why do I have to fight you?”
Oda just stared at him with a blank, unimpressed expression that screamed I didn’t pick this either.
Across the group, Bakugo scowled up at the board. “Uraraka?” he repeated. “Who the hell’s that?”
Kaminari’s face twisted. “He’s not serious, is he?”
“Oh, he’s serious,” Sero sighed, patting Kaminari sympathetically. “He doesn’t know like… half the class names. Maybe more.”
Bakugo didn’t look embarrassed. Or apologetic.
Oda exhaled slowly through his nose, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. This was going to be annoying.
𓏵
ODA SLIPPED AWAY THE second Midnight dismissed the finalists for their break. The other students scattered toward the recreational games—sack races, trivia booths, strength testers—but Oda didn’t need noise, didn’t need crowds, didn’t need anyone looking at him.
He found a quiet waiting room tucked behind the Arena staging hall. The fluorescent lights buzzed lightly overhead. A single bench ran along one wall. There was a vending machine humming in the corner that probably hadn’t been cleaned since the school year started.
Silence.
Oda exhaled and sat down, elbows on knees, hair falling forward in messy black strands. He had about an hour to rest, and he intended to use all of it.
He closed his eyes.
Which, naturally, is when the door slammed open.
“Well, well, well—look at you.”
Oda’s eyes snapped open. His entire body went tense.
Standing in the doorway was a man in a brown jacket, striped shirt, and a beret hat—messy black hair, round lollipop between his teeth, and eyes sparkling with far too much self-satisfaction.
Ranpo Edogawa. The Greatest Detective in Japan. And Oda’s legal guardian slash walking headache.
Oda groaned aloud and let his head drop back against the wall. “Oh, perfect. Just what I needed.”
Ranpo strutted in like he owned the building, hands behind his head, rocking back on his heels. “You didn’t think I’d miss this, did you? My adorable little trouble magnet—entering a tournament? Please. I came here out of… civic pride.”
“Civic pride,” Oda repeated flatly.
“And curiosity,” Ranpo added, plopping down beside him. “And boredom. Mostly boredom.”
Oda side-eyed him. “Does Yokohama know their famous detective is sneaking into school events for children?”
“I didn’t sneak,” Ranpo scoffed, popping the lollipop out of his mouth. “I walked in. Very boldly. A security guard tried to stop me, but I told him I was your guardian and he apologized.”
Oda ran a hand down his face. “…Did you show him ID?”
Ranpo blinked. “Obviously not.”
Oda pressed both hands to his eyes. “You are going to get me expelled.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Ranpo said sweetly, swinging his legs like a child. “But enough about me—you, however, fought decently. Not perfect. I’ll give your performance a 7 out of 10.”
“That’s generous,” Oda muttered.
“Of course it is! I’m in a generous mood.” Ranpo leaned in. “You adjusted your power output better this time. Didn’t explode any organs, I hope?”
“No,” Oda muttered. Then added, grudgingly, “…Thanks.”
Ranpo beamed smugly. “Naturally.”
There was a moment of silence before Oda spoke again, voice lower.
“You know,” he said, staring at the floor, “you can just… be my legal guardian.” He gestured vaguely. “All this other stuff isn’t actually in your job description.”
Ranpo’s lollipop paused halfway to his mouth.
For once—once—he didn’t grin.
Instead, he tilted his head, looking at Oda with eyes that suddenly felt too perceptive.
“Odasaku.” Then his voice returned to it’s childish and teasing manner. “Attempt to make an actual friend somewhere, and we can reevaluate this relationship.”
Oda blinked. “…What?”
Ranpo hopped off the bench, dusting off his jacket. “You heard me. Make a friend. A single friend. A real one. Not someone you tolerate. Not someone who tolerates you. Someone you trust.”
Oda stared, speechless.
Ranpo smirked. “Then maybe I’ll stop showing up everywhere like a guardian angel.”
“You are not an angel,” Oda said immediately.
“Agree to disagree,” Ranpo replied cheerfully. He walked to the door, waving over his shoulder. “Good luck in your match! Try not to destroy the stadium or your opponent. Kaminari seems nice.”
Oda scowled. “Don’t pretend you know anything about Kaminari.”
Ranpo’s smirk widened.
Then he disappeared into the hallway, leaving Oda alone. Finally.
𓏵
WHEN HE WORKED UP the courage, he returned to the crowd. Oda leaned back in his stadium seat, arms crossed tight over his chest, knees hooked over the seat in front of him—half for comfort, half because his body still ached from the cavalry battle.
He’d thrown on a thin black zip-up, tugging the sleeves down over his hands. The temperature drop after stopping activity hit him fast; without constant movement, there simply wasn’t enough circulation in his body to keep him warm. The fabric helped hold in whatever heat he had left.
Below, the arena lights flared to life.
“ALRIGHT AUDIENCE! LET’S CUT TO THE GOOD STUFF AND NOT DELAY THESE FINALS ANY LONGER!” Present Mic blared across the stadium, sending a wave of cheers ripping through the crowd. “WELCOME OUR FIRST FIGHTERS! IT’S IZUKU MIDORIYA FROM THE HERO COURSE VERSUS… HITOSHI SHINSO FROM GENERAL STUDIES WHO REALLY HASN’T DONE ANYTHING TO STAND OUT YET!”
Oda snorted softly. Yeah, nothing except brainwashing people during the cavalry match, but Present Mic wasn’t wrong—Shinso had been invisible before that. Literally no one cared about him until they found out he could turn people into obedient zombies.
“THE RULES ARE SIMPLE!” Mic continued. “IMMOBILIZE YOUR OPPONENT OR FORCE THEM OUTTA THE RING! YOU CAN ALSO WIN BY GETTING THE OTHER PERSON TO CRY UNCLE! BRING ON THE INJURIES BECAUSE WE’VE GOT OUR VERY OWN RECOVERY GIRL WAITING ON STANDBY. SO PUT YOUR MORALS ASIDE AND DON’T BE AFRAID TO PLAY DIRTY. BUT OF COURSE, NO LIFE THREATENING CRAP, FOLKS. REAL HEROES USE THEIR POWER TO THROW VILLAINS IN JAIL NOT KILL THEM!”
Bakugo scoffed two seats down.
“READY? BEGIN!”
Oda sat upright a little, eyes narrowing as the two boys stepped forward.
He hadn’t watched Shinso closely earlier—not during the obstacle course, not during the cavalry battle. The kid blended in, quiet, unimpressive. But the second Midoriya answered a simple taunt—
Midoriya froze. His expression went slack, his eyes unfocused.
“Oh,” Oda muttered under his breath. “One of those quirks.”
Mind control variants were rare but not unheard of. Dangerous if misused. Hard to break out of unless the victim made some internal jolt strong enough to snap the thread.
Shinso commanded Midoriya like he was a wind-up toy.
Walk forward out of bounds.
The stadium murmured uneasily. Iida flailed. Uraraka shouted. Kaminari practically climbed over Oda’s seat screaming “Don’t answer him again!”
Oda didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t speak.
Right before Midoriya stepped over the boundary line, something surged—an odd burst in the air, like static. A sharp wind snapped out from Midoriya’s hand, blowing dust across the arena.
And just like that, Midoriya staggered out of the daze.
He’d blown apart two of his fingers.
Oda winced slightly. That’s excessive.
Shinso tried baiting him again, desperate, furious, but Midoriya refused to answer this time. He lunged forward, grabbed Shinso’s arm, and with a surprisingly clean over-the-shoulder throw, sent Shinso tumbling out of bounds.
A loud buzzer. Present Mic’s triumphant scream.
And that was that.
Oda slumped back into his seat.
It was… fine. Not flashy. Not particularly exciting. But quirks like Shinso’s were always interesting in theory—even if the actual match was basically watching someone walk in a straight line for thirty seconds.
Below, Shinso got up slowly, jaw tight, eyes bright with bitterness.
Around Oda, students murmured. Kaminari said something about brainwashing being “low-key terrifying.” Kirishima said something about manliness. Bakugo called the whole thing pathetic.
Oda just zipped his jacket up higher and exhaled through his nose.
Round one: boring, but informative.
“UP NEXT, IT’S THE KID WITH ENGINES IN HIS LEGS, TENYA IIDA!! VERSUS—AN EARLY FRONT RUNNER IN THE COMPETITION WHO’S WAY TOO STRONG FOR HIS OWN GOOD! SOMEONE WHO RIGHTFULLY GOT INTO THE HERO COURSE BASED ON RECOMMENDATIONS! IT’S SHOTO TODOROKI! AND NOW FOR THE SECOND MATCH OF THE FINALS!”
The stadium erupted. A wall of noise hit Oda square in the chest—shrieks, cheers, applause, all blending together in one pounding roar. Even from the student seats, the vibration of the crowd rolled under his feet.
Oda didn’t move from where he sat—arms still crossed, legs propped over the chair in front of him. Todoroki’s strength wasn’t something that surprised him, but he was curious to see how reckless he’d be this early in the tournament.
“READY? BEGIN!”
Iida launched forward like an arrow, jets screaming. In a blink, he had Todoroki by the shoulders, feet digging in as he tried to bulldoze Todoroki straight out of the ring.
A bold move. A stupid one.
“Apologies,” Todoroki murmured—and then the world turned white and sharp.
A burst of ice exploded beneath his foot, devouring the arena floor, shooting upward in a jagged, spiraling wall taller than the stands. The temperature plummeted. Frost crawled up the railing in front of Oda’s feet.
The students of Class 1-A collectively froze—literally and figuratively.
“In the name of—this is quite a bit overboard, Todoroki!” Iida’s voice echoed from somewhere inside the glacier. He was completely encased, only the top of his head visible like a sad, frozen lawn ornament.
Midnight, who’d been stationed far too close for comfort, was half stuck in ice up to her thighs. She glared down at the frost creeping toward her boots. “Tell the truth, Iida. Can you move at all?”
“Clearly not. That blast completely froze my engines.”
“IIDA HAS BEEN IMMOBILIZED!” Midnight declared. “TODOROKI ADVANCES TO THE SECOND ROUND!”
The crowd shifted instantly from shocked gasps to cheers of encouragement, chanting “Nice try!” toward Iida as Todoroki calmly began thawing him out. Steam rose in little wisps where his hand brushed Iida’s armor.
Up in the hero section, Endeavor loomed over the railing—fiery beard crackling faintly, hands clenched at his sides. His stare wasn’t pride.
It was fury. A practiced, simmering rage that Oda recognized far too well.
Todoroki’s refusal to use his fire—refusal to use Endeavor—was a blade twisted between the ribs of the number two hero.
Before Endeavor could bark anything down into the arena, a voice appeared behind him, light and annoyingly amused:
“Looks like your little creation is doing well.”
Endeavor’s shoulders snapped rigid. He spun.
Ranpo Edogawa stood casually a few steps down the aisle, hands stuffed into the pockets of his rumpled suit, lollipop stem poking lazily from his mouth. He looked wildly out of place among pro heroes—too relaxed, too playful, too unbothered by the blazing mass of pride and ego looming over him.
“Detective,” Endeavor growled. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“Well, what kind of guardian would I be if I missed my only ward’s big debut?” Ranpo beamed, rocking on his heels. “Besides, I knew I’d regret it if I didn’t show and Oda managed to beat your prized child.”
Endeavor’s jaw flexed. “So it’s true. You’ve really taken in one of them? After all of that—and he just gets to live freely.” His eyes cut back across the arena, up toward the student section where Oda sat—a faint silhouette in black. Even from this distance, Endeavor’s stare felt like fire crawling across Oda’s skin.
Ranpo didn’t so much as flinch. “I’m not sure freely is the word I’d use for it.” His tone sharpened, bitterness slipping through. “But let’s be honest, Endeavor. What happened back then isn’t the real reason you’re angry he’s not locked in a hole.”
Endeavor turned a glare on him so fierce it would have burned a normal man—but Ranpo only tilted his head, green eyes gleaming.
“You’re mad because he knows something that you don’t want him to know,” Ranpo said softly. “And guess what? I know it too.”
For a heartbeat—the blazing, furious number two hero actually went still.
Heat radiated off him in waves.
Ranpo didn’t budge. If anything, he looked bored.
“But hey, no hard feelings, right?” Ranpo added cheerfully. “I mean, who are we gonna tell that respects you anyway?”
“You cocky son of a bitch,” Endeavor snapped. Flames crackled along his shoulder pads. “If you think that boy is going to get away with living the high life for long, you’re wrong. If I figured it out upon seeing him, it won’t be hard for others. Maybe some of them are even here right now. How long does the Secretary really think they can keep this up?”
“However long Ango wants to,” Ranpo replied breezily. “That’s always the answer. Ango always gets what he wants—and everyone bends the knee because they think he’s the only one who gets anything done, even though the man has never done anything himself in his life.”
Endeavor’s flames sputtered with fury.
“But I digress,” Ranpo continued, turning casually toward the stairs. “It’s not up to you, Endeavor. Or even up to me. We bow to the powers that be.”
He paused, looked back over his shoulder and smirked.
“And let’s be honest—you wouldn’t be here without him either. So coming after me for it? Makes you a hypocrite.”
Endeavor actually took a half-step forward, fists blazing.
Ranpo just waved him off.
“If you’re going to scold others for not having their shit together, maybe make sure you’re well put together first.”
And with that, Ranpo walked off, hands in pockets, lollipop bobbing as he went.
Endeavor stayed rooted in place, face twisted into something murderous, flames boiling off him in silent rage.
Across the area, in the student section, Oda watched Endeavor’s reaction from afar—expression unreadable, zipper pulled all the way up to his jaw.
If Endeavor was already this pissed, then things were only going to get more complicated.
author’s note-
i have so much fun writing chapters that will make no sense until season 6-8. it’s so fun.