Chapter 9

₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗.
⤷ Edogawa vs. Kaminari.

THE ARENA FLOOR WAS swept clean again, the debris from Todoroki’s glacier hauled off by a team of maintenance bots. The crowd settled, chatter rolling through the stadium like a low tide as the next matchup was announced: “OUR THIRD MATCH OF THE FINALS—JURI SHIOZAKI FROM CLASS 1-B VERSUS… MEI HATSUME FROM THE SUPPORT COURSE!”

The difference in energy between the two competitors couldn’t have been more stark.

Shiozaki walked out serenely, hands folded, expression radiant with calm. Her long vine-like hair flowed behind her. She bowed politely to the crowd, then to Hatsume herself.

Hatsume, meanwhile, exploded onto the stage—both figuratively and nearly literally. Spark plugs crackled on her gauntlets. Little hovering cameras bobbed around her. She had at least fifteen visible gadgets strapped to her body.

“WELCOME, WELCOME!” Present Mic whooped. “THIS PROMISES TO BE A WILD ONE, FOLKS! LET’S SEE WHICH OF THESE GIRLS TAKES THE WIN—THE DEVOUT HERO CANDIDATE OR THE INVENTOR EXTRAORDINAIRE!”

Shiozaki smiled warmly.

Hatsume gleamed back like she was about to dissect her.

“READY? BEGIN!”

Shiozaki stepped forward, hands gently extended, vines rising around her like a blooming halo.

“Lady Hatsume, though I do not wish—ACK!”

The first gadget hit her before she finished speaking.

Something that looked vaguely like a flying toaster dove into her midsection, bouncing her back a step but leaving a puff of glittering dust across her uniform.

“Oh! Fantastic reaction time!” Hatsume shouted, scribbling notes even as she yanked a lever built into her forearm. “Test Dummy #47-A registers minimal recoil—let’s try the resistance settings!”

Shiozaki opened her mouth—in polite, saintly objection—but Hatsume had already thrown something new.

A cylindrical device shot into the air, propellers whirring. It hovered above Shiozaki’s head… then blew out a massive net made of pink neon thread.

Shiozaki gasped, vines whipping up defensively, catching the net mid-fall. “Miss Hatsume, please—”

“YES! Look at that flexibility! Beautiful quirk synergy!” Hatsume applauded loudly. “I needed a live target for this—AND YOU ARE PERFECT!”

Shiozaki blanched.

The crowd roared with laughter.

Oda felt secondhand dread for her.

From there, the match devolved into what could generously be called a “one-sided technological onslaught,” and less generously called “Shiozaki’s fifteen-minute character arc.”

Hatsume unleashed:

—A trio of walking cameras that latched onto Shiozaki’s vines like affectionate spiders.
—A boot-powered grappling hook that shot her directly into Shiozaki before rebounding her backward into the air.
—A “Baby Defense Drone” that sparked every time it got too close, accidentally electrocuting Hatsume herself but somehow never stopping.
—A pair of spring-loaded shields that deployed so aggressively one of them sent Hatsume into a midair spin.

Shiozaki spent the entire time trying to speak through the chaos:

“Miss Hatsume, your creations are quite impressive but—AH!”

A tiny cannon rolled up and fired a sticky purple substance that glued one of her vines to the ground.

“Please, I do not believe this is a sanctioned—ACK!”

It was, by all accounts, a massacre—not of Shiozaki, but of the festival’s concept of fairness.

She wasn’t even its intended target.

Hatsume wasn’t fighting her.

Hatsume wasn’t even looking at her half the time.

Hatsume was looking at the cameras.

“YOU SEE THAT, SPONSORS?” she shouted as she strapped another device to her thigh. “NOTE HOW THE AUTO-STABILIZERS HOLD UP AGAINST A VARIABLE VINE-BASED IMPACT! THAT’S QUALITY CRAFTSMANSHIP!”

Shiozaki was now visibly panting, covered head-to-toe in glitter, sticky foam, scorch marks, and one inexplicably placed parachute harness.

The fifteen-minute mark hit.

Hatsume wiped sweat from her brow, adjusted her goggles, then turned to the boundary line.

“Well! I think that’s all the testing I needed today.” She gave Shiozaki a thumbs-up. “Thank you for your service! You were incredibly sturdy. AMAZING durability!”

And then—without ceremony—she stepped out of bounds.

Shiozaki could only gape.

Midnight raised her whip. “HATSUME HAS VOLUNTARILY GIVEN UP THE MATCH! SHIOZAKI ADVANCES TO THE NEXT ROUND!”

The stadium erupted—half amusement, half sympathy.

Shiozaki bowed her head, trembling slightly. “I… am grateful, Lady Hatsume, but… what just happened?”

Hatsume already had three sponsor representatives swarming her for interviews.

Oda leaned back in his chair, pulling his jacket tighter, and exhaled.

“That was… something,” Kaminari muttered next to him.

Oda nodded slowly. “Yeah.” He paused. “…Glad it wasn’t me.”

Kaminari snorted. “Dude. Same.“

Below, Shiozaki was still trying to remove a mechanical crab from her hair.

“Alright, see you in the arena.” Kaminari gave Oda a quick tap on the shoulder—more nervous than casual, though he tried to play it off. Then he headed down the hall, rolling his shoulders and muttering something that absolutely sounded like, “Please don’t murder me, please don’t murder me…”

Oda let out a long breath once Kaminari was out of sight, shoulders slumping before he forced himself upright again.

He was weirdly… conflicted. He wasn’t excited to fight. He wasn’t afraid either. But something twisted low in his stomach anyway.

Of all the matchups he could’ve gotten—of all the students in both classes—did it really have to be Kaminari?

He followed a moment later, heading toward the designated waiting rooms. Each finalist had their own small space—no windows, a single bench, a water cooler humming in the corner. He sat down, drumming his fingers against his knee, mind looping through possibilities.

Gravity manipulation wasn’t weak. It simply struggled against specific things—certain velocity thresholds, certain energy outputs, certain electromagnetic interferences—

Electricity was one of them.

Kaminari’s quirk, unfortunately, was electricity.

Oda leaned forward, elbows on his knees. There weren’t many ways to stop Kaminari’s quirk head-on. Barriers wouldn’t hold. He couldn’t reflect the energy. He couldn’t absorb it either—his organs would burst before Kaminari even fried his own brain into Idiot-Mode.

He needed another angle.

Range? Movement? Pressure? Redirect the fight? Grapple? Nothing felt perfect. But something would have to work.

The buzzer blared overhead, vibrating through the walls—the signal for finalists to take their places in the tunnels.

Oda stood immediately. He shrugged off his jacket, folded it once, and left it on the bench. Then he stretched—rolling his shoulders, popping his neck, loosening his joints and muscles to avoid locking up during the first burst of movement.

He drew a deep breath.

And headed to the tunnel.

Up in the stands, Class 1-A leaned forward collectively, all eyes on the arena floor where Kaminari and Oda would enter.

Sero nudged Midoriya with his elbow. “Who do you think is gonna win this one? C’mon, you gotta have some idea.”

Midoriya perked up, startled, then went into analysis mode instantly.

“All my money’s on Edogawa,” Kirishima said confidently, throwing an arm over the back of his seat. “That dude’s quirk is nuts. He flattened that villain at the USJ like a pancake.”

“He did get in on recommendation,” Yaoyorozu agreed, fingers clasped politely. “Which means his abilities must have been exceptional enough to bypass the entrance exam entirely.”

“I don’t know…” Midoriya murmured, already half-lost in thought. “From what I can tell, Kaminari might be a really bad matchup for him.”

Bakugo’s eyes flicked over, like he was gauging Midoriya’s answer.

Kirishima blinked. “Huh? Why?”

Mineta leaned in, face scrunched. “What the hell does that mean?”

Midoriya inhaled—and unleashed: “Gravity is the weakest of the four fundamental forces, easily overwhelmed by electrostatic forces acting on charged particles.”

Silence.

Pure, painful silence.

Sero blinked. Twice. “Bro… you just said string theory to me.”

Mineta threw his hands up. “Speak human!”

The green haired boy flushed scarlet. “S-Sorry! I just meant that while electricity is affected by gravity, it usually overpowers it.”

Kirishima’s face fell. “Which means his gravity barriers might not work.”

“They won’t prevent him from being electrocuted, that’s for sure,” Midoriya said, eyes flicking to the tunnel where Oda would emerge. “But if he can find another way to block Kaminari’s quirk…”

He paused, expression folding into worried determination.

“…then Edogawa still has a chance.”

Present Mic inhaled loudly enough for the speakers to crackle, “COMING UP FOR ROUND FOUR, I’VE BEEN WAITING TO WATCH THIS ONE, FOLKS! WE’VE GOT TWO STUDENTS FROM CLASS 1-A. HE MIGHT BE A LITTLE PLAIN LOOKING BUT THIS SHORTIE GOT INTO UA ON RECOMMENDATION! ON THE LEFT—ODASAKU EDOGAWA!”

The crowd erupted—a rolling wave of cheers, whistles, camera flashes. Oda barely reacted, but his eyes flicked upward, scanning the private viewing booths. He zeroed in on one face—Ranpo, waving proudly with both hands like an idiot, grinning ear to ear. Oda’s stomach dropped.

Great. He was here.

“OUR SECOND FIGHTER HAS DONE SHOCKINGLY WELL SO FAR—GIVE IT UP FOR DENKI KAMINARI, EVERYBODY!”

Kaminari jolted at his name, then tried to play it cool, stretching an arm over his head.
“You know, I don’t really think I can win this,” he said with a shrug, sparks flickering around him.

Oda blinked. “Huh?”

“But I don’t really feel like losing either!”

“READY?” Present Mic yelled. “BEGIN!”

Kaminari didn’t hesitate—electricity burst from him in a blinding flash, rippling across his body like a living storm.

“Indiscriminate Shock—one point three million volts!”

He unleashed everything in one crackling wave straight at Oda.

For a split second, Oda’s heart stuttered—he felt the buzz in the air, the hairs on his arms rising, his instincts flaring—

Move.

The arena floor buckled beneath him as his quirk detonated downward. Crusted slabs of concrete ripped free, hoisted by swirling red light. They locked together midair into a jagged, wave-shaped barricade just as Kaminari’s lightning hit.

The electricity splintered across the concrete and fizzled out harmlessly.

Somewhere in the stands:

“Whoa! He blocked it!” Midoriya yelled.

Oda exhaled shakily behind his cover. “That was close,” he muttered, feeling the residual tingle in his fingertips. If he’d been even half a second slower, Kaminari would’ve cooked him like a bug zapper. “You used all your power on a frontal attack because you didn’t want a drawn-out fight with me.”

The concrete disc beneath him cracked free and lifted, carrying Oda upward. Red aura glowing, he crouched lightly atop the floating platform, staring down at Kaminari.

Kaminari, meanwhile, stood perfectly still, smoke curling off his hair, a dazed smile plastered on his face—already in his short-circuit state.

Oda sighed. “Unfortunately for you, levitation and barriers aren’t the only things I know how to do. And electricity can’t travel through most concrete. The real question is now what? —But I don’t think you thought that far ahead.”

His own voice sounded… smug. Ranpo-like.

Damn it. Now he understood why Ango constantly looked like he wanted wanted to punch Ranpo.

He pushed his quirk out. Below him, the chunks of concrete he’d used earlier splintered again, breaking into new halves. They snapped into place around Kaminari’s body—light enough not to crush him, heavy enough to pin him completely.

Kaminari didn’t even notice. He just wiggled his fingers and giggled dumbly.

“AND JUST LIKE THAT, HE’S IMMOBILIZED!” Present Mic howled. “THAT’S ALL, FOLKS! IT WAS OVER IN AN INSTANT!”

Midnight cracked her whip sharply, “The winner is Edogawa! He advances on!”

The stadium shook with cheers.

Oda hopped off his floating concrete, letting it collapse harmlessly behind him. He rolled his shoulders, trying to act casual—trying not to look up at the VIP booths again.

But he still felt Ranpo’s stupid proud stare burning into the top of his skull.

Up in the stands, the students of Class 1-A leaned forward as one, staring down at the arena. Kaminari was still mumbling while buried in cement. Oda was already walking off like he’d just taken out the trash.

Midoriya blinked rapidly. “Huh. I guess electricity wasn’t as big of a weakness for him as I thought it was.”

“No, I don’t think so.” Jiro shook her head, tapping one earphone jack against her chair. “It’s pretty obvious he predicted Kaminari was gonna open with an immediate strike. The guy is kinda an idiot.”

“Edogawa blocked him with what was immediately available to him, which just so happened to be the floor,” Tokoyami added, arms crossed, Dark Shadow nodding beside him in agreement.

“In other words,” Midoriya murmured, eyes widening, “Edogawa knows his own strengths and weaknesses and already has countermeasures in place to make up for them.”

“It does show quite a bit of battle experience,” Yaoyorozu agreed, thoughtful. “I wonder how he was training before he came to UA.”

“Probably in some underground mountain dojo, meditating under waterfalls of lava,” Sero muttered.

“Or in a secret government bunker,” Mina whispered dramatically.

“Or both,” Kirishima noted, “at the same time.”

Bakugo loudly clicked his tongue. He hadn’t looked away from the arena once. “Doesn’t matter where he trained,” he snapped. “As long as he doesn’t get in my way.”

“You say that like you’re not waiting to fight him,” Sero teased.

Bakugo’s eye twitched. “Shut it before I kill you!”

Meanwhile, Iida adjusted his glasses. “Regardless of his methods, Edogawa’s performance demonstrates exceptional situational awareness and adaptability. His ability to remain composed under sudden threat—”

“Translated from Iida-speak,” Kaminari said from behind them in his post-shock haze, “Oda’s really, really cool.”

“Woah, when did you get here?” Sero asked—then immediately burst into loud, cackling laughter the moment he saw Kaminari’s face. Kaminari still had that fried, vacant expression, eyes unfocused, smile crooked.

“You just lost massively, are you okay?” Ojiro added, leaning forward with genuine concern… which only made Sero laugh harder.

Kaminari shook his head vigorously, like he was trying to physically rattle his neurons back into place. It didn’t help. He still looked like an electrocuted goldfish, but at least his words came out less slurred.

“I’m fine. I was pretty sure I was gonna lose anyway.”

“Well that makes two of us.” Jiro crossed her arms, deadpan.

“Jiro!” Kaminari groaned, offended but still too loopy to mount a proper defense.

“Now you just gotta hope he wins to make you look better,” Sero teased, nudging Kaminari’s shoulder as the fried boy flopped dramatically into the seat beside him.

“Not happening!” Bakugo barked from behind them, sharp and explosive as always.

“Oh yeah? Plannin’ to stick to your opening speech?” Kirishima asked, laughing as he turned around in his seat. At the beginning of the entire Sports Festival, all Bakugo had said was “I’m gonna win.” It had pissed off… well… everyone with functional hearing.

“Don’t piss him off,” Sero warned Kirishima, lifting his hands in surrender. “If you two win your first matches, you’ll be against each other in the second.”

“Sounds like a blast.” Kirishima grinned, absolutely thrilled at the prospect of a death match with his new friend.

Sero blinked. “You say that like you want to get blown up.”

“Let me dream, man.”

“Let’s just hope you don’t get destroyed as embarrassingly quickly as Kaminari,” Jiro commented, voice flat but tone amused.

“Jiro, quit bullying me!” Kaminari protested, cheeks puffing out as he tried to glare—though the effect was ruined by the fact that his hair was still sticking straight up like he’d licked a power outlet.

The entire row of them laughed—some at Kaminari’s expense, some because laughing was easier than thinking about their own upcoming matches—while down in the arena, Oda’s victory still echoed faintly in the roar of the crowd.

Mina vs. Aoyama was the next match.

“WE’RE GONNA CHARGE RIGHT ALONG TO THE FIFTH MATCH!” Present Mic announced, practically vibrating with excitement. “LET’S HOPE THAT GAUDY BELT SERVES SOME KIND OF PURPOSE. IT’S YUGA AOYAMA FROM THE HERO COURSE! VERSUS… IS THERE SOME KIND OF PURPOSE FOR THOSE THINGS STICKING OUT OF HER HEAD? FROM THE SAME CLASS, MINA ASHIDO!”

From the TV mounted in the hallway wall, Oda watched Aoyama immediately strike a dramatic pose, sparkles practically forming around him as he unleashed a laser so bright it washed out half the camera. Mina dodged it with ease—hopping back, flipping sideways, sliding across her own acid like it was a dance floor. She made it look effortless.

Aoyama fired again. And again. And again.

Until his knees buckled, and he clutched his stomach like he was about to hurl glitter.

Mina just kept moving, playful and loose, stepping lightly as if the entire thing was some bizarre tag game she’d already won the moment it started. And she kinda had. A single splash of her acid hit the golden buckle of Aoyama’s belt—melting it clean off. His pants dropped. Half the arena screamed. Mina took pity on no one and launched an uppercut that flipped him backwards onto the floor.

“Aoyama has fainted!” Midnight proclaimed. “The winner of this match is Ashido!”

The stadium erupted. Pink fists in the air. Acid Queen triumph.

“DANG, AOYAMA WENT DOWN HARD!” Present Mic hollered. “THAT’S AN INDISPUTABLE VICTORY IF I’VE EVER SEEN ONE, SPORTS FANS!”

Oda… continued watching from the hall.

He should go back to the stands. He knew that. His next match wasn’t for a bit. But the idea of slipping into a row next to Kaminari—who, even if he wasn’t upset, should be upset—tangled something tight in Oda’s throat.

So he stayed where he was. Leaning against the wall. Hands in pockets. Staring at nothing while pretending to focus on the TV.

Yaoyorozu and Tokoyami passed by on their way to their waiting rooms—neither of them saying anything more than a polite nod. Oda nodded back, jaw tight.

Then—footsteps. Light ones.

Mina bounced up the stairs and into the hall, still buzzing with leftover adrenaline, the tips of her horns glistening under the fluorescent lights. She spotted Oda instantly and stopped short.

“Avoiding him?” she teased, eyes narrowing mischievously.

Oda didn’t deny it. He just shrugged, shoulders up, eyes down. Non answers were an art form for him.

Mina let out a little giggle—the kind that said you’re not subtle, dude—then hooked an arm around his neck, pulling him in like a sibling about to drag their introverted brother somewhere very, very public.

“Come on! Don’t be,” she chirped. “He’s not mad, I guarantee it! Everyone’s gunning for the top, so there’s no hard feelings, alright? Unless you’re Bakugo, but we all know that.”

“True,” Oda mumbled, feet dragging despite her momentum. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. His palms cold.

Still—he didn’t pull away.

Mina tugged him toward the stairwell, chattering the whole way about how she totally didn’t mean to drop Aoyama’s pants, even though she absolutely did. The climb up to the stadium entrance was short, but Oda felt every step.

Then sunlight hit his face—bright, blinding, warm.

And the roar of the crowd reached them in waves.

Mina gave his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“Hey! Lookie who I found!” Mina sang as she shook Oda by the shoulders like she was presenting a lost cat she’d rescued from a tree.

Every head in Class 1A snapped toward them.

“Hey, man.” Kirishima grinned, giving Oda a thumbs-up. “Congrats on your win.”

“Yeah, you were awesome out there,” Sero added, leaning forward over the back of his seat.

Oda nodded once, small and stiff. “Thanks.” His voice barely carried, but they heard him. His eyes flicked immediately—instinctively—down to Kaminari.

He braced himself for awkwardness, guilt, maybe a little resentment.

Instead, Kaminari beamed.

“What they said!” he chimed, bright as ever. “You won fair and square. Though, I probably never really stood a chance. C’mon. Sit down.” He patted the empty seat next to him like it was reserved.

Oda hesitated only a second before slipping past Bakugo—who glared up at him like he’d personally offended the sun—and taking the seat. Mina plopped down behind them between Jiro and Hagakure, still buzzing.

“That’s not true,” Oda murmured.

“Sorry, what was that?” Kaminari blinked, already confused.

“You did stand a chance.” Oda raised his voice just enough. “But you used all of your power on the first attack, you idiot.” He reached over and flicked Kaminari sharply in the forehead.

“What? I don’t get it!” Kaminari yelped, clutching his head like Oda had thrown a rock at him.

“Electricity has a stronger charge than gravity,” Oda explained, matter-of-fact. “So if you hit me with a dead-on attack, even with a gravity barrier up, I’d have ended up electrocuted. But I blocked the first one, and you used up all your power on that shot, so there was never a chance for you to find an opening, moron.” He flicked Kaminari again for emphasis.

“Ow! You’re saying helpful things but you’re hitting me!” Kaminari protested, betrayed.

“Maybe if I beat the lesson into you, you’ll remember it for next time.” Oda lifted his hand like he was going to flick him again.

“Okay! Okay! Don’t hit me again, please! Mercy! I beg for mercy!” Kaminari threw both hands up in surrender like Oda was holding him at gunpoint.

“Ugh, you idiots are so annoying, shut up!” Bakugo barked from behind them, aggressively offended by the existence of joy.

“You’re the one who’s yelling,” Oda said flatly, not even turning around.

Bakugo sputtered in outrage, mouth opening—ready to detonate—but whatever string of curses he had prepared died on his tongue as Present Mic’s voice came through the speakers again. 

The Yaoyorozu vs. Tokoyami match was about to begin.