Chapter 10

₊˚⊹✷ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍.
⤷ Bakugo vs. Uraraka.

“NOW, LET’S NOT LET THIS HOT STREAK COOL!” Present Mic boomed, loud enough to rattle the arena lights. “TIME TO MOVE ON TO THE SIXTH MATCH!”

Yaoyorozu and Tokoyami stepped onto the field, each composed in their own way—Momo steeling her nerves with a breath, Tokoyami already half-shadowed by the dark creature looming behind him.

“OFFENSE AND DEFENSE IN ONE! THE DARK SAMURAI AND HIS DARKER SHADOW! FROM THE HERO COURSE—FUMIKAGE TOKOYAMI!” Present Mic howled, the crowd roaring at the dramatic flare.

“VERSUS… THE GREAT CREATOR! SHE WAS ADMITTED BECAUSE OF RECOMMENDATIONS AND I THINK WE CAN ALL SEE WHY! ALSO FROM CLASS 1A—MOMO YAOYOROZU!”

In the stands, Ojiro leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “How do you think this one will end? Any clue?”

“Timing is going to be the key thing here,” Midoriya said, voice tightening as he analyzed.

“Oh? How so?” Ojiro asked.

“Because that quirk of his is fast and he can call on it in an instant,” Oda answered, beating Midoriya to it. His tone was flat, but his eyes stayed locked on Dark Shadow below. “She’ll have to make a shield to block him and find a chance to counter strike. But if she doesn’t time it right, then she’ll be done for in seconds.”

“I—yeah. That’s what I was gonna say,” Midoriya chuckled awkwardly, scratching his cheek.

“How would you fight him, Edogawa?” Sero asked from behind them.

“Dunno.” Oda said it honestly, without hesitation. “That thing doesn’t have any weaknesses I can exploit, and it can’t get injured. It’s a shadow, so I doubt it’s something I can manipulate with my quirk. Honestly, if I’m pitted against Tokoyami, I’m probably screwed.”

“Well, that’s encouraging,” Kirishima muttered, though his grin said he appreciated the honesty.

“SIXTH MATCH! BEGIN!” Present Mic thundered.

Tokoyami didn’t waste a second. “Go, Dark Shadow!”

“I’ve got her!” the shadow snarled as it shot forward.

Yaoyorozu reacted almost instantly—her skin shining as she created a shield the size of a dinner table. Dark Shadow slammed into it.

One strike—she staggered back, shoes sliding.

Two—she stumbled harder this time, her breath hitching in surprise.

Three—the shield quivered under the impact, and Oda could see her footing faltering.

Four—and Tokoyami called Dark Shadow back.

For a half-second, Yaoyorozu didn’t register what had happened. She crafted a bo staff, stepping forward to counterattack—

“Yaoyorozu! You’re out!” Midnight cracked her whip.

Momo froze, looking down slowly. One foot—barely, just barely—outside the ring.

Her shoulders slumped.

“This match goes to Tokoyami!” Midnight declared.

The bird-headed boy bowed with solemn composure before walking off the field. The crowd roared in approval.

“YIKES! ANOTHER FAST, OVERWHELMING VICTORY!” Present Mic called. “IS IT POSSIBLE THAT TOKOYAMI’S DARK SHADOW IS THE GREATEST QUIRK EVER? I THINK SO!”

Up in the stands, Midoriya gawked. “Tokoyami is way too powerful. I can’t believe he forced her out of bounds by focusing his attacks on her shield. He obviously had a strategy worked out…”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Ojiro murmured. “Maybe he didn’t wanna hurt her. I bet she’s really upset about how that went down. I feel bad for her.”

“OKAY, LET’S SEE WHO WE’VE GOT FOR YA NEXT!” Present Mic practically vibrated with excitement. “THE SEVENTH MATCH-UP INCLUDES TWO COMPLETELY REDUNDANT QUIRKS!”

Oda exhaled through his nose. Redundant was one way to put it. Stupidly stubborn was another.

Tetsutetsu and Kirishima marched into the arena like they were walking into a gym PR vlog—hyped, loud, and already trying to out–manly-fist-bump each other before the match even started.

“ONE OF THEM’S A PASSIONATE MANLY FIGHTER MADE OF STEEL! THE HERO COURSE’S TETSUTETSU TETSUTETSU! VERSUS…! A PASSIONATE MANLY FIGHTER MADE OUT OF ROCK! THE HERO COURSE’S EIJIRO KIRISHIMA! CAN’T WAIT TO SEE HOW THIS ONE ENDS! BEGIN!”

Oda already knew.

Punching. More punching. Several metric tons of testosterone. A complete lack of strategy. He could already feel his brain turning into static.

Sure enough:

They charged each other like two rhinos.

“Yeah!” Kirishima roared. “Let’s go!”

“Bring it, man!” Tetsutetsu roared back.

They collided with enough force to make Present Mic squeal into the sound system. Cement dust puffed up around their feet with every blow, and there was a clang every time their fists met.

It was, in Oda’s opinion, like watching two frying pans aggressively greet each other.

Across the row, Mina was on the edge of her seat. “Woah—look at them go!”

Oda rubbed his temple. “I can feel my IQ dropping.”

The match continued—punch, punch, yell, punch, yell, grunt, punch—until even Present Mic sounded winded from narrating it. Somewhere between minute ten and minute twenty, Bakugo stood up with an explosive grunt and stomped off.

“Where’s he going?” Kaminari whispered.

“Preparing,” Sero whispered back.

“Or bored,” Oda added. Honestly, he related. The longer it dragged on, the more Oda had to fight the urge to physically push both combatants out of bounds just to end it.

Finally—FINALLY—the inevitable happened.

Both boys wound up for one last hit—a completely telegraphed, ridiculous haymaker—and slammed their fists into each other’s faces at the same exact time.

Both dropped like rocks.

The stadium erupted.

“WOW THAT HURT ME AND ALL I’M DOIN’ IS WATCHIN’ THESE GUYS!” Present Mic hollered. “IS IT OVER? THE HARDHEADS LOOK LIKE THEY’RE KO’D! BUT WHO IS THE WINNER?”

Midnight walked out, heels clicking sharply against the cracked arena floor. She stared down at them both for a second.

“They’re both down! It’s a draw!” she announced.

The crowd screamed again, thrilled for reasons Oda would never understand.

“When the contestants recover from this battle,” she continued, “the winner will be determined by a simple contest. Perhaps arm wrestling.”

“Of course it is,” Oda muttered, slouched deeper into his seat.

“WHILE WE WAIT FOR KIRISHIMA AND TETSUTETSU TO RECOVER, WE’LL MOVE ON TO THE NEXT BATTLE!”

Bakugo and Uraraka’s images flashed on the giant screens.

Oda’s stomach tightened—slightly. Not out of fear for Bakugo—he was an emotional nightmare but terrifyingly competent. No, it was the fact that everyone in Class 1A shifted uncomfortably at the same time.

“Ribbit. This might be the most disturbing match-up yet,” Asui murmured.

“I know. I almost don’t wanna watch it,” Jiro hugged her arms.

But still—despite all the doubts, despite the looks of dread across Class 1A—Uraraka walked onto the field with her head held high.

Oda had to give her credit. Most people froze when they had to fight Bakugo. Uraraka? She squared her shoulders and marched.

Bakugo emerged from the opposite tunnel, rolling his shoulders, looking almost bored—but the kind of bored a predator looked right before it lunged. A fuse already lit.

Everyone in Class 1A tensed. 

Midoriya leaned so far forward he was practically falling out of his seat. Iida’s hands were shaking as he gripped the railing. They both wanted her to win more than anything in the world. Oda could understand why. Being near Bakugo in a fight was like standing too close to a rocket—one wrong move and you were cooked.

Present Mic’s voice thundered:

“THE EIGHTH AND FINAL BATTLE IN THE FIRST ROUND OF MATCHES! HE WAS KINDA A HOT SHOT IN MIDDLE SCHOOL AND JUST LOOK AT THAT DETERMINED FACE. FROM THE HERO COURSE, KATSUKI BAKUGO! VERSUS… THE ONE I’M PERSONALLY ROOTING FOR, ALSO FROM CLASS 1A, OCHACO URARAKA!”

The stadium roared—half for Uraraka, half for Bakugo, and probably a quarter just for the drama.

“LET THE EIGHTH MATCH BEGIN!”

Uraraka charged immediately.

Oda blinked once. Brave. Maybe reckless. But she’d clearly studied Bakugo. She knew his opening move. Knew he always led with a big right-hand explosion. Her goal was obvious—dodge, get close, touch him, and send him sky-high.

Except Bakugo wasn’t stupid.

The blast hit her before she even got very close.

“Uraraka!” Iida and Midoriya yelled in sync.

“He blasted her!” Mineta squeaked.

“No mercy,” Asui muttered under her breath. “Of course.”

The smoke cleared enough to hear Uraraka’s voice: “Stupid. Saw it coming and I still couldn’t get out of the way.”

Before Oda could even shift in his seat, Bakugo blasted again—except—It wasn’t her.

Her jacket took the explosion and flared out on the ground.

She dove from behind him, going straight for contact—but Bakugo barely turned before his explosion knocked her across the ring again.

“Look at that reaction time!” Sero gawked.

“Seriously, the dude’s insane,” Kaminari added. “You can’t get the drop on him. And since Uraraka has to touch him, those reflexes put her at a huge disadvantage.”

Oda nodded once, quietly. Kaminari, shockingly, was right.

He’d seen those reflexes up close. During the cavalry battle, those reflexes saved Oda’s ass more than once. Bakugo might be angry 95% of the time, but his instincts? Razor sharp.

Still—watching him turn that instinct against Uraraka felt…wrong.

She charged again.

He blasted again.

She hit the ground, again.

“Too slow!” Bakugo barked.

“Is she okay?” Asui whispered.

“I can’t watch this,” Jiro muttered, covering her eyes.

“Like I always suspected,” Mineta shook his head. “Bakugo’s a total sadist.”

But Uraraka kept charging.

And Bakugo kept blowing her back.

Once more—

Twice—

Three times—

Four—

Each explosion tore up more of the arena floor. Concrete shattered, dirt scattered, and every time she hit the ground, Uraraka’s fingertips brushed the debris. With each desperate scramble back to her feet, another piece of rubble floated silently upward behind her—unnoticed by most, except those watching closely.

She was gathering weapons.

Oda’s eyes narrowed. Smart girl.

“LOOKS LIKE SHE’S NOT RESTING BETWEEN ATTACKS,” Present Mic boomed. “DESPITE BEING EXPLODED, POOR GIRL!”

He made it sound like commentary on a game show, but Oda watched Uraraka’s shoulders rising with each breath—her expression tightening, determination carving itself into her features. She wasn’t flinging herself into Bakugo’s explosions because she thought she could overpower him.

She was stalling.

It took two more charges—two more violent blasts—for the audience to start shifting uneasily. Grumbles rolled across the stadium. Even the heroes in the stands began to murmur.

“Hey, wouldn’t one of the teachers step in?” someone yelled.

“Yeah, this is too rough!” another added.

Bakugo blew her back again. Smoke curled around her sliding body.

And then a hero in the stands stood up, face red, pointing down at the field.

“This is shameful! Listen, kid, you really wanna be a hero? Then stop acting like a bully! If you’re so good then just send her out of bounds! Stop toying with the girl and end this match!”

Another hero chimed in. “Yeah, you heard the guy!”

The stadium reacted instantly—like a flame catching dry leaves. Booing. Loud, messy, angry booing.

Oda froze.

And for a split second—just a fraction of a moment—Bakugo’s body language changed. His shoulders tensed. His jaw locked. He didn’t turn, didn’t speak, didn’t even flinch, but Oda could feel the way the crowd’s disdain hit him. 

Oda’s jaw clenched.

Idiots. Absolute idiots.

They saw explosions and assumed cruelty. They saw a girl struggling and assumed weakness. They saw Bakugo’s refusal to hold back and assumed he was a monster.

They didn’t see the battlefield. They didn’t see the strategy. They didn’t see that Bakugo had to fight at full power, because if he didn’t—if he underestimated her even once—Uraraka would take his place in the top rankings.

They didn’t see her trap forming right above their own heads.

“THE CROWD IS NOW BOOING BAKUGO,” Present Mic narrated, absolutely no sense of self-preservation. “AND HONESTLY I KINDA AGREE WITH WHAT THEY’RE SAYIN’—!”

There was a scuffle over the mic—Present Mic yelped—and suddenly Aizawa’s dry, irritated voice came through instead:

“Where is the man who started this uproar? Are you a pro? Because if you’re being serious, you can go home and hang up your cape. I’d suggest looking into another career.”

The stadium went dead silent.

“Bakugo’s fierceness is an acknowledgment of his opponent’s strength. He knows she deserves to have made it this far, so he’s making sure he does whatever it takes to keep her at bay and come out on top.”

Oda blinked, surprised despite himself. Aizawa didn’t speak up for anyone, very often.

But Uraraka—She was already moving.

Her chest heaved as she steadied herself on trembling feet. Her bangs clung to her forehead from sweat, her cheeks were scratched, her uniform smudged and singed.

Yet her eyes—They were steady.

“I think… it’s about time,” she breathed, teeth gritted. “Thank you, Bakugo… for keeping your eyes focused on me!”

Her hands snapped together at the fingertips.

And above her—

The mass she’d collected, the rubble, the broken concrete, the shattered remains of Bakugo’s own destruction—all of it cascaded toward the ground in a swirling, devastating orbit.

“A METEOR SHOWER!” Present Mic screamed.

“Now you notice,” Aizawa sighed, unimpressed and exhausted.

But as the debris fell—tons of it, a collapsing sky of concrete and dust and strategy—Bakugo didn’t even flinch.

He didn’t tense. He didn’t panic. He didn’t look impressed.

He simply raised his arm toward the heavens, palm open, bracing his wrist with his other hand—

—and unleashed hell.

BOOM.

Not the usual crackling blast. 

This was a cannon going off at point-blank range.

A roaring, white-hot blast tore upward, vaporizing the rubble mid-air, shattering Uraraka’s meteor shower like it was made of sand. The explosion burst outward, forming a shockwave that slammed through the arena, rattling seats, shaking dust loose, and sending Oda’s hair whipping across his forehead.

Gasps.

Shouts.

Hands flying up to shield faces.

Bakugo stood firm in the center of the ring, still completely untouched. 

“BAKUGO BANGS OUT A HUGE DEMONSTRATION OF POWER!” Present Mic shrieked over the roaring crowd. “HE BLASTED APART URARAKA’S FINISHING MOVE AND REMAINS UNTOUCHED!”

Uraraka, thrown by the blast’s wind pressure alone, skidded across the arena floor. Her body folded on itself before she forced—forced—herself upright again, trembling, swaying like she was trying to stand in a storm.

She wasn’t done. She wasn’t giving up. Even after that.

Her hand twitched forward like she meant to charge—

But her legs gave in.

She crumpled.

Just collapsed completely.

“URARAKA IS DOWN!” Present Mic cried, the disappointment sharp in his voice.

Midnight strode into the arena, heels tapping against cracked debris. She lifted a hand toward Bakugo—her usual signal to stand down—before crouching beside Uraraka.

One touch. One check. One second.

“Uraraka is KO’d,” Midnight announced, professional but not unkind. “Bakugo advances to the second round!”

And suddenly—suddenly—the same crowd that had booed Bakugo minutes ago erupted into wild cheers.

Humans were fickle creatures, Oda noted. Give them a good show, and they forget what they yelled six minutes earlier.

Medical bots swarmed in, lifting Uraraka gently and carrying her toward the tunnels.  Oda watched quietly. Uraraka had fought with everything she had. Everything.

“AND THAT’S IT FOR THE FIRST ROUND!” Present Mic boomed. “I WAS REALLY PULLIN’ FOR HER. OH, YEAH, I GUESS BAKUGO’S MOVING ON.”

Aizawa sighed, long-suffering. “You’re supposed to be unbiased, you know.”

“LET’S TRY TO FORGET THAT DEPRESSING OUTCOME!”

“Or not.”

“WITH THAT, THE FIRST ROUND IS COMPLETE! WE’RE TAKING A QUICK BREAK AND THEN WE’RE BACK WITH MORE MATCHES!”

The crowd screamed again, energy high despite the emotional whiplash. Class 1A slumped collectively—exhausted, rattled, hyped, worried, all at once.

Oda leaned back in his seat, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly down. He wasn’t cheering. He wasn’t celebrating. He was just thinking. About how far he’d come and how far he still had to go. About how, unlike Bakugo or Todoroki or Midoriya, he couldn’t afford a single misstep—not with the world watching.

Not with his guardian in the stands.

Not with Endeavor staring him down.

Not with villains watching too.

Second round, he thought. Time to step into it.

author’s note-

short chapter, sorry.