AN:Check out my new fanfic Multiverse: Mission System
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The electric buzz of anticipation hummed through the stadium as the dust from Kenjiro's match with Todoroki finally began to settle. The crowd, still reeling from the overwhelming display of power, hardly had time to catch its breath when Midnight's sultry voice rang out once more, amplified by the arena speakers.
"SEMIFINAL MATCH TWO! IZUKU MIDORIYA VS. KATSUKI BAKUGO! COMBATANTS, STEP FORWARD!"
A tidal wave of cheers erupted. Fans stood from their seats, waving flags and screaming names as two of U.A.'s brightest stars emerged from opposite ends of the arena.
Midoriya's green eyes were focused, his fists clenched with quiet determination. No stammering. No hesitation. Only resolve burned in his gaze. The trials of the festival had forged him into something sharper.
Bakugo, by contrast, stalked forward like a force of nature. Shoulders tense, boots pounding against the ground, the volatile storm in his chest ready to detonate. His crimson eyes locked onto Izuku's like targeting reticles.
They stopped only a few meters apart. The tension could be sliced with a blade.
"Kacchan," Izuku said, voice steady as steel. "I'm going to win this time."
Bakugo sneered. "Like hell you will, Deku."
From the stands, Kenjiro leaned against the railing of the waiting area, arms folded. His expression was unreadable, but his sharp eyes missed nothing.
Midnight raised her whip high.
"BEGIN!"
Bakugo moved like a cannonball—no, like a bomb with legs.
The moment the signal dropped, a deafening blast launched him forward. His right fist cocked back, a fiery detonation erupting from his palm as he closed the gap.
Izuku dodged by a hair, the heat licking his cheek. He twisted mid-air, landing on the balls of his feet and instantly countering with a One For All-powered roundhouse kick.
Bakugo ducked under it, countering with a mid-air explosion that propelled him over Izuku's head. He spun, using the momentum to send a back-kick toward Izuku's shoulder.
Izuku crossed his arms just in time—CRACK!
The force of the blow sent him sliding back, his shoes carving lines into the concrete. But he didn't fall. He held his ground and responded fast, grabbing Bakugo's ankle mid-spin and slamming him into the ground with a full-powered heave.
Bakugo bounced once, flipped, and righted himself with another blast, landing in a low crouch.
"Tch. Still pulling that weak-ass shit?" he spat, steam rising from his palms.
Izuku exhaled, sweat beading on his forehead. "It's not weak if it slows you down."
The air shimmered around Bakugo's arms as he bared his teeth. "SHUT UP!"
He launched into a full barrage—short, rapid-fire concussive blasts—AP Shot: Auto-Cannon. The rapid succession forced Izuku into a backward sprint, using full-body enhancement to zigzag away from the heat and debris.
Present Mic shouted above the chaos. "AND THEY'RE GOING FULL TILT! MIDORIYA'S DODGING LIKE A PRO, BUT BAKUGO'S COMING IN HOT!"
Eraserhead's voice followed, quieter but focused. "Midoriya's growth is impressive. He's reading Bakugo better than before. But Bakugo's tempo is relentless—he's not giving him a second to breathe."
Izuku skidded to a halt, barely ducking under a sweeping explosion. His foot sparked with energy as he pivoted into a side-kick, hitting nothing but air as Bakugo leapt over him.
BOOM!
An explosion to his back sent Izuku sprawling—but he tucked into a roll and recovered. Bakugo was already on him.
Their fists met in mid-air—one with raw explosion, the other with focused, bone-shaking strength.
BOOM!
They repelled each other, both hitting the ground hard, breathing heavy. Bakugo wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth with the back of his glove, his eyes blazing.
"I'm not losing to you again. Not to some quirkless crybaby who plays hero."
Izuku's voice was hoarse but unwavering. "I'm not that kid anymore, Kacchan."
The earth trembled under Bakugo's feet as he charged again, arms pulsing with stored sweat and fury.
Izuku braced himself.
They clashed again—Bakugo's explosions tearing craters into the concrete while Izuku ducked, spun, and countered with precision.
He'd learned. Every time Bakugo overextended, Izuku was there. A shoulder check. A sweep. A flick of a finger—controlled, precise.
But Bakugo adjusted too. Every hit he took seemed to feed him, turning pain into pressure, rage into fuel. His attacks grew wilder, sharper, more explosive.
Then it came.
"DIEEEEEE!"
He vaulted into the air, arms behind him like wings. His body began to rotate, building momentum like a drill. The wind howled around him as he turned into a blazing spiral of destruction.
Kenjiro's eyes narrowed. "Here it is…"
"HOWITZER IMPACT!"
A thunderous boom echoed as Bakugo descended like a meteor. Izuku's eyes went wide—he couldn't run. Not in time.
So he didn't.
Instead, he crouched low and launched himself straight up—One For All surging through every fiber of his being. Two green comets collided mid-air.
KA-KRACK-BOOOOM!
The shockwave shattered several chunks of the arena floor. Wind and debris roared outward, knocking some spectators off their feet. A dome of dust blanketed the ring.
Silence fell.
When the haze cleared, Midoriya was on his knees, body trembling, one foot just outside the boundary line.
Bakugo stood tall, chest heaving, arms singed and twitching from recoil.
Midnight's whip cracked.
"WINNER BY RING OUT—KATSUKI BAKUGO!"
The crowd erupted into a frenzy, but Bakugo didn't raise his arms. He didn't yell or boast. He just stared at Izuku—expression tight, unreadable.
Izuku, still catching his breath, gave a tired smile. "...Next time, Kacchan."
Bakugo scoffed, voice strained. "Tch. Whatever."
He turned, hands still smoking. They trembled slightly, a silent acknowledgment of how close the fight had been.
From the shadows of the competitor's platform, Kenjiro exhaled, a slow grin spreading across his face.
So that's how it ends.
He cracked his knuckles, the soft pop lost in the cheers of the crowd.
"Guess that means I'm fighting him in the finals," he muttered.
His blood felt hot—pulsing with excitement. Not fear. Not nerves. Anticipation.
He rolled his shoulders, already visualizing Bakugo's movements, the way he twisted his body before a blast, the minor lag after his Howitzer wind-up.
Kenjiro's jaw tightened. He wasn't Todoroki. He wouldn't freeze or hesitate. He wasn't going to take explosions head-on.
He was going to win.
"I hope you've got something left in the tank, Bakugo," he murmured to himself, eyes gleaming with fire.
"Because I'm coming for all of it."