Katsuki circled the platform, his shoes scraping against concrete as he maintained perfect distance from Midoriya. Twenty seconds of the assessment stretched like hours, each fighter testing the air between them with minute shifts in stance and weight. The roar of the crowd dulled to white noise in his ears as he cataloged every detail of his opponent.
Midoriya mirrored his movements precisely, their clockwise rotation forming a deadly orbit.
Present Mic's voice pierced through Katsuki's focus.
"WHAT A TENSE OPENING, FOLKS! THESE TWO AREN'T RUSHING IN—THEY'RE SIZING EACH OTHER UP! AND DID YOU KNOW THESE CONTESTANTS HAVE HISTORY? THAT'S RIGHT, THESE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS-TURNED-RIVALS HAVE KNOWN EACH OTHER SINCE BIRTH!"
Friends? The word caught in Katsuki's mind like shrapnel. Images flashed —a small green-haired boy trailing after him through shallow streams, collecting bugs, building forts. Before quirks. Before expectations. Before everything went wrong.
"THEY'VE COME A LONG WAY FROM THEIR HOMETOWN, HAVEN'T THEY, ERASERHEAD?"
Aizawa's muffled response faded beneath the pounding in Katsuki's ears. His palms sparked involuntarily as unwanted memories surged forward—Midoriya's face when he confirmed he was quirkless. The slow transformation of admiration in those green eyes to fear. His own voice, cruel and sharp: "If you want a quirk so badly, take a swan dive off the roof and hope for one in your next life!"
Shame burned hotter than the nitroglycerin in his sweat.
"Katsuki."
The single word cut through everything. Midoriya's voice, deeper now than in those memories, commanded his full attention. Their circling stopped.
Midoriya pointed down at the concrete platform. Once. Twice.
The message needed no translation: Here. Now. This is all that matters.
Everything else fell away—the stadium, the crowd, the teachers, the past. In Katsuki's mind, they stood alone on an empty platform, the way it should be. Just the two of them, finishing what began a decade ago.
Katsuki's lips curled into something between a snarl and a grin. "Took the words right out of my mouth, nerd."
He launched forward, right palm extended in his signature opening move. Predictable, yes, but executed with such speed and precision that most opponents flinched back or blocked too late.
Midoriya did neither. He stepped inside the blast radius, right hand snapping up to deflect Katsuki's wrist while his left palm struck toward Katsuki's chest.
Katsuki twisted, the blow grazing his ribs as he fired a secondary explosion from his left hand. The force separated them, buying space to reassess.
He's faster, Katsuki noted, landing in a crouch. But so am I.
The month since their beach conversation hadn't been wasted. While others saw only his usual explosive style in the preliminary matches, Katsuki had been refining his techniques, developing new applications, and—most importantly—saving his true capabilities for this moment.
Midoriya settled back into his stance, eyes never leaving Katsuki's. No fear there anymore. No hesitation. Just focus and something else—a silent acknowledgment that passed between them.
This time, Katsuki didn't rush in. He extended both hands behind him and triggered precisely calibrated explosions, launching himself forward in a controlled trajectory. As he closed the distance, he spun, creating a spiraling vortex of blasts aimed to disorient.
Midoriya slipped beneath the assault, his movement almost liquid as he flowed around each explosion. His counter came not as a direct attack but as a sweeping leg that nearly took Katsuki's feet from under him.
Katsuki jumped, using the momentum to somersault backward, palms already sparking for his next move. He'd anticipated Midoriya's counterattack, planned for it.
What he hadn't planned for was the speed with which Midoriya closed the gap, appearing almost instantly within striking distance.
What the—
A palm strike connected with Katsuki's solar plexus, driving air from his lungs. He retaliated instinctively, right hand detonating inches from Midoriya's face. The blast should have sent him flying, but Midoriya had already shifted, taking only a glancing blow across his shoulder.
They separated again, reassessing. Neither had landed a decisive hit, but the exchange confirmed what Katsuki had suspected—they'd both been holding back throughout the tournament.
"AND THEY'RE FINALLY ENGAGING! WHAT SPEED FROM BOTH CONTESTANTS!" Present Mic's commentary barely registered as Katsuki analyzed what had just happened.
That burst of speed wasn't normal. It wasn't just good training or physical conditioning. Midoriya had moved like—
Like me when I use explosions for propulsion.
But Midoriya was quirkless. Which meant he'd developed a technique to match Katsuki's mobility without the advantage of a quirk.
Katsuki's lips curled. Clever bastard.
Time to show him what a month of dedicated training had produced.
Katsuki launched himself skyward, using a series of controlled explosions to gain height. At the apex, he spun and brought both hands together in front of him, fingers interlocked except for his index fingers and thumbs, which formed a diamond shape.
"AP Shot: Auto-Cannon!"
Multiple compressed explosions—smaller than his standard blasts but far more focused—rained down toward Midoriya. Each shot carried enough force to shatter concrete, yet required minimal nitroglycerin, preserving his reserves for the long fight ahead.
Midoriya dodged the first volley, but the pattern of blasts herded him toward the platform's edge. Just as planned. Katsuki adjusted his aim, forcing Midoriya to either retreat out of bounds or leap through a gap in the barrage.
He chose the gap, exactly as Katsuki had anticipated. The moment Midoriya committed to the jump, Katsuki altered his trajectory, firing a massive explosion from his right hand to propel himself directly into Midoriya's path.
"Gotcha," Katsuki growled, left palm cocked back for a point-blank blast.
But Midoriya's expression never changed. As they closed, he twisted in mid-air—a move that should have been physically impossible given his momentum—and drove his knee toward Katsuki's ribs.
Katsuki blocked with his forearm, the impact jarring his bones. He fired the prepared blast anyway, catching Midoriya's shoulder and sending them both tumbling in opposite directions.
They landed simultaneously, sliding across concrete. Katsuki's forearm throbbed where it had absorbed Midoriya's strike, but he ignored the pain. Midoriya's uniform was singed at the shoulder, exposing reddened skin beneath.
First blood to me.
"WHAT AN EXCHANGE!" Present Mic shouted. "BAKUGO'S NEW TECHNIQUE SEEMS TO HAVE CAUGHT MIDORIYA OFF GUARD!"
Hardly, Katsuki thought, watching Izuku roll his injured shoulder once before settling back into his stance. Nothing about his demeanor suggested surprise or concern. If anything, there was a glimmer of... approval?
He's been watching me all this time. Analyzing. Planning.
Izuku had always been observant, even when they were kids. He'd filled notebooks with hero analysis, quirk applications, fighting styles. Katsuki had mocked him for it, destroyed his notebooks, called it useless without a quirk to apply the knowledge to.
Now, facing the practical application of all that analysis, Katsuki couldn't deny its effectiveness.
But observation has limits.
Katsuki charged forward, palms crackling with small, controlled explosions. When Midoriya moved to intercept, Katsuki planted his right foot and pivoted sharply, altering his attack angle at the last possible moment.
Midoriya adjusted, blocking the strike aimed at his ribs, but Katsuki had already transitioned, both palms pressed against the concrete platform. The explosion that followed wasn't directed at Midoriya at all—it was aimed downward, cratering the surface and sending chunks of debris flying in all directions.
Through the dust cloud, Katsuki tracked Midoriya's position by sound and movement, firing precision blasts to drive him back while simultaneously launching himself forward through the obscured battlefield.
His right hook connected with something solid—Midoriya's blocking forearm—but Katsuki had anticipated the defense. He grabbed Midoriya's arm with his left hand, using it as an anchor to swing his entire body around, right leg extended in a devastating kick.
The impact never came. Somehow, Midoriya had predicted the maneuver and dropped his center of gravity, pulling Katsuki off-balance. Before Katsuki could correct his position, a palm strike caught him under the jaw, snapping his head back.
Stars exploded across his vision. He fired blind, creating space to recover as he blinked away the disorientation.
When his vision cleared, Midoriya stood twenty feet away, that same calm expression on his face. But something had changed. The careful restraint in his stance had shifted to something more... eager
Katsuki wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. No blood, but his jaw throbbed. That had been no ordinary palm strike—the force behind it rivaled some of the strongest blows he'd taken during training.
How is he generating that much power?
The answer came in a flash of insight as he recalled Midoriya's words on the beach: "Six hundred kilos of weights will do that."
Weights. The bastard had been training with weights this entire time. No wonder he got so strong.
Katsuki's lips curled into a feral grin. "Taking off the training wheels, huh?" he muttered, too low for anyone but himself to hear. "About damn time."
They met in a furious exchange of strikes and counters, neither gaining clear advantage. Katsuki's explosions forced Midoriya to constantly adjust, while Midoriya's fluid style made landing a clean hit nearly impossible.
For thirty seconds they fought at close quarters, a blur of movement too fast for most spectators to follow. Katsuki blocked a roundhouse kick with his forearm, countered with an explosive right hook that Midoriya barely evaded, then spun to avoid a palm strike aimed at his sternum.
As they separated from the exchange, both breathing harder but neither showing signs of fatigue, Katsuki realized something that should have been obvious from the beginning.
We've been watching each other all along. Learning. Adapting.
Even during the years when he'd pushed Midoriya away, called him useless, tried to extinguish that determined light in his eyes—even then, they'd been studying each other. Rivals, perhaps, but also mirrors.
Midoriya settled into his stance again, but this time there was a subtle shift in his posture, a coiling of potential energy that signaled his next attack would be different.
Katsuki braced himself, palms crackling with stored power.
The movement, when it came, almost defied perception. One moment Midoriya stood across the platform; the next, he had closed half the distance in what appeared to be a single step, his body low to the ground, right palm leading.
Katsuki fired both hands backward, launching himself into the air to avoid what he now recognized as Midoriya's speed technique. From his elevated position, he unleashed a barrage of explosions, forcing Midoriya to abort his advance and defend.
The moment Midoriya's attention shifted to the aerial assault, Katsuki altered his trajectory, using a precisely calibrated blast to propel himself directly toward his opponent. His right arm cocked back, palm glowing with accumulated nitroglycerin.
"Howitzer—"
Midoriya's eyes widened fractionally—the first sign of surprise he'd shown during the entire match.
"—IMPACT!"
The explosion that followed dwarfed all previous blasts, a concentrated inferno that engulfed both fighters and sent shockwaves across the stadium. Concrete cracked beneath the force, dust and debris billowing outward in a perfect circle.
For a moment, silence fell as the smoke obscured the platform. Then, through the clearing haze, two figures became visible—Katsuki standing with his right arm extended, and Midoriya...
Midoriya, who had somehow caught Katsuki's arm mid-explosion, redirecting the worst of the blast away from himself. His gi was torn and singed, angry red burns visible on his left side where he hadn't fully escaped the attack. But he remained standing, his grip on Katsuki's wrist unbroken.
"UNBELIEVABLE! MIDORIYA SOMEHOW SURVIVED BAKUGO'S ULTIMATE MOVE!"
Katsuki stared into Midoriya's eyes, searching for the secret to how he'd countered an attack that should have ended the match. What he found instead was respect—and determination.
Before Katsuki could react, Midoriya shifted his weight and pulled, using Katsuki's extended arm as leverage to throw him off balance. In the same fluid motion, he stepped forward and delivered three rapid strikes to Katsuki's torso—left palm to solar plexus, right elbow to ribs, left knee to abdomen.
Each impact landed with precision, driving air from Katsuki's lungs and sending him staggering backward. Only years of combat training kept him on his feet, instinct taking over as he fired a desperate explosion to create distance.
Midoriya pressed the advantage, closing again before Katsuki could fully recover. Another flurry of strikes, too fast to completely defend against. Katsuki blocked what he could, countered where possible, but found himself steadily pushed toward the edge of the platform.
No. Not like this.
With a roar of defiance, Katsuki gathered his remaining strength and nitroglycerin reserves. Instead of retreating further, he planted his feet and met Midoriya's advance head-on, palms extended outward.
"STUN GRENADE!"
Brilliant light erupted between them, the concussive force momentarily halting Midoriya's assault. In that fraction of a second, Katsuki launched himself upward and over his opponent, twisting in mid-air to land behind Midoriya.
Both fighters spun to face each other, breathing heavily now. Katsuki's right arm trembled slightly from the strain of the Howitzer Impact, while Midoriya's burns looked painful enough to affect his mobility. They had pushed each other to their limits, just as they always had.
For a heartbeat, they stood motionless, assessing. Then, as if by mutual agreement, they charged.
The final exchange unfolded in a blur of movement and explosive force. Katsuki unleashed everything he had left, each blast more desperate than the last. Midoriya countered with that fluid style that seemed to anticipate every attack, slipping through openings Katsuki didn't even realize he'd left.
A right hook caught Midoriya's jaw. A palm strike to Katsuki's sternum knocked him back three steps. An explosion singed Midoriya's already injured left side. A sweeping kick nearly took Katsuki's legs from under him.
Back and forth they fought, neither yielding ground, neither holding anything back. This was no longer about the Sports Festival or hero rankings or even their shared past. This was about proving something to themselves—and to each other.
In the end, it came down to a single moment of overextension. Katsuki, seeing Midoriya's guard drop slightly on his injured side, committed fully to a right-handed explosion aimed directly at the vulnerable area. It was the logical move, the tactically sound choice that any fighter would make.
But Midoriya had counted on that logic. Had deliberately left the opening as bait.
As Katsuki's arm extended, Midoriya executed a move Katsuki had never seen before—a spinning technique that somehow used Katsuki's own momentum against him, redirecting the explosion harmlessly upward while simultaneously sweeping Katsuki's supporting leg.
The world tilted. Katsuki felt himself falling, unable to correct in time. His back hit the concrete platform hard enough to knock the remaining air from his lungs. Before he could recover, Midoriya was above him, right palm positioned inches from his face, left hand pinning Katsuki's dominant arm.
Checkmate.
For a moment, their eyes locked. In Midoriya's gaze, Katsuki saw neither triumph nor condescension—only acknowledgment. The acknowledgment of an equal.
"KATSUKI BAKUGO IS OUT OF BOUNDS!" Midnight's voice cut through the ringing in Katsuki's ears.
The stadium erupted, the sound washing over them like a physical wave. But neither moved immediately, still caught in that moment of mutual recognition.
Finally, Midoriya released his hold and stood, extending a hand to Katsuki.
Ten years ago, Katsuki would have slapped that hand away, would have exploded with rage at the defeat, would have refused to acknowledge Midoriya's victory as anything but a fluke.
But that Katsuki was gone, burned away by experience and growth and the painful process of confronting his own failures.
He took the offered hand, allowing Midoriya to pull him to his feet. No words passed between them—none were needed. The fight had said everything that mattered.
As they stood side by side, battered and exhausted, Katsuki felt something shift inside him. Not the burning resentment he'd carried for so long, nor the desperate need to prove his superiority. Instead, a strange sense of... completion. As if a chapter that had remained unfinished for years had finally reached its end.
"THE WINNER OF THE UA SPORTS FESTIVAL FIRST-YEAR TOURNAMENT: IZUKU MIDORIYA!"