(Kenjiro's POV – First Person)
Midnight's whip cracked like a gunshot, her voice dripping with theatrical flair.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL FINALS—SASAKI KENJIRO VS. KATSUKI BAKUGO! COMBATANTS, STEP FORWARD!"
The roar of the crowd was deafening, a tidal wave of noise that vibrated through my bones. I felt sweat beading on my forehead, not from nervousness—no, I'd pushed that away hours ago—but from the sheer crowd in the stadium. The stadium lights felt like midday sun bearing down on me, highlighting every crack in the concrete platform where previous battles had left their mark.
This is it. The moment I prove I belong here.
Across the ruined arena, Bakugo stomped onto the platform, his usual scowl twisted into something even more feral. His explosive entrance had the crowd going wild—half in adoration, half in fear. That was Bakugo's gift: making people feel both at once.
"Took you long enough, Mochi Freak," he spat, palms already sparking with miniature explosions that popped like firecrackers. "I've been waiting to blast you into next week."
I smirked, rolling my shoulders as I stepped onto my side of the arena. My muscles felt loose, primed—mochi ready to flow at my command. "Cute. Try not to cry when I wipe the floor with you."
His eye twitched. "DIE."
From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of my classmates in the stands. Midoriya was leaning forward, mumbling frantically into his notebook. Typical. Uraraka had her fists clenched in front of her, while Iida made robotic cheering gestures. Even Todoroki, who'd lost to me in the semifinals, watched with that intense heterochromatic stare of his.
They're all watching. Everyone's watching. The pros, the scouts... Nejire.
I pushed the thought away. Focus. I needed absolute focus.
Midnight raised her whip, counting down with dramatic flare that had the crowd holding their collective breath.
"THREE!"
Bakugo's muscles coiled, explosions simmering in his palms, tiny pops that promised violence.
"TWO!"
I exhaled slowly, letting mochi surge through my veins, priming my body like a loaded gun. I could feel the familiar tingle as my cells prepared to shift states—hard to soft, solid to elastic.
"ONE!"
The world narrowed to just Bakugo and me. Background noise faded to nothing.
"BEGIN!"
Bakugo moved like a detonation—zero to murderous in half a second. His right arm snapped up, fingers splayed, a technique I'd analyzed during his previous matches.
"AP SHOT!"
A concentrated blast of fire and fury rocketed toward me, fast enough to punch through concrete. The kind of attack that had sent others flying out of bounds before they could even process what happened.
Predictable.
I didn't dodge.
Instead, I clapped my hands together, mochi compressing between them at ludicrous speed. Friction ignited the air as my quirk manipulated the molecular structure of the sugary substance my body produced.
"Yaki Mochi."
A shockwave of flaming mochi erupted from my palms, meeting Bakugo's explosion head-on. The resulting collision sent a fireball spiraling into the sky, the heat singing my eyebrows and creating a momentary sun above the arena. Steam hissed from my palms as the sweet scent of caramelized sugar filled the air.
The crowd lost it.
"UNBELIEVABLE! SASAKI JUST COUNTERED BAKUGO'S SIGNATURE MOVE WITH A FIRE ATTACK OF HIS OWN!" Present Mic's voice cracked with excitement. "ERASERHEAD, WHAT ARE WE EVEN WATCHING HERE?!"
"A calculated risk," came Aizawa-sensei's deadpan response, barely audible over the crowd. "Sasaki knew Bakugo would open with his best move. He was preparing that counter from the start."
Bakugo's eyes widened—just for a split second—before his snarl returned, deeper and more primal. "CHEAP TRICK!"
He lunged, explosions propelling him like a missile, fists swinging in a frenzy of blasts and rage. Each punch created concussive shockwaves that disturbed the air around us. One explosion singed my uniform sleeve, another nearly clipped my jaw.
I flowed around his strikes, letting my body deform at will—mochi stretching, compressing, slipping through the gaps in his assault like water. Where he was fire and fury, I was adaptation itself.
"What's wrong, Bakugo?" I taunted, ducking under a particularly vicious right hook. "Can't hit what you can't catch?"
"STOP FUCKING DODGING!" Bakugo howled, a right hook aimed for my jaw, his eyes wild with competitive fury.
I let it phase through me, my head splitting into mochi strands before reforming around his fist. The crowd gasped at the grotesque display—watching my face distort and then snap back was unnerving even to those who'd seen it before.
"Gross," Bakugo snarled, pulling his arm back.
"Effective," I countered, then—
"Mochi Hammer."
My fist hardened mid-swing, transforming from soft elasticity to iron-like density in a microsecond. It slammed into Bakugo's gut with the force of a freight train. He wheezed, skidding back several meters, digging a trench in the concrete with his heels, but his manic grin never faded.
"Tch. Finally hit me, huh?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, straightening up despite the clear pain in his eyes. "Bout time you got serious."
I've always been serious, you arrogant prick. Just because I don't scream about it doesn't mean I'm not here to win.
"Is that all you've got, Explosion Boy?" I circled him slowly, my fingers flexing as mochi surged between them. "I thought you were supposed to be the best in our class."
That did it. Bakugo's face contorted with rage. "I AM THE BEST!"
Then he launched himself skyward, using explosions from both palms to propel himself thirty feet up. He began spinning like a top, explosions building around him in a swirling vortex of heat and concussive force. The air temperature spiked as moisture evaporated.
Oh shit.
I recognized this move from the battle training exercises. The one time he'd used it, he'd demolished half a building.
"HOWITZER—"
I didn't let him finish.
"Not today!" I slammed my palms into the ground. "Mochi Surge!"
The platform beneath me rippled as I channeled my quirk into the concrete itself, infusing it with elastic properties. The entire arena buckled upward, throwing Bakugo off his carefully calculated trajectory.
"FUCK!" he snarled, his spin wobbling as he tried to correct mid-air.
But I wasn't done. I inflated my right arm to grotesque proportions, mochi surging into a monstrous, building-sized fist that cast a shadow over half the arena. Some of the younger kids in the audience screamed—it did look like something from a horror movie, my arm swollen to fifty times its normal size, fingertips the size of trash cans.
Bakugo's eyes locked onto it, his spin never slowing, determination replacing surprise in a heartbeat.
"DIE!"
"Mochi Impact."
I swung.
He fired.
BOOOOOOM!
The collision obliterated the arena. Chunks of concrete and dust erupted into the air, the shockwave rattling the stadium seats. For a heartbeat, the world was nothing but smoke and deafening silence. The force of the impact sent me sliding backward, my feet digging trenches in the concrete.
Holy crap, he's strong. Way stronger than I anticipated.
My ears rang from the explosion. Through the dust cloud, I couldn't see a thing, but I kept my guard up. Bakugo wasn't one to go down easily.
"WHAT A SPECTACULAR COLLISION!" Present Mic shrieked, his excitement cutting through my disorientation. "THE ENTIRE ARENA IS DESTROYED! WHERE ARE OUR CONTESTANTS?!"
The dust began to settle, revealing the devastation. Where there had once been a concrete platform was now a crater. Chunks of debris littered what remained of the fighting space. And there—
A limp, singed figure cratered into the far wall, sliding to the ground in a heap.
Bakugo. Out cold.
I stood amidst the wreckage, my arm shrinking back to normal with a wet, slurping sound that made several audience members grimace. My chest heaved with exertion, lungs burning from dust and overuse of my quirk. Every cell in my body ached from the strain of manipulating so much mochi at once.
Damn. He actually made me sweat.
Midnight approached cautiously, checking Bakugo's condition before raising her whip.
"WINNER BY KNOCKOUT—SASAKI KENJIROOOOO!"
The crowd exploded. Cheers, screams, chants of "Mochi King!"—it all blurred together into white noise. I caught sight of my classmates jumping up and down, Kirishima looking torn between cheering for me and rushing to check on his friend. In the VIP section, I spotted Hawks giving an approving nod, Nejire shout towards me and said that's my boy and it actually made me smile and—was that Mirko grinning? The recognition from pros sent a jolt of pride through me.
Across the wreckage, Bakugo stirred, one eye cracking open, blood trickling from a cut on his forehead.
"...Tch. Next time," he slurred before passing out again.
I grinned despite my exhaustion.
Yeah. Next time.
I walked over to him as the medical robots approached. "You better not use this as an excuse, Bakugo. I expect a rematch."
He couldn't hear me, but it didn't matter. We both knew this wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
Recovery Girl arrived moments later, first checking Bakugo before turning to me with a disapproving click of her tongue.
"You boys never learn to hold back, do you?" She examined my body and said "overall your body is in great shape but try not to push it"
"It's the Sports Festival finals," I said, wincing as she probed a particularly sensitive spot. "Holding back isn't exactly the point."
"Hmph. Your arm will be sore for few hours. That's what happens when you push your quirk beyond its limits."
I nodded, watching as they loaded Bakugo onto a stretcher. Despite everything, I respected him. His drive, his refusal to accept anything less than victory—it mirrored my own ambition, just expressed differently.
We're not so different, you and I. We both want to stand at the top.
As medical staff guided me toward the tunnel, I looked back at the devastated arena. The crowd was still chanting my name, Present Mic was still screaming commentary about the "most explosive finals in U.A. history," and somewhere in the stands, I knew Ms Tanaka was watching with tears in her eyes.
All my life, I'd wanted to be a hero worth remembering. Today, I'd taken my first real step toward that goal.
My hand clenched into a fist, a small wince escaping me as pain shot through my overused muscles.
This is just the beginning. Watch me, world. Sasaki Kenjiro is coming.
The tunnel swallowed me up, the roar of the crowd fading behind me as I headed toward the recovery room—and whatever came next in my journey to become the greatest hero I could be.