Author's Note: In this chapter, I tried to show our MC with some emotions, instead of his usual robot like reactions. Here he would make an impulsive decision due to a momentary flicker of annoyance and anger. I think it was a bit cringe, but overall it looked "ok" to me, So I'm leaving it to you guys for further judgement.
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When Midoriya entered Recovery Girl's treatment room, I followed a step behind. The crowd outside was still roaring from the cavalry battle, but here, the atmosphere was quiet and clinical.
Before Recovery Girl could examine him, in my slowed down world, I laid my hand lightly on Midoriya's injured arm. The energy I commanded—flowed like liquid light beneath my skin. His tendons, muscles, and microfractures knit together soundlessly.
In seconds, the internal damage vanished as though it had never existed. I changed his memory about his injury lightly to stop him from noticing the changes in his injury. By the time Recovery Girl began her check, the arm looked like it had only sustained surface bruising.
She ran her hands along the limb, brow furrowed, then relaxed slightly. "Hmph. Not as bad as it looked on the field," she murmured.
She treated it swiftly with her quirk, sealing away the superficial traces. To everyone else, it would look like Midoriya had simply been lucky. Only I knew the truth: I wanted him in perfect condition for what was coming.
Outside the medical wing, the tournament roster had shifted. Kinoko Komori had quietly withdrawn, believing that her shyness and current level of skill wouldn't let her contribute meaningfully.
Midnight didn't like the resignation but respected the decision. Her teammates tried to convince her otherwise—"Kinoko, please, this is the finals. We need you."—but Kinoko only smiled sadly and shook her head.
The referees accepted her withdrawal, and the next highest-scoring student from the cavalry battle stepped up to take her place: Neito Monoma, more than eager to claim the spotlight she'd left behind.
While the tournament logistics shifted in the background, Todoroki found a quiet moment to approach Midoriya, just like in the canon. It wasn't a loud or public confrontation — more like two figures standing at the edge of the arena shadows while the crowd noise blurred into distant white.
Midoriya blinked up at Todoroki, confused by the sudden approach. Todoroki's gaze, cool and deliberate, locked onto him with unnerving precision. After a pause, he spoke plainly, his voice flat but cutting.
"Midoriya," he began, "what's your connection to All Might?"
The question landed like a pebble in still water. Midoriya stuttered, caught off guard. "H-Huh? What do you mean—?"
Todoroki didn't look away. "Back in the cavalry battle… you used a power that felt exactly like his. The strength, the way it overwhelmed everyone—it's too similar to ignore." His eyes narrowed slightly, the analytical sharpness he inherited from Endeavor surfacing. "Are you… All Might's secret love child or something?"
Midoriya's brain almost short-circuited. "W-What?! No! Of course not! That's not— I'm not—" He waved his hands frantically, face going red with panic. The accusation wasn't malicious, but coming from Todoroki's calm, matter-of-fact tone, it felt almost surgical.
Todoroki exhaled slowly, crossing his arms. "I see. So you're not his child. But you do have some kind of connection. You can't fool me on that." He glanced toward the stadium where All Might was stationed as a guest of honor along with other pro heroes, his jaw tightening. "It doesn't really matter what it is. I just need to know who I'm dealing with."
Midoriya swallowed, unsure how to respond. He couldn't explain the truth. Not here. Not now.
Todoroki continued before Midoriya could scramble for a lie. "Do you know why I'm asking?" His voice lowered, losing its neutral edge and dipping into something heavier, almost bitter. "Because my very existence is the result of obsession. My father, Endeavor, spent his life chasing All Might and failing. He could never surpass him. So he found another way—he decided to manufacture the perfect successor."
He looked down at his left side—the ice side—and then back at Midoriya.
"It's called a quirk marriage," he explained flatly. "He married my mother not because he loved her, but because her ice quirk could counteract his fire. He wanted to breed a child who could carry both. Me. I was never a son. I was an experiment."
Midoriya's breath caught. Todoroki's words weren't theatrical; they were cold, stripped of sentiment, which somehow made them hit harder.
"My mother hated what she was forced into," he continued, his voice tightening just a fraction. "She hated my father… and she hated me, because every time she looked at me, she saw him. One day, when I was little, she snapped. She boiled a kettle of water and…" He gestured toward the scar stretching across the left side of his face. "She poured it on me. That's how I got this."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Midoriya's eyes widened, the weight of Todoroki's confession sinking in like lead. There was no pity in Todoroki's tone—just fact. Like he'd repeated this story to himself so many times that it had hardened into something unbreakable.
Neither of them realized they weren't alone.
Just beyond the corner, leaning against a wall like he always did when pretending not to care, Bakugo had been making his way toward the seating area. He hadn't meant to overhear. He just… happened to catch Todoroki's first question. Curiosity made him linger. Now, frozen mid-step, he stood there listening to every word of Todoroki's backstory.
For once, Bakugo had no snide remark. No explosive retort. His expression didn't twist into a sneer. He just listened— eyes shadowed, utterly silent. The storm that always raged beneath his skin was, for a moment, still.
Midoriya didn't notice him. Neither did Todoroki. The two stood in the dim hallway, their conversation both raw and quiet, while Bakugo stayed a silent witness—unintentionally privy to a story that explained more about Todoroki than any fight ever could.
I also listened back from where I was with my enhanced senses. I'd half-expected Todoroki to fixate on me, to make me his declared target. Instead, he seemed tethered to All Might, just as his father had been tethered to his own ideals. His ambition pointed toward Midoriya.
He saw Midoriya's connection to All Might and the power he'd shown, and decided that was the milestone he needed to surpass. It irritated me more than it should have that he'd written me off so easily. After everything, he still underestimated me.
In hindsight, the reason was obvious. I hadn't gone all out before. I'd been passive—testing defenses, toying with possibilities, more interested in observing than finishing things decisively. I'd claimed impartiality, said I wouldn't interfere, yet I had interfered—half-heartedly and without conviction.
The universe—or perhaps the system I'd tapped into—seemed determined to nudge events back toward the original plotline. So I decided to answer in a language the world would understand.
I would stop hiding my power. Not all of it, not at once—there were advantages to restraint—but enough. Enough to make it clear where I stood, and to force everyone to reassess who truly sat at the apex of our generation.
When we returned to the seating area, the divide between Class 1-A and 1-B was neat and deliberate. The stadium spread out before us like a coliseum—floodlights blazing, the roar of distant crowds echoing, the central ring waiting like a stage.
Midnight's voice filled the air with official cadence as she explained the format: a one-on-one tournament in the ring, with matchups decided by lottery.
When the first pairing was announced, the atmosphere shifted. The opening match would be Izuku Midoriya vs Hayato Kurogane—unexpected.
Midoriya had already shown enough during the cavalry battle to make pro heroes sit up and take notes, even bleeding for his victory. Logically, the brackets should have placed me elsewhere, giving me the solo slot. But I didn't leave things to chance.
I reached into U.A.'s lottery system through my system and nudged the result. The new pairing placed me squarely as Midoriya's first opponent. The crowd got their dream match; the pros got their spectacle; and I got the perfect chance to decide exactly how far I'd go.
The applause was thunderous. Midoriya, newly patched up but still nursing the injury, walked to the stage with that familiar focused look. I arrived on the stage with more speed than what I showed previously; my speed drew murmurs from the crowd and sharp looks from several top pros. "How fast was that?" rippled through the seats.
All Might sat stiffly among the heroes, jaw tight, hands balled as if bracing for a blow. He's already preparing how to motivate Midoriya after his defeat.
Before anyone could speak or the match could start, I leaned forward and gave Midoriya a short, hard warning.
"Use your full power. Don't hesitate. You won't get another chance after this. Unlike during the cavalry battle, I'm going to be very serious this time."
His eyes flicked up—fear flashed, then hardened into resolve. He nodded once. He knew what this meant: no half-measures, no saving strength for later rounds. If he wanted to win, he'd have to go all in now.
Midnight's whistle cut through the air. The match began.
Midoriya didn't hesitate. He didn't test the distance or ease into motion. He poured everything into his legs—One For All roaring through muscle and bone. The ground beneath his feet exploded, concrete cracking like a spiderweb as the air folded in on itself. He vanished in a burst of pressure, moving so fast the sound lagged behind him.
His legs shattered the moment they bore that impossible force, but his momentum carried him through the pain. In less than the blink of an eye, he was upon me.
I raised my hand. He raised his.
Our fists met.
And the world split.
The point of impact birthed a sound not unlike thunder, but deeper—something that rolled through the bones of every person in the stadium. Light burst outward in a sphere, brilliant and sharp, erasing shadows for an instant. The shockwave that followed tore across the arena like a living thing.
The ring cracked. Stone tiles flipped like leaves in a gale. The air pressure punched into the stands; banners ripped from their poles; loose objects flew. Above us, clouds spiraled violently, shredded into a vortex by the sudden, unnatural updraft. It wasn't just sound and wind—it was the physical expression of two forces colliding, raw and unfiltered.
Midoriya's body reached its limit first. His legs had already broken; his arm followed as the force rebounded through him. He was flung backward like a cannonball, tearing through the air and out of the ring before Cementoss raised his walls. His timing was perfect—if he'd been even a second slower, the crowd would've taken the full brunt of the aftershock.
For a single suspended heartbeat, everything fell silent. No cheering. No gasps. Just the lingering hum of the impact echoing in everyone's ribs.
Then sound returned in a flood—shouts, cries, disbelief.
Midnight was the first to find her voice. She declared the match over, her usual flamboyant tone tempered by shock. The crowd erupted: part awe, part fear, part wild exhilaration.
I exhaled slowly, lowering my hand. A faint wisp of dust curled off my knuckles. I offered a light bow—more a controlled gesture than a flourish—then strode to Midoriya's fallen form. Medics rushed in, and I assisted in carrying him back to Recovery Girl's room.
His legs and arm were in ruin again, He had aimed for me with everything he had. And I'd met him head-on and bested him.
When I returned to the resting area, the atmosphere had shifted entirely. Classmates' whispers turned into a low, stunned hum, their eyes wide and unblinking. Pro heroes exchanged glances that spoke louder than words—shock, disbelief, and a dawning realization that they had just witnessed something beyond their comprehension from a first year student.
Bakugo's scowl deepened, not with anger, but with incredulity. Todoroki's gaze sharpened into careful calculation after the disbelief, his mind racing.
From the stunned mass of voices rose a single, incredulous chorus of a thought:
"What is his quirk really?!"