Two weeks later — the U.A. Sports Festival.
The stadium was massive—row upon row of cheering civilians, sponsors, Pro Heroes, and underground scouts. Drones zipped overhead broadcasting every movement. The heat of attention pressed down on every student from Class 1-A as they stood at the ready.
Todoroki stood silently. Bakugo glared down the field like he planned to burn it into submission. Midoriya bounced subtly on his toes, quietly rehearsing strategy.
And among them stood Mikado.
Still. Cloaked. Unmoved.
No one stood too close.
He hadn't spoken to a single classmate since the combat trials. Not even after the spar with Katsuro Jin, who hadn't said another word since losing that fight without understanding how.
Mikado simply remained—like a statue set down in the wrong place.
---
In the Pro Hero viewing box, Hawks leaned over the rail, watching the line of students with narrowed eyes.
"Who's the one in the cloak?" he asked, tapping his pen against the railing.
"Yūgami-no-Mikado," said Present Mic, flipping through the participant list. "Quirk's called Domain. Not much data."
Hawks arched a brow. "That's either a really humble name… or a really terrifying one."
---
The first event was the Obstacle Course—a multi-terrain gauntlet through killer robots, broken bridges, collapsing ice fields, and trap-laden ruins.
Midnight stood in the announcer's box, voice electric through the speakers.
"Ready... set... GO!"
The explosion of movement shook the ground.
Bakugo shot forward in a blast of fire. Todoroki froze half the terrain. The crowd roared as robots were slammed aside, explosions echoed, and students scattered through sheer madness.
Mikado didn't move.
He watched.
Watched as twenty-five students surged ahead, using every trick and edge they had.
His fingers twitched once.
But he kept them apart.
He walked.
One step at a time.
---
The first robot—a twenty-foot mech meant to intimidate—lurched toward him. Its saw blade spun, extending over half a meter.
Mikado raised his hand.
Not a gesture. Just an open palm.
The robot's balance faltered. The saw jammed.
It didn't fall.
It simply stopped moving, as if confused.
He stepped past it.
The crowd murmured.
---
"Does he even have a speed Quirk?" one announcer muttered.
"No data confirms it. He's just... walking?"
Another robot swung a claw in his direction, forcing him toward a collapsed segment of ice-cracked terrain.
He turned—only slightly—and stepped onto a narrow beam of twisted metal like it was solid floor. His cloak never brushed the ground. His footing never wavered.
He moved through chaos like it was irrelevant. Like none of it was allowed to touch him.
Midoriya, climbing from a destroyed section ahead, looked back in confusion.
"Is that... Mikado?"
"Has he even broken a sweat?" Uraraka asked nearby, panting.
"I don't know if he can," Midoriya said, eyes narrowed. "It's like the world bends around him… but I can't see it happen."
---
Near the midway checkpoint, as the collapsing bridge swayed, Bakugo landed hard, looking for competitors to push off.
But Mikado landed on the other end at the same moment—without noise.
They locked eyes.
For a second, Bakugo looked ready to blast him off the platform.
But Mikado simply raised two fingers. Uncrossed. Passive. A hint of movement.
Bakugo froze—not in fear, but in caution.
"You better not pull that disappearing act near me," Bakugo muttered.
Mikado didn't respond.
He blinked.
And then he wasn't there.
---
He reappeared on the next segment.
No teleportation flash. No blink effect. Just a quiet step into the impossible.
By the time Todoroki reached the final gauntlet, Mikado was already ahead of him—walking down the center aisle, unhurried, passing through explosions and scattered debri fields like a king strolling through the ruins of a conquered city.
---
He crossed the finish line first.
Not running.
Not fighting.
Just moving in that perfect, unbothered pace.
The stadium took a full ten seconds to realize what had happened.
Then:
Thunderous confusion.
Scattered applause.
Shock.
---
In the viewing box, Hawks stared in stunned silence.
"That's not teleportation," he said. "It's something else. Spatial override?"
Eraserhead—Aizawa—folded his arms.
"It's not even the Quirk that bothers me."
"Then what does?"
"He's not trying."
---
In the waiting lounge beneath the arena, Mikado stood at the far wall while others caught their breath.
Midoriya approached slowly.
"That was… something. I mean—first place, congrats."
Mikado turned his head slightly.
"I didn't need first. I needed data."
"Data?"
"Obstacle types. Environmental response. Vision angles."
Midoriya blinked. "You were mapping?"
"I was watching how the world moved," Mikado said. "So I'll know exactly where to draw the line."
Midoriya paused, uneasy.
"The line?"
Mikado lifted his hand slightly, fingers spreading.
"The edge of the Domain."
He didn't cross them.
But the chill that ran down Midoriya's spine felt like he'd just stepped halfway inside something that didn't want him to leave.