Chapter 64: A Broken Promise
He was on his hands and knees, the world a swimming, painful haze. The roar of the crowd was a distant, hollow sound, like the ocean heard from inside a seashell. Rock Lee pushed himself up, his arms trembling under the strain, his every muscle a screaming chorus of protest. He looked up through the settling black smoke, his vision blurry, and saw the figure of Katsuki Bakugo across the ruined stage, his silhouette a dark, menacing shape against the bright afternoon sky.
The fight resumed, but it could no longer be called a fight. It was a siege.
Bakugo, his initial analytical calm now burned away by a raging, impatient fire, became a storm of unrelenting destruction. He did not give Lee a moment to breathe, a second to recover. A brilliant, blinding flash of orange and white light would erupt from his palms, followed a heartbeat later by the deafening BOOM of the explosion. The heat was a physical, oppressive thing, and the air was thick with the smell of burnt sugar and ozone.
Lee's movements were slow, heavy, and clumsy. He was a master martial artist whose body had forgotten the dance. He tried to dodge, but his legs felt like they were mired in tar. He would evade the epicenter of a blast, only to be caught by the concussive shockwave, which would send him stumbling, his ears ringing. He raised his arms to block, and the force would send a jarring, agonizing shock through his already screaming joints. He was a lone fortress, and its walls were crumbling stone by stone.
In the Class 1-A stands, the initial cheers had long since died, replaced by a thick, anxious silence.
"His movements…" Kirishima muttered, his voice full of a dread he couldn't hide. "They're not the movements of the Lee we know. He's not fighting back… he's just trying to stay on his feet."
"He looks like he's in so much pain," Uraraka whispered, her hands clasped tightly to her mouth, her eyes wide with worry.
Midoriya, his face a grim, pale mask, finally spoke. The words felt heavy and bitter in his mouth. "I overheard Recovery Girl in the infirmary," he said, his voice a low, somber thing that cut through the tension. "She warned him. She told him his body couldn't handle using his power even one more time today."
A wave of collective, horrified shock washed over the students around him. Their perception of the fight, of their friend, flipped in an instant. They weren't watching a one-sided battle. They were watching a hero's tragic, desperate last stand.
High above, Sora Aokawa gripped the railing, her knuckles white. Her sharp blue eyes were narrowed, glistening with an unshed tear of pure, impotent rage as she watched another of Bakugo's explosions clip Lee's shoulder, sending him spinning to the ground. She was watching her student, her son in all but blood, be systematically broken, and she was helpless to intervene.
Bakugo finally stopped, his own chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face. He stood in the center of the ring, a king surveying his conquered land. He looked at Lee, who was once again pushing himself up from the cracked concrete, his green jumpsuit scorched and torn, his body trembling violently. And in that moment, Bakugo's frustration boiled over into a raw, emotional, and deeply wounded cry.
"STAND UP!" he roared, his voice hoarse with a mixture of rage and a strange, bitter disappointment. "WHAT IS THIS FARCE?! ARE YOU MOCKING ME?!" He took a step forward, his fists sparking. "WHY?! WHY WON'T YOU FIGHT ME WITH THE SAME POWER YOU USED AGAINST THAT HALF-AND-HALF BASTARD AND THAT FOUR-EYED IDIOT?! AM I NOT WORTHY OF YOUR FULL STRENGTH, YOU BASTARD?!"
The words, a genuine expression of a warrior's wounded pride, struck Lee more deeply than any physical blow. No… that's not it, he thought, a wave of guilt and shame washing over him. He was not mocking his opponent. He was failing him. He was failing to give this final, ultimate battle the respect it deserved.
He looked up, his gaze sweeping past Bakugo. He saw Sora in the stands, her face a mask of pain. He saw the weakened form of All Might, watching with a look of deep concern. He saw his classmates, their faces filled with worry. He had made them a promise. He had made himself a promise. He would not fail them. He would not go down in defeat, disrespecting his rival and his own path as a warrior.
He closed his eyes, digging deep for the last, dying embers of his strength. He would not lose like this.
He grit his teeth, forcing his trembling, protesting body to obey his will one last time. He screamed, a raw, desperate sound, trying to force open the floodgates of his own power.
"Third Ga—!"
The word died in his throat, choked off by a sudden, blinding agony. It was not the familiar pain of a strained muscle. It was a sharp, tearing sensation deep within his chest, as if his very heart were being ripped in two. He froze, his body going rigid, his eyes flying open in a look of pure, unadulterated shock and pain. He coughed, a wet, ragged sound. A spray of brilliant, crimson blood erupted from his lips, painting a horrifying scarlet arc against the bright afternoon sky.
His strength, his will, his very life force, vanished in that single, catastrophic moment. The light in his eyes dimmed. He collapsed first to his knees, and then, with no strength left to even cushion his fall, he pitched forward, landing face-first on the cold, hard ground. And then, he was still.
A profound, absolute, and deeply unsettling silence fell over the entire stadium. The roar of the crowd, the voice of the announcer, the very wind itself, seemed to die. Bakugo stood frozen, his rage completely extinguished, replaced by a wide-eyed, horrified confusion. He stared at the motionless boy on the ground, at the small, dark pool of blood forming beside his head, and he didn't understand.
Midnight, her face pale beneath her mask, raised a trembling hand. Her voice was a quiet, shocked whisper, yet it carried across the dead silence of the arena. "Lee… is unable to continue. The winner of the U.A. Sports Festival… is Katsuki Bakugo."
There were no cheers. There was no celebration.
"NO!" Bakugo's voice was a raw, broken cry. He rushed towards Lee's still form. "I WON'T ACCEPT A VICTORY LIKE THIS! GET UP! GET UP AND FIGHT ME, YOU DAMN BASTARD! GET UP!"
Before he could reach him, Midnight acted. A cloud of sweet-smelling, pink mist billowed from her arm, enveloping the enraged Bakugo. His charge faltered. He swayed on his feet, his eyes glazing over, before he collapsed to his knees, falling into a deep, merciful sleep beside his defeated rival.
Midnight turned, her professional composure finally cracking as she looked towards the stands, her voice an urgent, desperate cry.
"MEDICAL TEAM TO THE STAGE, IMMEDIATELY! THIS IS A CRITICAL SITUATION!"
The final image on the giant screen was not one of a champion. It was a tragic tableau: Lee, unconscious and unnervingly still, a trickle of blood by his lips, his limbs still twitching with a faint, residual muscular tremor. The festival was over. The promise had been broken.
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