Chapter 58: Under the Gaze of the World
The fifteen-minute intermission was a pressure cooker. The air in the U.A. stadium, thick with the scent of popcorn and the electric tang of anticipation, vibrated with a singular question: who would win? Spectators rushed back to their seats, balancing drinks and snacks, not wanting to miss a single second. At the merchandise kiosks outside, even the Pro Heroes assigned to security were gathered around the monitors, whispering their own predictions for the final, explosive confrontation of the first-year stage.
In the Class 1-A stands, the tension was a physical thing.
Izuku Midoriya, his bandaged hands moving awkwardly, was sketching furiously in his notebook, his muttering a low, rapid-fire stream. "Gaara's sand is a particle-based defense, so Kacchan's wide-area concussive blasts could theoretically disperse the point of impact, but the automatic nature of the shield means the reaction time is near-zero, so what kind of physical interaction could possibly…"
"GIVE 'EM HELL, BAKUGO!" Kirishima roared from a few seats over, his fists pumped in the air.
Meanwhile, Uraraka and Yaoyorozu spoke in hushed, worried tones. "I just hope Gaara-kun can keep his composure," Uraraka said, her warm, brown eyes filled with concern. "Bakugo-kun is… relentless."
Midoriya suddenly paused, his green eyes scanning their section. "Wait… has anyone seen Iida-kun?" Mineta, seated beside him, shrugged. "Haven't seen him since his match." Kaminari leaned over. "Me neither." A frown creased Midoriya's brow. "Where could he have gone?"
"Anyway, how are you even moving a pencil with your fingers wrapped up like that?" Mineta asked, pointing at Midoriya's bandaged hands.
"Do you want to write for me?" Midoriya asked, his eyes lighting up with an intense analytical fire. "You're a real hero, Mineta-kun!" He immediately handed over the notebook. "Okay, so for Bakugo's Quirk, the primary component is nitroglycerin-like sweat, which means humidity could be a factor, but Gaara's Quirk is sand, which implies a dry…"
"Whoa, whoa, stop!" Mineta yelped, pen hovering uselessly over the page. "That's way too much, dude! I can't keep up!"
In the Class 1-B section, Itsuka Kendo watched the arena with a serious expression. Neito Monoma sat beside her, his arms crossed, a bitter scowl on his face. "So, the final is between Class A's two monsters," Kendo mused. "Let's see who is the strongest."
"Tch!" Monoma scoffed. "I should have been there."
"Are you still saying that after you clearly lost?" Kendo sighed. "Just admit he was better."
"I will never acknowledge those Class 1-A scum," he muttered.
The Pro Heroes, too, were focused. In his viewing box, All Might was tense. Stay in control, young Gaara, he thought. Do not let him provoke you. Aizawa, in the announcer's booth, watched with his usual, sharp, cautious gaze. Miles away, in his pristine office, Best Jeanist observed the feed on his laptop. "The clash of two completely unrefined, raw powers," he said, a flicker of professional intrigue in his eyes. "I want to recruit both of them after the festival." His sidekick stared at him, aghast. "Sir… how could we possibly manage those two monsters?"
Finally, the wait was over.
"IT'S THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR!" Present Mic's voice exploded from the speakers. "THE GRAND FINALE OF THE FIRST-YEAR STAGE! LET'S GIVE IT UP FOR THE WALKING VOLCANO, KATSUKI BAKUGO! AND THE SILENT MASTER OF THE DESERT, GAAAAARAAAAA!"
They entered from opposite tunnels. Bakugo, his spiky ash-blond hair catching the afternoon sun, walked with a predator's slouch, his hands stuffed in his pockets. Gaara, his crimson hair a stark contrast to his pale skin, moved with a silent, unnerving grace. They stepped onto the pristine ring, their U.A. sports uniforms—a stark, bold design of blue, red, and white—seeming almost too civilized for the storm that was about to break. The roar of the crowd was a physical force, a wall of sound.
Midnight raised her whip. "Ready? BEGIN!"
And then… nothing.
They stood, staring at each other from across the ring. The roar of the crowd slowly died down, replaced by a confused, uncertain murmur. Why weren't they moving?
In the tense, heavy silence, Bakugo spoke. His voice was not a yell. It was cold, clear, and carried across the entire, silent stadium.
"Before I crush this piece of trash," he announced, his crimson eyes burning with a hateful fire, "I think you all deserve to know who you've been cheering for. Who you've been calling a hero."
He let the words hang in the air, a cruel, dramatic pause.
"This guy," he said, jabbing a thumb towards Gaara, "was with the League of Villains during the USJ attack. He stood with them. He fought for them. U.A. has been hiding a villain in plain sight, and you've all been applauding him like a fool."
The impact was instantaneous. A wave of shocked gasps swept through the stadium. The murmur of confusion exploded into a cacophony of questions. "A villain? What is he talking about?" "Is that true?!" The anger began to build. "How could U.A. allow that?!"
In the press box, a frenzy erupted. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted into their phones, and news alerts began to flash across screens all over Japan. It was a bombshell, a direct attack on the credibility of the most prestigious hero academy in the country.
"That fool," Aizawa muttered, turning off his microphone. "He revealed everything."
Throughout it all, Gaara remained silent. He just stood and watched, his face an unreadable mask. In the piercing, still surface of his teal eyes, the reflection of a snarling, hate-filled Bakugo was perfectly clear.
"He is not a classmate," Bakugo declared, his voice rising to a roar, ignoring the chaos he had created. "And he will never be! He is just a villain that needs to be erased!"
With that, he charged.
Bakugo rocketed across the ring, his right hand crackling with a brilliant, orange light. He got in close, closer than any of Gaara's previous opponents had dared, and unleashed a massive explosion.
BOOM!
The sand, moving with a speed faster than thought, surged to intercept it. But the concussive force of the blast was immense. It didn't just block the sand; it scattered it, sending a shower of golden-brown particles flying in every direction. The shockwave was so powerful it whipped Gaara's crimson hair across his face.
Gaara's eyes widened slightly. He understood instantly. Bakugo's Quirk was a natural enemy to his automatic defense. Explosions didn't just break the sand; they dispersed it, momentarily weakening his control over the individual grains.
The battle began in earnest, but the atmosphere had changed. The crowd was no longer a neutral observer. They were a hostile entity.
"Go, Bakugo!" "Get that villain!" "Show him what a real hero is!"
Fists were pumped in the air. Boos and jeers rained down on Gaara every time he moved. He was fighting Bakugo, and he was fighting the entire world.
In his viewing box, All Might clenched his fist, feeling a heavy weight of responsibility. I left him alone to face this…
Gaara, seeing the danger of Bakugo's hands, attempted a tactical strike. With a wave of his arm, tendrils of sand shot out, attempting to encase Bakugo's hands and neutralize his Quirk. But Bakugo just roared, unleashing a furious, continuous series of explosions that blasted the sand away before it could even solidify.
"Is that all you've got, you damn villain?!" he screamed, launching himself into the air.
In the stands, the faces of Class 1-A were pale.
"Gaara-kun's level… it's dropped significantly compared to his fight with Todoroki-kun," Uraraka said, her voice trembling.
"Where is the overwhelming sand that covered the whole arena?" Tokoyami murmured, his crimson eyes narrowed.
Midoriya watched, his heart pounding with a dreadful anxiety. The crowd's screaming… Kacchan's words… it's all affecting him. He thought, a wave of anger at his childhood friend rising in his chest. Was this really necessary, Kacchan?
Gaara was indeed holding back. The hate from the crowd was a familiar, painful echo of his past. The fear of becoming the monster they were all screaming at, the monster he had been just an hour ago, was a heavy chain on his power. He was hesitant. He was afraid.
Todoroki, watching from a quiet corner of the stands, saw it clearly. His thoughts are scattered. He's not focused on the fight.
Bakugo saw it too. He saw the hesitation, the weakness. And he exploited it. He got in close, feinted with his right, and then unleashed a massive, point-blank explosion with his left. The blast tore the first, tiny gap in Gaara's automatic defense. Before the sand could reform, Bakugo fired a second, more powerful blast directly through the opening.
The explosion struck Gaara in the chest. He was thrown backwards, skidding across the ground and landing hard on his rear. The front of his uniform was scorched, and a painful, black soot mark spread across his cheek.
Gaara was on the ground, his ears ringing with the deafening boos of the crowd. He looks up. All he can see is the dark, contemptuous silhouette of Bakugo standing over him, looking down as if at an insect. He had been defeated once more, not by a lack of power, but by the hatred of the world.