Chapter 24: Prelude to the Festival [1]
[Katsuki Bakugo's POV]
11 days before the Festival
The air crackled with heat, the scent of nitroglycerin stinging my nostrils as I launched another explosive strike. Sweat poured down my face, plastering my hair to my forehead, but I barely noticed. My focus was absolute, my concentration honed.
I'd been at this for hours, pushing my body to the limit and beyond. The sky had barely begun to lighten, the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon, but I was already drenched, my muscles screaming with the familiar burn of exertion.
But I welcomed the pain, embraced it. It was a reminder that I was alive, that I was growing stronger with each passing moment. And I needed that strength, needed it like I needed air in my lungs and fire in my veins.
Because every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Deku, standing tall amidst the chaos and destruction of the USJ. The way he moved, the way he fought... it was seared into my brain.
I could still visualize the shockwave of his punch, the way the very air seemed to tremble with the force of his resolve. The way he threw himself at that monster, again and again, never flinching, never faltering.
It was like nothing I'd ever seen before. The fluid grace of his movements, the way he seemed to dance around his opponent. And that power, that raw, crackling energy that seemed to pour out of him...
I needed that power. Needed to understand it, to master it. To prove that I could stand on the same stage as Deku, that I could match him blow for blow and come out on top.
I shifted my stance, dropping into a crouch as I visualized him before me. He'd be light on his feet, his weight balanced and ready to move at a moment's notice. His guard would be tight, his senses attuned to the slightest hint of an opening.
I exploded forward, my right arm whipping around in a feint. In my mind's eye, I could see him reacting, his body twisting away from the blow with that infuriating ease. He'd counter low, a sweeping kick designed to take my legs out from under me.
I leaped, my explosions boosting me into the air, letting the imagined kick pass harmlessly beneath me. I tucked into a roll, using the momentum to bring my leg around in a crushing axe kick.
But even in my imagination, Deku was faster. He'd catch my leg, using my own force against me to throw me off balance. He'd follow up with a palm strike to my chest, the Tandava energy crackling around his hand...
I hit the ground hard, the impact jarring up my spine. Frustration boiled in my gut, hot and bitter. No matter how I played it out, no matter what strategies I tried, the result was always the same.
Deku, victorious. Deku, standing over me with that infuriatingly calm expression, his fist raised in triumph.
"Damn it!" I roared, slamming my fist into the dirt. The explosions burst from my palm, scorching the earth, sending clods of dirt and grass flying. But the release of energy did nothing to quell the anger, the humiliation burning in my chest.
I pushed myself to my feet, my breath coming in harsh pants. I could feel my quirk simmering under my skin, begging to be unleashed. But I forced it down, forced myself to think.
Brute force wasn't going to be enough. Deku had proven that, had shown me the limitations of my own power. If I wanted to beat him, if I wanted to claim the title of number one...
I needed to evolve. To adapt. To take everything I'd learned, everything I'd seen, and forge it into something new. Something stronger.
I closed my eyes, the memories of the USJ playing out behind my lids in vivid detail. The way Deku moved, the precise control he had over his body, over his energy. The way he used the Tandava like it was an extension of himself, like it was as natural as breathing...
There was a pattern there, a rhythm. A flow that I'd been too blind to see, too arrogant to acknowledge.
But I saw it now. Saw the key to unlocking the true potential of my quirk, to pushing myself beyond the limits of what I'd thought possible.
It wasn't about raw power. It wasn't about who could hit harder, who could unleash the biggest explosion.
It was about control. About finesse. About understanding the ebbs and flows of the battle and bending them to your will.
Slowly, I raised my hands. I let my quirk build, let the nitroglycerin sweat pool in my palms. But instead of releasing it in a single, devastating blast, I let it trickle out. A steady stream, a controlled burn.
I could feel the heat of it, the barely leashed power. But I didn't let it consume me. I shaped it, molded it, directing the explosions with the smallest flexes of my fingers, the subtlest shifts of my wrists.
And as I moved, as I danced across the training ground in a symphony of precision and power, I could feel it. The same flow, the same rhythm that I'd sensed in Deku.
It was like a new world opening up before me, a whole realm of possibilities that I'd never even considered. With each controlled burst, each perfectly timed detonation, I could feel myself getting closer. To mastery, to understanding, to the unshakable confidence of a true hero.
I didn't know how long I stayed out there, lost in the dance of explosions and sweat and the pounding of my own heart. But when I finally stilled, when the last sparks fizzled out and the smoke began to clear...
I felt different. Stronger. Like I'd tapped into a wellspring of potential that I'd never known existed.
A slow grin spread across my face, a fierce, feral thing. This was just the beginning. Just the first step on the path to becoming the hero I was always meant to be.
Deku had set the bar. Had shown me what true power, true mastery looked like for someone my age.
But I would surpass him. I would take everything he'd shown me, everything he'd taught me, and I would make it my own.
And when the time came, when we stood across from each other in the final match of the Sports Festival...
I would show the world what it truly meant to be number one.
[Izuku Midoriya's POV]
10 days before the festival
The common room was quiet, the soft glow of the lamp the only source of light in the late hour. I glanced at my phone - 11:47 PM. Late, but the perfect time for some uninterrupted training.
I sat up, stretching my arms above my head. The sports festival was just around the corner, and I knew I needed every spare minute of practice I could get.
"Headed to the training facility?"
I turned, unsurprised to find Momo leaning against the doorframe. Of course she'd still be up, her mind undoubtedly whirring with the same thoughts of preparation and improvement.
"You know it," I grinned. "Care to join me? I could use a sparring partner."
"Thought you'd never ask."
Minutes later, we were stepping into the cavernous space of the indoor training facility. The air was cool, the faint scent of sweat and rubber a familiar, almost comforting presence.
"So, what's on the agenda for tonight?" Momo asked, starting her stretches. "More work on your quirk?"
I nodded, rolling my shoulders. "I want to focus on the vision aspect, try to get a better handle on triggering and sustaining it."
Momo hummed thoughtfully, moving into a lunge. "Makes sense. If you can master that predictive perception, it could give you a huge advantage in the festival."
"Exactly. And what about you? What's your training focus?"
Momo straightened. "I want to work on creating objects while engaged in combat. Being able to quickly generate tools and weapons without breaking my focus or rhythm could be a game-changer."
"Brilliant as always. Alright, how about this - we spar, but with a twist. I'll try to use my vision to anticipate your moves, and you try to create objects on the fly to counter mine."
We took our positions, facing off in the center of the room. For a moment, we just stared at each other.
Then, we began.
Momo's strikes were powerful, her form textbook, but there was a certain stiffness to her movements, a predictability that I knew more experienced fighters would exploit easily.
I ducked under a swing of her tonfa, the rush of air ruffling my hair as the weapon passed overhead. "Try to loosen up a bit," I called out, sidestepping a thrust aimed at my midsection. "You're telegraphing your moves."
Momo frowned, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple as she reset her stance. "What do you mean?"
I circled her, my eyes tracking the shift of her weight, the tension in her shoulders. "Your attacks are strong, but they're a bit... mechanical. You're following the forms too rigidly, making it easier to anticipate where you'll strike next."
Understanding dawned in Momo's eyes, followed quickly by a flash of frustration. "I've been training in martial arts for years, but I've always struggled with that. I overthink it, get too caught up in trying to execute the techniques perfectly."
I nodded, dodging another series of strikes as I spoke. "It's a common problem, especially for intelligent fighters like you. You've got the knowledge, the technical skill, but you need to learn to trust your instincts more, to let your body flow with the rhythm of the fight."
Momo's lips pursed, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tried to adjust her approach. Her next few swings were looser, more fluid, but still lacked the natural ease of a seasoned fighter.
An idea sparked in my mind, a way to help her break out of the rigid patterns ingrained by years of formal training. "Momo, try this - instead of focusing on specific techniques or combos, I want you to focus on me. On my movements, my breathing, the shift of my body. Try to anticipate where I'll be, not just where you want your strikes to land."
Momo paused, her head tilting as she considered my words. Then, with a determined nod, she dropped back into her stance. "Alright, let's try it."
This time, as Momo attacked, I could see the difference. Her eyes were locked on mine, her body responding to my movements almost before I'd fully committed to them. Her strikes flowed more naturally, her footwork adjusting to keep pace with my constant motion.
I grinned, pride and excitement bubbling up in my chest as I watched her adapt, watched her begin to shed the constraints of overthinking and embrace the intuitive flow of combat. "That's it!" I encouraged, spinning away from a strike that came within centimeters of my ribs. "You're getting it!"
Momo's face lit up, a fierce, exhilarated smile spreading across her features. She pressed forward, her attacks coming faster, more fluidly, driven by a new confidence and understanding.
For several minutes, we danced across the training room floor, Momo's tonfa whistling through the air as I twisted and turned, always just a hairsbreadth ahead of her strikes.
I focused, reaching for the place of stillness and clarity that I'd come to associate with the activation of the Gate of Vision. The world around me seemed to slow, Momo's movements taking on a dreamlike quality as the paths of her attacks became clear, glowing trails in my mind's eye.
I moved with a new grace, my body responding almost before I'd finished the thought. I wove through Momo's strikes like a leaf on the wind, untouchable, ethereal.
But even as I reveled in the power, in the rush of near-precognitive awareness, I could feel the strain, the building pressure in my skull that warned me I was pushing too hard, too fast.
Gasping, I disengaged, the world snapping back into normal speed as I staggered back, my hand flying to my temple.
"Izuku? Are you-"
"I'm okay," I panted, shaking my head to clear the lingering ache. "Just... need a second."
Momo was at my side in an instant, the tonfa falling as she reached for my face. Her touch was gentle, her eyes searching mine for any sign of pain or discomfort.
"We can stop," she murmured, her thumb brushing over my cheekbone. "If it's too much, if you're not ready..."
I leaned into her touch, savoring the coolness of her skin against my flushed face. "I'm alright, really."
Momo's smile was soft. "You're making progress, I can see it. But don't push yourself too hard, okay? We've got time."
I turned my head, pressing a kiss to her palm. "I know. I'll be careful, I promise."
Momo's eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a soft sigh escaping her lips. When she opened them again, there was a new heat there, a smoldering intensity that sent a thrill racing down my spine.
"You better be," she murmured. "Because I've got plans for you, Izuku Midoriya. And they don't involve you being laid up in the infirmary."
I grinned, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her close. "Oh? And what exactly might these plans entail?"
Momo leaned in, her lips brushing the shell of my ear as she whispered, "Win the sports festival and find out."
A shudder ran through me, my grip on her tightening reflexively. "You drive a hard bargain, Ms. Yaoyorozu."
She pulled back, her smile turning wicked. "I prefer to think of it as effective motivation."
I laughed, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "Well, consider me thoroughly motivated."
Momo's smile softened, her hand coming up to caress my jaw. "In all seriousness though, I believe in you, Izuku. I know you can do this, can master this new power and show the world what you're truly capable of."
I turned my face into her touch, my eyes slipping closed as I breathed in the scent of her, the warm, familiar comfort of her presence. "Thank you," I murmured, pouring all the love and gratitude I felt into those two simple words.
"Always," Momo whispered, her forehead coming to rest against mine. "I'll always be here, right by your side. No matter what."
And there, in the quiet of the training room, with the promise of the future stretching out before us...
I believed her. Believed in us, in the strength of what we'd found together.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone