The days after USJ passed like a fever dream. Security at U.A. tripled. Cement walls rose around the gates. Pro heroes patrolled like hawks circling prey. The school didn't say it outright, but everyone knew: the villains had declared war.
And me? I'd painted a bullseye on my back by unleashing a dinosaur-shaped mech in front of half the hero course.
By the time Aizawa shuffled into class with bandages wrapped around his body like a mummy, tension was already high. He scanned us with those perpetually tired eyes and dropped a bomb without hesitation.
"Two weeks from now," he said, voice flat as ever, "you'll be competing in the U.A. Sports Festival."
The room erupted.
Kaminari whooped, Mina squealed, and even Iida—ever the serious one—couldn't hide the gleam in his eyes.
"The Sports Festival?! It's the biggest stage in Japan!" Kaminari yelled. "Heroes, agencies, sponsors—it's where careers start!"
"Or end," Aizawa interrupted, killing the hype with one lazy blink. "If you embarrass yourselves, expect no second chances."
A nervous silence followed, broken only when Bakugo slammed his palms on his desk, sparks hissing.
"Good. About time I get to show everyone who's on top." His eyes flicked to me, molten and sharp. "And I'll crush that flashy cosplay act in front of the whole damn country."
The class murmured, half-excited, half-awkward. Everyone knew what he meant. Everyone had seen the dinosaur.
I didn't rise to the bait. Not yet. I just leaned back in my chair, smirking. "Careful, Bakugo. Dinosaurs have a way of stomping noisy pests."
His explosion cracked the desk. "WHAT DID YOU SAY?!"
Aizawa sighed, scarf twitching threateningly. "Both of you, shut up before I expel you for real this time."
Later that day, I slipped out to the training grounds. My body was still healing, but the Morpher hummed faintly now, repairs nearly complete.
[System Status: 85% Restored]
[Color Strain Reduced]
[New Form Available: Green — Hunter's Fang]
The display flared to life, showcasing an emerald Ranger silhouette with a bow gleaming across its back.
I whistled low. "Finally. Tommy vibes."
The Green form was lighter, more agile, focused on precision. Perfect for mid-range fights and support fire. If Red was brute force, Blue was control, and Yellow was speed—Green was the hunter.
I summoned it briefly. Emerald armor wrapped around me, the visor narrowing like a predator's gaze. A sleek bow materialized in my hands, glowing with circuits of light. I drew back instinctively; an arrow of energy hummed into existence.
I loosed it at a target dummy. The arrow split into three mid-air, striking dead-center in a triangle pattern.
"Nice," I muttered. "That'll keep Bakugo guessing."
But the Morpher wasn't done.
[New Directive: Prepare for Large-Scale Exhibition.]
[Warning: Villain Observation Likely.]
I clenched my jaw. The Sports Festival wasn't just a stage for us—it was a stage for them. Shigaraki would be watching. Maybe worse.
Two weeks flew by. Training consumed every hour. The class drilled, strategized, and pushed themselves harder than ever. Even Mineta stopped whining (as much).
For me, it was balancing. Learning to rotate forms without burning out. Testing combos. Blue into Green for water-propelled arrow barrages. Yellow into Red for lightning-fast sword strikes. My body screamed, but my resolve only sharpened.
When the day arrived, nerves rippled through every student. The stadium loomed ahead, a coliseum packed with thousands. Cameras floated like vultures. The roar of the crowd hit like a tidal wave.
We filed into the arena behind Present Mic's bombastic voice, our names announced one by one. The crowd roared for Todoroki, Bakugo, even Midoriya. But when "Sato Renji, hero name: Crimson Vanguard!" blared across the speakers, the stadium exploded.
Cheers, confusion, chants of "Dino-boy!" and "Summon the robot again!"
I forced a grin, lifting my hand in a mock salute. But inside, my stomach twisted. This wasn't just fans. This was exposure. Every villain, every criminal organization, every shadowy figure beyond the walls—they were all watching me now.
We lined up in the center of the arena. Midnight took the mic, her theatrics as over-the-top as ever.
"WELCOME, ONE AND ALL, TO THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL!" she shouted, her whip cracking. "The brightest stars of tomorrow will shine today!"
The crowd roared again, louder than any Nomu's scream.
She gestured to Bakugo, who'd somehow been chosen for the opening speech. I smirked, already guessing what was coming.
Bakugo grabbed the mic, scowled at the sea of faces, and yelled, "I'M GONNA WIN, AND ALL YOU LOSERS CAN SHOVE IT!"
The boos nearly drowned him out. I chuckled under my breath. Subtlety wasn't in his DNA.
The first event: the obstacle race. Four kilometers of hell. Giant robots, pits of sludge, fields of ice. A test of speed, brains, and guts.
We lined up at the starting gate. Bakugo cracked his knuckles beside me, sparks snapping. "Hope you're ready, Ranger-wannabe."
I smirked, touching my Morpher. "Always."
The buzzer blared.
The world erupted into chaos.
Bakugo blasted forward on explosions, Todoroki froze half the course instantly, and the crowd went wild. Students scrambled, shoved, dodged debris. I pressed my Morpher.
"Yellow—Volt Striker!"
Electricity surged, armor snapping into place. I shot forward in a blur, weaving past robots, sparks trailing like lightning on asphalt. The HUD painted lines across the field, marking weak points in obstacles.
A massive zero-pointer crashed through the course ahead, blocking half the track. Students screamed, scattering. Bakugo blew through rubble, Todoroki froze the bot's legs, and Midoriya… Midoriya stared up at it with shaking hands, muttering furiously to himself.
I didn't have time to watch. I swapped forms mid-sprint.
"Green—Hunter's Fang!"
The bow materialized. I drew and loosed, energy arrows slamming into the bot's sensors. Sparks flew. Its head tilted—enough of a distraction for Todoroki's ice to finish freezing it solid.
He glanced back at me, eyes narrowing in acknowledgment. Not thanks. Just recognition.
"Don't get used to it," I muttered, pushing ahead.
The course blurred into chaos—sludge pits turned weightless by Uraraka's Quirk, Iida sprinting like a jet engine, Bakugo blasting students aside with manic laughter. I rotated forms to adapt: Yellow for speed, Blue for stability across ice, Green for ranged control.
And Red? Red I saved for the finish.
As the stadium gates loomed, I swapped, sword blazing in my grip. "Crimson Overdrive!" The blade cleaved through debris blocking the path, opening a straight line to the finish.
Bakugo roared beside me, explosions flaring. Todoroki skated forward on ice.
The three of us crossed the final stretch in a storm of fire, frost, and lightning. The crowd erupted.
In the stands, heroes murmured. Agencies took notes. Sponsors leaned forward.
And in the shadows of a dingy bar, Shigaraki Tomura watched a flickering TV screen. His hand twitched against his neck, nails carving lines into skin.
"The Ranger…" he whispered. "He's stealing the spotlight again."
Kurogiri's voice was calm as mist. "Patience, Shigaraki. His light only makes his fall more satisfying."
Shigaraki's grin split wide. "Then I'll drag him into the dark myself."