The roar of the stadium had a pulse. It thumped through the concrete, climbed my boots, and settled in the Morpher like a second heartbeat. Banners snapped in the wind; drones hovered like silver gnats; the smell of popcorn was criminally distracting.
Midnight cracked her whip. "Round two: Cavalry Battle! You've got fifteen minutes to form teams of two to four. Points from round one become your headband value. And the first-place finisher—" she purred, "—gets a special gift."
Present Mic howled into his mic. "TEN! MILLION!"
The stadium detonated in cheers. Everyone instinctively turned to the poor soul carrying that nuclear warhead.
Midoriya swallowed so hard I heard it from ten meters away.
Yeah. Canon didn't blink.
Todoroki's eyes sharpened. Bakugo's grin went feral. Even the kids from Class 1-B leaned forward like wolves scenting blood.
I glanced at my slate—third place. Good. Not too much attention, not too little. Just enough to hunt without every predator smelling me first.
Aizawa's bored voice drifted from the staff box. "If you don't have a team, you don't have a future."
He meant "in this round." It sounded bigger.
Time started.
The plaza exploded into frantic recruiting.
"Iida, let's team!" Midoriya called, hopeful.
"I apologize," Iida bowed with perfect guilt. "Todoroki requested my assistance already. Strategic considerations." Translation: Todoroki's gravity well pulled like a planet.
Bakugo snapped his fingers at Kirishima and Sero. "You two. We're bulldozing everyone." Kirishima beamed like he'd just been adopted.
I scanned the chaos. The Grid thrummed—threads of resonance tugging at my wrist.
I found Uraraka first. "Hey. Want to be light cavalry?"
Her smile popped like sunrise. "I'm in!"
Yaoyorozu was calculating three moves ahead near the rail. "Momo," I called, "can you build a modular brace frame, nonconductive, with quick-attach handles? Think chariot skeleton."
Her eyes lit. "Yes. Low mass composite, locking joints." She nodded once, decisive. "I'll join."
One more. We needed a wall.
"Shoji!" I waved the mountain of muscle and calm. "We need a fortress with legs."
He didn't even blink. "Understood."
The Morpher chimed.
[Team Node Established]
Sato Renji / Uraraka Ochaco / Yaoyorozu Momo / Shoji Mezo
Effect: "Tri-Link Formation" — Color Strain buildup reduced 25% while three allies in contact. Shared situational HUD overlay.
Sentai gospel: the Grid loves a squad.
Momo's Creation flared, a scaffold blooming into existence like origami waking up. She locked the brace across Shoji's shoulders and hips, added quick-release grips for Uraraka at the rear and herself on the flank. I vaulted to rider position at the top of the frame.
Uraraka tapped the whole build. "Zero-G!" Weight vanished. Shoji straightened; the frame might as well have been a cardboard crown.
Midnight's timer flashed down to zero. "Teams set? Then—BEGIN!"
Chaos erupted.
Air turned to knives—the chill of Todoroki's ice wave thundered across the field, freezing half the ground into a glassy battlefield. A handful of teams wiped out instantly. Bakugo detonated a path through flying debris, Kirishima tanking hits with a grin. Class 1-B's Monoma cackled as he skimmed bands off panicking teams, flamboyantly twirling headbands like streamers.
"Direction?" Shoji asked, six eyes fanning out on Dupli-Arms, sonar-calm in the storm.
"Not Midoriya," I said. "Yet." Protecting his ten million caused fewer butterflies than robbing him early. "Sweep the flank, pick high-value scraps, and don't let Todoroki box us."
"Copy," Shoji rumbled, legs punching through ice like posts.
I slapped the Morpher. "Yellow—Volt Striker!"
Plates snapped across my limbs; coils hummed. The frame hummed with me. The Tri-Link node dumped a subtle grid across my HUD—tiny arrows, micro-paths, hazard pips. The Grid was sharing perception between us.
"Uraraka, light on my count," I called. "Three—two—now!"
She tapped the frame. Our weight blinked; Shoji surged with impossible agility. I leaned, Yellow speed translating into a hard right cut. We skimmed past a Class 1-B cluster; I clipped a headband with two fingers, popped it free, and slapped it to my brow.
"Forty points," Momo reported, already creating spare elastic loops and a small shield buckler. "Incoming—Tetsutetsu and Kendo, eleven o'clock!"
"Switching!" I snapped. "Blue—Azure Torrent!"
The armor gelled. I swept my arm; a low wave surged and refroze slick under Todoroki's old ice—like laying surfable water over sandpaper. Shoji rode the liquid line; Kendo's giant hand grab slipped with a yelp.
"Sorry!" I called, genuinely. "We'll send a fruit basket."
"Renji!" Uraraka pointed. "Left!"
Monoma appeared like a smirking ghost, already reaching. "I'll be taking that—" His words cut off when a green flicker laced my visor.
"Green—Hunter's Fang!"
Emerald plates slid in. The bow formed; I nocked and fired point-blank. The energy arrow split into three mid-air and stapled his glove to Momo's freshly conjured buckler with a crackle.
"Ah—! That is unsportsmanlike!" he yelped, skittering back.
"Consider it archery practice."
He growled, then grinned. "You're fun. I'll steal from you later."
"Line!" Shoji barked.
A glacier rolled at us—Todoroki's second wave, thicker and meaner, cold burning the lungs from meters away. Teams scattered or froze, literally.
"Anchor!" I shouted.
"On it!" Momo slammed a handful of steel pitons into Shoji's brace; they appeared with her Quirk and bit ice like hungry teeth. Uraraka tapped the frame again, lifting us just enough for friction to vanish. Blue water jetted from my boots; we skimmed backward as the tidal ice rolled under us. The pitons screeched, then held. Sheets of frost exploded around our ankles; breath fogged in clouds.
Todoroki's gaze cut to me across the frozen battlefield—measured, impersonal, assessing. He twitched his fingers and the ice bulged up like a wall.
"Elevate!" I snapped.
Uraraka weight-cut the frame. Shoji jumped. For a massive guy, he moved like a spring. My stomach tried to exit through my ribs as we cleared the ridge and landed on the other side in a spray of icy glitter. The stadium roared approval because apparently near-death made good TV.
"Status?" I asked, heart pounding.
"Stable," Shoji said.
"Forty plus sixty captured," Momo added. "Total one hundred."
"Make it one-fifty," I muttered.
Bakugo streaked in from nowhere, explosions drumming, Kirishima braced as the front horse. His eyes locked on me with that familiar murder-joy. "Headbands."
He blasted, palms blooming. Heat slapped my face.
"Red—Crimson Vanguard!" I switched mid-spark and slashed. The sword carved a pressure arc that parted the explosion like a wake. The Red strain nipped—impatience, aggression—but Tri-Link soaked the edge off.
Bakugo's grin widened. "That's more like it!"
Kirishima lunged; I met his hardened arms with the flat of my blade. The force rattled my bones. He laughed, delighted. "Man, you hit hard!"
"Likewise!"
He shoved; our frame skidded. Momo thrust her buckler forward; it telescoped into a curved wall, deflecting the next micro-blast. Uraraka tapped Kirishima's forearm—"Sorry!"—and his weight flickered. He pitched forward, unbalanced for a heartbeat.
"Window!" Shoji barked.
"Taking it!"
Yellow flared; I dove, two fingers snatching a fifty-point band from Bakugo's temple with a snap. He snarled, explosion prepped—then he hesitated, eyes flicking to my Morpher, to the sword, to the grin I couldn't hide.
"You're not first," he spat, falling back. "Not yet."
"Keep chasing," I said. "I'll leave breadcrumbs."
He blasted away, hunting Todoroki like a maniac meteor.
Uraraka whooped. "We're at one-fifty!"
The timer bled under five minutes.
Across the field, Midoriya's team scrambled, barely dodging Todoroki's clean surgical thefts. Tokoyami's Dark Shadow snarled and parried; Hatsume's support gear screamed like a jet engine; Uraraka—his Uraraka— (herself still on our squad here; different teams) No—focus. Canon was already bent. Midoriya was clinging to ten-million with raw will and duct-tape miracles.
The Grid pulsed warm at my wrist.
[Assist Resonance: Midoriya Izuku — 22%]
Effect: Will Surge active (remote).
I breathed out. "We're not taking Deku's band."
Momo glanced up, surprised, but didn't argue. Shoji only grunted. Uraraka smiled like she'd already assumed it.
"Target high-value off Todoroki's satellite team," I said. "Clip his points without poking the hornet."
"Understood."
We swung wide, sniping from edges. Green arrows pinned gloves; Blue surges made micro-currents under Todoroki's ice, softening his pathing; Yellow dashes sliced in for quick steals when his attention flicked. We made him look—not at Midoriya, but at us.
For the next two minutes, Todoroki's gaze kept returning, colder each time.
"Renji Sato," he called once, voice carrying. "Why avoid the ten million?"
"Because you're staring at it," I replied. "And I like living."
He didn't smile. I didn't expect him to.
The timer hit ninety seconds. Everything devolved into a feeding frenzy. Bands flew; kids yelled; the stadium became a blender.
Then Monoma reappeared like a stage cue, palm patting my forehead with infuriating lightness. "Boop. Thank you."
My brow felt lighter.
"Hey!"
I spun Green and fired—he side-stepped, wearing my forty-point band and the smuggest face in Japan. "Class 1-A—so careless," he sang, and turned—
Shoji's arm unfolded like a shutter and clamped him by the waist. His eyes bulged. "A-ah—!"
"Courtesy return," Momo said sweetly, producing a rubber mallet the size of a small car. She didn't swing it—she presented it. Monoma shrieked and handed back the band at record speed.
"Thank you," I said, popping it on. "We'll invoice you."
"Thirty seconds!" Present Mic howled. "Last-second snatch time!"
Todoroki made his final push—ice razors carving lanes toward Midoriya. Bakugo streaked in from the other side, explosions flaring, a dragon of smoke. The ten-million band glittered like a crown in a storm.
"Renji—" Uraraka started.
"I know."
We cut between titans.
"Blue—Azure Torrent!" Water jetted; we slid into the lane as Todoroki's ice surged. I slammed the trident down. "Rip Current!"
A cross-flow of water undercut the ice edge; it fractured early, slowing the tidal sweep by a crucial second. Dark Shadow roared through the gap, shielding Midoriya's headband hand at the exact breath that mattered.
Bakugo's blast skated wide, detonating harmlessly off our Blue shield bubble.
He looked straight at me, eyes blazing insult and—annoying—respect. "Tch. Fine. After him, I'm burning you."
"Get in line," I said.
The buzzer screamed.
Silence fell in a wave, followed by the stadium's delayed exhale.
Midnight's board flashed the qualifiers: Todoroki Team. Bakugo Team. Midoriya Team. Sato Team.
We'd made top four.
Uraraka hugged the frame, laughing breathlessly. Momo wiped sweat with the back of her hand, smiling small and fierce. Shoji exhaled like a mountain deflating.
The Morpher purred.
[Team Node Upgraded: Tri-Link II]
New Group Technique: "Sentai Vault" — Brief vertical boost + knockback pulse (requires three allies in contact).
"Nice," I breathed. "We're not just surviving. We're building."
Across the field, Todoroki studied me as if plotting a surgical diagram. Bakugo cracked his neck with the promise of violence. Midoriya clutched his headband like a lifeline, then looked up and grinned—shaky, stubborn, grateful.
The Sports Festival wasn't a stage. It was a forge.
And the Grid? The Grid loved a forge.