The stadium pulsed with human excitement, the kind of overwhelming collective energy that even ancient beings struggled to ignore. From the highest row, half wrapped in shadow and half in sunlight, Ikaris sat among ordinary spectators, perfectly still. His mortal hoodie and jeans blended him into the crowd flawlessly. To them he was nobody, but to him they were everything—one of the greatest mysteries in the universe, compressed into a single roaring, living mass.
He watched the field below as students gathered, the dust around their feet swirling with every shift in stance. He had told himself he came simply to observe, but the truth grew clearer the longer he stayed: he wanted to understand what made humans fight so fiercely, what made their emotions burn so bright it echoed into the cosmos.
The students of U.A. moved with a strange mixture of nerves and determination, forming teams, testing formations, whispering strategies. All the while, the crowd built in anticipation, ready for the next event. The noise vibrated through the ground, through the seats, and even through Ikaris' bones. Humans really did know how to turn competition into something sacred.
Midnight strutted into the arena, whip cracking, voice amplified into a playful but commanding roar. The people cheered as if she were a titan descended from myth. Behind her, Bakugo stepped forward and delivered his pledge without hesitation or humility—"I'm gonna win"—and the stadium loved the rawness of it. Ikaris found himself smiling despite not fully understanding the charm of arrogance. Humans seemed to admire those who dared to claim victory before they'd earned it.
Then the rules flashed across massive screens and the stadium vibrated with anticipation. The next event required teams of four: one rider, three forming the support beneath, each working in perfect unity to protect their headbands or steal them from others. Points were everything. Strategy was everything else. Quirks were both weapons and weaknesses. It was the most human thing he had ever seen—competition elevated into something grand, chaotic, meaningful.
Midnight called the start.
What followed struck Ikaris as a kind of beautiful disorder.
Students launched forward all at once, turning the field into a storm of motion. Ice blasted outward in a perfect arc as Todoroki immobilized entire teams in seconds. Kaminari's lightning danced across the ground, stunning opponents just long enough for Todoroki to snatch points. Others screamed in frustration as their boots froze into the ground. It was elegance wrapped in cruelty—cold precision, done with barely a word spoken.
A moment later, Bakugo tore through the air in an explosion of sound and fury. He maneuvered not with brute strength but with surprising intelligence, directing Kirishima's hardened defense like a shield, using Sero's tape like an anchor to pivot around obstacles, and letting Ashido melt Todoroki's ice before it stopped their momentum. Bakugo adapted on the fly, clawing his way upward from earlier failures with a fire that could almost ignite the sky.
And then, all at once, the crowd shifted their focus to the ten-million-point target—the team everyone wanted to destroy.
Midoriya's group.
Ikaris leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
The boy stood atop the living "horse" formed by Uraraka, Tokoyami, and Hatsume—each trembling under the weight of the goal they carried. Everyone wanted what Midoriya had. Everyone charged toward him. Everyone saw him as the ultimate prize.
Yet even surrounded, Midoriya did not collapse. He moved with frantic awareness, eyes cutting across angles, counting options, predicting patterns before they occurred. His words flew like machine-gun fire, directing teammates, reacting to attacks before they fully began. He wasn't the strongest, nor the fastest, nor the boldest—but he was something else entirely. His spirit sat on a knife's edge, fear and courage wrapped into one. Every heartbeat was a decision. Every breath a gamble.
Uraraka lightened their bodies, making the whole team float just enough to keep mobility high. Tokoyami's Dark Shadow whipped through the air, blocking ambushes from all sides, its shrieks of exhilaration adding another layer of madness to the scene. Hatsume used her inventions with gleeful disregard for sanity—jet boosters that threatened to launch them into the stratosphere, grappling hooks that barely avoided taking someone's eye out, mechanical legs that kicked like furious mules.
It was chaos, but it worked.
They darted through the field like a runaway star, dodging Todoroki's freezes, slipping past Bakugo's blasts, avoiding Class 1-B's coordinated strikes.
Every human strength was on display—intelligence, teamwork, fearless ambition.
Ikaris felt something loosen in the chest he once thought unmovable.
This… this was why humans fascinated him. Other species fought to survive. Humans fought to surpass themselves.
He felt it even in the stands. People screamed themselves hoarse, clapped until their hands reddened, cheered in waves that rippled across the arena. Every parent, every sibling, every stranger shared in the children's triumphs and failures as though it were their own.
This collective passion—that was what gave humanity gods, heroes, legends. Not power. Not ability. Emotion.
A flicker of movement caught his attention.
Down near the teachers' seating, Principal Nezu had received a message. Ikaris recognized the subtle stiffening in the small creature's posture—the slow blink, the calculation hiding behind cheerful features.
Nezu whispered something to Aizawa, and both of them scanned the crowd with unsettling precision.
Someone had reported him.
A cosmic entity disappearing somewhere in Japan.
Possibly in this stadium.
Nezu wasn't certain…but he was hunting.
Aizawa's eyes narrowed. Present Mic stopped mid-joke. The other teachers stiffened, sensing the shift.
Ikaris barely moved. He did not disguise himself with power—he simply breathed, slouched into his chair like an exhausted adult spectator, letting the shadows fall across his face in a perfectly human way.
Nezu continued scanning the seats with tension slowly building.
He found nothing.
Ikaris allowed himself a small, private sigh. Humans… always looking outward for threats when they had so many battles within themselves. But he respected Nezu's instincts—the little creature was dangerous in ways even cosmic beings did not easily counter.
His eyes returned to the field.
Midoriya's team was being cornered. Todoroki's ice surged forward like a living glacier. Bakugo descended with an explosion meant to intimidate or overwhelm. Class 1-B circled like wolves waiting for the perfect moment. The ten-million-point headband glowed bright enough to hypnotize the desperate.
Pressure crushed the air around Midoriya's chest. Ikaris could see it—fear threatening to swallow the boy whole.
But the boy kept moving.
"URARAKA, FULL FLOAT!"
"ON IT!"
"TOKOYAMI, PROTECT THE LEFT!"
"DARK SHADOW—UNDERSTOOD."
"HATSUME, BOOST US NOW!"
"PREPARE FOR MAXIMUM OVERCLOCKING!"
Their bodies lifted off the ground. Hatsume's jet pack fired like a cannon. The team burst upward—over everyone's heads—and then dropped like lightning straight toward Todoroki's flank, slipping under his guard at the last possible second.
Midoriya's hand shot forward.
His fingers closed around a headband.
Not the ten-million one—Todoroki's second-highest band.
It was enough.
The stadium exploded with cheering.
Students yelled in shock. Teachers leaned forward. Even Bakugo gritted his teeth in furious surprise.
The buzzer rang.
The match ended in a storm of exhausted breathing and trembling limbs.
Midoriya collapsed backward onto Tokoyami, laughing and panting as Uraraka smiled through tears and Hatsume announced loudly that she had collected at least twelve new test results. Todoroki stared at his hand with quiet frustration, the edges of his ice cracking. Bakugo stomped the ground so hard dust shot out like smoke.
The stands shook with applause.
The noise was overwhelming, overwhelming enough that even Ikaris closed his eyes for a moment. He let the sound wash over him like a tide, feeling more connected to Earth than he had been in years.
Something inside him shifted—something ancient, something tired, something hopeful.
Humans fought with all their heart.
He had lived for millennia, but perhaps he had never lived like they did.
As the dust settled and students either celebrated or brooded over their results, teachers stepped down to gather them, encourage them, and prepare them for the next round. Nezu's attention returned more fully to the arena, though he glanced toward the crowd every few seconds. The report still hung in his mind. A being of unknown origin, spotted weeks ago, simply disappearing somewhere in Japan.
He had no idea that the very person he searched for walked past him moments later, slipping into the flow of ordinary spectators who returned to their seats or proceeded toward the concession stands. Ikaris moved like any human—hands in pockets, steps soft, blending into the mass effortlessly.
He paused once more at the railing overlooking the arena.
Midoriya was speaking to Todoroki. Bakugo was arguing loudly with Kirishima. Uraraka hopped excitedly as she talked to Iida. Tokoyami stood in calm contemplation. Hatsume frantically stuffed devices back into her utility belt before any teacher confiscated them.
And all around, the crowd celebrated the fierce brilliance of their next generation of heroes.
Ikaris felt the faint tremble of the world beneath his feet, not from quirk explosions or stomping boots but from something deeper—possibility, change, fate weaving new threads around these young fighters.
He was part of this world now, whether he had intended it or not.
And he would stay.
He would watch them grow, struggle, rise.
Humanity wasn't just surviving.
They were evolving.
He turned and walked slowly up the stairs, the sunlight painting him gold for an instant. No one noticed him, no one recognized him, no one suspected that the cosmic being they feared sat among them through the entire event.
And he found he didn't mind.
For the first time in a very long time, he liked being unnoticed.
He liked watching.
He liked learning.
And as the arena roared behind him with the promise of more battles, more dreams, more heartbreaks—he finally understood:
This world…This humanity…Was worth staying for.