The stadium screens flickered with the finality of a death warrant. The remaining bracket names locked into place:
Semi-Final 1: Tenya Iida vs. Katsuki Bakugo.
Semi-Final 2: Sherlock Sheets vs. Shoto Todoroki.
The crowd's roar was muffled as Sherlock sat in the Recovery Girl's infirmary. Physically, he was largely intact; his "Loom" defense had absorbed the kinetic brunt of Midoriya's strikes, leaving him with only minor bruising and a lingering mental fatigue. After a quick burst of healing energy from the school nurse, he adjusted his vest and made his way to the private ward.
The room smelled of antiseptic and ozone. Izuku Midoriya lay on the bed, his arm encased in a heavy cast. He looked broken, but his eyes were clearer than Sherlock had ever seen them.
"Sheets-kun..." Izuku rasped, his voice a dry whisper.
"I came to check the status of the 'Attempt,' Midoriya," Sherlock said, his voice unusually quiet. He stood at the foot of the bed, his analytical mind already calculating the weeks of physical therapy Midoriya would face. "The doctors say you'll recover, but you're a mathematical disaster. You shouldn't have pushed that hard. You nearly shattered your own foundation for a match that was, by all logic, a lost cause."
Izuku gave a weak, shaky smile. "I had to... I had to see the real you. The one behind the cards. Now go... Todoroki-kun is waiting. He's hurting, Sherlock. In a different way than I was."
Sherlock looked at his clean, steady hands. "I know. He's fighting with half an engine. It's an illogical way to live." He turned to leave, his eyes flashing with a new, emerald spark. "Rest up, Midoriya. You broke my wall. Now, I have to go see if I can melt his."
● I. The Gallery of Judgment
As Sherlock walked toward the tunnel, he passed the Class 1-A viewing area. The atmosphere was suffocating.
"No way," Kaminari muttered. "Sheets is actually going up against Todoroki? Paper vs. Fire and Ice? That's not a match, that's a funeral."
"It's totally one-sided," Sero added, shivering. "Todoroki's ice is unavoidable. If Sherlock gets frozen, he's done. If Todoroki uses fire, it's game over in a second."
Katsuki Bakugo stood apart, his teeth gritted so hard they looked ready to snap. "That damn paper-user... he's got that look in his eyes now. The look of someone who's stopped calculating his exit strategy." Bakugo's palms popped with angry sparks. "But against Icy-Hot? Logic says he gets incinerated. If he loses without a fight, I'll kill him
myself."
● II. The Route to the Arena: A Memory Reflected
The corridor leading to the arena was a tunnel of shifting shadows, the distant roar of the crowd echoing through the concrete like the heartbeat of a leviathan. Sherlock walked with a measured pace, his footsteps crisp and deliberate, but for the first time, his mind wasn't occupied with exit strategies or survival percentages.
A few meters from the threshold where the light met the dark, a figure stepped out from the alcove. Momo Yaoyorozu stood there, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked at him—not as the genius who had dominated the festival, but as the boy who had walked away from her in the hallway only an hour prior
"Sherlock," she called out, her voice barely rising above the distant stadium hum.
He came to a halt, the air between them still heavy with the residue of their last argument. "Yaoyorozu. You should be in the stands for the first semi-final."
"I couldn't just sit there," she admitted, stepping closer. The dim overhead lights caught the sincerity in her eyes. "I saw your fight with Midoriya. I saw the way you looked at the sky afterward. I just wanted to... to wish you luck. Todoroki is a storm, Sherlock. Please, come back in one piece."
Sherlock looked down at his bandaged knuckles, then back at her. The clinical frost in his gaze had thawed into something more human.
"About what I said earlier," he began, his voice dropping an octave. "My decision to leave. I wanted to apologize. It was a conclusion reached through flawed data. I was calculating for safety, but I neglected to account for purpose."
Momo's breath hitched. "What do you mean?"
"I've spent years trying to erase the 'Pulp Princess' from my life because the math of her sacrifice didn't add up. But Midoriya... he showed me that some things are worth the error margin. And you..." He paused, his gaze softening in a way that felt more intimate than any touch. "You kept trying to reach a boy who was intentionally making himself unreachable. That was highly illogical of you, Momo. But I'm grateful for it."
He looked toward the light at the end of the tunnel. "I've decided to stay. I'm staying for my mother's legacy. I'm staying for Class 1-A. And..." He looked back at her, a faint, genuine smile touching his lips. "I'm staying because I want to see what kind of heroes we can actually become. Together."
Momo felt a sudden, sharp warmth radiate through her chest. It wasn't the heat of the stadium or the fire of the upcoming match; it was a profound sense of relief that felt dangerously close to something more.
She had spent so long mourning the loss of her childhood friend, and hearing him say he was staying—for them, for her—made the world feel right again.
"Thank you, Momo," Sherlock added, his voice steady. "For not letting me settle for the bare minimum."
"You don't need to thank me," she whispered, her heart giving a subtle, traitorous flutter against her ribs. She quickly straightened her posture, trying to maintain her composure, but her eyes remained fixed on him with a depth she couldn't quite hide. "Just... go out there and show him who you really are."
Sherlock nodded, the black-edged cards in his holster clicking softly as he turned. He stepped into the blinding glare of the stadium, his silhouette fading into the white light.
Momo remained in the shadows for a moment longer, her hand resting over her heart, watching him go. He was finally staying, and for the first time, the "Genius Technician" looked like a hero.
● III. The Semi-Final: Homeostasis and the Heart
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THE SECOND SEMI-FINAL!" Present Mic's voice shook the very foundation of the stadium.
"THE UNTOUCHABLE GENIUS, SHERLOCK SHEETS! VS. THE PRINCE OF ICE, SHOTO TODOROKI!"
The two stood ten paces apart. Todoroki's right side was already frosting over. "The match with Midoriya was impressive," Shoto said coldly". But This ends now."
"Still fighting with half an engine, Todoroki?" Sherlock fanned out a deck of black-edged cards, his eyes sharp. "It's mathematically offensive. Let's see if you can keep that ice up when I turn the arena into a labyrinth."
"START!"
Todoroki stomped his foot. A mountain of ice—Heaven-Piercing Ice Wall—erupted, a jagged glacier meant to end the fight instantly.
"Mechanical Art: The Origami Shroud!"
Sherlock didn't retreat. He launched hundreds of cards coated in High-Gloss Glaze. They didn't just fly; they began to rotate at 10,000 RPM, forming a high-speed paper drill that bored a perfect tunnel through Todoroki's glacier. Sherlock burst through the other side, a blur of white and black.
"Trajectory captured!" Sherlock yelled. He flicked cards that expanded into Low-Friction Silk tripwires, weaving a web across the floor.
Todoroki struggled to find footing. He sent wave after wave of ice, but Sherlock was a ghost. He used his Ultra-Grip Glaze cards to run vertically up the ice walls, raining down exploding cards like a tactical bomber.
"Why won't you fall?!" Todoroki roared, the frost on his face thickening. He was reaching his limit; his movements were slowing, his breath coming in ragged, frozen gasps.
"Because you're only fighting with your hate!" Sherlock shouted, closing the distance until they were chest to chest in the mist. "Your mother didn't give you the ice to be a prison! And your father didn't give you the fire to be a curse! It's YOUR power, Shoto! Not his!"
The stadium went silent. Even Endeavor, watching from the VIP section, froze. Beside him, Arthur Sheets watched his son with a terrifying intensity.
"USE EVERYTHING YOU ARE!" Sherlock screamed, his hands turning blue from the proximity to Shoto's ice.
Then, the world turned orange.
A massive pillar of fire erupted from Shoto's left side. The heat was so intense it turned the glacier into instant steam, creating a blinding white-out across the stadium.
"YES!" Endeavor roared, his flames flaring in sync with his son's. "SHOTO!"
All Might, standing in the tunnel, gripped the wall.
"Young Sheets... you really are his friend. You're pushing him to be whole."
The Viewing Stands: Class 1-A
In the viewing stands, the atmosphere was thick with disbelief. The students of Class 1-A were leaned over the railing, their faces illuminated by the orange glow of the inferno below.
Katsuki Bakugo He stood at the very front of the railing, his knuckles white as he gripped the metal bar. His eyes didn't leave Sherlock for a second. "That damn paper-waster," he spat, though his usual tone of mockery was replaced by a low, dangerous growl.
"He's not just throwing cards anymore. He's... he's fighting like he actually gives a damn. Look at him, moving into the line of fire just to get a word in. It's pathetic... and it's annoying as hell that he's the one pushing Icy-Hot to his limit."
Iida's engines were idling loudly in his legs, a sign of his internal tension. He adjusted his glasses repeatedly. "Sheets-kun's movements... they are no longer based purely on evasion. He is intentionally narrowing the gap. To face Todoroki-kun's ice head-on with nothing but reinforced paper... it's logically reckless, yet it's the most courageous thing I've seen him do. He isn't just playing a game anymore; he's acting as a Hero."
"Is he crazy?!" Kaminari yelped, flinching as a wave of fire roared across the screen. "That's fire! Actual, literal fire! Sherlock's Quirk is paper! Doesn't he know his basic Pokémon types? Paper burns! But he's still running toward it... Man, I thought he was the smartest guy in class, but right now, he's as much of a bonehead as Midoriya!"
Kirishima pounded his hardened fists together, tears of "manliness" welling in his eyes. "Look at that grit! Sherlock's getting scorched and frozen at the same time, but he hasn't stopped moving for a second! He's taking the 'Pulp Princess's' legacy and turning it into a shield! That smile he gave at the end... that's the manliest thing I've ever seen. He didn't lose; he stood his ground until the very last atom of his paper was gone!"
"I don't get it!" Mineta wailed, clutching his head. "He's losing! He's getting roasted! Why is he smiling?! If that were me, I'd be crying and begging for a towel! Why does the 'Cool Guy' have to be a hero too? Now I'll never look good compared to him!"
Dark Shadow flickered nervously around Tokoyami's shoulders. "A banquet of shadows and light," Tokoyami murmured. "Sheets is dancing on the edge of the abyss. He knows the fire will consume his medium, yet he weaves his Mechanical Arts with the desperation of a dying star. His final attack... it wasn't a move to win. It was a funeral pyre for his old self."
"Go, Sherlock! Go!" Mina was jumping up and down, her pink hair bouncing. "I've never seen him look so... intense! The way he snapped his fingers for that final 'Death Blast'... that was the coolest thing in the whole festival! I don't care if he fell down; he totally won the 'Rule of Cool' award!"
● IV. The Final Attack: Mechanical Art: The Pulp Singularity
In the center of the steam, Sherlock was dying of heat. His paper was curling, turning black at the edges. His lungs burned with every breath. He looked at his shaking, scorched hands and the few remaining scraps of paper in his holsters.
This is it, he thought. The final variable.
He didn't throw the cards. He released them. Every single scrap of paper—shredded remnants of his walls, confetti from the stands, the very wires he had woven—flew into the air, caught in a swirling vortex created by the rising heat of Shoto's fire.
Sherlock used his Molecular Glaze to the absolute limit, fusing every scrap into a pressurized, microscopic cloud that surrounded Todoroki like a storm of silver dust.
"Todoroki!" Sherlock's voice cracked through the roar of the flames. "This is everything I have! Prove your conviction!"
Sherlock raised his charred hand. He looked up at the VIP booth, meeting his father's eyes for one final second, then back to Shoto.
"Mechanical Art: The Pulp Singularity—TOTAL ERASURE!"
SNAP.
"Blast of Depletion"
The sound of the snap was lost in the subsequent implosion. The pressurized glaze shards didn't explode outward; they collapsed inward with the force of a vacuum.
A massive sphere of white-hot pressure swallowed the center of the ring, creating a shockwave that blew out the windows of the announcer's booth. Everyone in the Audience had to shield there eyes as the sheer force of the compressed air rippled through the stadium.
● V. The Aftermath
The dust and steam hung in the air for what felt like an eternity. Gradually, the silhouette emerged.
Shoto Todoroki was still standing.
He was shaking violently, his left side smoking, his uniform charred. He had used his fire and ice simultaneously to create a thermal shield, but he was at the very edge of the boundary line, gasping for air, his eyes wide with shock.
Opposite him, Sherlock Sheets was on his knees.
His clothes were ruined. His arms were covered in burns and frostbite. He couldn't even lift his head. But as the giant screen zoomed in on his face, the stadium saw it.
He was smiling. A genuine, beautiful, and satisfied smile. He had given everything. He hadn't just calculated a win; he had experienced a life.
"Sherlock Sheets is unable to continue!" Midnight announced, her voice thick with emotion. "Todorokiadvances!"
Momo watched from the tunnel, her hands over her mouth. Seeing that smile her heat Skipped a beat—the one he gave when he was defeated, the one that proved he had finally 'felt' the world—made her heart swell with a bittersweet
joy.
Her mind flashed back ten years—to the garden of the Sheets estate, before the rain, before the tragedy of the Pulp Princess. She remembered a young Sherlock standing over a pile of folded paper roses, wearing that exact same expression of pure, unburdened joy.
"You did it, Sherlock," shewhispered. "You're finally free."
Arthur Sheets sat back in his chair, his eyes closing for a brief second. He saw Mayuri in that smile. He saw the boy he thought he had broken finally becoming something unbreakable.
In the shadows of a distant room, the mysterious man turned off the TV. He held a paper card in his hand, his thumb tracing the embossed rose on its surface.
"A loss that builds a hero,"
the man murmured. "You played your part well, Sherlock. The fire didn't burn you away... it only tempered the steel."
He flicked the card into the darkness.
"Enjoy the rest, Nephew. The real Hardship is coming."
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