Red in Different Shades

11. The Finals

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Edited 14.MARCH.2022

Edited 14.OCT.2024

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"It's finally the last battle of the U.A. High School Sports Festival! The top of the first years will be decided with this one match! The Final, so to speak." Present Mic's voice echoed across the stadium as Niwa stood at the edge of the arena.

She had made it.

Her fingers curled into fists, knuckles cracking under the strain. Her muscles buzzed with exhaustion, but her mind was in overdrive. Sharp and hyper-vigilant. She knew things were a little off upstairs, her mind a kaleidoscope. Her thoughts were scattered, yet she caught every movement around her, every shift in light or sound. But she was finally stood in the one place where this wonderfully stubborn asshole would give her the most attention.

The final match. Oh, she knew how badly he wanted to win.

Each flicker of Bakugou's posture in the distance read to her like a series of calculated threats. He was going to give her the fight she wanted, not because she craved it, but because she needed it.

In the five minutes they'd been given to prepare, Niwa had isolated herself from the others. She needed to regroup with her own body, find the space to actually think, and somehow regain that semblance of control and security.

And now, here she was, her gaze locked onto Bakugou. The arena warping into an out of focused blur, everything but him. The subtle hum of the crowd blended into white noise.

Niwa blinked, taking in the boy's posture. Bakugou stared her down with a menacing grin warped across his face. Palms out and ready to attack.

Her hands flexed, loosening, then tightened again.

"You know them already!! From the hero course, it's Niwa!" Present Mic announced. Niwa shifted, she felt so damn giddy. "Versus--! Also from the hero course, Bakugou Katsuki!"

Niwa's focus locked onto Bakugou, blocking out everything else. The roar of the crowd and Present Mic's voice faded into a dull hum, a background noise that became simple to ignore. All that mattered was the movement in front of her. When Bakugou took a step forward, it was enough; her senses honed in on the shift in his weight, the intent in his stance. She didn't need any other signal to know the fight had begun.

Niwa kicked off the ground, every movement intentional with no excess energy wasted. Bakugou mirrored her, explosions launching him forward. She anticipated this. It was just like him to dive in with his full force immediately. Not recklessly, but deliberate. Bakugou fought with efficiency, and so would she.

She threw a kick, sharp and controlled. She wasn't guessing. She knew Bakugou's timing. She'd studied fighters like him, always waiting for someone to make the first mistake. Bakugou twisted away, a small explosion sending him airborne, just as she expected. Niwa tracked his movement with a calm intensity.

Her body twisted before the explosion hit. She didn't stop to think, her brain ran calculations on instinct, years of training etched into her muscles caried her through practiced movements. As the blast struck her back, she moved with it, rolling forward and letting the force carry her through the fall. Pain erupted across her shoulder blades, but she let it wash over her, compartmentalizing the sensation in a way that caused a rush of ice through her blood for a single moment.

Her fingers scraped the concrete, steadying her balance. The drag left deep scars along the floor and her fingers raw, but Niwa kept herself low to the ground, body tight. This wasn't about aggression, it was about taking control of what she could, step by step, inch by inch. She had learned long ago that when the world tried to knock you down, you roll with it and came back harder.