The day after the USJ attack, Class 1-A was given permission to visit Aizawa in the hospital. Hancock went alone, arriving early before the others.

  She found their teacher wrapped in bandages, looking like a mummy with only his eyes visible.

  "Hancock," he acknowledged in his usual monotone, though rougher now. "I'm surprised you came."

  "You're our teacher." She stood at a respectful distance. "It seemed appropriate."

  "Always so formal." He shifted slightly, wincing. "I saw the footage. You and Bakugo worked well together."

  Hancock said nothing.

  "You used your emotional manipulation Quirk on Shigaraki. Quick thinking."

  "It was necessary."

  "It was brave." Aizawa's visible eye fixed on her. "You're starting to trust your classmates. That's good. Heroes need people they can rely on."

  "I don't—"

  "You carried me out with Bakugo's help. You coordinated with the others during the escape. You protected Midoriya." His tone was matter-of-fact. "Whether you admit it or not, you're becoming part of this class. Stop fighting it."

  Before Hancock could respond, voices echoed from the hallway. The rest of Class 1-A was arriving.

  She slipped out before they could see her, not ready for the inevitable group conversation.

  Two days later, school resumed. The atmosphere was subdued, but Principal Nezu announced that the Sports Festival would proceed as scheduled.

  "The Sports Festival is an opportunity to show the world that UA remains strong," he explained through the speakers. "That we will not be intimidated by villains."

  The cafeteria erupted with mixed reactions.

  "Already?!" Kaminari groaned. "We just got attacked!"

  "This is our chance to shine!" Kirishima countered. "Show everyone we're not afraid!"

  Hancock listened quietly from her corner table. The Sports Festival. Televised nationally. Scouts from every major hero agency watching.

  A chance to prove herself.

  "Mind if I sit?"

  She looked up to find Todoroki standing with his tray. She gestured to the seat across from her—the one Bakugo usually took, though he wasn't here yet.

  "You fought well at the USJ," Todoroki said after a moment. "Your coordination with Bakugo was impressive."

  "We did what was necessary."

  "You're always so guarded." Todoroki's dual-colored eyes studied her. "I recognize that. The need to keep everyone at a distance."

  Hancock met his gaze. "And yet you're sitting here."

  "Because I think we understand each other." He took a bite of his food. "The Sports Festival is important to me. I intend to win without using my father's power. What about you?"

  "I intend to win period."

  "Even if that means going all out? Using abilities you normally avoid?"

  The question hit deeper than he probably intended. Hancock set down her chopsticks.

  "What makes you think I avoid anything?"

  "Observation. You're ranked eighth, but your performance at the USJ suggested you're much stronger. You hold back." He paused. "So do I. But for the festival, I'm going to show everyone I can be a hero without relying on him."

  "Your father."

  "Endeavor." The name came out flat, emotionless. "I assume you have your own reasons for restraint."

  Before Hancock could respond, a tray slammed down beside her with unnecessary force.

  "OI! Half-and-half! That's my seat!"

  Bakugo glared at Todoroki with his usual intensity.

  "I don't see your name on it," Todoroki replied calmly.

  "I sit here every day!"

  "Perhaps you should arrive earlier then."

  Hancock watched this exchange with something that might have been amusement. "There are other chairs, Bakugo."

  "I don't want other chairs! I want MY chair!"

  "How possessive," Todoroki observed.

  Bakugo looked ready to explode—literally—when Todoroki stood, picking up his tray.

  "I've finished eating anyway. Hancock, consider what I said." He nodded politely and left.

  Bakugo dropped into the vacated seat, still scowling. "What did Ice-Pop want?"

  "To discuss the Sports Festival."

  "Tch. Everyone's talking about it." He stabbed at his food aggressively. "Whole country's gonna be watching. Perfect chance to show off."

  "Is that all it is to you? Showing off?"

  "What else would it be?"

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Hancock considered her answer carefully. "Proving something. To yourself."

  Bakugo's eyes snapped to hers. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "At the USJ, you rushed in without thinking. Let your emotions control you. The Sports Festival is a chance to prove you've grown beyond that."

  "I don't need to prove anything to anyone!"

  "Then why do you care so much about winning?"

  Bakugo opened his mouth, closed it, then scowled harder. "Because I'm the best. That's why."

  "Are you?" Hancock's tone was genuinely curious. "Todoroki is strong. Yaoyorozu is strategic. Midoriya has surprising determination. What makes you the best?"

  "EVERYTHING! My Quirk, my skills, my—" He stopped, frustration clear on his face. "Why are you asking me this?"

  "Because you asked me to train with you. To see my full strength." Hancock met his intense gaze. "But I want to see yours too. Your real strength. Not just explosions and rage."

  They stared at each other across the table.

  "You're weird," Bakugo finally said.

  "You're insufferable."

  "Good thing we're not friends then."

  "Indeed."

  But neither of them looked away, and Hancock realized that somewhere along the way, she'd started to care what he thought. Started to value his opinion, his presence, his relentless pushing for her to be better.

  It was terrifying.

  "After school," Bakugo said abruptly. "Training ground Beta. You and me. I wanna work on combination moves before the festival."

  "Why would we need combination moves? The Sports Festival is individual competition."

  "Because we're both gonna make it far. And if we end up on the same team for the cavalry battle, I wanna know I can count on you."

  Count on you.

  Those words did something strange to Hancock's chest.

  "Fine," she heard herself say. "After school."

  Bakugo nodded and returned to his food, and they ate in their usual silence.

  But something had shifted. Again.

  Training ground Beta was empty when Hancock arrived. She'd changed into her gym uniform, her long hair tied back practically for once.

  Bakugo showed up five minutes later, also in gym clothes.

  "You're early," he noted.

  "You're late."

  "By five minutes!"

  "Still late."

  He grumbled but didn't actually argue. "Alright. Show me what you've got."

  They started with basics—testing each other's speed, reaction time, combat skills. Bakugo's fighting style was aggressive and direct, all overwhelming force. Hancock's was graceful and precise, focused on efficiency.

  "Your kicks are strong," Bakugo observed after she sent him skidding back with a Perfume Femur. "But you telegraph them. A smart opponent could dodge."

  "Your explosions are powerful," Hancock countered, "but you waste energy on unnecessary displays."

  "They're not unnecessary! They're intimidation!"

  "Intimidation is useless if you're too tired to back it up."

  They glared at each other, then continued training.

  An hour passed. Then two. They practiced combinations—Bakugo would create openings with his explosions while Hancock struck from unexpected angles. She would use her emotional manipulation to disorient opponents while he finished them with devastating blasts.

  "Again!" Bakugo demanded after a particularly effective combo. "But faster this time!"

  "You're the one slowing us down."

  "WHAT WAS THAT?!"

  But he was grinning, that fierce competitive grin that meant he was having fun.

  And Hancock realized she was too. This push-and-pull, this constant challenge. It was... enjoyable.

  Finally, as the sun began setting, they collapsed on the ground, both exhausted.

  "Not bad, Empress," Bakugo said between heavy breaths. "You actually kept up."

  "I did more than keep up."

  "Yeah, yeah." He turned his head to look at her. "You're still holding back though."

  Hancock stiffened. "I used everything we practiced."

  "Not everything. That emotional manipulation thing. You barely touched me during training."

  "Because manipulating a training partner's emotions is inappropriate."

  "Or because you're scared of getting close to people." Bakugo sat up, his expression surprisingly serious. "Look, I get it. Whatever happened to you, whatever made you this way—you don't have to tell me. But in a real fight? You need to use everything you've got."

  "I do use everything."

  "Bull. At the USJ, you hesitated before grabbing that decay freak's wrist. You hesitated before using your Quirk on Round-Face during the Battle Trial. You're constantly calculating whether you 'should' instead of just doing what needs to be done."

  Hancock sat up too, defensive. "Caution isn't weakness."

  "No, but fear is." He met her eyes. "And you're afraid of your own Quirk. Of what it means to really use it."

  "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "Don't I?" Bakugo leaned forward. "Try it on me right now. Your emotional manipulation. Make me feel something. Anything."

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because it's invasive! It's—" Hancock stopped, frustrated with herself. "It requires touching. Intimacy. Connection. Things I don't—"

  "Things you don't let yourself have," Bakugo finished. "Yeah, I figured."

  They sat in silence, the evening air cooling around them.

  "At the Sports Festival," Bakugo said finally, "I'm going all out. No holding back, no hesitation. And I expect you to do the same."

  "What if we face each other?"

  "Then we fight for real. And may the best one win." He stood, offering her a hand. "Deal?"

  Hancock stared at his outstretched hand. Covered in the nitroglycerin from his Quirk, rough and scarred from training. He was offering help. Connection.

  She could refuse. Keep her distance like always.

  Or she could take the risk.

  Slowly, she reached up and grasped his hand. He pulled her to her feet with surprising gentleness.

  "Deal," she said quietly.

  Bakugo held her hand for a moment longer than necessary, his red eyes searching hers. Then he released her and stepped back.

  "Good. Now get out of here. I've got more training to do."

  "You're going to exhaust yourself before the festival."

  "Mind your own business, Empress."

  But he was smiling slightly, and Hancock found herself almost smiling back.

  As she walked away from the training ground, she touched the hand he'd held, still feeling the warmth of his palm.

  What's happening to me? she wondered.

  But she wasn't entirely sure she wanted it to stop.

  The week before the Sports Festival passed in a blur of preparation. The entire school was buzzing with anticipation.

  Hancock trained alone during the day, but most evenings found her at Training Ground Beta with Bakugo. They never planned it—they just both showed up.

  "Your Pistol Kiss is too slow," Bakugo critiqued on Tuesday. "Speed it up or don't bother."

  "Your landing after aerial explosions is sloppy," Hancock countered. "You're vulnerable for half a second."

  They fixed each other's flaws through sheer stubborn determination.

  On Wednesday, Todoroki approached her after class. "I've been watching your training sessions with Bakugo."

  Hancock raised an eyebrow. "That's mildly disturbing."

  "The training grounds are visible from the library." He paused. "You're getting stronger. Both of you. But you're still not using your full ability."

  "You're one to talk. You refuse to use your fire."

  "Exactly. That's why I recognize it in you." Todoroki's expression was grave. "At the festival, I'm going to prove I can win without my father's power. What are you trying to prove?"

  Hancock didn't have an answer.

  The night before the Sports Festival, Hancock couldn't sleep. She stood on her small apartment balcony, looking out at the city lights.

  Tomorrow, the entire country would be watching. Heroes, agencies, the world. All eyes on Class 1-A.

  All eyes on her.

  She thought about her father, who'd abandoned her for being "too strange." About her mother, who'd died before ever holding her. About years of isolation, of teaching herself that she needed no one.

  And she thought about Bakugo's words: You're afraid of your own Quirk. Of what it means to really use it.

  He was right. Using her emotional manipulation meant touching people. Influencing them. Connecting with them in the most intimate way possible.

  It meant letting them matter.

  "I don't need anyone," she whispered to the empty night.

  But her phone buzzed. A text.

  Don't stay up too late, Empress. Need you at full strength tomorrow. -Bakugo

  Hancock stared at the message. He'd never texted her before. Never reached out outside of training.

  She typed back: The same applies to you.

  His response was immediate: Already in bed. Unlike some people who brood on balconies.

  How did you—

  Lucky guess. Now go to sleep.

  Hancock almost smiled. She went back inside, got into bed, and for the first time in years, she didn't feel quite so alone.

  Tomorrow, she would compete in the Sports Festival.

  Tomorrow, she would prove that Boa Hancock was strong enough to stand alone.

  Even if, somewhere deep inside, she was starting to wonder if she actually wanted to.