Chapter 61: The Will of a Hero

Shoto Todoroki walked through the dark exit tunnel, oblivious to the deafening roar of the stadium. The applause wasn't for him. It was for the spectacle, for the raw power he had unleashed—a power that left a taste of ash in his mouth. His face didn't show the triumph of a winner, but the empty confusion of someone who is lost.

A figure stood in his way, a silhouette wrapped in an aura of furious flames that cast an oppressive shadow down the hall. Endeavor.

"Finally!" the Number Two Hero's voice was not one of pride, but of possessive ecstasy. "You've finally stopped being a child and used the power I gave you! That is my creation! My masterpiece at its peak! With that power, you will surpass All Might! Now, your real training begins!"

He approached, his hand outstretched as if to place it on his son's shoulder, to claim his property. Shoto looked at him, and for the first time in many years, there was no hatred in his eyes. There was no fear. Only a strange and desolate calm.

"I didn't use it for you," he said, his voice as empty as his gaze.

Endeavor's hand stopped in mid-air.

"What did you say?"

"In fact," Shoto continued, his voice barely a whisper, "in that moment, in the middle of the fight… I forgot all about you. For an instant, you didn't exist. You weren't in my head. There was only him, his tenacity, his challenge… And it was… liberating."

Endeavor stared at him, his ecstasy beginning to fracture, replaced by an incredulous fury.

"He pushed me to use it, yes. But it was his will, not your tyranny. It was his challenge, not your screams. And for the first time, the power felt… mine."

He took a step to the side, moving around his father as if he were an irrelevant obstacle.

"I still reject you. You and your pathetic ambition. Maybe, after all, I don't need you for anything. Not even to hate you."

He walked away down the hall, leaving Endeavor alone in the gloom. The Number Two Hero stood there, stunned, his flames flickering with an impotent fury. He realized, with a chilling horror, that the victory he had just witnessed was, in fact, his greatest and most humiliating defeat. His creation no longer belonged to him.

The temporary U.A. infirmary was a hive of controlled activity. The air smelled of antiseptic and the strange, clean static given off by healing Quirks. At the center of it all, Izuku Midoriya lay on a cot, motionless, connected to monitors that beeped with a rhythmic, reassuring pulse.

In a corner, his team waited. Ochako paced back and forth, unable to stand still. Toru sat hugging her knees, her usual optimism eclipsed by a palpable worry. Momo stood perfectly still, her face a mask of analytical calm that couldn't hide the storm of anguish in her eyes.

All Might, in his imposing heroic form, stood by the bed, his normally smiling face grim and worried.

Recovery Girl, the legendary Youthful Heroine, finished using her Quirk on Izuku. She gave him a kiss on the forehead, and a soft green light enveloped him for a moment. Then, she turned to the expectant group with a tired sigh.

"Well, the boy's an idiot," she said, her tone grumpy but with an undercurrent of begrudging affection. "A complete and absolute idiot."

The girls held their breath.

"The injuries are serious," she continued, pulling off her gloves. "Multiple stress fractures in his right leg and arm. Severe internal bruising throughout his torso. He used his own body as a battering ram again and again. The recoil from his own power, combined with the impacts, nearly tore him apart from the inside. If he had taken one more hit, we'd probably be talking about permanent damage to his joints."

"Will he need surgery?" Momo asked, her voice trembling for the first time.

"That's the incredible part," Recovery Girl said, and her tone softened slightly, a hint of amazement in her voice. "No. His cellular structure is incredibly resilient, almost unnatural. It's regenerating at a rate I haven't seen in years. There's no degenerative damage. With my healing and a couple of days of absolute bed rest, he'll make a full recovery. He has incredible luck and the constitution of a monster."

A wave of relief so immense it was almost painful washed over the girls. Ochako stopped pacing and covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Toru rushed to hug her, also crying from sheer relief. Momo leaned heavily against the wall, her legs finally giving way a little, and closed her eyes as she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

All Might visibly relaxed, his massive frame seeming a little less tense.

"Thank you, Chiyo. We owe you one."

"You owe me a month's vacation on a tropical island," she grumbled. "But for now, I'll settle for you people stopping sending me your suicidal protégés."

Just then, a U.A. official holding a folder walked into the room, his expression bureaucratic.

"Pardon the interruption. The semifinal matches are about to begin. I must call the competitors to the prep tunnels. The first match-up is: Momo Yaoyorozu versus Tenya Iida."

Momo, who had just begun to relax, tensed up again like a coiled spring. Her gaze traveled from the official to Izuku's motionless form on the bed. Her face, once relieved, became a mask of conflict and overwhelming guilt.

"I…" she began, her voice shaky but firm. "I can't."

The official raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me, Miss Yaoyorozu?"

"I can't leave him," she said, her eyes fixed on Izuku. "Please, announce my withdrawal from the tournament."

"Momo-chan!" Ochako exclaimed, pulling away from Toru, her face filled with disbelief. "No! You can't do that! Izuku wouldn't want you to give up for him! He fought like that so we could all move forward!"

"Exactly!" Momo retorted, tears now shining in her eyes, her iron logic finally broken by emotion. "He's like this because of us. Because of me. He fought that way to prove that strategy matters, to validate everything he's taught us. How can I go fight for my own ego, for my own advancement, while he's here, like this, because of me?"

She turned to Ochako, her voice cracking with guilt.

"It's… illogical. It's wrong. My place, as the second-in-command of this team, is here, with our leader."

She was about to confirm her decision to the official, who was watching her impatiently. But a weak, raspy, and barely audible voice stopped her cold.

"Don't… you dare… Yaoyorozu…"

They all turned. Izuku's eyes were open. Barely. He was as pale as a ghost, covered in a thin layer of sweat, but he was conscious. And he was staring right at her.

"If… if you give up now… because of me…" he said, each word a visible, painful effort, "that… that would be a greater wound than any Todoroki could ever give me. It would hurt me more than all my broken bones."

Momo moved closer to the bed, her tears now falling freely onto the linoleum floor.

"But Izuku-kun, you… you're hurt because of…"

"I'm hurt because I made a calculated decision," he interrupted, his voice a little stronger, filled with a determination that defied his physical state. "It was the only way to win. And I don't mean the match."

He looked at her, and his green eyes, though clouded with pain, shone with the intensity of a coach, of a leader.

"You've come… too far… you're too strong… and too brilliant… to quit now over illogical sentimentality. Come closer."

Without hesitation, she knelt by his bed, her face level with his. Ochako and Toru watched in awestruck silence.

With an effort that seemed to cost him the world, Izuku lifted his right hand, the one that wasn't bandaged. He placed it on her cheek, his skin cold and trembling against hers, which was warm and wet with tears. His thumb gently caressed her cheekbone. And, to everyone's astonishment, he kissed her.

It was a light kiss, barely a brush of lips, tender and completely devoid of passion. It was a kiss of trust. Of faith. From a coach to his champion. A silent charge.

"I'm okay," he whispered against her lips. "Now… go and show everyone how incredible you are. Win for us."

Momo gasped, the contact and his words coursing through her like an electric current. All the doubt, all the guilt, all the conflict that had been tearing her apart vanished, replaced by a surge of determination as pure and as sharp as a diamond.

She nodded, a single, decisive dip of her head. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand and stood up, her posture now that of a queen going to battle.

She turned to the official, her voice now clear and resonant.

"I'll be in the tunnel in five minutes."

Then, she looked at Izuku one last time.

"I will. For you."

And she walked out of the infirmary, leaving behind a silence filled with astonishment, respect, and the promise of an imminent victory.

Momo walked through the tunnel leading to the arena, her face now a mask of absolute concentration. The warmth of Izuku's kiss still seemed to tingle on her lips, a tangible reminder of the faith he had placed in her.

A tall, formal figure intercepted her just before the entrance. It was Tenya Iida.

"Yaoyorozu-san," he said, his tone full of genuine concern. "I just heard about Midoriya-kun's condition from the others. Will he be all right? His fight was… truly heroic. He faced overwhelming power with an unbreakable will."

Momo offered him a small, confident smile.

"He'll be fine. He's the strongest man I know."

She paused, her gaze softening.

"Your brother must be very proud of how far you've come in the festival, Iida-kun."

Iida's face darkened for an instant, a fleeting cloud of worry crossing his serious features.

"Thank you. In fact, I tried to contact him after my last match to tell him I'd made it to the semifinals, but he isn't answering. His agency told me he's on an important mission in Hosu City… I hope I can give him more good news after our fight."

They looked at each other, two rivals united by a deep mutual respect and concern for the people they cared about.

"May the best fighter win, Yaoyorozu-san," Iida said, giving a formal bow.

"They will," she replied, her voice without a shred of doubt.

Momo walked into the blinding light of the arena. She was no longer fighting just for herself or for her future as a hero. She was fighting for the boy who believed in her more than anyone, for the team that had become her family, and for the promise she had just sealed with a kiss.

She was going to win. And she was going to make him proud.