Chapter 29: Forged in Frost and the Call to the Arena
The temperature inside the underground U.A. facility hovered dangerously below freezing. Thick layers of white frost coated the reinforced steel walls of the isolated cryogenic chamber.
In the center of this massive freezer, Sakazuki stood bare-chested. He panted heavily, his dense muscles trembling under the severe strain. With every exhale, a thick cloud of scalding steam plumed into the frigid air. His fists glowed a vivid, violent crimson. He was forcing his cardiovascular system to fight the lethal cold, making his heart pump twice as hard just to maintain his internal magma. This was the forging of the scabbard. By enduring extreme thermal shock, he was building a physical vessel capable of containing his raw firepower without succumbing to rapid dehydration or heat exhaustion.
Behind a thick pane of thermal observation glass, Principal Nezu watched the grueling process while wearing a tailored winter coat. Beside him stood Vlad King, the homeroom teacher of Class 1-B. The towering hero had his arms firmly crossed, a mixture of concern and mild irritation etching deep lines into his face.
"Providing a highly specialized cryogenic facility for a single student right before the festival," Vlad King broke the silence, his voice gruff. "Isn't this blatant favoritism, Nezu? Are you not giving him an unfair advantage over the rest of the first-years, specifically my class?"
Nezu took a slow sip of hot tea from a metal thermos. "Favoritism implies handing a student a tool to secure an easy victory," the principal replied, his tone grounded and rational. "This young man came to my office asking for a way to ensure he does not accidentally burn your students to ash. His quirk is inherently fatal. Denying him a safe environment to learn how to manage the severe physical recoil of that heat would be a massive failure on our part as educators."
Vlad King watched the steam billow off the teenager's scarred shoulders. The sheer brutality of the regimen was undeniable. The Class B teacher fell silent, accepting the grim necessity of the situation.
The two weeks of punishing endurance training passed in a grueling blur.
On the night before the Sports Festival, Sakazuki sat at the small desk in his bedroom. His mother had taken over the bakery's accounting, leaving him to focus solely on his physical preparation. He was meticulously wrapping white sports tape around his knuckles, the skin there thick with fresh, hardened calluses.
The quiet atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the sharp ringing of his old cellular phone.
He picked it up.
"Hello? Sakazuki-kun?" a bright, cheerful female voice echoed through the receiver. It was a young, recently graduated nurse who worked at the local community clinic, someone who frequently assisted his mother. "The new stock of medication your mother asked about last time has finally arrived. When can you drop by to pick it up?"
"Thank you for your diligence, Akane-San" Sakazuki answered, his rough voice steady. "I will come by to collect it tomorrow evening, after the Sports Festival concludes."
A brief, stunned silence stretched over the line. Then, the young woman gasped loudly. "The Sports Festival?! You mean the U.A. Sports Festival?!"
"Yes," Sakazuki replied simply. "I was accepted into the hero course. It has been a while since we last spoke, so the opportunity to mention it never arose."
"That is incredible! Sakazuki-kun is at U.A.!" The nurse cheered, her voice brimming with genuine warmth and excitement. "Congratulations! Please do your best tomorrow. I will make sure to cheer for you in front of the television!"
Sakazuki offered a quiet word of thanks and ended the call. He looked down at his taped hands. The medication was ready. Now, he just needed the funds to secure it.
The following morning, the district surrounding U.A. High School transformed into a massive, sprawling carnival.
Wooden stalls lined the paved walkways leading to the main stadium, selling fresh popcorn, colorful sweets, and hot food. The savory scent of grilled meat mixed with the palpable excitement of the thousands of civilians flocking toward the gates. Huge press blimps drifted lazily through the clear blue sky, broadcasting the gathering crowds to the rest of the nation.
Pro heroes from various agencies walked among the attendees, their sharp gazes scanning the perimeter. Alongside heavily armed police officers, they formed a tight, uncompromising security grid. After the devastating breach at the simulation joint, the authorities were taking zero chances. The air hummed with a heavy blend of professional tension and lucrative expectation.
Deep within the concrete bowels of the stadium, the atmosphere inside the Class 1-A waiting room was suffocating.
Tenya Iida paced the floor, loudly reviewing safety protocols. Ochaco Uraraka sat with her eyes closed, taking slow, deep breaths to manage her nerves, while Eijiro Kirishima repeatedly smacked his hardened fists together.
In the far corner of the room, Sakazuki sat in pristine silence. He kept his breathing shallow and rhythmic, conserving every ounce of his energy. The grueling cryogenic training had yielded visible results; his frame appeared noticeably denser, his posture radiating the unyielding solidity of a fortified bunker.
He opened one eye as a subtle movement caught his attention.
On a nearby wooden bench, Izuku Midoriya was leaning forward, carefully tying the laces of his signature red boots. He was securing them tightly over thick, rigid layers of white medical bandages that wrapped heavily around his calves and ankles—a stark, physical reminder of the brutal, self-destructive sacrifice he had made two weeks ago.
Minoru Mineta stood nearby, watching the green-haired boy with wide, anxious eyes. "Midoriya... are you sure about this? Are you really going to be okay? Your legs were crushed the last time we fought!"
Midoriya pulled the laces taut and tied a firm knot. He lifted his head. Despite the lingering fatigue etched into his features, his green gaze burned with an unshakable, fierce resolve.
"I am doing much better, Mineta-kun," Midoriya answered, his voice stripped of its usual stuttering hesitation. "Recovery Girl did everything she could to heal the bones. This is our chance to prove ourselves to the world... I cannot let this opportunity slip away."
Sakazuki listened to the exchange without uttering a word. A quiet, profound respect settled in his chest. The boy possessed a fragile, broken vessel, yet he stubbornly refused to stay on the ground. Today was not going to be a simple athletic exhibition; it was going to be a war of attrition.
Suddenly, the booming, electrified voice of Present Mic echoed through the wall-mounted speakers, demanding the attention of the stadium and calling the first-year students to the field.
Sakazuki stood up. He adjusted the collar of his gym uniform, turned away from the waiting room, and began his long march down the dark concrete tunnel, stepping firmly toward the blinding light waiting at the end.