Chapter 41: The Quiet Debt
The piercing wail of the final buzzer echoed across the colossal stadium, signaling the absolute end of the cavalry battle.
Slowly, the thick, suffocating clouds of steam and brown dust began to settle over the baked earth. The deafening roar of the tens of thousands of spectators faded into a low, buzzing hum of collective disbelief. In the center of the ruined track, Sakazuki stood completely still. His right arm was still extended, the faint, blistering heat of his final, quirkless punch slowly dissipating into the morning air.
He lowered his heavy arm. Thick, heavy droplets of sweat rolled down his forehead, tracing the sharp contours of his jawline before falling onto the scorched grass below. His broad chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic motion. He was completely drained.
As he stood there, his mind drifted back to the terrifying, hollow emptiness he had experienced just moments ago. The absolute white void. The sudden, unnatural severing of his own will. For a man who relied on overwhelming physical dominance and unyielding control, being turned into a mindless puppet was a deeply humiliating violation. His impenetrable, magma-forged body meant absolutely nothing if his mind could be so easily breached. He clenched his fists, his dark eyes narrowing as he made a silent, unbreakable vow to never expose such a glaring vulnerability again.
He slowly turned his head, his gaze sweeping across the chaotic aftermath of the battlefield.
Through the thinning smoke, his dark eyes locked onto a small figure standing near the edge of the arena. Izuku Midoriya was hunched over, his chest heaving as he tightly gripped his right hand. Sakazuki's sharp vision focused on the boy's middle finger. It was horribly swollen, bent at an unnatural angle, and throbbing with an angry, deep purple bruise.
A sudden, vivid memory flashed unbidden into Sakazuki's mind. He saw the dark, oppressive dome of the Unforeseen Simulation Joint. He saw the terrifying, inhuman speed of the hand-covered villain lunging toward him. And then, he saw the reckless, fragile, green-haired boy throwing his own body forward, delivering a desperate, reckless headbutt to save a life that was not his own.
Sakazuki stared at the boy's broken finger, a complicated, unreadable emotion crossing his stern features.
Again? Sakazuki thought, his jaw tightening. Someone as weak as him...
"THE RESULTS ARE IN!" Midnight's voice boomed cheerfully through the stadium speakers, shattering his thoughts. "IN FIRST PLACE, MAINTAINING THEIR CROWN... TEAM SAKAZUKI!"
The announcement acted like a switch. The adrenaline that had been forcefully keeping the Volcanic Fortress upright suddenly vanished.
"Oh, man..." Kirishima groaned, his jagged, hardened skin instantly dissolving back into normal, bruised flesh.
"My legs are totally gone..." Tetsutetsu wheezed.
The two vanguards simultaneously gave out. Their knees buckled, and they collapsed heavily onto the dirt, completely unable to support their own weight for a second longer.
A moment later, the sheer, crushing exhaustion caught up to Sakazuki. The immense thermal output and the jarring mental whiplash had taken their toll. His massive frame tipped backward, and he allowed himself to fall. He hit the dirt flat on his back, a heavy thud echoing softly around them.
Sakazuki did not move. He lay perfectly still on the baked earth, staring straight up. The sky above the U.A. stadium was a brilliant, boundless, and unbroken expanse of calm blue. It was so peaceful, completely detached from the violent struggle below.
Beside him, a low chuckle broke the silence. Kirishima was staring at the same blue sky, his chest shaking. Tetsutetsu joined in. Within seconds, the two of them were laughing—a breathless, exhausted, joyous laughter of pure survival and camaraderie.
Sakazuki turned his head slightly. Kirishima pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the scrapes on his arms. The red-haired boy looked down at Sakazuki and extended a trembling, dirt-stained hand. A wide, toothy grin stretched across Kirishima's bruised face.
"We did it, man," Kirishima panted, his eyes shining with genuine pride. "It is a team victory."
Sakazuki looked at the offered hand. The corner of his mouth twitched upward by a millimeter. He reached up, his large, calloused fingers firmly gripping Kirishima's hand, allowing his teammate to pull his heavy frame back onto his feet.
The transition from the blistering heat of the stadium to the cool, shadowed corridors of the arena was jarring.
The concrete walls were painted a dull, soothing gray, entirely blocking out the blinding sun and muffling the distant, echoing cheers of the crowd. Present Mic had just announced the lunch break before the final, one-on-one tournament began.
Midoriya walked slowly down the wide hallway, flanked by Ochaco Uraraka, Fumikage Tokoyami, and Mei Hatsume. He was not thinking about the finals. He was not analyzing his opponents. His entire focus was entirely consumed by the sharp, agonizing throbbing radiating from his right hand.
"I need to go to the infirmary," Midoriya muttered, wincing as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. "You guys go ahead to the cafeteria. I will catch up."
"Are you sure, Midoriya-kun? We can come with you," Uraraka offered, her brown eyes filled with deep concern as she looked at his violently purple finger.
Before Midoriya could answer, a massive, imposing shadow fell over the four of them, entirely blocking the hallway.
Uraraka gasped, instinctively taking a step back. Tokoyami tensed, his red eyes narrowing, while Hatsume simply blinked in surprise. Standing directly in the center of the corridor was Sakazuki. His U.A. uniform was scorched, his broad chest was still heaving slightly, and his dark, intense eyes were locked solely on the green-haired boy.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the hallway. Midoriya swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his ribs.
Sakazuki slowly lowered his gaze, looking directly at Midoriya's broken, swollen hand. He did not yell. He did not posture. When he finally spoke, his deep, rough voice was surprisingly quiet, carrying a profound, undeniable sincerity that echoed off the concrete walls.
"I do not like being in anyone's debt," Sakazuki stated, his words slow and measured. He lifted his dark eyes to meet Midoriya's wide, green ones. "But... you have my thanks for what you did out there."
Midoriya stood completely frozen, his mouth slightly open in pure shock. He had expected anger. He had expected a reprimand for interfering in a battle that was not his own.
Sakazuki did not wait for a response. He turned his broad shoulders slightly, gesturing down the long, empty corridor leading toward the medical wing.
"Come," Sakazuki instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument or refusal. "I am escorting you to the infirmary."
"O-Oh! No, really, Sakazuki-kun, you don't have to!" Midoriya stammered frantically, waving his good hand. "I can go by myself! You should go rest and eat—"
Sakazuki simply stood there, his absolute presence demanding compliance. He raised a single, thick eyebrow. Midoriya quickly realized that arguing with the human volcano was entirely futile. Defeated, but strangely touched, Midoriya offered his teammates an awkward, apologetic smile before stepping forward to walk beside the towering student.
The air inside Recovery Girl's clinic was entirely different from the rest of the stadium. It smelled cleanly of rubbing alcohol and fresh linens. The soft, rhythmic hum of the medical equipment provided a deeply comforting background noise.
Sakazuki stood silently in the corner of the pristine white room, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched carefully as the small, elderly heroine examined the severe damage.
"You really need to stop shattering your own bones, young man," Recovery Girl scolded gently, shaking her head as she took Midoriya's injured hand. She extended her lips, planting a swift kiss on the bruised knuckles.
A soft, warm green glow enveloped Midoriya's finger. The horrifying purple bruising rapidly faded, and the bone snapped back into its proper alignment with a sickening, yet relieving pop. Instantly, the sheer exhaustion of the healing process hit Midoriya. His shoulders slumped heavily, his eyelids drooping as the quirk drained a massive portion of his remaining stamina to fuel the rapid cellular regeneration.
Midoriya let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, sinking deeper into the white medical cot.
Sakazuki remained leaning against the cool wall, his dark eyes watching the boy rest. The deafening roars, the blazing heat, and the ruthless ambition of the sports festival felt a million miles away in this quiet, sterile room.
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