My Hero Academia: Complete Victory

Yes, Kami from Dragon Ball, who is a God, his name means it. For some people, Kurokami Tenshin is such a joke name. Lol.

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Izuku Midoriya stood on the field, his thoughts swirling in chaos as he watched his classmates perform. He couldn't help but notice the clear divide that had formed: Kuro and Bakugo were the undeniable aces of the class.

With each challenge, they either claimed the top spots or traded first and second between themselves. Their displays of power and skill were undeniable. Even Tenya Iida, who was a close third, had almost surpassed Kuro in some events, but Bakugo always managed to pull ahead.

For the rest of the class, the gap was palpable. And then there was Izuku.

Izuku's heart raced as he stood on the sidelines. He hadn't yet been called for his turn, and in his mind, the scenario was dire.

His quirk, One For All, was too powerful for his body to handle. Every time he used it, his bones shattered under the strain. How could he possibly compete against these monsters? Kuro, with his strange quirk and calm precision. Bakugo, with his sheer explosive strength and terrifying intensity.

I'm going to fail, Izuku thought, a knot tightening in his chest. He could already see himself coming last in every event, his body breaking under the pressure, and Aizawa expelling him on the spot. What would Kacchan do? The question reverberated in his head, a desperate attempt to pull himself together. Kacchan never gives up. He's always pushing forward.

And then, suddenly, the solution clicked in his mind. I don't have to use all of my power. I can focus on it.

Izuku's name was finally called for the shotput challenge, and with a trembling hand, he stepped up to the line. His mind was still racing, but this time it was with determination, not fear. Just my fingertip, he reminded himself. If I focus the quirk in one small area, I won't destroy my whole arm.

He wound up for the throw, gripping the ball tightly in his hand. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to be careful. And then, with a deep breath, Izuku summoned One For All into a single point—his fingertips.

The surge of power was immense, far more concentrated than any time before, but it worked. The ball soared into the sky, propelled by the sheer force of his quirk, and Izuku immediately felt the pain shoot through his finger.

But the damage was contained. His arm wasn't broken. He had done it.

Clutching his injured finger tightly, Izuku stifled the pain and turned toward Aizawa, waiting for the result. Aizawa, who had been observing closely, raised an eyebrow in surprise. He knew Midoriya's quirk hurt him, and had been prepared to stop him if things got out of hand, but this... This was unexpected.

"712.67 meters," Aizawa called out, his voice neutral, but the number hung in the air like a shockwave.

Izuku's eyes widened. I did it...

...

As Izuku stepped back from the line, Bakugo's eyes were fixed on the result. 712 meters? His mind whirled with a mixture of emotions. He had known that Deku was hiding something, that much had been clear after the entrance exam.

But seeing him use a quirk now, after all those years of being quirkless, stirred something deeper inside Bakugo. Questions began to rise in his mind, but he crushed them down. I don't care. He didn't want the answers, not yet.1

Bakugo rolled his shoulders and walked forward to take his turn. The familiar tingle of sweat building up on his palms made him feel more like himself again. Focus. Don't think about Deku.

Stretching his arms, Bakugo prepared for the throw, but his mind betrayed him, flashing back to a memory from years ago—back in elementary school when he first challenged Kuro.

The sky had been dark that day, the air heavy with the smell of burnt ozone. Bakugo lay on the ground, battered and bruised, his entire body aching. Kuro sat next to him, his black hair singed and arms bandaged, but still composed despite their sparring session.

"Why'd you even bother fighting a god, Bakugo?" Kuro had asked his voice light and teasing. "It was fated that I'd win."

Bakugo's pride was bruised just as much as his body. Fate? That's just an excuse. "I don't believe in that crap," he spat, wincing from the pain. "I'll prove my strength and save everyone, god or not."

Kuro had laughed at that, not mockingly, but as if Bakugo's words genuinely amused him. "Saving everyone, huh? You're thinking about things like that, already?"

Bakugo hadn't responded, only gritted his teeth and sat up. Kuro then asked, his tone suddenly serious, "You ever think about quirks, Bakugo? How they're changing?"

Bakugo, still annoyed by the loss, shrugged. "Who cares?"

Kuro's eyes gleamed with a strange intensity. "You should. Quirks today aren't the same as they used to be. Someone could've had a useless quirk back then, like making light bulbs with their legs. But now, people can train those quirks, evolve them, so that same person could light up an entire city with their body."1

Bakugo, still irritated, had asked, "Where the hell are you going with this?"

Kuro smiled faintly. "You sweat nitroglycerin, right? And you can increase the heat in your palms to make those explosions bigger. I wonder… how much more you can train that. How far can you push it?"

Bakugo had dismissed Kuro's words at the time, too angry and stubborn to consider them. But now, standing on U.A.'s training field, those words echoed in his mind.

Bakugo snapped back to the present, his eyes narrowing in focus. Doe-eyes might've been right back then, he thought. My explosions are only as powerful as my control over them. I'll show them just how far I can take this.

Channeling the sweat from his palms, Bakugo built up a massive amount of nitroglycerin, increasing the heat just before the moment of release. Don't explode too soon. Wait for it. He felt the tension in his arms as the energy built, ready to be unleashed.

"DIE!" he roared, hurling the ball with all his might and releasing a deafening explosion that propelled the ball into the sky. The ground beneath him trembled slightly from the force, and the ball disappeared into the clouds, trailing smoke behind it.1

The class stared in stunned silence as Bakugo lowered his arms, the heat from the explosion radiating off him.

Aizawa glanced at his device. "2756.65 meters," he announced calmly. That was a stupid number since Kuro only got 1643.23 meters.

...

As Bakugo stepped away from the throwing line, his grin widened with satisfaction. The thrill of sending the ball flying over 2000 meters was still buzzing through him. He had pushed himself hard, but not too far—just enough to show everyone exactly who was at the top of this class.

His mind flickered back to how he'd figured out this technique. It wasn't just about raw power anymore. At first, he thought making bigger explosions was all he needed to win, but it quickly became clear that if he overdid it, the heat would char his palms, leaving him incapacitated and vulnerable.

Through relentless practice, he had learned to balance it. Now, Bakugo could raise the heat in his palms without triggering a premature explosion, a delicate balance that allowed him to control how much nitroglycerin he sweat.

This control came with a cost, though. The more his body adjusted to heat, the more heat he needed to sweat nitroglycerin in large amounts. But Bakugo saw that as a blessing in disguise—his body's tolerance was rising, and with it, the potential for bigger and more powerful explosions. The bigger the heat tolerance, the bigger my blasts.

For Bakugo, this was a challenge he gladly accepted. I'll train my body until I can handle anything. No limits.

Standing at the sidelines, Kuro watched Bakugo return to his spot, the triumphant smirk still plastered on his face. The number Aizawa read off echoed in his mind. 2345.67 meters. It was the highest score of the day by a long shot, far surpassing Kuro's throw of 1560.32 meters. Kuro's calm expression didn't change, but inside, something stirred—a familiar, burning desire.

I could have beaten him. That competitive urge pulsed through Kuro's veins, a primal instinct to fight, to prove his superiority. His body ached to test Bakugo, to see how far the explosion user had truly come. Every fiber of Kuro's being wanted to challenge him right here, right now.

But he couldn't afford it. Not today. Getting expelled on the first day wasn't an option, no matter how tempting it was to wipe that smug grin off Bakugo's face. Suppressing his desire, Kuro forced himself to focus. His turn was over, and the last thing he needed was to let a rivalry get the better of him this early in the game.

Still, Kuro couldn't help but feel the sting of losing to Bakugo. Their rivalry was fueled by more than just their abilities—it was about their egos and their pride. And Kuro hated losing, especially to someone like Bakugo, whose arrogance mirrored his own.1

Bakugo, sensing Kuro's frustration, didn't waste any time rubbing it in. He strolled over, the gleam in his eyes a mix of arrogance and amusement.

"What's the matter, huh? Thought you were a god, Kuro? Looks like I'm the one at the top now," Bakugo taunted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Kuro's jaw clenched, but he kept his cool, forcing a smile. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Bakugo," he replied calmly. "The stronger you get, the more fun it'll be when I crush you later."

He normally only expressed his 'god complex' when fighting but there was something about this...genius(ningen) that angered him.1

Meanwhile, Tenya Iida stood off to the side, watching the interaction unfold with a mixture of admiration and analysis. Bakugo's explosion had been nothing short of spectacular, but it wasn't just the raw power that impressed him. What caught Iida's attention was the precision of the throw.

Despite the sheer size of the explosion, the ball had flown in a perfect arc, maintaining its trajectory even with the immense force behind it. Bakugo's control is astounding, Iida thought, his analytical mind breaking down the mechanics of what he had just witnessed.

In a way, it reminded him of Kuro's approach. Though Kuro didn't use explosions, his movements were always deliberate, and calculated. Kuro's throw had been impressive in its own right—1560.32 meters was no small feat—but where Kuro excelled in strategy, Bakugo was all about raw power and instinct.

Still, Iida couldn't help but marvel at the contrast. Two students with completely different styles, yet both are equally dangerous in their ways.

The class murmured among themselves, still awestruck by Bakugo's performance. Even Uraraka, who had been trying to avoid Bakugo after his earlier insult, couldn't help but whisper, "That was insane…"1

Iida nodded in agreement. "Indeed. The precision Bakugo demonstrated shows a high degree of mastery over his quirk."

Uraraka raised an eyebrow. "Mastery? But he's so… explosive."

Iida adjusted his glasses. "Yes, but did you see how the ball followed a perfect arc? That wasn't just brute force. He controlled it and aimed it precisely where it needed to go, despite the overwhelming power behind it. That level of control takes time to develop."

Uraraka's eyes widened. "I guess I didn't think about it like that…"

From his position, Aizawa kept a close eye on the class. His face remained as unreadable as ever, but internally, he was making notes about each student. Bakugo… reckless, but improving. He's learning how to use his quirk without destroying himself.

His gaze flickered to Kuro, who had resumed his usual calm demeanor after the exchange with Bakugo. Kuro's holding back. I can see it. He's competitive which is good, being purely good would've been annoying, but he's still playing it safe for now. Still, 1560 meters is impressive. He's got the potential to go even farther.

For Aizawa, these two students were already shaping up to be the strongest in the class, though each had a different approach. Bakugo's raw, explosive power contrasted sharply with Kuro's measured, strategic nature. But both had something that couldn't be taught—an innate drive to be the best.

It was clear to him, they would be part of the center of the class, pretty much meaning, they were the core of Class 1-A.

Aizawa's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the future. This class has potential, but the potential isn't enough. They'll need more than just power to survive here.

He glanced at Izuku, who was still nursing his injured finger. And then there's Midoriya. He could be up there for top powerhouses, but that drawback...

Aizawa's thoughts lingered on Izuku for a moment longer before he called for the next student. The tests were far from over, and the stakes were still high.

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[Auther: Yo. Been awhile since I did this. Is the bolding annoying?]