Y/N returned to the commentary booth with his mind still partially elsewhere—thinking about Todoroki's confession, about Endeavor's sins, about the complicated web of pain and power that seemed to define so many of his students' lives.

Present Mic was already there, practically vibrating with his usual energy despite hours of continuous commentary. The moment Y/N stepped through the door, Mic spun around with a grin that suggested he'd been waiting for exactly this moment.

"Welcome back! How was lunch with the pros?" Mic asked, then immediately continued without waiting for an answer. "Oh! Before I forget—Aizawa dropped this off for you."

He held up something small, and Y/N blinked in genuine surprise.

It was a teddy bear. Pure white as fresh snow, with small button eyes and a soft, plush texture that looked almost ethereal in the stadium lighting. It was simple, understated, and completely unexpected.

"He... got me a teddy bear?" Y/N asked, taking it carefully in his hands. The fabric was impossibly soft, and there was something comforting about its weight—solid but gentle.

"Yeah! He came by about twenty minutes ago, looking even more exhausted than usual, just dropped it on your chair and said 'For Gojo' and then left." Mic grinned knowingly. "I think our resident insomniac is warming up to you."

Y/N held the bear, his Six Eyes examining it with unnecessary detail—counting the individual stitches, analyzing the quality of the materials, confirming there was nothing suspicious about it. Just a genuinely nice gift.

A smile tugged at his lips, genuine and warm.

They'd only known each other for a few weeks, really. Aizawa wasn't the type to do... this. Gifts. Gestures of friendship. He was all business, all practicality, all "logical ruse" and capture weapons and exhausted sighs.

But apparently, beneath all that tired cynicism, Shouta Aizawa had noticed that Y/N wasn't doing well. Had heard the admission in the hallway earlier. And had responded in the most Aizawa way possible—a quiet gesture of support that didn't require words or acknowledgment.

Thank you, Shouta, Y/N thought, carefully placing the bear on the desk beside his microphone where he could see it. I don't know what I did to deserve that, but... thank you.

"Alright!" Mic announced, checking his monitors. "Next match is coming up—last one of the first bracket! This is gonna be GOOD!"

Y/N settled back into his chair, adjusting his headset and microphone. "Who's up?"

"Bakugo Katsuki versus Uraraka Ochako!" Mic's grin widened. "The explosion king against the gravity girl! Power versus strategy! Aggression versus cleverness! This is—"

"Going to be controversial," Y/N finished quietly, his Six Eyes already scanning the stadium. He could sense it—the energy of the crowd, the whispers, the speculation. People were already making judgments, placing bets, treating these teenagers like entertainment rather than students giving their all.

And he didn't like it. Didn't like the way the atmosphere felt predatory, hungry for spectacle rather than appreciating genuine effort and growth.

Mic noticed his tone. "You okay, man?"

"Fine," Y/N said, forcing his usual smile back into place. "Just... thinking about how much pressure we put on these kids. They're fifteen years old and we've got thousands of people judging every move they make."

"That's the hero business," Mic said, but his voice had lost some of its usual volume. "They signed up for it."

"Doesn't mean we can't be bothered by it," Y/N replied.

Before Mic could respond, the stadium lights shifted, focusing on the arena floor. The crowd's volume increased exponentially, a roar of anticipation.

"ALRIGHT, FOLKS!" Mic's voice boomed across the stadium, his quirk amplifying it to impossible levels. "IT'S TIME FOR OUR FINAL FIRST-ROUND MATCH! IN THE RIGHT CORNER—WITH EXPLOSIONS THAT COULD LEVEL A BUILDING AND AN ATTITUDE THAT COULD SCARE A VILLAIN INTO RETIREMENT—BAKUGO KATSUKI FROM CLASS 1-A!"

Bakugo emerged from the tunnel, his expression set in that perpetual aggressive scowl. His hands were already crackling with small explosions, smoke rising from his palms. He looked ready to demolish everything in his path.

"AND IN THE LEFT CORNER!" Mic continued with undiminished enthusiasm. "WITH A QUIRK THAT DEFIES GRAVITY ITSELF AND A SMILE THAT COULD BRIGHTEN THE DARKEST DAY—URARAKA OCHAKO, ALSO FROM CLASS 1-A!"

Uraraka stepped out, and Y/N's Six Eyes immediately caught the tension in her shoulders, the determined set of her jaw, the slight tremor in her hands that she was trying to hide. She was nervous—terrified, even—but pushing forward anyway.

She knows she's outmatched in raw power, Y/N observed. But she's here anyway. That takes courage.

The two students faced each other across the arena. Midnight stood between them, her whip raised, ready to start the match.

"This is an interesting matchup," Y/N said into his microphone, his voice calm and analytical. "Bakugo has overwhelming offensive power and combat experience. But Uraraka has proven herself to be strategic and adaptable. If she can avoid direct confrontation and use her quirk creatively—"

"BEGIN!" Midnight's whip cracked down.

Bakugo moved immediately, explosions propelling him forward with terrifying speed. His palm thrust toward Uraraka, and Y/N could see the explosion building—

BOOM!

Fire and force erupted across the arena. The crowd gasped, some cheering, others concerned.

But Uraraka had dodged, rolling to the side with surprising agility. She was already moving, already planning, her fingers reaching toward the ground—

"Smart!" Y/N called out. "She's not engaging directly. She's using her mobility to—"

Bakugo pivoted, another explosion launching him at a new angle. His combat instincts were sharp, predicting Uraraka's movements almost before she made them. He struck again, forcing her to dodge, to retreat, to stay on the defensive.

The pattern continued—Bakugo attacking with relentless aggression, Uraraka dodging and weaving, trying to find an opening that didn't exist.

Y/N watched, his analytical mind cataloging every move, every decision. And something in his chest tightened with each explosion that came too close, each near-miss that left Uraraka stumbling.

She's doing everything right, he thought. But Bakugo is just... too much. Too fast. Too powerful. Too experienced.

The crowd was getting louder, some cheering for Bakugo's displays of power, others beginning to murmur with concern about the one-sided nature of the fight.

And Y/N... Y/N felt something he'd been trying to avoid since becoming a teacher.

Investment. Emotional attachment. The desperate desire to intervene, to help, to make this fair in a way that fights never actually were.

Stay neutral, he told himself firmly. You're a teacher. You can't play favorites. You can't—

His divine energy—that cursed power that had defined his existence for so long—flickered at his fingertips. Just a whisper. Just the barest touch of influence.

I could help her. Just a little. Sharpen her focus. Give her an edge. Bakugo would never know. No one would know.

It went against everything he'd told himself about teaching. About being fair. About letting students succeed or fail on their own merits.

But watching Uraraka struggle, watching her give everything she had against an opponent who outclassed her in almost every measurable way—

Y/N's fingers twitched.

The energy flowed, subtle as a breath, invisible to everyone except him. A gentle push to Uraraka's mind, sharpening her focus, calming the panic that was starting to creep in, helping her see the patterns in Bakugo's attacks with crystal clarity.

It wasn't control. Wasn't taking over. Just... support. Like a teacher helping a student find the answer they already knew.

Uraraka's eyes sharpened. Her next dodge was cleaner, more confident. And when Bakugo overextended on his next attack—just slightly, barely noticeable—

She struck.

Her hand connected with his arm, activating her quirk. Zero gravity. Bakugo's eyes widened in surprise as his balance shifted, as the world suddenly became untethered.

"SHE GOT HIM!" Mic's voice exploded with excitement. "URARAKA LANDED A CLEAN HIT! BAKUGO'S FLOATING—NO WAIT, HE'S ADJUSTING, USING EXPLOSIONS TO STABILIZE—"

Indeed, Bakugo recovered quickly, using his quirk to propel himself back to solid ground. But there was something different in his expression now—surprise giving way to respect, then immediately to increased aggression.

He wasn't expecting that, Y/N thought with a small smile. Good. Let him know he can't underestimate anyone.

The fight continued, but something had shifted. Bakugo was taking Uraraka seriously now, his attacks more calculated, more focused. And Uraraka, emboldened by her successful hit, was fighting with renewed determination.

She dodged and weaved, getting closer, trying to touch him again—

Bakugo unleashed a massive explosion, the shockwave sending Uraraka flying backward. She hit the ground hard, rolling, barely staying within the arena boundaries.

The crowd gasped. Some booed—calling Bakugo's tactics excessive, brutal, unfair.

But Y/N's Six Eyes saw what they didn't: Bakugo had pulled that punch. Had adjusted the angle at the last second to ensure it wouldn't seriously injure her. Was fighting with restraint despite his aggressive appearance.

He respects her, Y/N realized. He's going all out because that's the respect she deserves—treating her like a real opponent, not going easy because she's smaller or seems weaker.

The two students exchanged words—their voices lost to the crowd's roar but not to Y/N's enhanced hearing:

"Why aren't you using your full power?" Uraraka demanded, breathing hard.

"I AM using my full power, round face!" Bakugo snarled. "Don't insult me by thinking I'm holding back!"

"Then I'll make you regret taking me seriously!"

Y/N tilted his head, a smile crossing his features. That's the spirit. Show him what you can do.

And then he sensed it—the shift in gravity above them. His Six Eyes perceived what no one else had noticed yet: the debris. All the fragments from Bakugo's explosions, the chunks of broken arena, the dust and stone—

Uraraka had been touching them throughout the fight. Making them weightless. Sending them floating upward where no one was looking.

Clever girl, Y/N thought with genuine pride. Using his own attacks against him. Creating a meteor storm he can't dodge.

The debris began to fall—dozens of chunks of concrete and stone, a deadly rain converging on Bakugo's position.

The crowd erupted in shocked amazement. Mic's voice cracked with excitement: "WHAT AN INCREDIBLE STRATEGY! SHE'S BEEN PLANNING THIS THE WHOLE TIME! BAKUGO'S ABOUT TO BE—"

Bakugo looked up, his expression fierce and determined. His hands came together, and Y/N's Six Eyes caught the massive buildup of explosive power—

Oh. Oh, he's going to—

"HOWITZER IMPACT!" Bakugo roared, thrusting his palms skyward.

The explosion was massive. Colossal. A pillar of fire and force that shot into the sky like a volcanic eruption, meeting the falling debris head-on and obliterating it in a spectacular display of raw power that sent shockwaves across the entire stadium.

Y/N let out a low whistle, leaning toward his microphone with genuine appreciation in his voice:

"Now that is what you call overwhelming firepower," he said calmly, his tone almost conversational despite the spectacular destruction unfolding before them. "Bakugo just demonstrated why he's considered one of the strongest students in Class 1-A. The raw energy output required for that technique, the control necessary to direct it upward instead of destroying the arena—that's professional-level quirk mastery from a first-year student."

The smoke cleared slowly, revealing Bakugo still standing, breathing hard but victorious. And Uraraka—

She was trying to stand. Her body was trembling with exhaustion, her legs were shaking, and her determination was pushing her far beyond what her body could actually handle.

Get up, Y/N thought, willing her to stand. Come on. Just a little more. Show them you're not done yet.

But her body had already passed its limits. Had given everything and had nothing left.

Uraraka took one step forward, her hand reaching out toward Bakugo as if she could still somehow reach him, still somehow win—

Then she collapsed.

The stadium went silent.

Midnight approached carefully, checking Uraraka's condition. After a moment, she straightened and raised her hand:

"Uraraka is unable to continue! The winner is Bakugo Katsuki!"

The announcement triggered mixed reactions—some cheering for Bakugo's victory, others booing what they perceived as excessive force, many simply stunned by what they'd witnessed.

Y/N leaned back in his chair, his expression hidden behind the blindfold but his voice carrying genuine respect as he spoke into the microphone:

"That was one of the most impressive displays of strategic thinking and sheer determination we've seen today," he said quietly. "Uraraka Ochako came into this match knowing she was outmatched in raw power. But instead of giving up, she created a plan—used her opponent's strength against him, turned every explosion into ammunition for her final attack. That level of tactical thinking is exactly what separates good heroes from great ones."

He paused, watching as medical personnel rushed to Uraraka's side, as Bakugo stood alone in the center of the arena looking strangely unsatisfied despite his victory.

"And Bakugo," Y/N continued, "showed us why raw power alone doesn't make you strong. He could have ended this match in seconds if he'd wanted to. But he gave Uraraka the respect of taking her seriously, of fighting her with everything he had. That's what real strength looks like—knowing when to go all out not because you want to dominate, but because your opponent deserves nothing less than your best."

Present Mic, unusually quiet for the past few moments, finally found his voice—softer than usual, more genuine:

"That's... yeah. That's what being a hero is about."

In the arena, Recovery Girl had reached Uraraka, already beginning treatment. Bakugo walked slowly toward the exit tunnel, his hands shoved in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

And Y/N sat in the commentary booth, one hand absently touching the white teddy bear Aizawa had given him, thinking about the weight these teenagers carried. The expectations. The pressure. The constant need to prove themselves worthy.

They're just kids, he thought, not for the first time. Fifteen years old and we're asking them to be heroes. To fight. To push themselves until they break.

His hand clenched slightly, divine energy flickering around his fingers invisibly.

And I'm supposed to watch. Supposed to teach. Supposed to prepare them for a world that will demand even more from them.

How do I do that without destroying them in the process?

He didn't have an answer.

But as he watched Uraraka being helped onto a stretcher, still unconscious but alive, still whole despite giving everything—

He made himself a promise.

He would protect them. All of them. Would teach them to be strong without breaking. Would give them the tools they needed without crushing them under the weight of expectation.

Even if it meant bending the rules sometimes. Even if it meant using his power in ways he probably shouldn't.

Because that's what teachers did.

They protected their students.

No matter what.

"Alright folks," Mic's voice was returning to its usual volume, his professional enthusiasm sliding back into place. "That was incredible! Let's give both competitors a round of applause for that amazing display!"

The crowd roared—finally, genuinely appreciative of what they'd witnessed rather than just hungry for spectacle.

Y/N picked up the white teddy bear, holding it for a moment before setting it back down.

Thanks again, Shouta, he thought. I think I'm going to need all the support I can get.

The Sports Festival continued.

And Y/N Gojo continued to watch over his students, hidden behind his blindfold and his smile, carrying burdens they would never know about.

Because that's what the strongest did.

They protected those who couldn't protect themselves.

Even from the weight of the world itself.

The lunch break had been a welcome reprieve from the intensity of the commentary booth. Y/N had excused himself from Present Mic's enthusiastic suggestion to grab food together—"We can discuss strategy for the next round!"—and instead found himself seeking solitude.

He'd wandered to a quieter section of the U.A. grounds, away from the crowds and the noise, until he found a bench beneath a large tree. The shade was cool, the air slightly fresher here, and for a moment he could just... breathe.

Process everything, he thought, leaning back against the bench with his hands in his pockets. Todoroki's trauma. Endeavor's abuse. Uraraka's determination. Bakugo's unexpected respect. All these kids carrying weights they shouldn't have to bear...

His Six Eyes continued their automatic surveillance—tracking students, monitoring for threats, perceiving the infinite details of the world around him—but his mind was elsewhere. Thinking about what it meant to be a teacher. To be responsible for shaping these young lives without breaking them.

Then he felt it.

A presence. Familiar but unexpected. A specific energy signature that he hadn't sensed in this world before—

Wait. That's—

Y/N looked up sharply, his Six Eyes confirming what his instincts had already told him.

Standing a few feet away was a boy—not the ancient, tattooed King of Curses he'd spoken with on the beach, but a teenager. Pink hair, bright eyes, an athletic build, and an expression of pure, unfiltered joy that hit Y/N like a physical force.

Yuji Itadori.

"Yuji?" Y/N blinked in genuine surprise, his usual composure momentarily forgotten.

The boy's face lit up like the sun breaking through clouds—like a puppy that had finally found its owner after being lost. His eyes went wide, his smile impossibly bright, and then—

He rushed forward.

Y/N barely had time to react before Yuji crashed into him, arms wrapping around him in a tight, enthusiastic hug that spoke of months of separation and genuine affection. The force of it would have knocked over a normal person, but Y/N absorbed the impact easily, his arms automatically coming up to return the embrace.

A laugh escaped him—genuine, warm, surprised. "Yuji—"

"Gojo-sensei!" Yuji's voice was muffled against Y/N's chest, but the happiness in it was unmistakable. "I missed you so much! Sukuna wouldn't tell me where you were, and then suddenly he went somewhere and I could feel you and I followed the connection and—"

"Breathe, kid," Y/N said, still laughing. His hand came up to rest on Yuji's head, fingers threading through the pink hair in a gesture of affection he hadn't realized he'd missed until this moment. "I missed you too."

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Yuji's head—a gesture that was pure instinct, the kind of thing you did for someone you genuinely cared about—

Yuji squealed. Actually squealed, his face going bright red as he pulled back slightly to look up at Y/N with wide, flustered eyes. "S-Sensei! You can't just—people will see—I mean—"

"Since when do you care about what people think?" Y/N asked, amused by the reaction. His smile was softer than usual, more genuine, the mask he wore around others temporarily forgotten in the presence of someone he actually trusted.

"I don't! I just—you surprised me!" Yuji protested, but he didn't pull away from the hug. If anything, he seemed to settle more comfortably into it, as if storing up the contact for later.

After a long moment, Y/N gently pulled back, his hands moving to Yuji's shoulders as he studied the boy with his Six Eyes. "What are you doing here, Yuji? How did you even find U.A.?"

Yuji shrugged, his expression taking on that characteristic casual honesty that made him so endearing. "Whenever Sukuna goes somewhere, I follow. It's my body, after all." He grinned, proud of himself. "He can't keep me locked away forever. And when I felt him giving up control near here, I figured something important was happening. So I pushed through and took over."

Y/N hummed thoughtfully, his mind processing this information. Sukuna gave up control? Voluntarily? That's... unexpected. He never does that unless—

Unless he's trying to prove something. Or hide something. Or maybe...

Y/N thought back to their conversation on the beach. About not letting love go to waste. About Yuji being worth caring about.

You actually listened, you stubborn curse, Y/N thought with a mixture of amusement and genuine satisfaction. You let Yuji have control so he could see me. That's almost... sweet. In a terrifying, ancient-evil kind of way.

"Well, I'm glad you came," Y/N said, patting the bench beside him. "Sit. Tell me what's been happening. How's school? How are you handling... everything?"

Yuji eagerly sat down, his natural enthusiasm bubbling over as he launched into an animated explanation of recent events. His hands moved constantly as he talked, gestures punctuating every point:

"School's great! Well, mostly great. Jujutsu Tech is intense, but Gojo—I mean, the other Gojo, Satoru-sensei—he's been teaching us combat techniques and curse theory and—oh! Nobara joined our class! She's awesome but kind of scary when she's angry. And Fushiguro—"

Y/N's attention sharpened at that name. "Megumi?"

"Yeah!" Yuji's expression softened slightly, becoming more thoughtful. "He's been really focused lately. Training harder than usual. He actually told me to come visit you if I ever got the chance. Said it had been too long since you'd seen each other."

Something in Y/N's chest tightened—an ache he'd been ignoring for months. Megumi Fushiguro. His ward. The boy he'd taken in, protected, raised when no one else would. A kid who'd become something like family in a life that had very little of that.

And he hadn't seen him in months.

I've been so focused on this world, on these students, on building this new life... Y/N thought, guilt creeping in. Did I abandon him? Did I leave him behind without meaning to?

"Do you think Megumi will come?" Y/N asked quietly, his voice carrying a vulnerability he rarely showed. "Here, I mean. To see me."

Yuji nodded enthusiastically. "Definitely! I heard him talking to Yaga-sensei about leaving for Musutafu soon. He was trying to be all serious and professional about it, but I could tell he really wants to see you. He just doesn't want to admit he misses you because, you know, he's Fushiguro." Yuji's impression of Megumi's perpetually serious expression was surprisingly accurate.

Y/N couldn't help but smile, though it was tinged with melancholy. Megumi. Coming here. To see me.

I need to—

"Y/N!"

The voice cut through his thoughts—familiar, tired, carrying just enough volume to be heard across the distance. Y/N turned to see Aizawa standing at the arena entrance, his capture weapon hanging loose around his neck, his expression as exhausted as ever.

"It's time to start the second bracket," Aizawa called. "Present Mic is having a minor breakdown about doing commentary solo. Something about 'losing his yang to his yin' or whatever nonsense he's spouting today."

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "Tell him I'll be there in a minute."

Aizawa's tired eyes shifted to Yuji, studying the pink-haired teenager with the analytical gaze of someone who'd spent years identifying potential threats. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Yuji Itadori," Y/N said, standing from the bench. "A student from... another school. He was just visiting."

"Uh, hi!" Yuji waved enthusiastically, his natural friendliness on full display. "Sorry for interrupting! I just really wanted to see Gojo-sensei!"

Aizawa's expression didn't change, but Y/N caught the slight narrowing of his eyes—the subtle assessment of whether this was a security concern. "Students from other schools aren't typically allowed on U.A. grounds during events."

"He's with me," Y/N said smoothly. "I'll take responsibility for him. He won't cause any trouble."

"I promise I won't!" Yuji added earnestly. "I'm actually really good at not causing trouble! Most of the time. Usually. ...Sometimes."

Despite himself, Aizawa's lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "Most of the time isn't particularly reassuring." He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "Fine. But he stays with you. And if he causes any incidents—"

"I'll handle it," Y/N assured him. "You have my word."

Aizawa nodded, then turned back toward the arena. "Don't take too long. Mic's dramatics are starting to affect the crowd energy."

As Aizawa disappeared back inside, Y/N turned to Yuji. "Looks like I have to get back to work."

"Can I come watch?" Yuji asked hopefully. "I've never seen a hero sports festival before! It sounds really cool!"

Y/N considered for a moment. Having Yuji around wasn't ideal—it raised questions about his past, about his connections, about where he'd come from. But sending the kid away after he'd come all this way...

Besides, Y/N thought, having him close means I can keep an eye on him. Make sure Sukuna doesn't decide to cause problems.

"Alright," Y/N agreed. "But you stay in the commentary booth with me and Mic. No wandering off. And if Sukuna tries to surface—"

"I'll suppress him," Yuji said confidently. "I'm getting better at that. He's still grumpy about it."

I bet he is, Y/N thought with amusement.

They started walking back toward the arena together, Yuji chattering excitedly about the festival, about the students he'd glimpsed on his way in, about how cool U.A. looked compared to Jujutsu Tech.

"Oh!" Yuji suddenly remembered something. "Fushiguro also said to tell you that he's doing okay. That you don't need to worry about him. And that he's..." Yuji paused, trying to remember the exact words. "That he's 'maintaining adequate progress in his training and hasn't died yet, so you can stop sending those worried messages to Gojo-sensei.'"

Y/N laughed—a real laugh, full and genuine. "That sounds exactly like something Megumi would say."

"He misses you, though," Yuji added more quietly. "Even if he won't say it. I can tell."

The guilt returned, sharper this time. I need to see him. Need to make sure he knows I didn't abandon him. That I haven't forgotten.

"When he comes," Y/N said seriously, "tell him I want to talk. Properly. About everything."

"I will!" Yuji promised.

They reached the entrance to the commentary booth, climbing the stairs together. Y/N could already hear Present Mic's amplified voice warming up the crowd, building excitement for the next round of matches.

"Alright," Y/N said, pausing at the door. "When we go in there, Present Mic is going to be very loud and very enthusiastic. Don't let him overwhelm you."

"I've dealt with Sukuna," Yuji pointed out. "I think I can handle an enthusiastic teacher."

"Fair point."

Y/N opened the door, and immediately Present Mic spun around: "GOJO! Finally! I was about to send a search party! We've got matches starting in five minutes and—" He stopped, noticing Yuji. "Oh! Who's your friend?"

"This is Yuji Itadori," Y/N introduced, guiding Yuji into the booth. "He's visiting from out of town. I'm letting him observe the commentary today."

"Awesome!" Mic's enthusiasm was instant and genuine. "Always good to have fresh perspectives! Welcome to the chaos, Yuji! I'm Present Mic, the voice of U.A.!"

"Nice to meet you!" Yuji bowed politely, then his eyes went wide as he took in the view from the commentary booth—the entire stadium spread out below, thousands of spectators, the arena floor where students would soon be competing. "Whoa... this is amazing!"

Y/N smiled, settling into his chair. The white teddy bear from Aizawa was still there, and he touched it briefly before adjusting his microphone.

Alright, he thought, his mind shifting into professional mode. Back to work. Second bracket. More students pushing themselves to their limits. More chances for them to grow or break.

And I'll be here watching. Protecting. Teaching.

Beside him, Yuji was practically vibrating with excitement, asking Mic rapid-fire questions about the setup, the students, how commentary worked.

And for a moment—just a brief moment—Y/N allowed himself to feel something other than the weight of responsibility.

He felt... happy.

Having Yuji here. Knowing Megumi was coming. Having Aizawa's support, even in the form of a simple teddy bear. Being part of something bigger than himself, something that mattered.

Maybe, he thought, maybe I'm not as alone as I thought I was.

"Alright folks!" Mic's voice boomed across the stadium. "Welcome back from lunch! Are you ready for the SECOND BRACKET OF THE U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL?!"

The crowd roared in response.

Y/N leaned toward his microphone, his voice calm and steady: "The first bracket showed us incredible displays of power, strategy, and determination. But the competition only gets harder from here. These students have all proven they deserve to be here. Now they have to prove they can go even further."

"THAT'S RIGHT!" Mic agreed enthusiastically. "And our first match of the second bracket is about to begin!"

Yuji settled into a chair beside Y/N, watching with wide, fascinated eyes as the stadium prepared for the next round.

And Y/N Gojo, teacher and protector, resumed his duty—watching over his students as they fought to become heroes.

But now, with a reminder of his past sitting beside him, and the promise of reunion with his ward on the horizon, he felt just a little less burdened.

A little more whole.

The festival continued.

And Y/N continued to watch, to protect, to care.

Because that's what he did.

That's who he chose to be.

Even when it was hard.

Especially when it was hard.