The battle escalated.

  Bakugo came at her like a force of nature, explosions bursting in rapid succession as he closed the distance. But his eyes were clear now, focused. He'd shaken off her emotional manipulation through sheer willpower and adrenaline.

  "Again!" he demanded, launching a blast toward her feet.

  Hancock jumped, enhanced her legs mid-air, and came down with a powerful Perfume Femur aimed at his shoulder. He rolled away, the kick cratering the concrete where he'd been standing.

  They were both breathing hard now, circling each other once more.

  "You felt it, didn't you?" Bakugo said, not taunting—genuinely asking. "How effective that was?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why'd you only do it once?" He didn't wait for an answer, charging again. "Because you're still scared!"

  "I'm not—"

  "You ARE!" His palm thrust toward her stomach. She dodged but felt the heat of the explosion. "You're scared of what it means! Scared of getting close!"

  Another explosion. Another dodge. They were moving faster now, a deadly dance across the arena.

  "Scared of letting someone IN!"

  His words cut deeper than his explosions ever could.

  Hancock's hands clenched. He was right. Even now, even in the middle of this fight, she was pulling her punches. Not physically—but emotionally. Mentally.

  She was still protecting herself.

  Why? she thought desperately. Why can't I just—

  Bakugo's explosion caught her off-guard, the blast sending her skidding backward. She recovered quickly, but he was already there, his hand reaching for her arm.

  She caught his wrist. He caught hers. They were locked together, faces inches apart, both their Quirks activating simultaneously.

  Hancock felt the heat of his nitroglycerin sweat. Bakugo felt the pink glow of her emotional manipulation beginning to activate.

  "Do it," he said, his voice low, intense. "Stop being afraid of your own power. Stop being afraid of me."

  Their eyes locked.

  Red meeting dark brown.

  And Hancock realized something that terrified her more than any villain, any battle, any loss:

  She wasn't afraid of her Quirk.

  She was afraid of what using it meant. The intimacy. The connection. The admission that she needed—wanted—someone close enough to touch.

  That she needed him.

  No, something in her whispered. I can't. I can't need anyone. They'll leave. They always leave.

  But Bakugo was still here, still staring at her with those fierce eyes, still demanding she be her best self even if it meant defeating him.

  He wasn't leaving.

  He wasn't afraid of her power.

  He wanted to see it.

  Hancock made a choice.

  She stopped holding back.

  The pink glow of her Quirk intensified, and she pushed into his emotions with everything she had. Not confusion this time. Not calm. Something more complex, more powerful.

  Euphoria mixed with determination. The rush of competition, of fighting someone who matched you perfectly. The thrill of being seen, truly seen, by someone who understood.

  All the things she felt when fighting him—she made him feel them too.

  Bakugo's eyes widened. His grip on her wrist tightened, but not to escape. To hold on.

  "Holy shit," he breathed. "That's... that's what you've been holding back?"

  The emotions were overwhelming, amplified through her Quirk. For a moment, they both just stood there, locked together, drowning in the intensity of it.

  Then Bakugo grinned—wild and fierce and so alive it took her breath away.

  "More."

  He released her wrist and exploded backward, creating distance. But his eyes never left hers.

  "Show me EVERYTHING, Empress! No more holding back! No more fear! Just FIGHT ME!"

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Something broke open in Hancock's chest. Some wall she'd been maintaining since she was six years old, since her father walked away, since she decided she'd never need anyone ever again.

  She'd been so focused on not needing people that she'd never considered wanting them.

  But she wanted this. Wanted him to see her. All of her.

  Hancock charged forward, her body moving with enhanced speed and grace. Bakugo met her halfway, explosions erupting from his palms.

  When they collided this time, it was different.

  She didn't hesitate when their skin met. She grabbed his forearm and pushed confidence into him—the same confidence he always showed, reflecting it back.

  He laughed, spinning away from her grip and firing a blast that she barely dodged.

  She caught his shoulder during his next attack, made him feel the exhilaration she felt when they trained together.

  He pushed through it with a fierce grin, his explosion forcing them apart again.

  They moved across the arena like they were dancing, each touch a new emotion, each explosion a response. Attack, counter, touch, blast. Over and over, faster and faster.

  The crowd was going insane, but neither of them heard it.

  There was only this. Only them. Only the perfect understanding of being equally matched, of fighting someone who brought out your absolute best.

  "PERFUME FEMUR!"

  Her kick caught him in the ribs. He grunted but used the momentum to spin, his palm erupting with an explosion that she had to roll beneath.

  She came up and grabbed his wrist, pushed determination into him.

  He broke free and caught her arm, his own hands sparking. "My turn, Empress. Feel this."

  His explosion was controlled, precise—the heat singing her skin but not burning. It was his way of showing her: I won't hurt you. Not really. I'm in control.

  She understood. It was trust, expressed through combat.

  Hancock felt something warm in her chest that had nothing to do with the explosion.

  They separated again, both panting now, both covered in sweat and dust and small burns.

  "You're incredible," Bakugo said between breaths. "When you actually try."

  "You're not so bad yourself."

  "NOT SO BAD?! I'm AMAZING!"

  Despite everything—the exhaustion, the pain, the emotional intensity—Hancock smiled.

  Actually smiled.

  Bakugo saw it and something shifted in his expression. Softened, just for a moment.

  Then his competitive fire reignited. "Alright. Last exchange. Everything we've got. No holding back."

  "Agreed."

  They both took fighting stances.

  The entire stadium held its breath.

  Hancock enhanced her entire body, pushing her Quirk to its limits. Her legs, her arms, her speed, her reflexes—everything amplified to maximum.

  Bakugo's hands erupted with larger and larger explosions, building up his sweat, preparing for something massive.

  They charged at each other one final time.

  Hancock knew what she had to do. One decisive strike, using both her physical enhancement and her emotional manipulation simultaneously. If she could touch him and make the emotion overwhelming enough while delivering a powerful blow—

  Bakugo knew it too. She could see it in his eyes. He was preparing for exactly that, ready to counter it with an explosion powerful enough to either knock her out of bounds or knock her out entirely.

  They were three feet apart.

  Two feet.

  One foot.

  Hancock's hand reached for his chest, glowing brilliant pink. Bakugo's palm aimed at her midsection, sparking with built-up power.

  Contact.

  Her hand touched his chest directly over his heart. Her Quirk activated fully, pushing into him every emotion she'd been suppressing. The respect. The admiration. The want for connection. The fear of it. The exhilaration of being understood. All of it, crashing into him like a tidal wave.

  His explosion erupted simultaneously.

  The force was devastating. Hancock felt herself flying backward, the world spinning. She hit the ground hard and rolled, trying to orient herself, trying to figure out which way was up.

  When her vision cleared, she saw she was three feet from the boundary line.

  She looked toward Bakugo.

  He was on one knee, his hand pressed against his chest where she'd touched him, his eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The emotional surge had affected him, made him hesitate just long enough that his explosion had pushed her away instead of out.

  But he was recovering. She could see awareness returning to his eyes.

  They both struggled to their feet at the same time, swaying, exhausted.

  Neither of them was out of bounds.

  Neither of them was down.

  "Damn," Bakugo said, his voice rough. "That emotional thing... that was intense."

  "Your explosion nearly finished me."

  "Yeah, well. You nearly finished me first." He straightened up, wincing. "One more exchange?"

  Hancock assessed herself. Her legs were shaking from overusing her enhancement. Her head was pounding from pushing her emotional manipulation so hard. Her ribs ached from his explosions.

  But she could still fight.

  "One more," she agreed.

  They both moved forward, slower now, exhaustion evident in every step.

  This time when they met, there were no fancy techniques. No elaborate strategies.

  Hancock grabbed for his wrist. He grabbed for hers. They locked together again, both their Quirks activating simultaneously.

  Her emotional manipulation flared. His explosions sparked.

  They pushed against each other, neither willing to give ground, both refusing to back down.

  "You're not gonna beat me," Bakugo growled, his face inches from hers.

  "Neither are you," Hancock said back.

  "Then what the hell are we doing?"

  "Proving we're equals."

  Something flickered in his eyes. Understanding. Agreement.

  They stood there, locked together, both their Quirks active but neither actually using them to harm. Just... holding on.

  "WHAT ARE THEY DOING?!" Present Mic's voice seemed distant. "THEY'RE JUST STANDING THERE!"

  "They're at their limits," Aizawa's dry voice responded. "Next person to break the hold loses. It's a battle of endurance now."

  Seconds ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Thirty.

  Hancock felt her enhancement failing, her body screaming for rest. But Bakugo's wrist was still in her grip, his hand still on her arm.

  If she let go, she'd collapse. She knew it.

  She could see in his eyes that he knew the same about himself.

  "We can't keep this up," she said quietly.

  "I know."

  "One of us has to—"

  "I know."

  Their eyes locked. And in that moment, Hancock understood something crucial: she didn't actually want to beat him. She wanted to fight him, push him, match him—but the actual winning didn't matter as much as the fact that they were here, together, equals.

  "Draw?" Bakugo said, and she could hear how much it cost him to even suggest it. Bakugo Katsuki, who needed to win more than he needed to breathe.

  But he was offering her this. Offering them both this.

  "Draw," Hancock agreed.

  They released each other at the same time and stepped back. Both swayed dangerously. Both stayed on their feet through sheer willpower.

  Midnight looked between them, confused. "Are you both... forfeiting?"

  "Hell no," Bakugo said. "We're calling it even."

  "That's not exactly how tournaments work—"

  "DO WE LOOK LIKE WE CARE?!" Bakugo shouted, then immediately winced, the effort of shouting clearly painful.

  Midnight looked at Aizawa in the announcer booth. He just shrugged.

  "I... suppose we could call it a double knockout?" Midnight offered uncertainly. "Both fighters unable to continue?"

  "Works for me," Bakugo said.

  "Acceptable," Hancock agreed.

  And then, simultaneously, they both collapsed.