"So, how you feelin' about the sports festival?" Tetsutetsu asked as they walked down the path outside of U.A.
Dante walked with his hands in his pockets. "I haven't put much thought into it yet."
Tetsutetsu tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Really? Are you not hyped?"
Dante shrugged. "There's a lot of stuff on my mind."
"Man, I've heard about what that quirk of yours can do… If I had a quirk like that I'd spend every day smashing through boulders or something." Tetsutetsu gave him a small punch in the arm. "This festival isn't just a game, it's where we can prove ourselves."
Dante smiled softly. "I don't care all that much about being seen, I am excited to show off though."
Tetsutetsu smiled and held out a fist. "Then I'll see you there. But fair warning, I won't lose like Kazuya did."
Dante bumped his fist against his. "Okay okay, we'll see."
They reached a crosswalk, the path branching off into different directions.
Tetsutetsu turned left. "My train is this way. Later, man!"
Dante raised a hand. "Later."
He stood there for a second longer, watching the other walk off, silver hair catching the light.
"He does actually look a lot like Kazuya…"
Then he turned and made his way home.
…
The whole world around him felt calmer now, maybe it was because of the chaos he'd endured?
Or maybe he'd just changed.
Not just in the power he'd gained or the pain he'd endured, but in the way people were starting to look at him.
It's like they respected him.
He didn't know if he liked that or not, he didn't like gathering too much attention, but at the same time he wanted to show off for attention… either way, he was going to walk into that festival… and he was going to place 1st in every, last, challenge.
No matter what it took.
And with that thought locked into his chest, he pushed open the door to his apartment, the light from outside fading behind him.
Home.
The door clicked shut behind him.
He kicked off his shoes, tossed his bag to the floor and made a beeline for the kitchen. His stomach kept growling.
He scarfed down some leftovers, then dropped down onto the living room floor, dragging over an old notebook and a pen. It was worn, ink stained and even singed in places, but it had been with him through a lot.
"Okay," he muttered, flipping to a clean page and clicking the pen. "Let's see…"
Across the top, he scribbled:
"Things I should probably master before the Sports Festival."
(Or atleast not embarrass myself doing)
1. Armour form.
2. Flight.
3. Heat resistance (?)
___
Dante started at the list, talking the pen against his lips. His eyes narrowed.
"Alright… two weeks," he muttered. "Let's make it as hellish as I can."
He slapped the notebook closed, stood up and stretched his arms above his head.
Tomorrow, he'd go all out.
…
…
Training 1: Armour
Dante stood all by himself in one of the many training grounds of U.A. when he used the sludge armour in the U.S.J. it was made purely on instinct and with the will to kill, he needed it to be suitable for mobility.
First attempt.
Just like in the U.S.J., sludge coated his arms and chest, but it was too thick. A single punch made it crack and crumble.
Second attempt.
He layered it slower, compressing it. More solid. A roundhouse kick, balance failed. Too heavy.
Third attempt.
He stripped it down to the essentials, chest, shoulders, thighs. Reinforced the joints. The slammed himself into a large boulder. It crumbled. His armor didn't.
Mobility drills.
Running. Jumping. Rolling. Dodging. Testing movement in layered armor. Sweat poured. Sludge steamed. He kept adjusting the plating.
Final phase.
The armour was lean now, it was like jagged plating fused to muscle. Brutal, streamlined and fast.
Dante stood at the center of the training room, chest heaving, steam rising in waves. The dark red sludge gleamed across his body and he looked totally badass.
He grinned through his exhaustion.
"Yeah," he muttered. "That's more like it."
12 days before the sports festival.
…
Training 2: Flight
At first, he would keep launching himself upwards, and just slamming into a wall.
Over and over.
Small wings flickered from his back, they were unstable and shaky. He couldn't stay airborne for more than a second.
"Why is this so hard? Do I really need to be saving someone to have it work?"
Then he changed strategy, focus on balance first.
He practiced mini hovers. Short bursts. Control over height.
He hovered a food off the ground for five whole seconds before face planting.
It was progress though!
Next, he lifted, then he stabilised, then he turned and then he hovered.
His wings were sleeker now, shaped and changed by repeated trial and error.
He could zigzag in the air, for a few seconds before spiraling down.
Frustration mounted, but so did control.
He caught himself mid fall with a pulse of sludge and landed on one knee.
"I'm so close…"
The next day…
He lifted off smooth, glided forward.
He turned.
He adjusted the height.
Still wobbly, but he was flying.
Real flight.
By sunset, he was soaring across the training field in slow, uneven laps.
Not perfect. Not elegant. But his smirk said everything.
8 Days before the Sports Festival.
…
The city was buzzing below, unaware of the young man crouched on the ledge of a rooftop. Dante's eyes narrowed as the wind hit him, the cold air made his hair flow. The sun had just started to rise, casting long golden shadowed between buildings.
Perfect weather for a morning fly.
With a deep breath, he fell forward off the building.
He was falling fast, the wind brushing past his whole body.
He felt free, the feeling of falling embracing him.
He wouldn't mind if it all ended here…
Maybe…
No. There was more he needed to do.
His back suddenly exploded and two huge crimson wings burst to life behind him in a messy, fluid flare.
He kicked off the buildings wall and flew back up.
The city blurred below him, windows and neon signs streaking past him as his wings beat against the air.
The first few seconds were shaky. They usually were.
But once he caught the wind just right, it felt like he was surfing a wave made of air! He wove between buildings, dipped over traffic lights, then shot up, climbing back into the sky with an animalistic grin on his face.
"Faster!"
His back pulsed, his wings disappeared and then reformed and reshaped midair as he adjusted their design to make him faster. The higher he flew, the more resistance he fought. He tilted forward, streamlined his body and kicked off a sudden burst of acceleration.
His surroundings became a blur.
A group of kids looked up from a street court, pointing as a dark red blur streaked past overhead. A pair of doves scattered infront of him and Dante twisted midair to avoid them, laughing under his breath as the wind screamed past his ears.
"Faster!"
He shot down into a narrow alleyway keeping his momentum, only to pull up at the last second and shoot skyward, flipping into a sharp turn that made his ribs hurt. His wings hissed and spat chunks of steam as he pushed them harder than before, this caught Dante's attention for a moment but then he turned back to flying.
"More control, more speed, less fear."
The sludge forming his wings hardened at the edges, slicing the air even faster. He could feel his heart racing and a heat in his chest burning.
He banked hard around a radio tower, whipped over a bridge, then shot down the canal, leaving a blast of wind that knocked over a row of flyers from a convenience store display.
He was actually creating turbulence.
He was creating chaos.
We was truly flying, like it was natural.
Dante landed hard on a rooftop at last, skidding across gravel until his knees gave out and he dropped to one hand, panting, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his neck. His wings fizzled behind him and retreated back into him.
He laughed for a moment.
Then he looked at his arm.
"The hell?"
There was a small kind of… crack in his arm?
And from the crack, an immense heat was coming from it along with a cloud of steam.
Dante looked closer and saw an orange glow beneath.
The crack quickly disappeared and his arm returned to normal, but Dante was still confused as to what that was.
Either way, he just flew. But… his mood wasn't the best, his head was spinning with questions.