Chapter 60: The Warmth of the Medal
In the stark, white silence of the infirmary, Katsuki Bakugo's eyes snapped open. A dull, throbbing ache radiated from the back of his head. He brought a hand up to touch it, his fingers brushing against the unfamiliar texture of bandages. The memory returned in a brutal, humiliating flash: the colossal sand statue, the feeling of being utterly powerless, the sickening impact against the stadium wall. He sat up, his crimson eyes scanning the room with a furious, silent intensity. The bed across from him, Gaara's bed, was empty. The realization of his defeat settled in his gut like a cold, heavy stone.
In a quiet preparation room, Gaara stood, dressed in a fresh U.A. sports uniform. The door slid open, and Toshinori Yagi entered, his skeletal frame looking even more fragile under the harsh fluorescent lights. He did not say much at first. He simply walked over and placed a thin, but surprisingly firm, hand on Gaara's shoulder.
"I apologize, young Gaara," Toshinori said, his voice heavy with a sincere, paternal regret. "For not protecting you as I should have. You were left to face the world's judgment alone."
Gaara looked at the man beside him, at the kind, weary blue eyes that held the weight of the world. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Without you," he said, his voice a quiet, sandy rasp, "I would not have been given this chance at all. I have no quarrel with the Symbol of Peace." He paused, his gaze steady and unwavering. "You truly deserve that title. You are… my hero."
The words struck Toshinori with the force of a physical blow. He stared at the boy before him, his mind flashing back to their first encounters: the feral, broken child in the USJ, the empty, desolate vessel in the depths of Tartarus. And now… this. He felt a hot, unfamiliar stinging behind his eyes, and to his own profound surprise, a single tear traced a path down his gaunt cheek.
Gaara's expression shifted to one of genuine, quiet confusion. His teal eyes widened slightly. "Are you crying?" he asked, a note of concern in his voice. "Did I upset you?"
Toshinori let out a choked, wet laugh, wiping the tear away with the back of his hand. "No, my boy," he said, his voice thick with an emotion Gaara could not name. "This is… this is what you call a tear of joy."
"Joy?" Gaara repeated, the word feeling foreign on his tongue. "People cry when they are happy?"
Toshinori's smile was watery, but brilliant. "Never mind me," he said, his composure returning. "The whole world is watching now, my boy. Go out there, and show them the hero your mother always knew you were."
Gaara nodded, a new, heavy sense of responsibility settling upon his shoulders.
Just then, a soft knock came at the door. It slid open to reveal Izuku Midoriya's familiar, green-haired head. "Gaara-kun? Are you… oh!" His wide, green eyes went from Gaara to the strange, skeletal man standing beside him, a flicker of recognition and panic in his gaze before he masked it. Behind him, the rest of the class—Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Uraraka, Mina, and all the others—began to file in.
This time, the atmosphere was completely different. There was no fear, no hesitation. Their smiles were pure.
"That was so awesome, man!" Mineta exclaimed, his eyes shining with genuine admiration.
Kirishima's own sharp, red eyes were suspiciously moist. "That was… so manly!" he choked out, tears welling up. "You made me cry, man! I'm sorry… for everything before!"
Yaoyorozu placed a gentle hand on Kirishima's shoulder. "You don't have to cry," she said softly, before turning her own elegant, dark onyx eyes to Gaara, a look of profound sorrow and respect on her face. "Gaara-san… we were all… we were all so wrong about you."
Gaara's own teal eyes widened, a tremor passing through him.
Mina Ashido, her unique, black and yellow eyes filled with regret, stepped forward. "It was wrong of us to plot against you, to try and make you fail what was such an important test for you," she said, her voice uncharacteristically serious.
"You may not feel like forgiving us, kero," Tsuyu added, her expression somber. "But we want to sincerely apologize."
"What we did was not sparkling at all," Aoyama lamented. "I am ashamed of myself."
"If you'd be willing," Kyoka Jiro said, her cool, dark purple eyes meeting his, "we'd like to start over."
"On a new page," Kaminari added with a hopeful grin.
"Side by side," Shoji's deep voice rumbled.
"And this time," Hagakure's invisible form chimed in, her voice clear and bright, "not as the villain from the USJ…"
Todoroki, Midoriya, Uraraka, and Yaoyorozu all spoke at once, their voices a unified chorus. "…but as one of us."
And then, the entire class, a vibrant, diverse sea of faces and eyes, spoke together, their voices filling the small room with a powerful, unconditional warmth.
"As the twenty-first student of Class 1-A."
Gaara was stunned into absolute silence. He had never, in his entire life, expected this. This acceptance. This welcome. He looked at the frail, skeletal man beside him, who was smiling, a look of immense pride on his face as he gave a slight, encouraging nod. Gaara looked back at his classmates, at their hopeful, shining eyes.
Slowly, hesitantly, he smiled. And he held out his hand.
"ALRIGHT, LISTENERS! THE MOMENT OF TRUTH! IT'S TIME FOR THE AWARDS CEREMONY!"
The stadium roared. On a platform high above the arena, a figure stood silhouetted against the bright blue sky. With a booming, iconic laugh, he leapt. "I AM HERE!" All Might declared, landing in the center of the ring in his magnificent, muscular form, sending a tremor through the stadium and a wave of ecstatic screams through the crowd.
He waved to the adoring fans, his smile as bright as the sun. The podiums rose from the ground.
"For third place," All Might announced, "we have a tie! Momo Yaoyorozu and Neito Monoma!" He placed the bronze medals around their necks, ruffling their hair with a paternal pride. Yaoyorozu's face flushed with a proud, respectful glow. Monoma, for his part, crossed his arms. "I deserved a higher rank, but I suppose I can accept this for now! I'll be aiming for the top next year!"
"For second place, young Katsuki Bakugo!" Bakugo walked forward, his expression strangely calm, almost vacant. He accepted the silver medal without protest, without a single explosion. "Accept this defeat, and learn from it," All Might told him, his voice low and serious. "That is what will make you stronger. I admire your determination and your will. You will be a hero to remember."
"And for first place… GAARA!"
Gaara walked forward. The applause from the crowd was thunderous, a genuine, rolling wave of acceptance and respect. Their view of him had been completely and irrevocably changed.
All Might took the heavy, gold medal and placed it gently around Gaara's neck. He leaned in close, his voice a whisper meant only for Gaara's ears. "Your mother was right. You are, without a doubt, going to be a magnificent hero."
Gaara smiled, a silent, warm expression. He reached up and took the medal in his hand, its surface smooth and cool against his skin.
It's warm, he thought, a strange, new feeling blooming in his chest. But… I don't know what is truly warm. Is it the medal? Or this strange feeling that is filling me now?
He had never felt anything like it in his entire life.
It was not love. It was not joy. It was not pride.
It was just… soft. And warm. And peaceful.