The field erupted.
Not metaphorically. Literally: Bakugo's team activated everything they had in the first three seconds, and the result was that the center of the field became something spectators in the stands would spend days trying to describe in words that did justice to what they had witnessed.
Mineta was not in the center.
That was his first correct decision in the Cavalry Battle: in the first thirty seconds, the center of the field was the most dangerous place for any team that wasn't Bakugo's, and Bakugo's team had already claimed it with the efficiency of someone who had calculated it before Midnight had even finished explaining the rules.
—Flank, —Mineta said.
Shoji and Ojiro moved to the left edge of the field with that synchronized coordination teams develop when every member processes an instruction at the same time and executes it without needing explanation.
Asui ran alongside, tongue out, eyes wide, tracking the field with her unerring attention that missed nothing.
From the side, the entire battlefield was visible.
Read the field before acting. You have information no one else has. Use it.
What Mineta saw:
Bakugo's team in the center, exactly as expected. Circular defense, with Kirishima hardened toward the outside and Ashido ready to create lateral mobility. Bakugo, the rider, poised as someone waiting for anyone brave—or foolish—enough to approach. No one was approaching yet.
Todoroki's team moved diagonally from their starting position toward the right flank, Iida acting as the engine, his speed making their horse formation significantly faster than any team without him could hope to follow. Yaoyorozu was producing something in her hands that Mineta still couldn't identify from this distance.
Midoriya's team occupied the opposite side, with Hatsume installing some device on Midoriya's back while in motion—typical Hatsume behavior whenever there was a chance to implement something on someone unprepared.
And then there was Shinso's team.
There.
Moving from the far edge, not directly toward anyone, but toward the space that would remain between the main teams once they had positioned themselves. Not attacking. Waiting. Patient, knowing his quirk didn't work reliably at long range and that he needed to close in without being noticed.
Two hundred sixty-five points. No one sees them as a threat yet.
That will last exactly until Shinso speaks.
The first real confrontation happened between Kaminari and Sero's team, which had recruited two more low-point non-hero course students, and a 1-B team led by Tetsutetsu, totaling 185 base points.
Tetsutetsu's quirk mirrored Kirishima's visually—metallic hardening instead of rock—but he used it in the same philosophy: straight ahead, with force, without overcomplicating the combat logic.
Kaminari discharged before they made contact.
The field lit up.
Tetsutetsu held firm, since metal conducted better than rock but also resisted the discharge better in frontal impacts. Kaminari's team emerged with the band intact, but Kaminari himself remained in that post-discharge state where his expressions no longer responded entirely to his control.
—Kaminari, —Sero said.
—Whey, —Kaminari replied, his brain having spent more than it should have.
Sero assessed the situation and decided moving was better than staying put.
Mineta continued along the flank.
Todoroki's team reached the right side and began turning toward the center, with Iida as the engine. From this distance, Mineta could finally see what Yaoyorozu had been producing: a broad composite shield that could intercept frontal attacks while Iida maintained the speed.
Smart. Iida's velocity combined with Yaoyorozu's protection made the team difficult to attack head-on and agile enough to adjust direction, making flanking difficult.
Bakugo was the target—the only worthwhile target for a team already holding 735 points.
Todoroki's team advanced toward the center.
Bakugo's team noticed them coming.
What followed in the next two minutes was the kind of exchange Present Mic described with volume and speed only someone witnessing a perfectly executed showdown could convey. Mineta watched from the side, taking mental notes on the patterns he saw.
Bakugo struck with precise explosions, each directed not just for power but for strategic disruption, aiming to interfere with Iida's movement rather than hit the nearest opponent.
Todoroki responded with ice on the ground in front of Bakugo's team, forcing positional changes that created moments of reduced mobility, during which he sought angles to approach and snatch the band.
Kirishima absorbed front-line impacts. Ashido dissolved the ice with acid on her feet—the most straightforward solution to the ice obstacle Mineta had observed during the Festival.
Neither team yielded.
Not my fight, thought Mineta. Let it play out. My problem is elsewhere.
Shinso's team had reached forty meters.
Forty meters was still too far for his mind-control quirk to function reliably. Shinso needed someone to respond; for that, they had to hear him; to hear him, he needed to be closer or the stadium quiet.
The stadium was not quiet. The Todoroki-Bakugo clash had drawn the crowd's attention, and the noise was intense.
Shinso knew it.
That's why he wasn't moving toward the main clash. He moved toward smaller, low-point teams hunting for minor bands before the main teams finished positioning.
Mineta saw him redirect toward Sero and Kaminari's team.
No.
—Move me to the right—Mineta commanded. —Quickly.
Shoji and Ojiro adjusted without question.
If Shinso reaches Kaminari, who's already half-brain-dead post-discharge, he's done. And if he controls Kaminari, he controls the entire team, because the rider goes wherever the mind control dictates.
The team shifted.
Forty meters. Thirty. Twenty.
Shinso noticed the movement.
Shinso looked.
Mineta held his gaze, silent.
If you respond, you lose. That applies both ways. Don't give him anything he can confirm.
They moved parallel to Shinso's team, keeping the distance where his presence was visible but his quirk still inactive.
Shinso's team changed direction toward another group.
Mineta let them go.
Not time for direct confrontation. Not yet.
The five-minute mark arrived. The stadium was in organized chaos, and Present Mic described it with the energy of someone who had waited for this moment all year.
Field status:
Bakugo's team still held ten million points. Todoroki's team had stolen a minor band from a 1-B team during their clash with Bakugo, adding to their total but still lacking the main band. Midoriya's team moved constantly, Hatsume using her inventions to keep them hard to reach, but they hadn't attacked any high-point teams.
Shinso's team had stolen two bands from minor teams.
Four hundred eighty-five points. They were no longer the lowest-value team on the field.
Mineta observed from the flank.
They're climbing. Once they start becoming targets for mid-range teams, the quirk will become even more essential—they need to defend without relying on physical strength.
And when the quirk becomes more essential, they'll start using it more actively.
—Asui-san, —Mineta said.
—I see it, —Asui replied, having been watching in the same direction.
Good. No need to explain what she already sees.
—We wait two more minutes before attacking. I want to see how they move under pressure.
—Who do we attack? —Ojiro asked from below.
Mineta scanned the field.
Mid-range 1-B teams. Worth enough points to make it worthwhile, far enough from main teams so that the exchange won't expose us to Bakugo or Todoroki afterward.
—Fukidashi's team, —he said, locating the 1-B student with the text-balloon quirk.— 145 points. They're to our right, no solid physical defenses.
—Their points plus ours would be 675, —Asui said.
—Enough to enter the scoring zone without becoming the main target.
Shoji subtly angled the formation to the right, without the movement appearing intentional.
Two minutes. Watch. Then act.
From the center came another Bakugo explosion, and the stands erupted with the roar of thousands witnessing something unexpected, unsure whether to feel fear or excitement—but feeling something nonetheless.
Mineta divided his attention: Fukidashi's team to the right, Shinso's team moving toward the center, the overall field state.
Ten minutes left. A lot can change in ten minutes.
Especially when there's someone on the field whose quirk no one else fully understands.
The stadium wind shifted in ways that didn't correspond to any visible action on the field.
Mineta had no way to know if it meant anything.
But he noted it anyway.
End of Episode 28.