Chapter Text
"It'll just be this way, miss."
You nodded absentmindedly, trying to keep up with the male's lengthy strides. He was an adult; well into his twenties by the looks of it, and was clothed in a spotless black suit. His pin-black hair was neatly coiffed to the sides, and although he couldn't have been much more than an attendant or secretary, he was easily wearing a year's worth of college tuition on his body.
Then again, you shouldn't have really been surprised—the entire house was gargantuan. It donned the appearance of a traditional, japanese home, and you could only imagine how much it could possibly sell for. The tatami mats were relatively new to you, since you'd grown up in a western-style house, but you decided that you liked them. There was something endearingly rustic about them; it was certainly better than all the artificality that you saw nowadays. So, yes—the house was nice. That much you could admit to.
The house only.
You would've liked to visit such a place and admire its architecture on your own time, but your purpose in being here was for business, not pleasure. In fact, calling it "business" was not even the true nature of your visit—it was a death sentence.
Some may have said that you were exaggerating, and making a big fuss over nothing, but truly, that was how you felt. In reality, you were here against your will; a mere puppet at the mercy of your parents. And while your death may not have been literal, it sure as hell felt like the next worst thing.
"Stop here, if you may."
The man glanced down at you, extending his arm out as a gesture for you to halt in place. You'd stopped just before a large, sliding door—much more ornate and decorative than any of the others. This was probably where the head honcho resided; the maestro of the house, so to speak. Either way, it was pretty clear that this was where your meeting would go down. This was where your fate would be sealed, and your life ripped from your grasp.
You bit down on your lip, hoping to keep your tears at bay.
How the hell did this happen?
☾
"[Name], sweetheart. Come here—we need to talk to you."
Ah, yes. The words that had started it all. Even now, rememering your mother's sickeningly sweet tone would make a sensation of bile rise to your throat. You regretted answering her. Maybe if you'd mustered up the courage to leave when you still had the chance, things wouldn't have turned out the way they had. Well, not that there was anything you could do about it now.
"What is it?" you answered, creeping out of your room. You'd been holed up studying, and it wasn't like your mother to disturb you when you were occupied with schoolwork.
"Come sit down. Make yourself comfortable."
She was smiling back at you; the same smile that always seemed to be laced with venom. You noticed that your father was sitting just beside her with a grave expression. This too was odd—they hardly ever willingly sat together. You'd just sort of accepted that was the point their precarious relationship had gotten to.
A lot of things were putting you on edge, but you decided to take a seat for the time being. Your mother continued to smile, and you started to wonder if maybe her face had just been permanently frozen into that acidic grin. At least she was blinking. It made her look a bit more humane.
"My dear," she began, "Before I tell you what's going on, I would like for you to compose yourself. I don't want to hear any rude interruptions; not until we've finished saying our piece. Right, honey?"
She'd turned to glance at your father, who merely grunted in response and didn't dare meet her gaze. She smiled again, as if that response was satisfactory.
"As you may be aware," she continued, "Our company has not been doing very well as of late. It's easy enough to understand that in this ever-growing society of Quirks and otherworldly powers, people have begun to turn more to the aid of those with abilities rather than simple medication. We still have exports to hospitals, of course, but there've been so many other rival companies that it's becoming hard to keep a good line of sales going. You understand what I'm trying to say, yes?"
You furrowed your brows. Your parents ran a big pharmaceutical company, the likes of which had been in high demand a few years prior. Whenever business was concerned, they hardly ever involved you, but you weren't an idiot—you could tell that sales had been going down. The question was why now? They'd kept you in the dark for so long, practically snubbing you every time you asked about the company, so what could they possibly have to gain by telling you this now?
"So people don't want to buy your crappy drugs anymore," you mused, noting the way your mother's jaw tightened. "Okay, then. So what? Are you trying to say that I need to start working for the business now? Because you already know that's not happening—I'm going to U.A to become a hero."
She smiled again, gently shaking her head. "Oh, no. Don't worry, sweetie, we're not going to ask you to do anything like that. We just need a little favor from you. Ah, but it's okay—you aren't required to do much at all. It's more so a formality, and you'll be able to go to U.A just like you planned. No changes there."
You pursed your lips. One way or another, she still hadn't revealed what the hell they wanted you to do, and the mystery of it all was making you impatient.
"Just tell me what it is, already. Tell me what it is first, and then I'll give you my answer."
Your mother's smile faltered just slightly. She glanced over towards your father before looking back at you.
"Oh, honey...I'm afraid there's no need for your answer. We've already decided that this is happening."
You opened your mouth in protest, but your father was quicker on the uptake.
"You're getting engaged," he stated flatly. His expression hadn't changed; even the look in his eyes was the exact same—utterly devoid of any emotion. He'd spoken so quickly that you weren't even sure you'd heard him properly.
"I-I beg your pardon...?"
"You're getting engaged!" This time, it was your mother who'd chimed in, with another one of her fabricated smiles. "Aren't you excited, sweetie? The family's incredibly wealthy—after all, he's the son of the Number Two Hero! By grace, you're so lucky! This young and your future's already assured!"
You swallowed hard. Your eyes were blinking repeatedly now, past the point of being stopped. Every fiber of your being was telling you that this was some sort of practical joke—it had to be. But the look in your mother's eyes was undeniable, and for as long as you'd known him, your father had never uttered a single joke. All at once, you felt your chest start to close up.
It wasn't a joke. It was real.
This...was actually happening.
"But how—I'm not—" You brought a hand against your temple, eyes trembling uncontrollably. "Just...why?"
"The 'how' is easy enough to answer," your mother giggled. "You're only fifteen, yes, but engagement isn't legally binding—anyone can get engaged, regardless of how old they are. The real wedding won't be until you're quite a bit older, so there's no need to worry about that just yet."
You'd passed the point of bewilderment, and were now steadily transitioning into sheer, unbridled rage. Your eyes were bloodshot and red as you glared into your mother's own.
"How dare you try to decide something like this," you spat. "I'm your fucking daughter, and you're treating me like I'm some kind of disposable object. What the hell is this? You're just gonna decide my whole future with a flick of your wrist??"
Your mother frowned. "First of all, language. We didn't raise you to speak so crudely, young lady. And as much as we would love to give you the option of deciding for yourself, we're in the midst of a very hard time—financially. By marrying into this family, we would not only have their economic support, but we would also be able to use the Number Two Hero, Endeavor, as our celebrity model. With him advertising our brand, we're sure to increase our sales tenfold."
You gaped at her. Surely, you were mistaken. Surely, your parents weren't just marrying you off and tossing you aside for some extra cash?
"We're lucky that you have such a good Quirk," your mother hummed. "Endeavor seemed very interested in your prospects as his son's wife. What was it he called it again...? Ah, yes—a Quirk marriage. He said that you would bear lovely, powerful children from this union."
"Children...?" you repeated, eyes fully dilated. "He wants me to be some some sort of baby factory for him??"
"Oh, don't call it that, honey. It's a privilege, honestly. And from what I've seen, that son of his is very handsome, so you've lucked out there, as well." She rested her chin atop the back of her hand, eyes glazing over. "A good husband from a wealthy, reputable family...what more could you ask for?"
Your father lifted his head to nod. "She's right, you know. You need to stop being so damn ungrateful, [Name]."
All you could do was scoff. As always, your parents only ever saw eye-to-eye whenever they were intent on tearing you down. Even to this day you wondered if you were actually related to them; these cold, heartless demons who'd just auctioned off your body and soul.
You'd just been told that you were to become the trophy wife of a boy you'd never even met before. The marriage might not have been immediate, sure, but it was hellish all the same. Here you were, sitting before your parents as they told you that you had absolutely no choice in the matter; that you were to give yourself whole for the sake of their company's flourish.
It was disgusting, really, that's all it was. It was twisted, manipulative, and pathetic. And even still, there was the one biggest issue in your mind.
"What about my boyfriend?" you asked bitterly, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. "What about him, huh? I'm just expected to tell him to piss off and move onto this random guy I've never met before? You can't be serious. You can't seriously be expecting me to end a relationship just because you told me to. Tell me you're not that fucked in the head."
Your mother shot a glance in your father's direction, who merely shrugged and said nothing. She tucked a strand of hair behind her hair, smoothed out her skirt, and only then did she return her gaze towards your own.
"Come on, sweetie. An engaged woman can't possibly have a boyfriend on the side—it's just not proper. Please understand."
It felt as though a steel pipe had been lodged down your throat. You tried to breathe, but there was a firm sensation of something being stuck, and the more quickly you respired, the more it hurt. You keeled over, gasping uncontrollably, while your clutched at your chest.
Your mother looked at you with a smile that was more so amused than pitying.
"Alright, enough of that. You're a lady, aren't you? In that case, you should behave like one. Here—take this." You looked up to see her extending a phone out towards you. Her lips were still curled up into that disgusting smile."Take it, sweetheart. You know what you need to do."
You didn't know why, but you grabbed the phone into your hand. Maybe it was because you'd come to terms with the fact that struggling was in vain; that no matter how much you refused, things would still turn out the same way. Or maybe in the back of your mind, you knew that you were nothing more than your mother's little marionette, forever at the mercy of her unforgiving strings.
One thing was for certain—your fate had already been sealed. In that case, why not make yourself hurt even more?
You pulled up from the couch, dragging your feet listlessly into the other room, so that your parents couldn't hear your pitiful sobs. Your cheeks were stained with fresh tears, but they were already on the verge of drying out and leaving behind a familiar sting. The door to your room clicked shut; you were already dialing the number.
A scarce few moments later, you could hear the voice on the other end.
"Hello?"
You swallowed hard, wiping away the new wave of tears.
"We need to break up, Izuku-kun."