Chapter Text
He had prepared himself for this. Mentally, physically, and any other way someone could possibly prepare themselves for the unknown. But today’s goal had already been accomplished, and everything else left in its wake—the conversation, the activity, the noise—were all becoming just a little too much.
There were exactly twenty students in Shoto’s new class, a jump from the typically small classes at his old private school. The difference shouldn’t really matter. It was just a few more faces he would have to interact with. A few more names he wouldn’t care enough to remember.
But even though he told himself that he shouldn’t be bothered by the amount of people in the room, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t. He was sure it wasn’t outwardly showing, but all the noise and activity were sorely wearing on his nerves. The majority of the students he had encountered thus far were strangely casual and far too excitable, alive with an energy none of them cared to contain. Something he wasn’t used to.
And again, that shouldn’t be a problem. He knew that.
But why were they all so loud? Could they really not speak at a reasonable level, or was it normal for people his age to converse like they were standing in an active airfield? Had they not been taught basic manners or propriety?
Even worse, they all seemed to possess an overt lack of spatial awareness. The amount of times Shoto’s personal space had been invaded, intentionally or otherwise, was ridiculously high. (Seven times. Seven. But who was counting?)
No, it was fine. Everything was just fine, this was nothing he couldn’t handle. Even if every too-loud exclamation made him wince. Even if every slightest brush from another student made his skin tingle unpleasantly. Shoto knew going into this that UA was going to be different from what he was used to. It was just…
He didn’t expect it to be so overwhelming.
Because really, he shouldn’t have to strategize just to be able to leave. This shouldn’t feel so much like he was attempting an escape.
Leaving should be the easy part. In theory, at least. The distance between his current position by his freshly issued desk and the door at the back of the room was relatively small. It would only take a handful of steps, about half a dozen if his estimates were correct. Practically nothing at all.
His uniform was already back on, his bag slung securely over his shoulder. He even pushed his chair back under the desk in the exact position he’d found it in earlier that morning. Now all he had to do was walk out the door nestled in the wall on the other side of the room, and go home. But the amount of students in the room, and how carelessly oblivious they were, made it tricky.
He had been trying to time his exit just right. Otherwise, he would risk brushing up against someone else. Again. It had happened too much already; if it happened even one more time, Shoto was sure he would snap. Thankfully, after only a few moments, there was an opening in the chaos.
But before Shoto could even take so much as a single step towards freedom, he was accosted by one of his new classmates. He really wished they would stop trying to talk to him.
“Hey, man!” A student with spiky red hair stepped directly in his path and offered him a wide, friendly smile. His teeth were pointy, uniform and serrated in a pattern similar to a shark’s. It made his smile a bit more menacing than probably intended.
He said something else, but Shoto found himself too distracted by his own annoyance to really pay much attention. Why was this kid talking to him? Did he somehow know Shoto? He eyed the other boy’s spiky, gelled hair and his hastily fastened tie. Nothing of note stuck out in his mind.
“You came in second place during the quirk test, right?” Shark Teeth continued, and that Shoto heard. He had to consciously stop his mouth from twisting into a scowl. Yes, he did come in second place. But he didn’t need reminding of it.
So what, he almost snapped back, even though the last thing he wanted was to reciprocate conversation with this supposedly friendly boy who was completely oblivious to Shoto’s growing irritation.
“You were hella impressive out there! Super manly!”
The boy didn’t say anything else after that, just looked at Shoto and waited, like he expected some sort of response. Shoto just stared back. What exactly did this boy want him to say? He didn’t ask a question that needed answering, just made an unsolicited observation. Did he really need to say anything back?
Not knowing how to respond—and not wanting to entertain whatever conversation this was supposed to be—Shoto went to step around him. But before he could, yet another student appeared in his path.
This one had black hair, and very strange looking elbows. His hands were on his hips, but his posture was relaxed, with a lazy smile laid across his face.
“Yeah, dude! You were like some kinda ice ninja.” The boy smirked with a considerate tilt of the head. “But it wasn’t just your quirk, you’re pretty fit. You must work out a lot.” He stopped after that, and said nothing else.
Once again, Shoto was met with that same look, as if he should have the faintest clue on how he was expected to respond. This guy didn’t ask any questions at all, just made a few more pointless observations. What did they want from him? Was he supposed to know?
The door was only six steps away. Why couldn’t he just leave?
After several long moments of Shoto staring down these two inadvertent nuisances without speaking, they shared an almost comically awkward glance, as if they didn’t expect to be met with stone cold silence. The redhead began to look a little unsure, and his mouth opened a bit, showing off the tips of those pointy teeth. He looked as if he were about to say something else.
Before he could get the chance, Shoto opened his own mouth and pointedly asked, “Is that all?”
Both faces simultaneously morphed into respective expressions of faint shock, as if they were genuinely taken aback by his words. (Which only worsened his aggravation, because really, what did they want him to say?) Now it was their turn to stare in silence. They were beginning to appear about as uncomfortable as Shoto felt.
“Uh…” the redhead muttered uncertainly, looking between Shoto’s face and the other boy’s as if searching for some sort of hint on what he should say. Shoto didn’t know if he found one, but eventually he said, “I guess so.” His expression was unsure, and his words sounded even more so.
Shoto took that as his permission to leave. He stepped around the two boys, giving himself plenty of space, and finally headed towards the door.
After just a few steps, he heard the boy with the weird elbows casually remark, “Damn, that was rude.” He had lowered his voice a bit, but Shoto still heard it as he slid open the door.
“Yeah, that was kinda rude,” replied the other, sounding confused and a little off-put. “What’s his deal?”
Shoto stepped through the doorway and out into the hall, sliding the door shut behind himself, effectively cutting off words he would have ignored anyway. It didn’t matter what these people thought of him. The only thing that mattered was that they left him alone and stayed out of his way. He wasn’t here to make friends.
The hallway outside classroom 1-A was empty, and blissfully quiet. The only sound present was the muffled noise bleeding from the closed classroom door behind him, and the light tapping of his shoes against the polished linoleum as he began to make his way towards the stairwell. It seemed his class was dismissed earlier than the rest of the student body, which was fine by him. Less people for him to deal with.
The reason for this early dismissal, though, was rather unorthodox. Instead of having them attend the various orientation activities (like the opening ceremony), their new homeroom teacher had them participate in a quirk assessment. The scruffy man (who had shown up in an actual sleeping bag, looking like he’d either just rolled out of bed or off the street) had originally informed them that whoever placed last in the test would be automatically expelled from UA. Shoto wasn’t worried for himself, but everyone else seemed relieved when after the test the pro hero revealed that what he said before was a lie. No one was getting expelled, it was just a ‘rational deception’ to make sure everyone did their best. They were dismissed after that.
Most of the class chose to stick around and socialize afterward, while a few others like Shoto opted to just head home. Because of this, the school entryway where they stored their outdoor shoes was thankfully also empty. It made changing his shoes much more comfortable than it had been that morning. He should probably plan to start coming to school a little early. Maybe he’d be able to miss all the foot traffic.
After closing up his locker, he made his way out the front doors and onto the main walkway. Once again, there was not a person in sight. The vacant grounds should have been comforting to him; there was no noise, no people, nothing but cool breeze and a deserted sidewalk. But he had never seen UA this desolate—not on TV, nor the few times he had been allowed on campus. Unsettled was what he felt, and would probably continue to feel until he left. He knew it was the newness of it all that was throwing him off, but he was still itching to leave as soon as possible.
Shoto didn’t know what was expected of him here, how he was supposed to behave. Was he even really allowed to leave this early? He was originally just grateful he could escape the noise, but now wondered if he should have waited until the rest of the school was dismissed. Aizawa said they could go ahead and leave, but did he really have the authority to make that call?
But what else could Shoto do? Turn around and go back inside? He’d honestly rather just get in trouble if it came down to it.
Whatever, he told himself, continuing with his exit without a single glance back. His homeroom teacher said they could leave, so he was leaving. He would just have to deal with whatever consequences came his way otherwise.
He headed down the sidewalk and towards the driveway connected to UA’s main gate. But where he expected a dark vehicle to be waiting for him, there was nothing but empty space. After a few seconds of staring pointlessly at the pavement in irritated silence, he belatedly realized he should have anticipated this. His class got let out nearly an hour earlier than planned, so of course his driver wouldn’t be here yet.
That didn’t stop his irritation, or stop him from staring down the main entrance as if glaring at it would be enough to summon his driver. Unfortunately no matter how much he glared, the driveway was still empty.
Allowing himself a huff of annoyance, Shoto resigned himself to waiting.
Instead of continuing to glare at the gate like an idiot, he let his gaze be pulled back to the school building towering behind him. UA. He’d finally made it. After all that time spent studying and training, after countless sleepless nights and long, grueling days. It had all been for this.
Shoto knew anyone else would probably feel some measure of accomplishment, that feeling of ‘I made it,’ especially after so much time and effort. But all Shoto could see as how far he still had to go, the challenges that still lie ahead. He was perpetually tired these days, his body always aching, but there was no time for rest.
Not that he would be allowed it, anyway.
His eyes roamed over those pristine windows, watching the clouds roll across them, thoughtlessly looking for whichever section was connected to his new homeroom. He thought he might have found it, but the building was just so big that he could only make an approximate guess. He wondered if his new classmates could see him from up there. He wondered if any of them were watching him.
The good thing about today—other than the fact that it was over—was that Shoto was able to get a good idea of where his peers’ abilities lay in comparison to his own. While he got a pretty good look at the other recommendation students during his entrance exam, the rest were unknown variables, since they took a completely different exam from him. But predictably, most of them were nowhere near his level, in terms of quirk aptitude or physical fitness.
Some were closer than he’d expected though. He thought about the loud, brash boy with the explosion quirk, about the straight-laced boy with glasses and engines in his legs. He thought about the dark-haired girl with the creation quirk, the one that beat him during the test. Any one of them could prove themselves to be an obstacle to his goal. He’ll have to keep an eye on them.
Pulling out his phone to check the time, Shoto was disappointed to find that his driver likely wouldn’t appear for another half hour. He contemplated calling for a few moments, but thought it unlikely that it would speed up the process. His driver was probably already en route, so calling wouldn’t make him show up any faster.
He noticed movement from the corner of his eye, turning his gaze to find another student heading down the sidewalk towards the gate. He thought he recognized her from his class—small stature, and short, dark hair—but couldn’t be sure. She had a small jack connected to her ear and plugged into her phone. Was that her quirk? He couldn’t remember if she was in his class or not. If she was, she must not have been very memorable.
Shoto lost sight of her once she stepped through the gate and turned the corner, likely heading towards the train station. He checked his phone again and sighed in aggravation. Was he really going to have to stand here and wait for the next thirty minutes?
He spent a moment looking back to where the girl disappeared through the gate with something akin to mild jealousy, before it dawned on him. He didn’t have to wait.
He was supposed to, but he technically didn’t have to. It was well within his abilities to walk to the train station on his own. He even had a public rail pass. Though it wasn’t something he used often, it wouldn’t be his first time using public transportation.
And who would stop him? His driver wasn’t here yet, and if Shoto left now he would be long gone by the time the man showed up. He thought about the stern-faced man that drove him everywhere pulling up to UA, uselessly waiting around for Shoto to leave the building and get in the car. Eventually, the man would call his father. It would definitely piss the old man off.
Decision made, Shoto headed down the sidewalk towards the gate, at first nervous that he would be stopped, but he was allowed to pass through without incident. Once on the other side of the gate, he started his walk to the train station. Or where he thought the train station was. He had taken only a handful of steps before realizing that he didn’t actually know where he was going.
It took a little bit of effort, with this area new and unfamiliar to him, but he had a perfectly functional smartphone, and there were plenty of signs to point him in the right direction.
His body began to feel lighter the further he got, and Shoto finally allowed himself a few moments to just breathe. In and out, listening to the quiet only occasionally broken by a passing vehicle. Pausing at a crosswalk, he watched the few people that were meandering about, going about their business and not paying him any mind.
He knew wasn't supposed to be out like this, on his own without anyone knowing where he was going, what he was doing. But when else would he get a chance like this? And though this impulsive decision was made mostly out of spite, it felt kind of good to be out like this on his own. Freeing in a way, however fleeting the feeling may be.
There was no one tailing him, no one watching him. Just various strangers who paid him no mind. Maybe a second or two of staring, but he was used to that.
He doubted he'd be able to do something like this again after pulling this little stunt, so he decided to enjoy it while it lasted. He slowed his pace a bit, allowing himself to take in the unfamiliar scenery, eyes lingering curiously on whatever they could find. It didn’t seem that much different from the side of Musutafu he was used to, but it was a bit sparser than the densely packed area of the city where his father’s agency was. There was more greenery scattered along the way, similar to the suburbs.
Things became more familiar once he descended the steps to the station. He couldn’t imagine there would be much variety from one station to the next, no matter where it was located. Though there were people about, the space was rather orderly, the only sounds of note being the periodic announcements from the PA system.
After taking a moment to find the line he needed to take, Shoto scanned his rail pass for entry, eyeing it wistfully before tucking it away. His father would probably take it after this. Whatever. He would just have to find some way to get a new one.
While waiting for the train to arrive, he decided to do what everyone else around him was doing and fiddle with his phone, though there was nothing on it that really interested him. He didn’t care to check the news—lest he find a stray news article singing his father’s praises—and he didn’t have any kind of social media. He opted to check the week’s weather forecast, but there were only so many times you could read about precipitation chances before you got bored.
Thankfully, the train didn’t take long to arrive. As soon as Shoto was allowed to board, he scanned the car for a comfortably empty space, finding one towards the middle not too far from the doors. He tucked himself into the seat, hoping no one would try to sit next to him. He needn’t worry though, it seemed the passengers all preferred to give each other a wide berth when they could. If only his new classmates would do the same.
The final announcements from the PA concluded, the doors slid shut, and the train lurched forward. The ride wouldn’t be short, so Shoto tried to make himself as comfortable as possible. Relaxing his shoulders, slightly slouching in a way he was usually never allowed to. It felt kind of satisfying, in a childish way.
Until he noticed someone staring at him out of the corner of his eye. To his right, a few seats over, was a young man whose attention was fixated on him. As soon as he noticed Shoto looking back at him, his gaze went back to the phone in his hand, as if he had never been staring in the first place. But Shoto turned away, he could see the man sneaking glances out of his peripheral vision.
And then he heard whispering to his left. On the opposite side of the car, a little to the left, there were a pair of older ladies quietly chattering to one another. Shoto shifted a bit uneasily under the scrutiny, and the paranoid part of him—wary and bitter all the way through—wondered if these people somehow knew who he was, and that was why they were staring.
The more rational part though, reminded him that that was unlikely, and that it wasn’t unusual for people to stare at him. No matter how much it irked him, the sizable scar on his face tended to catch people’s attention.
But these people weren’t staring at his face. Well, one of the ladies was, but the other two were staring at his clothes. Strangers staring at his scar was one thing, but they didn’t usually stare at his clothes. Shoto let his eyes roam over his form, checking to see if anything was out of place. He had gotten changed rather quickly after their test, so it wouldn’t be surprising if something were amiss.
The reminder of having to change in front of others—and the reminder that he would have to keep changing in front of others—soured his mood quite a bit. Among the many new things he encountered today, this was quite possibly the worst.
His skin prickled uncomfortably just thinking about it. He didn’t know how he was going to deal with that particular nuisance.
And he didn’t want to dwell on it either, so he redirected his attention to the matter at hand. Nothing about his appearance seemed out of place. The buttons of his shirt were correctly aligned, his belt was buckled properly. His tie was a little loose, but surely that wouldn’t be cause enough to stare?
No, it must just be the uniform itself. UA was a famous school, the most renowned educational institution in the country. Its uniform, despite not being very eye-catching, was distinctive. Light grey blazer, red tie, dark green pants and accents.
Shoto tried his best to ignore them, despite the attention making him uncomfortable. These people had likely seen the uniform on TV, and were just curious. They probably had no idea who he was; as far as they knew, he was just another UA student.
Bitterly, Shoto wondered how long it would take for people to recognize him not just as a UA student, but as Endeavor’s son. If his father got his way, it would likely be soon. The thought made him angry, predictably, but it also came with a considerable amount of dread. If there was one thing he hated, it was being trapped under that man’s shadow.
Shoto pulled out a pair of wired earphones, shut his eyes and sagged against the window behind him. If he couldn’t see anyone, or hear them, then they basically didn’t exist. The music he played was cold and quiet, but enough to drown out the presence of his spectators.
Endeavor’s son. Once the word got out, that’s all people would see him as. Not for who he was—they won’t see him as just a teenage boy, as just a student or aspiring hero. They won’t see him as just Shoto. He was his father’s son, and that was all anyone would ever see him as.
It was endlessly, maddeningly fucking annoying.
The journey back to his street didn’t take nearly as long as he’d hoped it would.
Shoto had purposefully taken his time, ambling down the sidewalk as if he had nowhere to be. As if he had no idea the potential mess he was causing, or its potential consequences. And while it was gratifying to think he was inconveniencing his father, it was accompanied by a modicum of anxiety curled in the back of his mind. It was hiding, always lurking in the background, quiet and unassuming. But it was always there.
So Shoto aimlessly kicked rocks along his path, hoping this walk would lead him somewhere other than home. It was a pointless wish—this road always led to the same place, and the walk always came to a predictable end. Back at home with too little freedom and too much fire.
But he could put off going home for now, even if he could never truly avoid it.
It was because of this that he paused while passing a familiar park. Though he had probably passed it hundreds of times in his life, he had only actually been there a few times when he was very little. Those memories were hard to recall, tainted by more than just time.
A faint vestige of white hair came to his mind, of snow and tears and cold hands. But when her blurry face came to mind, the imprint of her wide eyes was the only thing he recalled with any clarity. It was accompanied by an internal recoil that was almost violent, and a pain so stark it was almost physical. There was a reason he didn’t remember these things. He didn’t want to remember.
That was what Shoto told himself. But his feet still dragged him onto the modest playground, stepping over eroded stones and other things that were probably better left alone.
His eyes roamed over the swingset, the climbing equipment, the slides. What was he doing here? He was so ridiculously out of place that it almost made him self-conscious. But he really didn’t want to go home just yet. Surely stopping to rest at a park wasn’t an unusual thing for a teen to do?
A faint buzzing disturbed the quiet, vibrations radiating from the right pocket of his pants. That was the third time in the last ten minutes. He’d honestly expected more by this point.
Shoto fished his phone out and saw that it was his driver, once again. Which meant the man likely hadn’t called his father yet. Instead of answering, he turned off his phone and stuffed it in his bag. He almost felt bad for leaving Owara to take the brunt of his father’s temper. Almost.
Shoto decided to stay for a while. Though he felt out of place, it was better than the alternative. So he kicked more rocks and disturbed the sand at his feet. He nudged the chain of a swing just to watch it sway back and forth. He climbed up the steps to the little playhouse, if it could even be called that.
It was more of a shelter really, but big enough for him to settle down against one of the walls and lean his head back. The excitement of the day had long since worn off, and in its wake was a drowsiness he couldn’t seem to shake. It was yet another thing that was always there these days. He was always tired, with the type of fatigue that couldn’t be absolved with a single night’s rest.
If he thought about it, he really couldn’t remember a time recently when he wasn’t tired. That was the price you paid for working yourself too hard, he knew. But he didn’t have a choice. He had to push himself. The only alternative was to give in, and he didn’t think he was physically capable of doing that.
Shoto’s mind went back to UA, and what lay in his immediate future. How much harder he still had to work. How tired he was.
While trying to make himself relax into some sort of comfortable position, he couldn’t help but notice his hands. One was mostly smooth and pale, with only a few scars and callouses standing out. The other was dry, with the skin cracking in several places. The fingers of this hand were even paler than the other, and marred by a perpetual numbness that wouldn’t abate.
As his body gave itself over to rest, the bitter coldness of his own hand was the last sensation to fade from his mind.
As always, his sleep was restless. Interrupted by dreams and echoes of consciousness. It didn’t start out bad; Shoto, young and small, running on a familiar playground. The sky was overcast, snowflakes dancing in the air. She was there too, with her snow white hair and cold hands. Though he couldn’t tell if he was trying to run towards her, or away from her. Why couldn’t he see her face? Why couldn’t he run fast enough?
Slowly, she began to change. White hair bleeding into red, cold hands beginning to burn, her unassuming presence turning into a daunting, towering figure that both cast a shadow and lit up everything around it. There was no more snow. Shoto could no longer run.
He tried, though. Moving his legs, trying to crawl on his hands and knees. He moved bit by bit along the ground, and still he got nowhere at all.
The heat chasing him finally closed in, and as soon as that hand gripped the back on his neck, Shoto was startled awake. Breathing heavy, heart pounding, his hand—the cold one—reached back to furiously scratch at the nape of his neck, both to get rid of the phantom sensation and to try to bring him back to some form of lucidity. He wasn’t sure if it worked, still feeling grossly disoriented and disturbed by whatever nonsense his brain created while he was sleeping. Though the details of it were already beginning to fade from his mind, he couldn’t so easily get rid of the panic it caused.
As he silently pleaded for whatever it was to bleed out from his memory, he was suddenly startled once more by movement. Across from him in the little playhouse was a young boy, maybe around six or seven, sitting with his arms around his knees, staring at Shoto with wide, wary eyes.
Before Shoto could fully work through his own surprise—how did he not notice him before? Shoto was usually a very light sleeper, so how did this kid sneak up on him?—the boy spoke up.
“Are you a delinquent?” he asked.
Silence rang in the air between them. The kid’s furrowed brows and probing eyes seemed to demand an answer, but the only thing Shoto’s sleep-addled mind could think was: what kind of question was that?
Confused, and more than a little out of his element, Shoto very eloquently responded with, “What?”
“My mom says that teenagers only go to parks to participate in delinquency.” While his mouth stumbled around the more difficult words, his eyes remained serious and steadfast. They were almost accusing.
Shoto’s confusion remained (he didn't think that made very much sense), but now he felt like he somehow had to defend himself from the assumptions of this offensively curious child.
“I’m not a delinquent.” He tried to make his voice emphatic, but it didn’t quite come out as sure as he’d hoped. He blamed it on the sleep.
“Then why are you here?” the boy immediately retorted, using a tone of voice that made it clear he already believed he was right.
Annoyed at this kid’s know-it-all attitude, Shoto opened his mouth to respond, to tell him that he was here because he wanted to be and it was none of this little brat’s business…
…And then he realized that he was technically “participating in delinquency.” He ran away from his driver. He cut off his phone so no one could contact him and was now hiding out in a children’s play area to avoid going home. Yeah, he probably did look like a delinquent.
But then he remembered where he was and where he was supposed to be. Climbing out just enough to check the sky, he found that the clouds had multiplied to cover most of the sky. But still, he could see where the brightest of the light was coming from, and knew that the sun was much closer to the horizon than it had been before. Shit. He had only meant to kill some time; he didn’t actually mean to be gone this long. Shoto quickly grabbed his bag and jumped down, hurrying in the direction of his house.
As he made his hasty exit, the boy called after him, “My mom says smoking is bad for you!”
Exasperated, and still extremely confused—did he smell like smoke? Did his quirk activate in his sleep or something?—Shoto ignored him and kept walking. Children were strange creatures, and he didn’t have the time or energy to parse through whatever nonsense this kid was throwing at him.
As Shoto got further and further from the park, so too did his destination grow closer and closer. He knew he probably wasn’t walking fast enough for someone who was supposed to be in a hurry, but he had no true inclinations to actually go home. He knew, though, that dallying much longer would only create a bigger mess for himself. Even coming back now was pushing it.
Still, he found himself hoping that the walk would stretch on forever. It wasn’t like he was afraid. Not really. No, if anything he was just annoyed. Annoyed that he wasn’t allowed anywhere that wasn’t subject to his father’s whims. Annoyed that he was likely to get in trouble just for walking home on his own.
Annoyed that his shoulders grew tenser the further he got up the driveway. Annoyed that he could feel his nerves begin to stir, despite how hard he was trying to beat them back with a mental stick. But that was the thing about nerves—he could never truly beat them into submission, especially when it came to uncertainty.
He shouldn’t be unsure, though. He knew what would happen next. He would walk through that door, and have to deal with whatever fallout this newest stunt would cause. Have to face his father’s anger, and whatever else came along with it.
But that was why he did this, wasn't it? He wanted to piss him off. He would just have to deal with the consequences of his own actions.
Whatever little bit of peace he had felt, whatever inkling of freedom he had found, was long gone by the time he walked through the front door of the Todoroki estate. There was now only sour anticipation, and tense shoulders. Calling out to announce his arrival, Shoto set down his bag and shuffled off his shoes, waiting stiffly for his father to appear.
But instead of heavy footsteps, he heard light padding across the tatami before his older sister appeared in his line of sight. Fuyumi appeared duly relieved to see him, but there was a frantic edge to her movements, a shadow of tension in her eyes that his presence couldn’t seem to dull.
When she spoke, her voice was hushed. “Where have you been?”
Shoto intentionally didn’t hush his own voice when he replied, “Out.”
It didn’t take much longer for those familiar heavy footsteps to finally reach his ears, and then Endeavor—in all of his self-righteous, arrogant, flaming glory—fully rounded the corner, face pinched with anger. He growled out Shoto’s name, a warning, and headed straight for him.
Shoto had to fight the urge to step back, to maintain a safe distance, but resolutely held himself in place. He wouldn’t offer the satisfaction of cowering away.
But before his father could even get within arm’s reach of him, Fuyumi unexpectedly intercepted, throwing her hands up in front of herself to stop the larger man’s advance, effectively putting herself between her father and the object of his ire.
Shoto’s right hand twitched at his side, itching to pull her back and out from underneath their towering, irate father. He barely registered his fingertips beginning to tingle from the cold of his quirk.
“Shoto made it home!” she got out quickly, as if speaking any slower would mean failure to redirect. “We can eat now,” she added, as if that was all they had truly been waiting for. Her tone was probably meant to sound cheerful, but it was quite stiff.
Their father ignored her, glaring at Shoto over her head like she wasn’t even there.
“Where have you been?” he demanded furiously, fire blazing around his face.
“Out,” Shoto repeated succinctly.
Endeavor’s face twitched, and he growled out, “Where have you been?”
Huffing in annoyance, and not wanting to provoke him further with Fuyumi in the way, Shoto replied, “I took the long way home.”
“Why would you do that when I pay a driver to pick you up?”
Fuck you, that’s why. “We got let out early. He wasn’t there yet.”
Another twitch, as if the man was trying to keep his own expression under control. But the look in his eyes and the tense set of his mouth betrayed his rapidly rising irritation. “You should have waited,” he spoke tightly.
“I didn’t feel like waiting,” Shoto shot back, voice just as tight. But the interrogation continued.
“Where’s your phone?”
“In my bag.”
“Why didn’t you answer my calls?”
“I turned it off.”
This time the stiff mask broke, Endeavor’s lip curling in anger. “I gave you that damn phone so I can reach you when I need to. What good is it if you turn it off?!” The man was nearly yelling with the force of his anger.
“Why don’t we–” Fuyumi interjected, but pulled up short as soon as their father’s hard eyes shot to her.
She tried again, her tone placating, arms still held out in front of herself. “Let’s just sit down to eat. Shoto’s probably had an exciting day, I’m sure he’s hungry.” She threw an imploring look over her shoulder at her younger brother. “Right, Shoto?”
It was obvious she was trying to stop the situation from escalating and turning into something ugly, but her attempts were less of a soothing balm and more of a flimsy distraction.
She was trying to help him though, so Shoto carefully responded with, “Right.”
He wasn’t able to take his eyes off his father—still staring, still waiting—but he did at least try to keep the glare from them.
And his father stared back, bright blue eyes boring into his son’s with a look that said sitting down to eat a peaceful meal was the last thing he wanted right now. Shoto didn’t know if it would be better to keep staring back, or to cut his eyes away. Either could set Endeavor off, depending on his mood.
And regardless of whether it was smart or not, Shoto didn’t want to look away. Looking away would give his father the satisfaction of seeing him back down, and he refused to give in even with something as inconsequential as this. It was petty, and probably a little stupid, but Shoto was as stubborn as he was spiteful.
Still positioned between them, Fuyumi turned and grabbed Shoto’s school bag, ushering him down the hall, into the dining room, and away from their father. She chattered amiably the whole way about the food she made as if nothing were amiss.
If there was anything Fuyumi knew how to do, it was diffuse and pacify. Endeavor wordlessly relented, following to settle down at the table. But Shoto knew better than to think that his anger was satisfied. Fuyumi knew better, too. But as always, she maintained a pretense of peace. As if skirting around their father’s temper would somehow make him forget about it. He never did; he was just as stubborn as Shoto.
So he stared his son down over their lovingly-prepared dinner, gaze heavy and unrelenting in its censure. The man’s continued silence was almost petulant, as if he were waiting for Shoto to speak first and offer up some sort of appeasing explanation for his insolent behavior. To apologize, or something else equally ridiculous.
Shoto would honestly rather eat the porcelain bowl in front of him than actually apologize to his father. So he resolutely ignored him, choosing instead to focus his attention on the food his sister prepared for them. She did this every once in a while, for special occasions or just for fun. He was thankful for it, not just because it was a break from the often bland meals their private chefs made for him, but also because watching him eat the food she made seemed to make her happy.
So he picked up his chopsticks with the goal of at least trying everything she’d made, even if only to show his appreciation. Well, he tried to. His numb fingers were a bit difficult to maneuver, especially since his skin prickled almost painfully wherever the metal utensils made contact. He was used to it at this point, but he could spy his sister eyeing his pale fingers with a troubled expression.
After a few minutes of silence interrupted only by the quiet clacking of silver on fine china, Fuyumi spoke up.
“So, Shoto. How was your first day?” Her tone, perfectly conversational, belied nothing of the otherwise tense atmosphere settled over the table between the three of them.
Shoto stirred his bowl of rice, trying to unstick the grains from the bottom of the bowl.
“Fine,” he replied noncommittally, and said nothing else.
Even with his gaze down, he could feel his father’s continued glare through bites of his own food. Shoto grabbed a piece of tempura to gnaw on, even though he really didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment.
His sister decided to try again. “Did orientation go well?”
Shoto swallowed his bite of fried shrimp. “We didn’t do orientation,” he told her. “My homeroom teacher made us do a quirk test.”
This time, their father was the one to speak up, his tone rough with residual anger. “How did you place?”
At that, Shoto’s gaze finally flicked up from his food, attention caught by the question. It wasn’t how his father said it—gruffly, the same way he said everything else—it was what he said. He didn’t say ‘how did it go.’ He said ‘how did you place.’ Like he already knew Shoto and his classmates were ranked during the test.
Shoto was already suspicious about his father having contacts at UA, about him potentially planning to use them to keep tabs on him, but he didn’t expect to see proof of it this early. It was only the first fucking day.
The idea of having his father’s eyes on him at all times, even at UA, made his stomach turn.
Shoto took another careful bite. He wasn’t eager to reveal his results in the placement test, if only because it was evidence of his own failings, evidence that he was mistaken in his ambitions. Something to be used against him.
But it would also irk his father, and right now Shoto cared more about seeing that than worrying about handing over any potential fodder. After swallowing, he watched his father’s expression closely and answered, “Second.”
Just as predicted, Endeavor’s mouth twisted in displeasure. Shoto could see his jaw clench as he carefully set his cup down.
“Did you use my fire?” his father asked, his tone deceptively civil, but there was an edge of impatience he couldn’t hide.
“No,” Shoto replied firmly.
A slight twitch of those furrowed brows. “Why not?” his father asked, even though Shoto knew he was already well aware of the answer. They’d had this conversation many times before, so many times that it was probably engraved in the walls at this point.
Shoto clenched his own jaw in an effort to keep his resentment from bleeding into his voice. “Because I don’t need it.”
And there it was again, that stiff mask breaking to show the anger lying beneath. Like the bastard didn’t already know where this conversation was headed. “You would have made first place if you used it,” he said tightly.
“You don’t know that,” Shoto argued back, careful not to snap.
Endeavor’s civil tone began to slip, his patience already running thin. “I know that you would place better if you didn’t half-ass everything!”
Shoto felt pinpricks as his icy fingers clenched around the metal chopsticks, the rage he kept locked away inside slowly rising like a tide. Half-ass everything? Did he think Shoto didn’t care? That he wasn’t trying hard enough? That assumption, as if he wasn’t pushing himself to his limits, as if he wasn’t working himself to the bone, drove him up the fucking wall.
This time he couldn’t stop himself from snapping, “I don’t half-ass anything.” The contempt in his voice was unrestrained, and he was sure it showed on his face.
All pretenses of calm were dropped as his father pointed a threatening finger over the table, his eyes hard. “Watch your tone.”
It was as clear a warning as any, and Shoto instinctively bit the inside of his cheek to keep from responding. To keep from letting his mouth run wild and telling his father where exactly he could shove that stupid finger. Pulse thrumming, Shoto kept his gaze on his food as he tried to will the muscles of his hand to relax. Even if only so he can go back to pushing his food around instead of letting his mouth get him into trouble.
Silence settled over the table. It was even quieter than last time, the only noise being the quiet, deliberate scrapes of Fuyumi’s utensil against her plate. Shoto could feel his father’s eyes on him, watching, waiting for any further evidence of disrespect. Waiting for something he could snap at. Shoto picked obstinately at his food.
Fuyumi took a ginger sip of her tea before politely clearing her throat. “Second place is still pretty impressive,” she tentatively insisted with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I bet there are a lot of strong kids in your new class, right?”
It was the same trick as always. Diffuse, pacify, distract. It didn’t always work. But she did always try, at least.
Stainless steel clinked on porcelain. Shoto turned his rice over some more.
“Yeah.”
The food in front of him, though nice and well-made, looked anything but appetizing right now. He wished he could leave and finish his meal in the solitude of his room. Or maybe just pick up the food and throw it in his father’s face.
“UA is the top hero school in the country,” his sister continued. “I’m sure you’ll have to work hard to keep up.”
His mind went back to the test, to those few students whose abilities may pose a threat to him.
More silence. More clinking. “Yeah.”
It didn’t matter how capable any of his new classmates were, how powerful their quirks were, or how strong their convictions. Shoto had been preparing for this: every brutally cold training session, every late night workout, every time he thought he’d reached his limit and kept on pushing. It was all so he could show the world, show his father, that he wasn’t going to be some puppet.
He was a creation born of ambition, given power to be used as a tool. But he’ll reject that fate, and ice was all he needed to get the job done.
Unfortunately for him, his father’s ego couldn’t be quelled so easily. “No one would be able to match you if you used the power I gave you,” he asserted, a line he’d spoken a thousand times, so certain of his own strength.
Shoto was aching to knock him down a peg. The boy’s gaze was no longer held downward, his voice firm and steady. “I think you give yourself too much credit.”
He got a sneer in return. “You’re a fool if you think you can get by using only half of your strength. Your mother’s power can only take you so far.” The man took a sip of his tea, and his mouth gained a smug edge, even as his gaze remained hard. “That’s why you placed second today.”
Fuyumi was silent now. No longer trying to placate, no longer trying to keep the atmosphere cool. At times like this, she seemed to understand it was a lost cause.
Endeavor continued, his self-righteous tone grating on Shoto’s nerves. “You placed second during your entrance exam, too. I hope this won’t become a habit.” The words were purposefully pointed. Shoto knew it was less of a hope, and more of a warning, but he could only sit in disbelief.
Because wasn’t that a fucking joke. Eternal number two hero Endeavor was angry because his son kept placing second. Didn’t he want Shoto to follow in his footsteps? The irony was so glaringly obvious it was almost laughable.
And he knew Fuyumi could see it on his face. Her eyes were pleading: Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Keep your mouth shut.
But at times like this, Shoto was never really any good at keeping his mouth shut. “If it does, it’s just ‘cause I learned it from you.”
That smug expression fell, blazing eyes focused on him once more. “Excuse me?”
His father’s already deep voice dropped in warning, and he knew it was the last one he would get. But Shoto had already placed himself in the line of fire, and he’d rather burn than back down.
So he grabbed the shovel and dug himself deeper. “If your power’s so great, why couldn’t it get you out of second place?”
The hand holding the cup dropped to put it back on the table, almost unconsciously. Outrage was evident across Endeavor’s face. Shoto could see it building, about to spill over.
His pulse was racing, his instincts screaming, but he wasn’t satisfied yet. He didn’t want to just see it spill, he wanted to see it explode. He wanted to rip into that bastard's ego and burn it to ash.
So he said the one thing he was certain would tear into his father’s skin.
“Or maybe you just enjoy always being second to All Might.”
There was a moment of stillness, in which Shoto could see his words leave their mark, see them twist that expression into something that was both vindicating and terrifying.
He could feel Fuyumi’s eyes on him. In his peripheral vision he could see her wide eyes and mouth left agape. She was still and pale, but Shoto didn’t have the capacity to feel bad about that right now.
Because his father’s hand slammed down on the table, hard enough to rattle everything on it. The noise was so loud it seemed to echo through the room. Fuyumi jumped. Shoto didn’t.
“Get up,” the man growled, the force of the order making it clear that disobeying wasn’t an option.
And Shoto knew he should get up. His muscles were screaming at him to just listen and get up. The authority in that voice felt like heat closing in on his neck, but that feeling—the fear—only made his hate burn brighter.
Shoto stared his father straight in the eye, and took a deliberate bite of food.
The next thing he knew, his father had shot to his feet and rounded the table, a too-large fist wrapping itself in the collar of Shoto’s shirt to yank him to his feet. It burned, hot enough that Shoto knew both his shirt and the skin beneath it would soon be collateral damage. He thought about spitting the food in his mouth into his father’s face, but couldn’t bring himself to actually do it.
(There was an errant voice in his mind saying that his father might actually kill him if he did something like that. It was almost morbidly funny.)
(And equally horrifying. He struggled to swallow, and tried to push it away.)
As he was dragged out of the room, he could still feel Fuyumi’s gaze following after him. A projection of worry and resignation and something else he didn’t like. He would feel bad about it later, he knew. But right now, the only space Shoto had for his guilt was in the back of his mind.