Chapter Text
Keigo watched the Todoroki estate come into view through the car window, his cheek resting lightly against his knuckles as the vehicle rolled past the front gate and onto the long stone driveway. He had seen photographs of the property in the file the Commission had given him, but the photographs had made it look smaller somehow. More ordinary. They had failed to capture the high walls surrounding the estate, the dark tiled roofs rising beyond them, or the way the residence seemed to stretch farther back than he could properly see from the front.
The car slowed as they passed the covered car shelter on the left before finally stopping near the main entrance. Gravel shifted beneath the tires, and Keigo straightened automatically, pulling his hand away from the window.
The representative in the passenger seat turned around. “You brought the folder?”
Keigo looked down at the dark folder resting against his thighs. He had been told not to lose it three separate times that morning, which naturally made him want to ask what would happen if he accidentally threw it out of the window halfway there, but he had decided against testing anyone’s patience.
He lifted it slightly. “Got it.”
“Good.” The representative checked his watch and frowned before reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go. Endeavor must already be waiting for us.”
“That sounded promising,” Keigo muttered under his breath, though the sarcastic edge in his voice was lost to the engine’s die-down.
Keigo tucked the folder beneath one arm and climbed out after him, his boots meeting cold stone as his wings shifted instinctively behind his back. The morning air was colder here than it had been in the city. Somewhere beyond the main residence, he could smell woodsmoke, and through a break between the buildings he caught the barest glimpse of snow gathered along a garden wall.
He tipped his head back, taking in the towering rooflines that seemed to blot out half the winter sky.
The compound was enormous. The main entrance stood directly ahead, raised slightly above the driveway, its wooden doors framed by dark beams and a tiled overhang. To the left, another section of the residence extended away from the entrance, while the opposite side disappeared behind walls and covered walkways. From where Keigo stood, he could just make out the roof of another structure farther east, separate enough from the family residence that he guessed it belonged to the training grounds mentioned in his briefing.
Apparently Endeavor did not believe in doing anything halfway, constructing a place that felt more like a heavily fortified garrison than a family home.
Keigo was still looking off toward the east wing, tracking the line of dark roof tiles against the cold winter sky, when the heavy front door swung open with a muffled scrape.
Endeavor stepped outside onto the raised entryway.
There was something deeply unfair about meeting someone that large before breakfast. Even standing several steps above them at the entrance, Endeavor seemed to occupy considerably more space than any normal person should have been allowed. His expression did not improve when his eyes moved from the representative to Keigo and then briefly toward the car.
“You’re late.”
The representative stopped and Keigo very carefully did not smile.
“We apologize, Endeavor,” the man said, recovering quickly. “Traffic leaving central Musutafu was heavier than anticipated.”
Endeavor’s gaze shifted to him. “Then you should have anticipated it.”
Keigo lowered his eyes toward the folder for half a second, mostly because if he looked at the representative’s face, he might actually laugh. The Commission had spent the entire drive reminding him that this arrangement was important, that Endeavor was doing them a considerable favor, and that Keigo was expected to behave professionally.
The representative cleared his throat beside him, and Keigo stepped forward before the silence could stretch any further. He shifted the folder from beneath his arm and held it out with both hands, making at least some attempt to resemble the well-trained Commission asset he had been reminded to be for most of the drive.
“Sir. This is the folder you requested.”
Endeavor took it without comment, his large hand closing around the edge as he flipped open the cover. Keigo caught a glimpse of his own photograph clipped to the first page before Endeavor’s attention moved lower, already scanning whatever summary the Commission had prepared for him. He had barely reached the second sheet when movement sounded behind the open entrance.
“Enji.”
A woman appeared just beyond the main door, one hand resting lightly against the wooden frame. Her white hair was pulled neatly away from her face, and although Keigo recognized her immediately from the background information the Commission had provided about Endeavor’s household, photographs had not quite captured how gentle she looked beside her husband’s imposing figure.
Her gaze moved from Endeavor to the two people standing in the cold before settling briefly on Keigo’s wings.
“Why don’t you call them inside?” she asked. “It’s cold outside.”
Endeavor glanced over his shoulder as though the temperature had only just occurred to him. The woman gave him a look that suggested she had heard variations of that answer many times before, then moved aside to make room.
“Come in.”
The representative followed first, leaving Keigo to step through the genkan behind them. Warmth met him almost immediately, along with the faint smell of wood, tea, and something cooking farther inside the house. He removed his shoes where indicated, careful with the spread of his wings as he stepped onto the floor, then found himself looking straight through the residence toward the inner courtyard.
The inside of the estate somehow felt larger than the exterior had suggested. From the entrance, a corridor opened toward the inner courtyard, winter light spilling across stone and carefully maintained plants beyond the wooden walkway. The residence wrapped around it in separate wings, connected by covered passages that kept the cold outside while still leaving the garden visible from almost everywhere.
Rei waited until they were properly inside before inclining her head toward them. “I’ll have tea brought to the study.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Endeavor said.
“I wasn’t asking.”
Keigo decided immediately that he liked her.
Rei turned toward the western side of the house, disappearing along the covered corridor that led toward what Keigo assumed were the family rooms, while Endeavor took the opposite direction. The representative followed him toward the eastern wing, leaving Keigo several steps behind as he looked through the open side of the walkway into the courtyard.
Ahead of him, the conversation had already resumed.
Keigo caught phrases like heat exposure, feather recovery, and combat endurance. He resisted the urge to point out that he was standing close enough to hear them discussing him like a piece of equipment.
The representative continued in a lower voice. “Which is why the Commission requested you specifically. Controlled exposure, adaptation training, and experience against an opponent whose quirk naturally counters his own should…”
The sharp, sudden clatter of something hard striking the wooden floorboards echoed through the quiet corridor, cutting the representative off mid-sentence.
Endeavor came to a dead halt. Beside him, the representative froze in place, his lower lip snapping shut as his eyes darted toward the disturbance.
Keigo glanced back over his shoulder, his wings flaring slightly with an instinctive twitch of curiosity as he looked toward the wooden pillars bordering the covered walkway.
A boy with white hair had leaned far enough around one of the wooden pillars that half his body was visible. One hand still clutched what looked like a wooden toy, while the other had apparently knocked something small from the ledge beside him. The object spun once across the floor before coming to rest with a sharp rattle.
The boy froze instantly, his fingers stiffening around the wooden toy as his eyes locked onto his father.
Endeavor’s expression hardened in an instant, his mouth setting into a grim line as his gaze bore into the child.
“Touya,” Endeavor said.
The boy edged fully out from behind the pillar, revealing himself to be even smaller than Keigo had expected. He could not have been more than ten, maybe younger if Keigo was bad at guessing children’s ages, with white hair falling untidily around his face and the kind of expression that suggested being caught had offended him more than whatever punishment might follow.
“You were told to stay in the dining room,” Endeavor said.
“I am, but Natsu wanted his toy, and…”
“Go back to your mother.”
Touya’s mouth pulled into an immediate pout. He looked ready to argue, his fingers tightening around the wooden toy, but whatever he saw in his father’s face apparently convinced him otherwise. Instead of following the covered walkway back toward the family rooms like any sensible person, he turned toward the inner courtyard and hopped down from the raised wooden corridor.
Keigo’s eyebrows lifted.
Touya landed among the stones bordering the courtyard path, nearly slipped on a damp patch, recovered with an awkward windmill of his arms, then continued across as if none of it had happened.
“Touya,” Endeavor called after him.
“I’m going!” Touya called back over his shoulder without missing a beat, picking up his pace as he ducked past the garden stones.
Endeavor watched his son disappear into the family wing before letting out a slow, long exhale through his nose, his broad chest rising and falling with heavy restraint.
Keigo watched the tense interaction unfold, wisely choosing to keep his mouth shut.
The representative had apparently made the same decision, because he resumed walking without acknowledging the interruption. Endeavor’s study sat farther along the eastern corridor. Shelves lined one wall, heavy with files and hero records, while a broad desk occupied the center of the room.
Endeavor took the seat behind the desk and opened Keigo’s folder again. The representative sat opposite him, leaving Keigo to settle into the remaining chair with his wings tucked carefully behind him.
“The Commission’s priority is heat tolerance,” the representative began. “Keigo's mobility decreases significantly once feather damage passes a certain threshold. His recovery is fast, but not fast enough to rely on during prolonged combat.”
Endeavor turned one of the pages. “You’ve trained against fire before?”
“Controlled fire,” Keigo answered. “Nothing at your output.”
Endeavor glanced toward him once before lowering his eyes to the folder again. He must have reached the section listing Keigo’s previous evaluations and achievements because he did not comment on any of it, merely turned another page with the same unreadable expression he had worn since they arrived. Keigo was not sure whether that meant Endeavor was impressed, unimpressed, or simply incapable of reacting to anything that did not involve fire.
“When is the evaluation?” Endeavor asked, turning his attention back to the representative.
“Once he’s ready.” The representative reached down beside his chair and pulled out another folder Keigo had not noticed him carrying. It was thinner than the one containing Keigo’s records and marked with the Commission seal across the front.
Keigo leaned forward slightly, more out of habit than anything else, trying to catch whatever had been written beneath it.
Endeavor noticed immediately. Without missing a beat or breaking the conversation, the Flame Hero reached out with a heavy hand and placed Keigo’s original folder directly over the top of the second one, cleanly blocking it from view.
Keigo sat back again, letting out a silent, dry huff through his nose as he rested his hands on his lap. Right. Apparently whatever was in that file was none of his business, despite the fact that they were almost certainly deciding his immediate future right in front of him.
Endeavor rested one forearm against the desk. “So you’re suggesting he’ll be ready by twenty?”
The representative took a moment before answering. “That is the projected age, assuming his progress remains consistent. Two years gives us enough time to address the weaknesses already identified and evaluate how he performs outside controlled Commission exercises.”
Before Endeavor could answer, a soft knock came from the other side of the door.
Rei stepped into the study carrying a wooden tray with three cups and a small plate of sandwiches arranged neatly between them. The smell reached Keigo before she even crossed the room, warm bread and something lightly toasted underneath it, and his stomach immediately reminded him that the single onigiri he had eaten in the car that morning had stopped being useful several hours ago.
“Sorry for the interruption,” Rei said as she lowered the tray onto the edge of Endeavor’s desk.
“You’re not interrupting anything,” the representative replied, moving one of the folders aside to give her more room.
Rei poured the tea carefully, steam curling from the cups as she placed one in front of each of them. When she pushed the plate slightly toward Keigo, he gave her an immediate smile.
“Thank you, Todoroki-san.”
“You’re welcome.”
Keigo had barely reached for one of the sandwiches when Endeavor’s focus suddenly snapped away from the papers on his desk, his eyes cutting toward the doorway. His brows lowered, pulling his expression into a heavy frown as his posture shifted.
“…Touya.”
A white head immediately appeared from behind the sliding door frame, popping into view.
“I’m helping Mom!” Touya insisted right away, clutching a stack of napkins tightly against his chest as if presenting them as physical proof of his innocence before anyone could accuse him of sneaking around again.
Rei glanced over her shoulder. “He did help me carry them.”
Endeavor stared at his son for another moment before returning his attention to Keigo. “Eat quickly, then go warm up in the indoor training hall. I need to finish discussing the evaluation schedule.”
Keigo paused halfway through picking up the sandwich as his eyes flicked between Endeavor and the Commission representative. “By myself?”
“Touya can show you,” Endeavor replied coldly, not even bothering to look up from the paperwork spread across his desk.
Touya’s expression changed instantly. The sullen pout he’d been wearing vanished, replaced by a sudden flare of bright, eager interest as his eyes snapped toward his father.
“Really?” the boy asked, stepping fully into the doorway with his fingers clutching his stack of napkins a little tighter.
“Show him where the training hall is,” Endeavor said, his heavy hand already reaching out to pull the second Commission folder back into view. “Then come straight back.”
“I know where it is,” Touya muttered under his breath, shifting his weight impatiently against the door frame.
“That wasn’t the instruction,” Endeavor said and looked up towards his eldest son.
Touya’s mouth twisted into a frustrated line, but under the weight of his father’s stare, he surrendered and nodded anyway.
Keigo finished the sandwich in several bites, washed it down with warm tea, then pushed himself out of the chair.
Rei gently reached down and took the stack of napkins from Touya's hands with a warm, approving smile. Relieved of his duty, Touya didn't wait around--he slipped out of the study immediately.
By the time Keigo stepped into the corridor, Touya was already waiting for him near the open walkway, rocking impatiently on his heels with his hands shoved into his pockets.
“This way,” the boy said before Keigo could ask anything.
Keigo followed him along the covered walkway beside the inner courtyard before they turned toward the eastern side of the compound, where the training grounds stood apart from the main residence.
Apparently he had acquired a tour guide after all.
Keigo had made it around the training hall three times before he realized the white-haired boy was still there.
The indoor complex was larger than it had looked from the main residence, standing on the eastern side of the estate beside the rear garden and connected back to the house by one of the covered walkways. Most of the floor had been left open for combat training, with reinforced walls, equipment racks, and enough empty space overhead that Keigo could probably spread his wings properly without clipping the ceiling. A wide set of doors on the opposite side opened toward the outdoor training yard, though they remained shut against the winter cold.
Touya had shown him the building exactly as instructed, pointed toward the changing rooms and equipment storage with the confidence of someone who had been here hundreds of times, and then apparently forgotten the part where Endeavor had told him to return to his mother.
Keigo slowed from a jog near the end of his third lap and looked toward the wall.
Touya was sitting on a low wooden bench with his legs swinging idly above the floor.
“Hey, kid,” Keigo called, breathing only slightly harder than before. “Are you going to stand there all day?”
Touya looked down at himself, as if double-checking the accusation with mild seriousness. His brows knit together in a way that suggested he genuinely believed this required clarification. “I’m sitting.”
Keigo stopped.
His expression went blank for a beat, then shifted into something faintly incredulous. One eyebrow lifted slightly as he processed the answer, as though the logic of it had briefly escaped him. For several seconds, he simply stared at him, the silence stretching just long enough to become awkward.
“Right. Thanks for clearing that up.”
Touya seemed entirely serious about the correction, which somehow made it worse. Keigo walked toward the center of the hall and stretched one arm across his chest, rolling his shoulder until the muscles beneath his wing loosened. He had expected Endeavor to appear almost immediately, but apparently whatever was inside that second Commission folder was interesting enough to keep him occupied.
When Keigo glanced back over his shoulder, he noticed Touya was still watching him from the bench--though his curious gaze wasn't focused on Keigo himself, but rather fixed intently on the vibrant red wings fanned out behind him.
Keigo flexed them experimentally, feathers fanning slightly as he tested the span, and Touya’s eyes tracked the movement at once.
“You’ve never seen wings before?” Keigo asked, glancing over his shoulder.
“I have,” Touya replied immediately, though his gaze didn’t leave the feathers.
“Then why are you staring?” Keigo asked, one brow lifting as he folded a wing partway.
Touya frowned as though Keigo had asked a particularly stupid question. “Not ones like yours.”
Keigo turned slightly, spreading one wing just enough for the longer feathers to fan outward. For a brief moment his expression shifted as he watched the red span of his own feathers catch the light. It reminded him, uncomfortably, of old photographs he barely let himself think about. His father’s wings had been different. Keigo had inherited none of that restraint, only the shape and the color, and sometimes he wasn’t sure which part bothered him more.
“What’s wrong with mine?”
“They’re red,” Touya said, tilting his head slightly as he studied Keigo’s wings with open curiosity.
“That tends to happen,” Keigo replied with a light, almost amused huff, one corner of his mouth lifting as he gave a small shrug.
“And they move separately,” Touya added, narrowing his eyes in focused observation as Keigo flexed one wing experimentally behind him.
That caught Keigo’s attention. Most people noticed the color first, then the size, and children usually wanted to know whether he could carry them or how high he could fly. Touya, apparently, had been watching closely enough to notice the individual feather control.
Keigo lowered his wing. “You were watching outside earlier?”
Touya hesitated for exactly long enough to confirm it, his eyes flicking away for a brief moment. “Maybe,” he said, shifting his weight slightly as he spoke.
“Your dad caught you twice,” Keigo noted, crossing his arms over his chest. He studied the boy’s profile, trying to recall if those keen, inquisitive eyes had been lingering on him back in the study. He had been so preoccupied with the Commission representative’s folders and Endeavor’s cold scrutiny that he hadn't fully processed the child’s presence until now.
“I wasn’t doing anything,” Touya insisted, kicking his heels lightly against the wooden support of the bench. The rhythmic thud echoed in the cavernous hall, a small, stubborn sound in the silence.
“You were spying,” Keigo said, a faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he paced the perimeter of the room.
“I was looking,” Touya said immediately, his eyes narrowing in a display of stubborn, childish correction.
Keigo laughed under his breath, and resumed stretching until his muscles pulled taut. “How old are you, anyway?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder as he bent down to touch his toes.
“Eight,” Touya replied instantly.
Keigo straightened up, tilting his head with a curious squint. Eight explained some of the restless energy radiating off the boy, although Keigo still found it amusing that someone who had been carrying napkins for his mother less than an hour ago was now sitting in a training hall and studying him with all the seriousness of an actual trainee.
“You always wander around bothering your dad’s guests?” Keigo teased, though the question held a genuine layer of intrigue. “Or am I just the lucky one?”
Touya didn’t smile, nor did he look particularly offended by the implication of being a nuisance. Instead, he kicked his heels against the wooden support of the bench again. “I’m not bothering you,” he stated, his gaze fixed on the intricate pattern of scuffs on the floorboards. “I’m just observing. Father says that’s how you learn things that aren’t written in the manuals.”
Keigo paused, his hands resting on his hips as he processed that. It was a rather grim bit of advice for an eight-year-old to be reciting, and it reinforced the rigid atmosphere of the Todoroki household in a way that made his stomach twist with faint, unbidden sympathy. He was about to offer a lighthearted retort when the sound of hurried footsteps interrupted the quiet, accompanied by the frantic, melodic voice of a young girl.
“Touya-nii! There you are!” A girl rounded the corner of the entryway, her face flushed from searching and her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and concern.
“Mom said you were supposed to come straight back after dropping him off. She’s worried, and you know how she gets when you disappear.”
Touya’s posture stiffened, his shoulders rising toward his ears in a clear sign of rebellion. “I wasn’t disappearing,” he muttered, finally sliding off the bench with a heavy sigh.
Only then did the girl seem to remember Keigo was standing there. She looked toward him for a fleeting, shy second before dipping into a small, polite bow, her hands folding together in front of her. “Hi. I’m Fuyumi.”
“Keigo,” he replied, lifting one hand in an easy wave. “Nice to meet you.”
Fuyumi gave him a shy smile before turning back to her brother, apparently deciding that introductions were less urgent than getting Touya where he was supposed to be. “Let’s go. I need to watch Natsuo and Shoto too, and you need to help me.”
Touya’s pout deepened. “Why do I have to help?”
“Because Mom is making lunch, and Natsuo keeps taking things away from Shoto.”
Touya scoffed immediately, rolling his eyes. “That’s because Shoto cries about everything.”
Fuyumi gave him a flat, tired look over her shoulder, lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s five,” she said.
“So?” Touya shot back at once.
Fuyumi made a face that suggested this was an argument she had already lost several times that week, then reached out and caught Touya by the sleeve before he could settle himself back onto the bench. Touya resisted just enough to make the movement inconvenient without actually pulling away, his attention drifting once more toward Keigo’s wings as Fuyumi started guiding him toward the open doors.
Keigo watched them go with a faint smile as they stepped onto the covered walkway.
He had never really thought about what siblings did when nobody was telling them what to do. At the Commission, there had always been an adult somewhere nearby with a schedule in hand, telling him when to eat, when to train, when to study, and when he had been given enough free time for the day. Nobody had ever come searching because a younger brother needed watching, and nobody his own age had ever been responsible for making sure another child stayed out of trouble. If Keigo disappeared from where he was supposed to be, someone with a badge usually found him before he had enough time to enjoy it.
Fuyumi could not have been much older than Touya, if she was older at all, yet she carried herself with the weary patience of someone who had already accepted that two younger brothers and one stubborn older one were somehow part of her daily responsibilities.
The siblings continued along the covered walkway connecting the training complex to the main residence, their voices carrying faintly through the open doors as they headed back toward the western family wing.
The training hall felt strangely quieter afterward.
Endeavor returned around ten minutes later, by which point Keigo had abandoned running laps and wandered toward the equipment mounted along the far wall. The training hall held more than the usual weights and mats he was accustomed to seeing at Commission facilities. There were reinforced striking posts, adjustable resistance machines, several pieces of support equipment he did not immediately recognize, and an entire section that looked designed specifically to survive being set on fire repeatedly.
Keigo was examining one of the heavier training restraints when he heard footsteps behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see the representative following Endeavor inside, but only the Number Two Hero stepped through. Keigo straightened and looked toward the doorway again, waiting another second before realizing nobody else was coming.
“Where did he go?”
“He had another appointment.” Endeavor crossed the training floor with a single sheet of paper held in one hand, seemingly unconcerned that the person responsible for bringing Keigo here had disappeared without saying goodbye. “He’ll return this evening to pick you up.”
Keigo stared at him for a moment. The Commission representative had been attached to his side for most of the morning, talking through procedures, expectations, and every possible thing Keigo was not supposed to do while under Endeavor’s supervision. Apparently once the paperwork had been handed over, he was suddenly capable of surviving several hours without supervision.
“Nice of him to tell me.”
Endeavor either missed the sarcasm or chose not to acknowledge it. He stopped beside one of the benches and held out the paper.
Keigo stepped closer and took it.
The first thing he noticed was that nearly every day had been filled.
Monday through Friday were divided into morning and afternoon blocks, beginning with conditioning before moving through combat exercises, aerial work, endurance training, and sessions dedicated specifically to heat exposure. Some days ended earlier than others, but none of them looked particularly generous. Saturday was shorter, ending around midday, while Sunday remained conspicuously empty.
Keigo ran his eyes down the page once more, the heavy paper crinkling slightly under his thumb as he scanned the relentless schedule Endeavor had mapped out. “You planned all this already?”
“I knew what the Commission wanted before you arrived.”
Of course he did.
Keigo let out a small, quiet breath through his nose, fighting the temptation to roll his shoulders against the tension creeping into his back. A faint winter draft slipped through the entrance behind them, setting the tips of his feathers shivering. He tapped the blank Sunday with one finger. “This stays free. I report to the Commission every Sunday.”
“I was informed.”
The answer came immediately, and Keigo looked back down at the timetable. At least nobody was trying to take that day from him, although calling Sunday free was generous when he would spend part of it sitting through evaluations and explaining exactly how the week had gone.
“Saturday’s only half a day?” Keigo asked, dragging his index finger across the grid on the page until it caught on the weekend column.
“Unless you fall behind,” Endeavor replied.
Keigo glanced up. Falling behind wasn't something that usually happened to him, not unless the Commission was intentionally pushing him to his absolute limits, or unless Endeavor had completely misjudged what he was capable of. A faint flicker of doubt crossed his mind. Did he even bother reading the folder properly? But looking up at Endeavor now, towering over him and staring down with heavy, unblinking intensity, Keigo realized it probably didn't matter. Endeavor’s standards were clearly an entirely different species of difficult.
“That sounded suspiciously like a threat,” Keigo said, tilting his head slightly with an easy, unbothered smirk as he held Endeavor’s gaze.
“It was information,” Endeavor answered without missing a beat, not a single line on his face shifting.
Keigo breathed out something close to a laugh and folded the paper once before slipping it carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket. He had expected training under Endeavor to be difficult, but seeing an entire week written down made the arrangement feel more permanent than it had while sitting in a Commission office listening to people talk about projections and future evaluations.
For the foreseeable future, this place was going to become part of his routine.
By the end of his first week under Endeavor, Keigo had learned several things about the Number Two Hero, and almost none of them were encouraging.
The first was that Endeavor apparently considered exhaustion a temporary inconvenience rather than a legitimate reason to stop training. The second was that whenever Keigo thought he had finally reached whatever limit Endeavor had been looking for, the man would watch him for another thirty seconds and somehow find an entirely new one. The third was that the words one more time were never to be trusted, because they could mean anything from one additional lap around the outdoor yard to another forty minutes of flying through waves of heat until Keigo could smell the edges of his own feathers beginning to singe.
By Friday afternoon, Keigo was beginning to suspect that the Commission had not sent him here to improve his fire tolerance so much as to find out whether Endeavor could kill him through conditioning before his twentieth birthday.
He lay flat on his back across the training hall floor, one arm thrown over his eyes while his wings remained spread uselessly around him. Several feathers had darkened along their tips, and the muscles around the base of his wings burned every time he tried to move them. Somewhere a few meters away, Endeavor was adjusting another piece of equipment as though they had not already been training since morning.
“You have five minutes.”
Keigo did not move his arm. “Five whole minutes? You’re spoiling me.”
Endeavor ignored him.
That had become another familiar part of the week.
The only genuine mercy Keigo had discovered in the Todoroki compound came from Rei, who seemed to have taken one look at Endeavor’s timetable and decided somebody in the house needed to make sure Keigo remained alive long enough to follow it. Lunch appeared every day around noon, usually waiting in one of the smaller dining rooms on the western side of the courtyard by the time Endeavor released him. It was warm, homemade, and considerably better than anything Keigo had grown accustomed to eating between Commission exercises.
On Wednesday she had made karaage.
Keigo had briefly considered asking if the Commission would let him move into the guest wing permanently.
Even Endeavor’s training became slightly easier to forgive when there was hot rice and miso soup waiting afterward, although Keigo suspected that said more about how hungry he was than anything else.
His five minutes of rest came to an abrupt end when a shadow suddenly fell across his face, blocking out the harsh glare of the overhead lights.
Keigo moved his forearm just enough to squint upward, fully expecting to see Endeavor standing over him to announce the next brutal set of drills. Instead, he found Touya standing several feet away, watching him with the same curious eyes. The boy had apparently given up on all pretense of pretending he wasn't spying, opting to simply stand out in the open and observe Keigo's exhaustion firsthand.
During the first few days, Keigo had caught flashes of white hair behind the covered walkway or through the doors of the training hall. Touya would vanish whenever Endeavor looked in his direction, only to reappear somewhere else twenty minutes later with all the subtlety of a particularly curious cat.
By Thursday, he had stopped hiding behind pillars entirely.
Today he had simply arrived after school, dropped his bag beside the wall of the training hall, and sat down on the same bench he had claimed on Keigo’s first morning.
Keigo had been too tired to question it.
“You look dead,” Touya observed.
Keigo let his arm fall back over his eyes, blocking out the glare of the overhead lights. “Thanks, kid,” he mumbled, his throat dry from the lingering heat.
“Dad said you’re supposed to get used to the heat,” Touya continued, swinging his legs back and forth over the edge of the bench with a light, rhythmic thud.
“That’s apparently the plan,” Keigo groaned, taking a slow, deep breath to let his aching lungs recover.
“You’re bad at it,” Touya stated plainly.
Keigo slowly uncovered his face again, dragging his forearm down just far enough to narrow his eyes at the eight-year-old. Touya was sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, watching the blackened, scorched tips of Keigo’s feathers with a look of pure interest rather than malice--which somehow made the kid's blunt assessment even more offensive. For a boy who spent half his time sneaking around corners and dodging his father's orders, he certainly had no filter when it came to offering his opinion.
“I’ve been here one week.”
Touya considered that before giving a small shrug. “You’re still bad at it.”
Keigo pushed himself upright with a groan, gathering his wings closer before one of them accidentally knocked the child over. “Do you come here every day just to insult me?”
“I come after school,” Touya said plainly, tilting out of the way just enough to avoid getting clipped again.
Keigo chuckled softly, rolling his shoulders to work out a knot near his wing joints. He’d already started noticing the pattern over the past few days-- Touya usually wandered straight into the training hall still wearing his dark school uniform, blazer unbuttoned and collar loosened, long before Rei could track him down to change into proper clothes, or before Fuyumi could nag him for dumping his heavy school bag right in the middle of the genkan floor.
“That didn’t answer the question,” Keigo replied.
Touya ignored him and crouched near one of the loose feathers that had fallen during training. He reached toward it, then stopped before touching it, looking up at Keigo instead.
“Can I?”
The question surprised him enough that Keigo took a second to answer. Most adults reached for his feathers without asking if they were curious enough, something the Commission had trained him to tolerate years ago, yet this eight-year-old had apparently decided permission mattered.
“Sure.”
Touya picked the feather up carefully between two fingers and turned it over. The tip had been burned almost black, though most of the shaft remained intact.
“Does it hurt?”
“Not like losing a finger, if that’s what you mean.” Keigo stretched one wing experimentally, wincing when the muscles protested. “I can feel them, but damaged feathers grow back eventually.”
Touya examined it for another moment before looking toward Endeavor on the other side of the hall. “Father’s fire is really hot.”
“I noticed.”
“He can make it hotter.”
Keigo stared at him. He wasn't sure if Touya knew that from watching his father train, or if the kid was simply making an educated guess based on how terrifyingly intense Endeavor’s flames could get. Either way, Keigo really didn't appreciate the matter-of-fact tone--or the slight, knowing smirk that came with it.
Touya smiled for the first time since entering the room, and there was something deeply suspicious about the satisfaction on his face.
“Great,” Keigo muttered. “Good to know I haven’t suffered enough yet.”
The doors leading to the covered walkway slid open before Touya could answer, and Rei appeared at the entrance to the training hall.
“Touya,” Rei said. “Go change out of your school uniform. You need to finish your schoolwork before dinner.”
Touya’s head snapped toward the entrance, his shoulders hitching in instant resistance. He looked immediately toward Endeavor-- who was standing across the training hall-- clearly hoping his father would step in and grant him permission to remain.
Endeavor did not even glance over, keeping his cold, heavy focus fixed on Keigo. “Go,” he ordered.
Touya’s shoulders dropped in defeat, but he placed the damaged feather carefully on the wooden bench instead of taking it with him. He grabbed his school bag from where he'd dumped it, shifting his weight as he headed toward his mother, though he couldn't resist slowing down at the doorway long enough to look back over his shoulder at Keigo.
“You’re still here until six, right?” Touya asked, his eyebrows knitting slightly as if double-checking Keigo's schedule.
Keigo blinked, caught off guard by the kid suddenly keeping track of his hours.
Rei smiled softly from where she stood in the doorway behind Touya, resting a gentle hand on her son’s shoulder. “Of course he is,” she answered for him, her tone warm but leaving no room for argument.
That was apparently decided.
Touya disappeared along the covered walkway toward the main residence, already talking to his mother before they had made it far from the training hall. Keigo watched them for a few seconds, then looked down at the feather the boy had returned to the bench.
Sunday morning found Keigo back at the Commission headquarters with a folder tucked beneath his arm and muscles that still protested every time he moved his wings too quickly. Endeavor had technically given him the day away from training, but after six straight days of conditioning, heat exposure, and being told that exhaustion was apparently a problem to overcome rather than a reason to stop, Keigo suspected his body had not received the message that Sunday was supposed to be a rest day.
Mera was waiting near the administrative offices when Keigo arrived, looking exactly as tired as Keigo felt despite presumably not spending the week being repeatedly roasted by the Number Two Hero. He glanced at the folder in Keigo’s hand before motioning him toward one of the smaller evaluation rooms.
“You survived.”
“Barely,” Keigo said as he followed him inside. “I think Endeavor is disappointed about that.”
Mera gave him a look that might have been amusement if the man had possessed enough energy to commit to it. Another Commission officer was already seated behind the desk, the same woman who usually handled Keigo’s weekly reports and training records. She accepted the folder when he handed it over, opening immediately to the pages Endeavor had signed at the end of Saturday’s session.
Keigo dropped into the chair opposite her and stretched one leg beneath the table while she read. Sunday reports had been part of his routine for long enough that he knew how this normally went. They would ask about his progress, compare his answers against whatever his instructor had written, run him through a basic physical evaluation, then occupy most of his afternoon discussing what he would be expected to improve by the following week.
Instead, the woman looked through the first few pages and asked, “How has the heat conditioning been?”
“Hot.”
Mera leaned against the wall with his arms folded. “Useful answer.”
Keigo smiled innocently before sitting a little straighter. “My feathers hold up better against shorter bursts than sustained exposure. Endeavor’s been changing the distance every session, and yesterday he made me maintain flight while the temperature kept increasing. I can still maneuver after some of the outer feathers start burning, but once enough of the longer ones are damaged, my balance gets worse.”
The woman made several notes. “Recovery?”
“Better than Monday, still slower than I’d like.”
She nodded as though that aligned with whatever Endeavor had written. The questions continued for another fifteen minutes, covering his stamina, reaction time, and how well he was adjusting to Endeavor’s training methods, but nobody asked him to change into evaluation clothes or follow them toward the testing rooms.
Eventually Keigo glanced toward Mera. “Aren’t you checking anything?”
“Not today.”
That made him sit up properly. “Seriously?”
The woman closed the folder and folded her hands over it. “Endeavor’s reports are detailed enough that a full evaluation every Sunday would be unnecessary. From next week onward, you’ll submit your weekly report unless we specifically request that you stay for assessment.”
Keigo stared at her.
“You mean I can drop this off and leave?”
“You still need to complete the written sections yourself,” she reminded him. “If there are concerns about your progress, injuries, or inconsistencies between your report and Endeavor’s, you’ll be called in. Otherwise, the representative assigned to your case will periodically visit the Todoroki training grounds and observe you there.”
Keigo slowly leaned back in his chair.
That was suspiciously generous.
For as long as he could remember, the Commission had wanted to see everything themselves. A report was never enough when they could have Keigo standing in front of them instead, answering questions while somebody checked his feathers, his reflexes, his weight, or whatever else they had decided mattered that week.
He wondered if Endeavor had something to do with the change.
Keigo could easily imagine the man telling the Commission that dragging him across the city every Sunday for evaluations was interfering with recovery, probably in significantly less polite language. He could also imagine the Commission listening, because Endeavor had considerably more influence than most of the instructors they had assigned Keigo over the years.
Whatever the reason, he was not stupid enough to argue.
“So next Sunday,” Keigo said carefully, “I submit the report, and if nobody wants anything else from me, I’m done?”
“That’s correct.”
A grin started pulling at his mouth before he could stop it.
Mera noticed. “Try not to look so excited to leave.”
“I would never.”
By the time Keigo stepped out of headquarters later that morning, the rest of his Sunday had suddenly opened in front of him. No afternoon evaluation, no additional exercises, and no representative waiting to drive him anywhere. For once, there was nothing between him and several uninterrupted hours of doing absolutely nothing.
The apartment the Commission had assigned him was around ten kilometers from the Todoroki estate, close enough to make the daily commute practical without placing him directly under Endeavor’s roof. Calling it an apartment was perhaps slightly generous. It was a studio on the twentieth floor, with a bed pushed against one wall, a study table beneath the window, a kitchenette barely large enough for one person to stand comfortably in, and a bathroom that Keigo could cross in about three steps.
There was no proper living room and very little storage beyond the built-in wardrobe, but Keigo had never owned enough things for that to matter.
The balcony made up for almost everything else.
It stretched wider than the apartment itself seemed to deserve, with enough open space that Keigo could stand outside and spread both wings without scraping feathers against concrete or railing. The first evening he had moved in, he had stepped onto it just to test the distance, opened his wings completely, and immediately decided the Commission had accidentally given him the best room in the building.
From twenty floors up, there was nothing directly in front of him except open air. No training room ceiling, no Commission instructor telling him when he could take off, and no car waiting downstairs to decide where he was going next.
Keigo could simply climb onto the edge, lean forward, and let gravity take him until his wings caught the air.
He liked that more than he was willing to admit.
For the first week, the representative had still picked him up every morning and brought him back every evening, which meant the apartment had mostly been somewhere Keigo showered, ate whatever he could find, and collapsed into bed before doing everything again the next day. That arrangement was supposed to end soon, though, once the Commission decided he was familiar enough with the route to travel on his own.
Keigo was already counting the days.
Ten kilometers was nothing with his wings.
And if his Sundays were going to belong mostly to him now, he might finally have enough time to figure out what people actually did in an apartment when nobody had given them a schedule.
Keigo’s mornings settled into a routine faster than he expected. His alarm went off at five every day, although most mornings he was awake a few minutes before it, staring at the pale ceiling of his studio apartment while the city outside was still dark. He made his bed because the habit had been drilled into him too deeply to ignore, washed up, ate whatever breakfast required the least effort, then packed his bag with the things he had learned not to trust Endeavor with.
A clean shirt went in first, followed by a towel, toiletries, whatever paperwork Endeavor had told him to bring, and two sets of training clothes instead of one.
That last addition had become mandatory after Thursday.
Endeavor had burned straight through the shoulder and back of Keigo’s usual training shirt during an exercise, leaving enough fabric intact to preserve his dignity but not nearly enough to keep wearing it for the rest of the day. Keigo had been forced to change into the only clean clothes left in his bag, an old Commission-issued shirt and loose gray sweatpants that were comfortable enough for sleeping but made him look considerably less impressive than he preferred.
Touya had taken one look at him from his spot on the bench-- watching Keigo sit sprawled in his loose, oversized clothes, and immediately called him Pajama Bird.
Keigo had made the mistake of reacting.
The name had followed him until evening.
Touya had called across the courtyard to ask whether Pajama Bird was training again, informed Fuyumi that Pajama Bird ate three bowls of rice, and even asked Rei whether Pajama Bird would be staying for dinner. By the time Keigo left, he had seriously considered stealing one of the kid’s shoes and dropping it somewhere on the twentieth floor balcony just to restore balance to the universe.
He packed the spare training clothes without complaint now.
By six-thirty, he was usually standing on his balcony with his bag strapped securely across his back, checking the sky before stepping onto the wide concrete edge. The twentieth floor no longer felt particularly high after the first few flights, and there was something satisfying about leaning forward until the ground disappeared beneath him, letting himself fall for several seconds before his wings opened and caught the morning air.
Keigo rarely flew straight to the Todoroki compound at full speed because arriving early only meant Endeavor found additional things for him to do, so Keigo had learned to take his time, circling around taller buildings and letting the colder air wake him properly before the estate came into view beneath him.
He usually arrived a little after seven.
During the first few mornings he had landed near the driveway, mostly because that was where the Commission car had dropped him off and he had not considered using anywhere else. That lasted until he discovered the exact time Rei usually gathered the children near the front entrance for school and kindergarten.
Landing there had been a mistake.
The first morning Touya had abandoned whatever Rei was telling him and crossed half the driveway just to watch Keigo fold his wings. Fuyumi had followed because someone apparently needed to retrieve Touya, Natsuo had immediately demanded to know whether Keigo could fly him to school, and Shoto had stood near Rei staring upward with such intense concentration that Keigo wondered if the five-year-old expected another pair of wings to appear.
They had nearly been late.
The following morning was worse because the children had apparently been waiting for him.
After Rei apologized while simultaneously trying to herd four children toward the car, Keigo decided everybody’s mornings would be easier if he stopped providing free entertainment outside the main entrance.
The outdoor training yard solved the problem.
It sat on the eastern side of the estate directly beside the indoor training complex, far enough from the family entrance that Keigo could descend without frightening anyone or accidentally turning the Todoroki children’s morning into another observation session. More importantly, landing there meant he could walk straight into the training hall instead of entering through the front genkan and crossing the main residence first.
By the end of his second week, he had perfected the approach.
Keigo dipped lower over the outer wall, angled his wings to clear the roof of the training complex, and dropped neatly into the center of the outdoor yard. His boots struck packed earth with barely enough force to bend his knees, and his wings flared once behind him before settling against his back.
The compound was quieter from this side in the early morning. The main residence stretched to the west of the training grounds, warm light glowing faintly behind a few windows while the rear garden disappeared behind the bedroom wing farther north. Thin winter mist hung close to the ground, and somewhere toward the family side of the estate, Keigo could hear distant voices that probably belonged to Rei getting the children ready.
Keigo adjusted the strap of his bag and headed toward the indoor hall, his mind already spinning as he started counting down the possibilities for the morning. He wondered if Endeavor was going to pick right back up with the brutal, grueling heat regimen from yesterday, or if the Flame Hero might actually wake up in a merciful mood and hit him with lighter drills to let his singed wings rest. Given what he’d learned about Endeavor so far, Keigo was leaning heavily toward the former--light training didn't seem to exist in this compound.
He had almost reached the doors when a distant voice carried across the garden.
“Pajama Bird!”
Keigo stopped and he slowly turned his head toward the residence. A tiny white-haired figure stood at the edge of one of the covered walkways, far enough away that Keigo could barely make out Touya’s expression but close enough to see the enthusiastic wave of one arm.
“Touya!” Rei called out from somewhere behind him, her voice carrying loudly across the open garden.
The boy vanished immediately, slipping behind a pillar like a shadow before Keigo could even blink.
Keigo stared at the empty walkway for several seconds. He slowly closed his eyes and exhalation rushed out through his nose in a long, weary breath.
Apparently changing where he landed had solved absolutely nothing.
Opening his eyes again, he shook his head with a faint, dry huff. If there was one thing Keigo had learned by the end of his second week--right alongside the three hard-earned lessons Endeavor had already beaten into him--it was a fourth, undeniable fact:
Touya was a little shit.