Chapter Text
Endeavor looked at him like a trophy meant to be polished, one he would make shine until his knuckles bled.
His mother, although her gaze had softened over the years, if caught off guard he could still see that terror in her eyes directed solely at him for resembling his father.
He still couldn’t quite identify how his siblings looked at him; they were practically strangers who had lived under the same roof for years. Fuyumi always treated him with extreme caution, measuring every movement he made, as if she didn’t know how he might react to anything. Natsu was more complicated— they were almost never in the same place, but he always seemed to see right through him, as if he were someone else occupying a place that didn’t belong to him.
Touya, Dabi, or whatever he chose to call himself now, only looked at him with hatred, as if everything bad that had happened to him were, in some way, Shoto’s fault. Had he ever looked at him differently, or had it been like that since the moment he was born?
And then there were the civilians. At one point they had looked at him as if he were going to be the next star of the hero world, trusting him and his judgment despite his limited experience against villains. Now they seemed to expect him to explode at any moment and decide to burn everything down, that the mark on his face would spread across his entire body to prove he was cursed. Someone had even thrown a bottle at him once during a patrol… And at the academy they had managed to find his backpack while he was having lunch, ruining all the notes he had taken throughout the year. Or the time they tried to force their way into his class’s dorms, only to be discovered by some of the girls, making them flee before he could find out who they were.
His room, which had once felt like the only safe place—where expectations and opinions couldn’t enter—had become another prison, so similar to his childhood bedroom; a sponge soaking up everything he had to improve to be better, to never make mistakes, to not resemble any of the fire users his family produced.
The papers lay forgotten on his desk. He had barely copied half of his English notebook when something shattered the sliding panels leading to the balcony; the voices of whoever had thrown the stone were muffled by the facility’s walls. The stone, an unnaturally reddish color, landed on the corner of his futon, which had begun to smoke slightly. He grabbed it quickly—his left hand started to ache from the burning temperature before he left it entirely to his fire side.
“What are they trying to get out of all this?” he thought as he lowered the stone’s temperature. The cold felt like spikes driving straight into the flesh of his hand, into his tendons and joints. A shiver ran through the frozen half of his body; he could feel his right leg trembling violently, while his other half seemed completely detached from the situation.
“Does Touya feel this all the time?” he thought bitterly. Dabi acted as if he were special because of the scars his quirk left him, as if he were the only person in the world to whom this happened, as if he were the only Todoroki it affected. He had seen Fuyumi tremble violently after using just a little of her quirk to cool food; he knew Endeavor overheated if he used his quirk too often, though he had never seen him in that state—he assumed it had something to do with wanting to appear invincible. Was it a hero thing? A feeling that came with years of praise for saving lives? Something that appeared after defeating villains without a single scratch?
“—Shoto, are you there?” Izuku called from the other side of the door. “We have training in fifteen minutes, in case you want to come. You know you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I don’t think it’s good for you to stay locked in your room for so long either… See you, Sho.”
He heard his friend’s footsteps fade away. Since that day, he had been given permission to skip as many classes as necessary if he felt unwell. He had tried not to abuse it (after the first time, most people in the hallways had looked at him with disdain—he hadn’t liked that feeling), but he really needed to finish copying his English notebook. His notes on modern art and fundamental hero studies had survived, and he had good grades in both. Maybe clearing his head for a while wouldn’t hurt; taking a few hits might actually do him some good.
The path to the arena was desolate. It was lunchtime, so most people were probably in the cafeteria. With a bit of luck, it would be a peaceful walk to the gyms—but luck had never been on his side.
“—Have you been thinking about how to burn the whole school down?” A girl who looked about a year older than him stared at him with contempt. Her hand toyed with a wrench; maybe she was from the support department. “That’s why you’ve been hiding in your room, right? Freak.”
“What I do in my room is none of anyone’s business,” he replied, perhaps more harshly than he intended.
A smug laugh followed.
“Oh, you really do resemble that shitty family of yours.” His arm was grabbed with a force meant to prove something. “Because of your stupid brother, my dad has a burn that put him in the hospital for months.”
He bit his tongue hard. What did that have to do with him? Dabi hated him enough to want to turn him into a villain just to kill him. He didn’t have to bear his brother’s crimes. He didn’t deserve to go through all of this because of him.
He could feel himself starting to tremble, his temperature rising. Ice was calm, controlled—but fire was explosive, a surge of fury that came out of nowhere, one that wanted to burn until everything went silent…
“—Hey, extra! Get your hands off him.” Explosions accompanied Bakugo’s voice. The girl complied, though clearly unwillingly. “Come on, you stupid bastard. I’m gonna kick your ass during training,” he said before grabbing his forearm and dragging him away.
Maybe he would end up becoming like his brother or his father—someone who used anger against the world to burn. But Bakugo was similar in that way: pure explosion, a bomb of negative emotions. And yet he was respected, with a bright future ahead of him; his personality didn’t seem to be a problem for civilians.
“What the hell are you thinking about, idiot? I need you focused on training. You’re useless to me if you’re distracted.”
“Oh, nothing. I’m just a bit tired. Thanks for worrying, Bakugo.” He forced a small smile—people tended to relax when they saw one. Bakugo probably wasn’t a fan of them.
The blond clicked his tongue and quickly rejoined his group. Shoto, meanwhile, went over to Momo.
“Sho, I’m glad you came,” she said, gripping his hands tightly. “It’s good that you’re not locked in your room all day.”
“Did Aizawa give any hints about what we’re doing?” he asked with genuine curiosity. He didn’t want to use his fire side; for the first time, he was hoping for a quirkless fight.
“Sorry, Sho. No. All we know is that Midnight and Mic will also be present. It might be more intense than usual.”
It definitely was. A free-for-all battle, with students watching as if it were a show. Kaminari managed to electrocute him a couple of times before collapsing under the strain of his own volts. Kirishima managed to land several solid blows while using his quirk. Even Mineta managed to immobilize him with one of his spheres—if he hadn’t started celebrating and showing off to a girl watching, he might have actually beaten him. And then there was the laughter. Every time he was hit, knocked down, or injured, it surfaced—as if it were entertainment, proof that he didn’t deserve to be a hero if he could be defeated so easily by his classmates.
“Good training, everyone,” Aizawa said, looking over them. Most students had only suffered scratches and dirt. “Those who think they need the infirmary, go. Todoroki, stay.”
He knew his teacher would probably just ask about his poor performance despite having stayed in his room all morning, but the vein pulsing in his head wouldn’t stop. What if he said he was tarnishing UA’s reputation with his disgraceful performance? Or for being the brother of a villain, or of a hero fallen from grace now that what he did to his family was public? Deku had told him about Aizawa’s reputation—his classes never graduated complete; he expelled students he didn’t deem fit or pushed them to quit due to his high standards. Maybe he wouldn’t graduate at all.
“You’ve missed the last two patrols assigned with Endeavor,” his teacher began, the world seeming to fade away. “It’s understandable if you don’t want to continue with him as your mentor, but you still need to fulfill your assigned patrols.”
“I know, it’s just…” What could he say without sounding like a coward? I’m afraid someone might hurt me simply because Dabi exists. He had gotten into this to save people from villains—he needed to be brave.
“I have an important mission in two days. Shinso won’t be able to come—his provisional license exam is too close. I don’t usually run into anyone but villains; it could be a good change until things settle down.”
He wouldn’t lie—ever since he found out what kind of hero his teacher was, he had been curious about his work. He really wanted to see what a night patrol was like. And… to hell with what Endeavor thought. This was his fault—what was happening to him, to Touya…
“I’d love to go, Aizawa-sensei,” he replied, with more enthusiasm than he expected.
“No flashy colors on your costume, and find a way to stay hidden—your hair stands out.” It was meant to stand out; it wasn’t his fault, but he didn’t think the comment was malicious, right? “And kid, you can tell me anything, okay? You don’t have to deal with this alone.”
He wasn’t alone—he knew that. He had his classmates and his family, but none of them could truly understand what he felt: the desperate need for a hug from the one brother who would have understood him, while knowing he had to stop him to protect people who now despised him. Maybe he wasn’t so different from the rest of his family after all—just as selfish as his father for wanting something he truly had no control over.
“Everything’s fine, sensei. It’s nothing serious,” he said before turning away. “People are scared. That’s normal.”
Scared of the fire his family wielded—because if there was one thing the Todorokis were good at, it was setting things ablaze: their emotions, their hopes, their own bodies, and everything around them.