Chapter Text
“AGAIN!”
Shoto Todoroki remembered. The way his flesh threatened to burn off, the bile rising from his mouth and pooling onto the floor below as pathetically as the rest of him, but most of all, his father’s firm, merciless hand and the way it struck him. Again, again, again, again, it didn’t stop until Shoto fulfilled some arbitrary objective or until his father got tired of beating said objective out of the child. Shoto, small and insignificant, rebuked weakly, his already tiny voice smothered by a burnt throat. “I can’t…” He was pleading, and whenever he’d plead, the shinai would strike down harder on his back. He yelped, keeling over his own vomit while his tears mingled with it.
“If you can’t take your own fire, you won’t amount to anything.” His father’s voice, low and ripe with disappointment, only shot the young Shoto down further. “Forget about surpassing All Might, you can’t even handle yourself.”
Shoto would’ve liked to say he didn’t care. He would’ve liked to talk back, he would’ve liked to leave that makeshift dojo and seal the door shut with Mom’s ice, he wanted to forget about all of it, to go play with Natsuo and Fuyumi, he wanted Toya, he wanted Mom. There was so much he wanted, so much he deserved, but this ogre kept taking it all away from him. Toya was gone, and although Shoto was young and the finality of death was still hazy to him, he knew that when someone had a shrine for them it meant they wouldn’t be coming back. Mom had gone away, too, but thankfully she didn’t have a shrine. After she hurt him, his father said he had her put away. But Shoto didn’t understand. She apologized, she said sorry, she was trying to make it better, something his father never did.
There were a lot of things his father never did.
Father never smiled, he never praised him, he never let him play with his siblings, he was scary even when he was saving people, but the only role model he was allowed to have was him. When his mother was there, he could watch All Might do all the things a hero does with a smile, and even if the man was on a screen, the comfort that shining grin provided was comparable to none. That was something else Shoto didn’t understand. His father and All Might were both heroes, but they were so different, they made him feel different ways.
All Might felt like a hero.
But, Endeavor… Shoto didn’t know what his father was.
The deafening sound of an explosion, the smell of burnt caramel, Bakugou’s body casting a shadow over him, the sting of his left hand. All sensations Shoto kept replaying over and over in his head, all while staring down at a bowl of soba, surrounded by chatter, only one of the many sounds in the cacophony that overtook the lunch hall. His teammates sat at the same table as him, with Ochaco Uraraka at his left, and Tenya Iida and Momo Yaoyorozu right in front of him. They were discussing their victory, and while that may have been factually what it was, it felt far too close in hindsight. It was only thanks to Uraraka’s Zero Gravity and Iida’s Engine that they managed to zoom past Katsuki Bakugou, not to mention, Yaoyorozu’s cover served well against Kaminari and other ranged opponents. Shoto’s idea to stay out of most of everyone’s way until the end wasn’t too bad either, as it allowed him to examine a good number of Quirks and understand their functioning before they slid in. Overall, it would’ve seemed like a pretty decent plan and an even better win. It should’ve felt great, having thought a plan through so meticulously and having it work… But no, Shoto wasn’t so satisfied. There was one part he didn’t account for— No, two: Katsuki Bakugou’s death drive, and his left side.
“Todoroki, you should eat. You’ll need the energy for what’s ahead!” Tenya Iida, their class president, urged Shoto, the girl next to him nodding along in approval. The boy’s attention was caught, and he finally lifted his gaze to look into the bespectacled president’s eyes, then the noble’s, somewhat lost and inattentive. “Yeah, I will.” He spoke softly, a mere murmur, as it usually was with him. Despite their president’s request, however, Shoto just kept his eyes on his bowl, his right hand cupping the side of it, while his left lay stiffly to the side of his dish. Uraraka, who was silent but attentive, leaned over, a clear curiosity in her brown eyes.
“Are you cooling it down?” She asked, catching Shoto a little off-guard. He knew she was perceptive. Shoto nodded, his eyes meeting the girl’s for a moment. “Yes, I like cold soba.” A simple statement, that was far from easy to utter for someone as closed up as him. Ochaco nodded in response, a small smile gracing her lips. It was almost as if she found some sort of satisfaction in getting people to open up, but that’s something Shoto was hardly interested in, now that his bowl felt just chilly enough. This wasn’t exactly the right recipe, but… Eh, it would do. His right hand left its side with a thin trail of frost, before he finally began to dig in. It was funny, from a whole banquet he’d go and pick the most simple, and possibly the least nutritious dish. If you were to look at Iida’s and Todoroki’s back to back, you’d be surprised. The class president’s plate was practically raw protein, surely something that would’ve aided a runner.
Just as he began basking in the flavor of his favorite food, his eye caught a big, spiky ball of blonde entering the room. He instinctively looked up, meeting the explosive delinquent’s gaze with not much more than a stare. Oh, that’s Bakugou. Shoto kept staring, maybe rudely so, but his gaze wasn’t scrutinizing or challenging, simply acknowledging. Only after Katsuki sneered did they finally break the ridiculous staring contest, with the delinquent rushing off to the buffet. That was by far about to be his most difficult opponent, and perhaps it didn’t aid things that he challenged him so openly. He knew for a fact neither of them would be held back by much during the tournament, and he fully expected to have to exchange blows with his classmate eventually, but there was a silver lining…
Bakugou didn't seem too in control of his own Quirk.
Meanwhile, Shoto trained his ice daily, kept it sharp and well-controlled. If he was quick enough, he could encase Bakugou’s limbs in an ice wall before he could get even one explosion out, or better yet, he could get him to take himself out of the running by breaking free of the ice repeatedly, eventually exhausting him. Again, his left side would’ve simply been overkill, even though that didn’t mean he didn’t consider using it. After his run in with the Symbol of Peace, he could try. Maybe not too much, just enough to throw off an opponent, little enough to avoid catching his father’s unwanted pride. Now that he thought it through, it wasn’t gonna be so easy…
His train of thought led Shoto to ignore Ochaco’s pressing gaze, and a few seconds passed before he noticed the girl’s face turned towards him. Reciprocating the attention, he turned. “Hm?” The girl’s gaze fell on his left arm, and he followed and followed until… His eyes laid upon the charred edges of his rolled up sleeve. Maybe she avoided bringing it up out of courtesy, but her eyes spoke for her, and the seemingly simple nature of her silent observation led Shoto to a realization.
He lacked control of his left side.