Well, I clearly thought it deserved a second chapter.
Are you there?
The summer sun cast dappled shadows through the leaves of the tall oak tree that separated the Todoroki and Ishikawa estates. A young Ren, no more than eight years old, peered over the wooden fence, her grey eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Shoto!" she called out, her voice carrying across the well-manicured lawns. "Come play with me!"
A moment later, a boy with striking red and white hair emerged from the neighbouring house. Shoto Todoroki, even at a young age, carried himself with a seriousness that was beyond his years.
"What shall we play?" he asked, approaching the fence with a small smile tugging at his lips.
Ren grinned, holding up a bottle of watermelon juice. "Look what I took from my friend's kitchen! You can freeze it, and we can sell popsicles to the people on our street!"
Shoto's smile faded, replaced by a disapproving frown. "Ren, that's stealing. It's wrong. That's what villains do, and I'm supposed to be a hero."
The words hit Ren like a physical blow, her excitement vanishing in an instant. She recoiled as if struck, her eyes widening with hurt and anger.
"Don't ever call me that!" she snapped, clambering down from the fence. "You don't know anything, Shoto Todoroki!"
Shoto blinked, taken aback by her reaction. He couldn't understand why she was so upset. In his young mind, he reasoned that she was just being a bratty princess, spoiled by her wealthy upbringing.
"It's not like it even matters for you," he called out, a hint of teasing in his voice. "You don't have a quirk anyway."
Silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rustling of leaves in the summer breeze. After a long moment, Ren's voice drifted over the fence, softer now.
"Shoto?"
"Yes?"
"Are you there?" Ren asked again, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her tone.
"No," he replied, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the question. "You're talking to the fence right now," he teased.
Ren's laughter rang out, bright and clear. "I'm sorry about the juice," she said, her voice growing serious. "I'll return it, I promise."
Shoto nodded, even though she couldn't see him. He knew her well enough to picture her leaning against the fence, her dark hair falling in her face. Placing a hand on his side of the wooden barrier, he sent a cold shockwave through the planks, a playful reminder of his presence.
Ren yelped, jumping away from the fence. "Shoto! Don't do that!"
"I won't," he promised, "if you return the juice right now."
He could hear the smile in her voice as she agreed, but the moment was shattered by the sound of raised voices coming from the Todoroki household. Endeavor's angry shouts echoed across the lawn, berating Shoto's mother for allowing her son to waste time playing outside.
Ren's heart sank, the joy of their shared moment dissipating like mist under the harsh glare of reality. She knew all too well the pressure Shoto faced, the weight of his father's expectations bearing down on his young shoulders.
As the years passed and the distance between them grew, Ren would often think back to that summer day – a bittersweet memory of innocence lost and the burdens they both carried.
Now, a decade later, Ren sat in the kitchen of her new apartment, cradling a steaming cup of tea. She had left behind the sprawling Ishikawa estate, choosing instead to live closer to the university where she was studying.
Her thoughts drifted to the party the night before, to the moment Shoto's hand had brushed against hers. She could still feel the tingle of his quirk on her skin, the way her body had reacted to his touch. It was a sensation she couldn't quite explain, a connection that seemed to run deeper than mere physical contact. It had always been that way, as far back as she could remember. Shoto could torture her into submission with barely a look. A thought that, at the age f nineteen, now made her smirk a little. Only a little.
"It's so good to have you back in the city, Ren," Hana, her housekeeper, said as she arranged a vase of fresh flowers on the kitchen table. "You should go out, meet up with your old friends."
Ren smiled, warmed by the older woman's maternal concern. Hana had been a constant presence in her life, a source of comfort and guidance in a family where those things never existed.
"I wonder if that nice boy next door has grown up now," Hana mused, a twinkle in her eye. "What was his name? Shoto? I bet he'd come running if you called for him, just like old times."
Ren arched an eyebrow, giving her housekeeper a knowing look. "I'm not sure 'nice' is the word I'd use to describe Shoto Todoroki these days, Hana."
Before Hana could respond, the shrill ring of Ren's phone cut through the air. She glanced at the screen, her stomach tightening at the sight of her father's name.
"Ren," Akira Ishikawa's voice crackled through the speaker, "I have a task for you."
Ren closed her eyes, steeling herself for whatever manipulation her father had in store. Akira Ishikawa was a shrewd businessman, a master at playing the game of power and influence. He saw the world as a chessboard, and Ren was just another piece to be moved and sacrificed at his whim.
"The Todoroki boy," his daughter sighed as she heard the name, it seemed there was no escape from him now. "I want you to get close to him," Akira continued, his tone sharp and calculating. "Befriend him, charm him, whatever it takes. His father's hero agency could be a valuable ally, and I need eyes and ears on the inside."
Ren's grip tightened on her phone, a flicker of anger sparking in her chest. Of course her father would see Shoto as nothing more than a means to an end, a tool to be used in his endless quest for control.
"And why should I do this?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
Akira chuckled, the sound devoid of warmth. "Because, my dear daughter, if you succeed, I'll give you what you've always wanted. Freedom. The resources and support to pursue your little journalism dreams, to make a name for yourself outside of my shadow." Ren's heart skipped a beat, the temptation of his offer warring with the disgust she felt at being used as a pawn once again. She had always chafed under her father's expectations, longed to break free from the gilded cage of her life.
"Fine," she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'll do it."
"Excellent," Akira said, satisfaction dripping from his tone. "I knew you'd see reason. I suggest you start at the mall, the new U.A. students will be doing some last-minute shopping at the mall today, before term starts. Perhaps you could bump into young Shoto there, start laying the groundwork for your friendship."
Ren closed her eyes, bile rising in her throat at the thought of manipulating Shoto, of using their shared history as a weapon against him. But beneath the guilt and the shame, there was something else – a flicker of excitement, a curiosity to see the man he had become, to unravel the mystery that had always surrounded him.
"I'll be there," she said, her voice flat and emotionless. "I need to pick up some supplies for university anyway."
"That's my girl," Akira said, a hint of triumph in his voice. "Don't let me down, Ren. The future of our family depends on it."
With that, the line went dead, leaving Ren alone with her thoughts and the weight of her father's expectations.
An hour later, Ren found herself at the mall, a baseball cap pulled low over her face and sunglasses shielding her eyes. Since her return to the city, the media had been in a frenzy, painting her as some sort of prodigal princess come home to claim her throne. They followed her every move, speculating on her fashion choices, her eating habits, the company she kept. It was a level of scrutiny she had never experienced abroad, and it left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.
As she wove through the crowds, her gaze was drawn to a group of girls her age, their laughter ringing out clear and carefree. For a moment, she allowed herself to imagine what it might be like to live a normal life, to be unburdened by the weight of her family name and the secrets that clung to her like a second skin.
Lost in her thoughts, Ren didn't notice the tall figure in front of her until she collided with the solid wall of his figure. Strong hands gripped her arms, steadying her before she could stumble.
"We have to stop meeting like this," Shoto said, his voice low and amused.
Ren's heart skipped a beat, her skin tingling where he touched her. She looked up at him, taking in the sharp angles of his face, the way his hair fell across his forehead in a shock of red and white.
"Shoto," she breathed, hating the way her voice trembled slightly. "What are you doing here?"
He arched an eyebrow, releasing her arms and taking a step back. "The same as you, I imagine. Getting ready for the new semester."
Ren glanced around, noticing the curious stares and whispers of the people around them. With her cover blown, it was only a matter of time before the paparazzi descended.
"Want to grab lunch?" she asked, tilting her head towards a nearby restaurant. "Catch up somewhere a little less public?"
Shoto hesitated for a moment, his gaze searching her face. Then, with a small nod, he gestured for her to lead the way.
They found themselves in line for a trendy fusion restaurant, Ren finally feeling comfortable enough to remove her hat and sunglasses. As they waited, they made small talk about their lives, their plans for the future. But beneath the surface, a tension simmered, an awareness of the roles they were meant to play and the expectations that weighed upon them.
Shoto couldn't help but steal glances at Ren as they stood side by side, taking in the way her dark hair brushed against her cheeks, the curve of her eyelashes. Had they always looked like that? Had they always hidden her grey eyes from him so teasingly? And the way she worried her lower lip between her teeth – was that a new habit, or had he simply never noticed before?
He shook his head, annoyed at the direction of his thoughts. Where had all these hormones come from? He was supposed to be focused on his training, on becoming the best hero he could be. He couldn't afford to be distracted by a pretty face and a shared history.
Ren caught him staring, her eyebrows lifting in a silent question. Shoto looked away, grateful for the interruption of the hostess calling their names.
They were led to a private booth, the hostess clearly recognizing Ren and eager to provide her with a more secluded setting. As they settled in and placed their orders, Shoto couldn't help but notice the way Ren's lips pursed as she rattled off her specific requests – an earl grey tea, no milk, honey on the side, a slice of lemon perched on the rim of the cup.
"I'd forgotten what a princess you were," he teased, shaking his head in amusement. "Everything has to be just so, doesn't it?"
Ren shot him a look, but there was no real heat behind it. When their food arrived, she reached across the table, pouring a small amount of hot water from her teapot into Shoto's cold soba noodles.
"What are you doing?" he asked, frowning as steam rose from the bowl.
"Proving a point," Ren said, settling back in her seat with a satisfied smile. "You're just as particular as I am, Shoto. A single degree of temperature change, and your precious soba is ruined."
Shoto's jaw tightened, annoyance flaring in his chest. She was right, of course. He had always been sensitive to temperature, his quirk allowing him to detect even the slightest variations.
Without a word, he reached out, his fingers brushing against the back of Ren's hand as he cooled the noodles back down to their original state. She gasped, yanking her hand away as if burned.
"You're too sensitive. You've always been sensitive to me." Shoto muttered, his brow furrowing in confusion, ignoring the potential double meaning in his words that both teenagers were beginning to think about. "It's almost like you have an unawakened quirk, the way you react to my touch."
Ren's eyes flashed, her mouth setting into a hard line. "Even if I did have a quirk," she said, her voice low and fierce, "I would never use it. I'm not interested in being a part of your world, Shoto."
Shoto stared at her, taken aback by the venom in her response. "How can you say that?" he demanded, his own anger rising to the surface. "Having a quirk is a gift, Ren. A responsibility. Choosing not to use it, to turn your back on the people you could help – that's selfish. Childish."
Ren's hand clenched into a fist, her knuckles turning white. For a long moment, she simply glared at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. Then, in a sudden, violent motion, she reached out and upended the glass of ice water on the table, dumping the contents into Shoto's soba.
"There," she spat, her voice trembling with barely contained rage. "Why don't you use your left side to heat it back up? Or are you too selfish and childish to use the quirk you got from your dad?"
Shoto recoiled as if slapped, his own anger and pain rising to the surface. How dare she throw that in his face, use his trauma as a weapon against him? He had spent years trying to come to terms with the legacy of his father, the weight of expectation and abuse that had shaped him into the man he was today. And she knew it, she had been there, every day, every night, talking to him from the other side of the fence, comforting him, containing his anger.
"That's not the same," he said, his voice low and cold. "You don't understand, Ren. You never have."
For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the air between them crackling with tension and unspoken hurt. Then, with a muttered curse, Ren pushed herself to her feet and stormed away, leaving Shoto alone with his ruined lunch and the bitter taste of regret.
He watched her go, his heart heavy in his chest. He knew he should go after her, try to smooth things over. But his pride and his anger held him back, kept him rooted to his seat.
As if on cue, his phone began to buzz, his father's name flashing on the screen. Shoto's stomach tightened, a wave of dread washing over him. He knew what was coming, the same conversation they had been having for weeks now.
"Shoto," Endeavor barked, his voice harsh and commanding. "How are things progressing with the Ishikawa girl?"
Shoto closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "We had lunch," he said, his voice carefully neutral. "But it didn't exactly go well."
Endeavor scoffed, the sound crackling through the phone's speaker. "I don't care about your teenage drama," he snapped. "I care about results. The Ishikawa family's media empire could be a valuable asset, and I need you to secure their support."
Shoto's jaw clenched, his fingers tightening around the phone. He hated this, hated being used as a pawn in his father's endless games of power and influence. But he also knew that he had little choice in the matter. Endeavor held his future in his hands, had the power to make or break his dreams of becoming a hero.
"I know what's at stake," Shoto said, his voice low and tense. "But Ren is... complicated. She's not just going to fall in line because I ask her to." Endeavor was silent for a long moment, the weight of his disappointment palpable even through the phone. Then, with a heavy sigh, he spoke again.
"Listen, Shoto," he said, his voice taking on a rare note of conciliation. "I know I've been hard on you. But this is important. Not just for our family, but for your future as a hero."
Ooooh, it's getting tense!
Reviews appreciated!