Chapter Text
Jealous couldn’t even begin to describe the ache in your chest.
Pupils split into pinpricks, Your fists clenched behind your back. The air bled a warm glow—the raging flame of an ember, a sparkle of potential that had only been held back by sheer will.
“What could possibly be the point in telling you any further? See to it that you make him unleash those flames.” Enji was proud, undeserving. “This,” He eyed the cheering crowds with a smug look, “is just the beginning of his legacy.” He wasn't looking at you.
He hadn't truly looked at you in years, Not after your subgender came to light. He no longer had time for your exceeding potential, Your burning ember, which once promised to glow twice as bright was now nothing more than a glorified whetstone meant to sharpen his youngest son.
Really, No longer caring for your own talents was the short way of saying he didn’t give a damn. With a straightened stance your brows furrowed—making a nod only to wet your lips, your nature was urging you to speak as your brows pinched further.
”Sir..”
”Not now.”
You were simply.. dismissed, It was surgical. Cutting through your remaining dignity with effortless indifference. Endeavor’s gaze remained fixed on the arena below, where the roar of the crowd muffled the sound of your heart breaking. He was watching the struggle—the raw, unrefined power Midoriya was forcing out of Shoto. The fervor of the boy’s flames, finally flickering to life after years of icy stubbornness, felt like a singeing brand against your skin.
Enji’s powerful scent radiated just how pleased he was with the fight Midoriya had put up against Todoroki. The pulsing waves of excess heat however only fueled your hate harder. Watching the moment Shoto came back to consciousness, his gaze searching yours out next to his father.
Your fists clenched at your side before you bowed like you were supposed to, No glance was spared.
Turning and leaving.
Endeavors booming voice for Shotos flames, For his destiny only drew the wedge deeper.
You could do twice as much as him. You had the finesse, the control, the sheer will.
But you had a role to play now. You were the shadow meant to make the Number Two Hero’s son look like a solar flare. Your job was to be the perfect foil, the supporting act, the one to ensure the Metaworld saw Shoto Todoroki as the greatest dual-quirk prodigy in history.
The copper tang of iron flooded your mouth; you bit through the flesh of your lower lip, Skin wedged between teeth. “The greatest.” The words were like ash as your fist slammed against the wall.
It belonged to you first.
”Your son has exceptional talent.”
”Leave him in my care and I’m sure he’ll flourish.”
Those were the words he’d told your mother then, You could still hear the Echo of Enji’s voice in your childhood home. He had scouted you early like a diamond in the rough of a suburban elementary school. Even back then, his icy professionalism had faltered into genuine impression at the finesse of the flames you produced. You were a gem.
Something perfect.
A born prodigy without a doubt, Something without Enjis flames tainting— A pure white canvas to smother and paint his ambition's onto.
You were only a naive child when he came into your life, your mother had played the part of the concerned parent dutifully at first. Citing your age and the danger.
But Enji Todoroki was a man of overwhelming resources. So with some coaxing and a large pay off she soon kept you in the Todoroki household like he asked. A promise of prestige is what Enji called it, your weekends were no longer for cartoons or trips to the parks. They were for residential training in the traditional home.
Littered in burns and scorches Enji pushed you for greatness alongside his youngest son, Shoto.
Back then you harbored no malice for him. He was simply just the boy with the sad eyes who shared your bruises. And you were only trying to lift your new ‘friend’ up like Enji had told you to.
Droning on about how you were destined to be his son’s rival. The one to push him to his full potential. “I’ll do my best!” you had squealed, your voice high and full of a child's desperate need for approval, So you pushed—And you pushed. And you outpaced Shoto to stand in the light.
Fight after fight, sapphire heat bled from your small fingers with the precision of a veteran. You weren't a playmate… you were simply a child soldier, hired to sharpen the edges of the Number Two’s future masterpiece.
Breaks were rare, stolen moments carved out of those grueling weekends. But when the fire finally died down, you used every second of the silence to its fullest. Your voice was still light—a soft, melodic thing. An excited squeal would melt into a hushed, conspiratorial whisper once you and Shoto crawled beneath the heavy weight of a futon.
The excess noise always faded whenever you two hid beneath the covers. Little breaths intermingled with small hands intertwined. “You’re my best friend… nothing bad will happen while I am here!” Your voice was small despite the cheer, your forehead pushing against Shotos while he nodded. Seeking comfort… closure in him like he was the only one in the world that could make the hollowness go away.
It felt like breathing, being with him was.. A natural thing.
You remembered just how much you liked Shoto then, A blossoming crush at how resilient he could be, even in the face of the second greatest hero’s fury, Your little heart used to race for him.
When he wasn’t a cold asshole who thought higher than himself. A puppet who only did what Enji told him to.
Despite your outward innocence of joyfull youth, you had been purposefully ignorant to his pain. You pretended not to notice the hellish atmosphere of the Todoroki’s household.
You learned to ignore the rhythmic thud of shouting behind closed doors. It became a background hum, as common as the wind, whenever you dragged your things down the hallway to Shoto’s room for sleepovers.
You ignored the white-haired children who watched from the sidelines—Fuyumi and Natsuo, Touya standing like pale ghosts in the shadows of the corridor. Enji had made the hierarchy clear.
They didn't belong in the world he was building for you and Shoto—a world of singular purpose, burning heat, and absolute perfection.
You never looked back. You kept your eyes fixed on the horizon Enji had painted, Your future.
Shoto always did though— Looking back at them. Asking and pleading to be allowed to play with them whenever Endeavor’s hand clamped onto his shoulder to tug him away for more solo training or discipline, those two things tended to blend together in a ball of mess.
That left you alone in the quiet wake of the hallway, standing beside Rei. Her hands always trembled in a soft, frantic vibration that she tried to hide in the folds of her clothes.
She always looked at you with eyes that were already mourning, her silence more deafening than any of Enji's shouts. “Can I have tea Ms himura?” Your hand opened childishly, one finger resting in your mouth while she weakly smiled, barely blinking at the use of her maiden name.
“Of course. Let’s go to the kitchen, hm?"
Taking your small hand in hers, she led you toward the back. Setting a kettle on the stove while you sat at the table, small legs swinging. You weren’t close with most of the Todorokis, just an outsider, family friend who was allowed within the core of their dysfunctional family.
Rei hated that, her scent was always distressed standing next to this child who idolized Enji despite the grueling sights of their family. You who looked nothing like Enji, became another throbbing ache that she wanted nothing more than to run from.
You never understood her disdain of you as a child, gently tugging her sleeve, you lightly dipped your head to look at her—confused by the heaving pants she let out.
”Are you okay..?” You only managed to catch her disgusted look once her head turned to look down at you.
A monster wearing the skin of a child, she always thought of you, her fingers trembled against the cold metal of the stove.
The water in the kettle screamed.
You didn’t speak with her again.
“Different families have different rules, sweetheart,” your mother had said, her eyes never leaving the stacks of yen she was counting on the kitchen table. You’d asked her about the bruises on Rei’s arms— about the way Shoto trembled when his father entered the room.
She never took you seriously.
She brushed you off with a ruffling of your hair that felt more like a pat for a well-behaved dog that’d won some pageant. “Just practice with Enji-San like mommy said, hm? We need this.”
“Okay..”
“That’s my good boy, Now wait outside.” Turning you away she passed your bag, You were six, Used to tugging your backpack on and sitting at the dimmed porch with the front door locked up behind you.
Awaiting Enji to pick you up for practice.
”Don't hold back on him, Weakness won’t get him to the top.”
Still that ember of hate was yet to flourish as you glanced back at Shoto, confusion was there in its place.
He had become skinny and frail over the months of his moms absence, A weakling who looked as if he could be toppled over by a gust of wind. “but..” Your voice mumbled, staring into the dark eye of your ‘friend’ that exuded so much emotion— A deep grey that threatened to swallow you whole. The prominent blue however.. was wrapped in a white bandage that curled around half of his hair, tussling the deep red.
You felt bad.
Like you’d been the catalyst in a chain reaction within the household. Your steps faltered, almost walking backwards.
”But nothing, Don’t you want to become strong?” Enji urged, His large hand at your back— pushing you forward in a shove toward the center of the mat. “He needs to learn.” Enji hadn’t lightened up, Arms crossed over his broad chest with an aura that asserted dominance over both you and Shoto in an instant.
Your hands moved before your mind.
You were desperate to please the only father figure who gave you a purpose. Even now, years later, you were still trying to stand in his graces to become his masterpiece again despite the stain of your biology.
‘I’m scared.’ ‘I have to become strong.’ ‘I can become the best.’ ‘The greatestthegreatest—‘
A sea of fire raged and the dojo quickly came to smell of ozone and singed skin. Shoto had fallen for the tenth time that hour, his breath coming in ragged, wet hiccups. His grey eye was washed, the warmth inside dimming as he sobbed from the ground—his lip wedged between his teeth with a near defeated look.
You stood over him, your own hands smoking blue, your chest heaving with a sense of triumph that tasted like poison. Looking back at endeavor for approval, He nodded.
You were suddenly better than Shoto. Trained better— worked better. You could do everything he couldn’t.
This was the moment when you decided your own place among the food chain. When you decided to make a friends home and school life hell on earth to keep it from burning you.
Only for fate nearly eight years later to spit in your face.
A karma of sorts.
“You must be joking! That’s impossible!”
A doctors office.
You learned just then how suffocating pheromones could be.
”How could he possibly be an omega! He’s built for far much more!” Your mother was furious, screaming at the doctor even— Livid she was ripping the paper documentation of your analysis report.
”Ms. Huo, please. Biology isn't a choice. It is not uncommon for Omega genes to surface even in cases of Alpha recessivity. His quirk development likely masked the hormonal shift until now.” The office felt far too small. The air was thick, suffocating with the scent of sterile chemicals and the underlying pheromones of the Alpha doctor who was trying to cool your feral mother.
Despite her screaming the only thing you could hear was a ringing, An overwhelming emptiness that created its own noise— Staring at your hands, The hands that led you to become a master over wielding fire. ‘Would this mean… My dream is over?’ You questioned yourself with a look.
Enji wasn’t any better the day your mother had dragged you over to the Todoroki household. Demanding that he’d fix you, He didn’t.
Because what could possibly change the facts? The biology? Instead he still chose to teach you. It should’ve made you squeal with joy at the merciful grace he showed you. But it was too different, You were suddenly the backseat while he and Shoto spared. Awaiting on the edge, you sat only on the sidelines everyday.
That hate had started there.
No… The hate didn't just start there; it metastasized. It became a monster when Shoto presented only weeks later. A pure, dominant Alpha.
By the time you were thirteen, jealousy was a feral thing clawing at the inside of your ribs. It tore you apart until you couldn't even begin to explain the torture in you without screaming. It drove you to train until your skin blistered, to exceed every benchmark Enji set for Shoto. You wanted to prove that biology was a lie.
”Why bother coming out if you just plan on using your ice?” you’d snarked at Shoto during a joint training session. You were smaller now, the height difference between Alpha and Omega beginning to show. You bit at him with barbed words, Yet he looked past you as if you were an insignificant shadow—as if you hadn't outshined him in every drill for the last six years.
Your blood boiled. The instinct to fight, to prove your dominance, surged in your gut.
A crude mistake.
”Don’t walk away from me!” You barked at him only to be met with a slap in the face, Your own twisted joke.
Biology.
Shoto didn’t fully turn around— simply glanced over his shoulder, his dual-colored eyes cold and heavy with an innate power he hadn't even earned. Once he’d opened his mouth, and a single word vibrated through the air, hitting your nervous system like a physical blow.
“Stop.”
Your knees buckled before you could think. Your flames flickered out from your palms, suppressed by the sheer weight of his Alpha presence. You were stuck there, trembling, trapped in your own body while your mind screamed in protest. Gaze staring into the wooden floors. Hatehatehatehatehtate.
In the doorway, Enji’s eyes gleamed. He didn't scold Shoto for the disrespect... No, He looked at his son with a terrifying sort of pride. He was pleased with the authority Shoto wielded, such ease with which he had neutralized a "superior" combatant with nothing but a biological birthright.
The gift of being born a superior Alpha.
You dug your nails into the floor, glaring up at the boy who now stood taller, Looking down on you. You who was forced into silence by a word, realized the world didn't care who was more skilled. It only cared who was in charge. You had to be better. You had to burn so hot that even his blood couldn't command you.
You were still better than him.
You were going to be, Today you would prove it to everyone.
Freeing from your raving thoughts; You were sitting in the waiting room full of silence before the door hissed open. Shoto trudged in, his movements heavy with a level of exhaustion that went deeper than bone. He looked frayed, frost clung to his right side like a dying winter while the left side of his student uniform was partially scorched, still radiating a faint, residual heat that made the air in the room shimmer.
He spared you a singular tired look before sinking into the chair directly across from you. “Well hello, Todo.” Your lips pursed in a sneer.
”It looks like you can use your flames, And you’re not just some failure prototype.” You mocked him with a lazy wave of your hand, eyes tracking the way his chest rose and fell. You continued, your voice dropping to a dangerous tease.
“I’m sure Endeavor came by earlier to tell you I’ll be next, And I’m sure it’ll be just like when we were kids.” The meaning of, It’ll be like how i used to pummel you when we were children was cruelly left unsaid.
Still you watched his face, looking for a crack in the farce of porcelain, a flicker of the boy who used to hide under futons with you. Shoto’s expression remained a frozen wasteland. He didn't blink. He didn't even look insulted, not a lick of his scent flaring.
Your eyes gauged his reaction slowly.
He was blank before nodding. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice raspy from the earlier smoke. “I suppose it will.” Shotos lashes fluttered to glance up at you.
The sheer indifference of it was the final match in the powder keg. It sent your blood boiling to be so nonchalant at something that could change either of your lives.
Your lips twisted with a hiss of a snarl, hands slammed onto the white table between you with a deafening crack. The plastic groaned under your weight as you leaned half your torso over the surface, your face inches from his.
Surged forward, your fingers twitched as if they were itching to conjure a flame. “You're doing it on purpose, aren't you? You think it's funny to watch me struggle for crumbs of his attention? If you hold back—if you make me look like a fool just to prove a point to that man —I will make sure they never find enough of you to bury. Do you understand Shoto? I will not be humiliated!”
It only irritated you further at his next nod of slow agreement, Like your fury meant nothing— rattling the table you pulled back.
Shooting a glare at the door that soon busted open with a kick.
Bakugo had his brows furrowed in a permanent scowl. He took in the scene with a stumped, lethal sort of confusion.
You, vibrating with rage despite the relaxed posture you put on. And Todoroki sitting there like a statue in the middle of a storm, rubbing the back of his neck like he couldn’t understand where he’d gone wrong now.
Bakugo’s red eyes flickered between the two of you, then up to the number on the wall, then back to you. “The hell is this bullshit?" he barked, his voice grating through the tension like a chainsaw. “You two having a moment, or am I in the wrong damn room?”
You didn’t share any insight, Only sparing Shoto another glare before kicking the table, Walking out with a stormier pinch to your usual porcelain skin.
You were going to ruin him,