Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The thing is, he doesn’t feel particularly guilty about it.

Sure, it’s disgusting, unnatural, and repulsive; a perception so twisted in ordinary eyes. But Shoto has hardly ever seen himself as normal. Instead, he finds himself immersed in the act of shoving thousands of calories into his body, then puking them back up.

Locked in his bathroom, gagging on long fingers, spit and saliva coating his hand, smearing across his face, and dripping onto the toilet seat, all just to erase his careless accidents. It’s how his days are typically spent.

Of course, he doesn't particularly enjoy that part—his eyes sting, snot gets everywhere, and it’s such an exhausting mess—but over time, it becomes a necessity. He is unable to stop himself from eating, then eating, and then eating more. His body, overwhelmed by the calories, expanded by the food, is bloated and stuffed to the brim, so he must rid himself of it. It’s only logical to do so.

Shoto finds it impossible to stop, so he must resort to this.

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The thing is, it wasn’t a gradual start; it was a compulsive and stupid decision, made in a moment of weakness.

He remembers the first time he tried to succeed, back when he was in middle school, naive and full of resentment. It was shameful, yet so predictable; knowing he’d fail before he even tried to succeed. He’d eaten too much; took seconds, maybe thirds. Smothered the burning ache inside himself with food, kept doing it.

It didn’t come out. No matter how he hunched over the toilet seat, nor how far he pushed his fingers, wiggling them at the back of his throat, it just wouldn't come out, and he’d simply given up. All that effort and nothing but spit and shame rose from within him. It was a pathetic display that only left his throat sore and his knuckles red.

He doesn’t even know why. Logically, he must have been hungry, but even then, he was getting an adequate amount of food before. So why, he asks himself helplessly.

Shoto doesn't understand where the idea stemmed from. Perhaps he’d overheard it from his peers, maybe he’d always known this thing, this urge. Maybe it was lying dormant inside of him, ready to come out when the humiliation of eating so much food came.

Even after all his efforts, not a single ounce of real food came out. Shoto still felt bloated and disgusting, but most shamefully, he felt fat.

As he pressed his forehead against the toilet seat, the cool metal etching itself into his skull, he vowed to never do this again, to never try this thing again.

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And he doesn’t. For a while, things are normal; he eats the diet Endeavour gives him without complaint. Basic things like chicken and rice; foods that stay in his caloric intake and grant him the designated amount of protein and carbs he should need to function. He still isn’t allowed sweets or anything too sugary, but it’s okay. He doesn’t need the senseless eating; he’s the one in control.

Sometimes, when he was younger, his mother would sneak him bits of candy or chocolate. She’d smile, hold up a finger to her curved lips, and place a sweet in his small palm. His eyes would light up childishly, and once granted her permission, he’d slip the sweet into his mouth, relishing in the scarce occasion.

Now there was no one secretly handing him treats; Mom's gone because of him, Natsuo can barely look at him before bolting out of the room, and Fuyumi’s far too obedient to pose that level of disrespect against Endeavour.

Shoto feels distant from it all. He barely sees his siblings; it’s the way it’s always been, and it isn’t going to change now. All these cycles of waking up, going to Middle school, eating, and training are draining. But he feels numb to it all, a tiredness in his bones that isn’t going away, no matter how much rest he allows himself. It’s an exhausting cycle, and Shoto isn’t sure he can continue like this anymore.

Maybe that’s why he does. He sneaked down in the middle of the night, following the long hallways into the kitchen, to the pantry stuffed with food.

There's a want in his head, an ache in his system, a desire so great he can’t fight down. He reaches for the first thing he sees, which happens to be some bland, salted crackers, and he rips open the packaging. He craves the taste, even though he doesn’t particularly like crackers. Still, he stuffs them in his mouth one by one until the packet is empty. His mouth feels dry, so he gulps down some water, but even after all that, he’s still hungry, so he looks in the fridge and eats some cheese. Looking around, Shoto finds cereal, grapes, strawberries, leftover rice, he even drinks some plain milk because he can.

He eats it all, and still he wants more, but he can feel his stomach pressing against the band of his sweatpants. Feeling sweaty and dizzy and so full of regret, he makes his way back upstairs and into his bathroom.

He doesn’t know why he does it again, but he begins to stand in front of the toilet, pressing on the bloat of his belly, and he brings his fingers to his mouth. He shoves them in deep, gagging once, twice, three times before an onslaught of food makes its way up his esophagus and into the toilet bowl.

Shoto quickly realizes that he barely puked up a quarter of the food he ate, but he felt satisfied looking at the acid-covered chunks. It was working, so he did it again. He gags three times more before more food comes up, but this time he shoves his fingers back into his mouth, prompting an explosion of undigested food to come up.

Shoto doesn't feel the minutes tick by, too engrossed in hacking and gagging his mistakes back up. Once he physically can't puke a morsel of food back up, he finds himself satisfied. Satisfied in the way his stomach has reverted back to its old form, satisfied in the way his body feels empty, in the way he feels like he's in control.

By the time he’s done his whole ordeal, he realizes it’s past two am. He’s exhausted when he slips under the covers of the futon, feeling the ache in his eyes, but he feels light inside, happy inside, so he doesn't mind the exhaustion; he sleeps better with it anyways.

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The thing is, it’s become a bit of a pattern after that night.

Whenever Endeavour is out on patrol, or sometimes, deep in the night, he does it again. Shoto simply eats whatever he wants during those times and pukes it back up.

He learns the foods that take forever to get back up, like rice, bread, and chocolates. He also finds the foods that are the easiest to come back up, like ice cream and cereal. Learns how much water he needs to drink to make the puking experience faster; too much and the puke comes out too watery and takes too long to finish, too little and it barely makes it up his esophagus.

He does it whenever the ache becomes too unbearable, too monstrous; when he feels sad and dejected. So he stuffs it down with food, swallowing the shame and regret he’s going to face at the hands of the toilet.

Shoto knows normal people don’t think about doing this, don’t have these problems, but it really isn’t that big of a deal. He still eats all three of the meals Endeavour has assigned for him and still maintains a weight range that keeps Endeavour pleased. So, really, there isn’t any sort of reason to stop; it keeps him content, it keeps Endeavour content, so what’s the problem?

He keeps this routine throughout his last year of middle school.

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When UA High School has its annual recommendation program, Shoto gets in thanks to Endeavour's position as the number two hero, allowing him to skip the typical entrance exam.

He’s sort of bitter about it; he claims he needs no part of his father, but he still uses the privileges Endeavour’s position grants him.

He takes the train there, opting to ignore Endeavour’s words of protest, telling Shoto he’d get him a ride. He doesn’t particularly want to be stuck in the car with his father for over ten minutes, so he rushes out of the house as fast as he can.

Once he arrives, he sees a man in all black leather, wearing orange sunglasses and having his long blond hair up in gel, resembling a banana. Others are gathered around him, chatting amongst each other, but Shoto doesn’t see the point of the mindless social interactions. Soon, the man in black introduces himself as the pro hero Present Mic. Shoto and the others follow him inside for the written exam once he is done with his speech.

After the ordeal is done, they are taken back inside to complete the practical exam. Shoto is not worried about either exam; he knows he will do well, knows he might even place first, beating Endeavour's ranking of number two.

Present Mic then speaks up in a zealous tone, “Okay, the written test of the recommendation exam is over!” Then, gesturing over to an obstacle course, he continues speaking, “Use your quirks freely to reach the finish line!”

Shoto lines up with the other students, waiting for the horn to blare, and once it does, he quickly uses his ice, not wasting a second before he propels himself forward. He makes it past all students, the finish line in sight, when suddenly, at the very last minute, a man taller and more muscled than Shoto crosses the finish line first. A simple gust of wind paired with the heel of his foot, and the other had won.

Present Mic’s voice booms out at the finish line. “By a hair! Number 41 finishes first!”

Shoto clenched his fists. He got second place. Just like Endeavour, just second place, just mediocre. At the others' mindless celebrating, Shoto feels a sort of anger bubbling inside himself, prompting him to speak; a vise demanding he put a stop to the others' victory dance.

“I just have to pass the test,” Shoto speaks, voice cold. “I wasn’t competing with you or anything.” He doesn’t look back at the other; his gaze remains forward, and anger smotheres him. “You’re in the way.”

After that, Shoto makes his way home by train yet again, his loss fresh in his mind. Second place, just like Endeavour, is a repeated mantra in his head, a mantra of his incompetence, his insolence. Endeavour won’t be happy, extra training will be due, and Shoto is so tired of that, frustrated at his loss, he doesn't even want to try anymore.

Fuyumi greets him when he comes home, telling him Endeavour went out to patrol. He knows he expects Shoto to give him a briefing on how the exams went, on what he’d scored, especially how he did in the practical. But Shoto doesn’t want to think of it at all; instead, he wants to eat, to eat and forget.

When he walks into the dining room, he finds his pre-made meal already on the chibudai table. He sits himself, mouth already watering, body already wanting. It’s not even anything special, just simple seasoned fish and white rice, paired with a side of steamed vegetables. Yet as he takes his first bite, he already wants another one in his mouth.

Soon, the whole meal is finished, but Shoto still wants more. He can’t control the urge; it's sharp and visceral, full of want rather than need. His feet bring him to the same pantry, the one full of cereal, crackers, dried seaweed, canned beans, and the occasional rice cakes.

He fills a glass full of water, bringing it to his lips, and begins chugging it like he’s been deprived of it. He takes out a container of beans that was in the fridge and begins scooping them into his mouth. It’s sort of gross; the wet texture of the beans is now cold, and he can see the bean water at the bottom of the container, yet that doesn’t deter him from continuing to eat and finish the whole thing. He does the same to the corn in the fridge, and he’s met with an array of vegetables and fruits, which he demolishes. While he does that, he gains enough sense to toast some bread, making it easier to puke when he does so.

He’s so full at the end it’s hard to move, but he makes his way up the stairs, each step making his head feel light-headed, and he feels so sick he thinks he might not even need to shove his fingers down his throat. Yet as he came face to face with the toilet, his fingers wet with water, he quickly splashed on them from the sink, nothing comes out until he brought the wet fingers to the back of his throat. Then the cycle began; push deep and gag, puke and repeat.

He’s shaky and exhausted at the end, and he had to crouch down in front of the toilet just to make the shaking of his knees stop. He placed his head on the toilet seat, it’s gross, his mind told him, but he was more focused on calming his erratic breathing.

It’s fine, just a little setback he can easily destroy, but he’s still breathing harshly, and it feels like his heart will pound out of his chest.

He shamefully thinks back to the meal he’s sure Endeavour prepared for him to eat when he gets back from the exams, and he knows he shouldn’t have vomited it back up.

He carved it to do so anyway, devoured his plate like a vile boar slashing its prey open and eating the guts; face inhaling, and chewing like no tomorrow would present itself. Just to make himself puke all up, and still Shoto wants more. He wants more. He feels like a glutton for punishment; more food, but he knows he’ll have to puke it out.

He will not allow himself more.

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The thing is, he doesn't feel guilty about the puking, not even the binging.

His guilt manifests from leaving it in, from failing to get it all out. To letting the fat accumulate inside of himself, to let his body carry it and show it off to the world. There’s no point to this whole routine if he cannot get it all out. He must get it all out.

Still, the act itself is freeing, so much so that even as he walks up to UA’s entrance, he resolves himself to not quit, to keep this thing. It helps him, thus he will continue it; he doesn’t care for much else.

Chapter Text

Shoto doesn’t get along well with his classmates, or rather, he makes no effort to.

Some people had tried to talk to him on the first day, surrounding his desk, but with just one impassive look from him, they back away and none try to do so again. Shoto doesn't mind, though, it’s preferable even. He’s always been alone. Why change something that he's been so accustomed to for so long?

He just needs to focus on his studies and work on crushing Endeavour, proving he can surpass him without ever using his left side.

One of his desk mates, a girl with a high ponytail, a student he recognizes from the recommendation exams, smiles pleasantly at him every morning, even if he makes no effort to do the same. He later learns her name is Yaoyorozu. She’s nice to everyone around her, so Shoto doesn’t dismiss the kindness, but he makes no moves to reciprocate the gestures.

He’s glad he sits at the back. He feels more secure that way, farther away from the figure of authority, from the one who controls him here. Estranged from both the teacher and classmates, just the way he likes it, just the way it’s always been.

He still diligently listens, though, wanting to stay at the top of his classes. In UA, they don’t change classrooms; rather, the teachers do, coming in with their work to start their teaching.

When given instructions, Shoto does them mechanically, and he always makes sure to do them correctly as he should. It’s been drilled into him since he was young.

Why do something if you’re just going to half ass it, Shoto?

You might as well not do it at all.

Endeavour's ideology turned into his own; a purpose that’s been crafted for him, and one that will stay with him.

So he doesn't focus on his peers. He’ll do this alone, become a hero alone, beat Endeavour alone, and he’ll manage to survive, even if he’s alone at the end.

It’s always been this way, so there’s no point trying to change it now.

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Things happen, taking a sharp turn in his supposedly normal—well, as normal as you can get for being a hero student at UA—school life.

At the beginning, his quirk apprehension test, along with his battle trial, goes smoothly. He simply uses his ice adaptively, using it to push himself forward, making himself faster, and he quickly disables his enemy's movements in his battle trial, earning a quick and easy win for both him and his partner.

(He has to use fire to melt the ice afterward, but that’s a small and insignificant detail that doesn't mean much.

He’s done the first part without fire, so in the end, it really doesn’t count. It shouldn’t count.)

He’s done well, and he prides himself on that.

But when they go to the USJ, that's when the trouble comes. It starts as Shoto and expected, Mr. Aizawa and another pro hero named Thirteen tell them what they're supposed to be learning to do: saving citizens in dangerous situations. They have to learn how to calm them down and how they should prioritize their safety above all things.

It’s simple, really. Shoto already knows how this whole trial works and has been taught it before by Endeavour. So he knows he doesn’t need to worry about any of this; all he needs to do is save the citizens in a way that doesn’t harm them and is efficient.

(Fire will only harm, so he doesn’t need it. It’ll only hurt that person; ice is a much safer option to use, so he disregards the thoughts of how he’d use fire to save the victims.)

But their lessons don't go as planned, a portal opens, and many villains enter in a search for All Might. In a flash, he’s teleported through a strange purple-black portal. There are a bunch of villains staring at him with grins full of menace and violence, but as quickly as they came, they were dealt with.

He encapsulates them with his ice, freezing their bodies enough so they couldn’t do much more than plead and beg him to let them go. Nothing more than lowlifes. When he threatens them of hypothermia, they quickly cave and tell them their plan to defeat All Might. Instead of listening to their pleas of mercy any longer, he leaves them frozen, making his way to the central arena, where he knows the real fight with the man who transported him with portals is.

When he arrives, he sees All Might trapped in the shadow man’s quirk, along with a strange entity near him. Its body was fully muscular, and its brain could be seen through its head. Was that thing even a person?

Shoto doesn’t dwell on it, instead sending a shard of ice towards the thing, keeping it still for merely a few seconds, letting All Might break free from his capture.

His ice does nothing but keep the being stunned for solely a few seconds before it regenerates itself. Yet, the act seems to help All Might, so he continues with the endeavour.

In the end, All Might remains victorious, and the other pro heroes who recently arrived deal with the other villains, but he knows the shadow man and blue-haired kid escaped.

They stand outside the USJ, waiting for some semblance of instruction, someone to tell them how to continue after what has happened. Shoto learns no one but his home room teacher and thirteen faced any critical injuries.

The others discuss the experience amongst themselves, but Shoto could hardly care about their chattering. But as Hagakure speaks up about being in the landslide zone with Shoto the whole time, he feels something akin to guilt in his chest. He hadn’t realized she was in the area. What if he had accidentally frozen her along with the villains, hurting her in the process of capturing the criminals? That’d be a careless mistake on his part; one that could have easily been prevented. He needs to be better than this.

Desperately, he wants to go home and lock himself in the comfort of his room. Be done with this whole thing and Eat.

As the police make their way to the students, Shoto and his whole class are given a pat on the back for their efforts, and after giving their reports on what occurred in that short time frame, they’re sent on their way back home.

When he reaches the front door of his house, commuting from the school bus to the train, Endeavour is already present, shadowing over him, broad shoulders crossed and face displeased.

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After that ordeal, he’s quickly thrown into the Sports Festival.

Endeavour begins to upgrade his training by hours, and his hits have gotten tougher, trying to get him to unleash his fire, and when he doesn’t, the training becomes more gruelling.

Sometimes Shoto can’t get up; his ribs are bruised, and when he’s in class, he can feel the slow throb in his bones. Fuyumi sometimes patches him up, tying bandages around the bruised area after applying ice. Sometimes she gets her hands on some cream she can smother on his skin, but most of the time he’s given a painkiller and told to lie on his futon till dinner; sometimes he doesn’t even bother eating dinner.

With Endeavour harshly breathing down his shoulder more than ever, Shoto feels more persistent in defying him and his fire.

It’s draining. To be in this cycle all the time. He finds himself tired most of the time and going through life at an almost melancholic pace. Yet, he can’t afford to fall behind, so he listens, expands his energy, and does all he can to fight back.

In class, he’s still the distant, quiet person he had been in the beginning. Most of the time, people give him pleasant ‘hellos’ or some other form of greeting, but Shoto doesn’t reply without anything other than a curt nod. Shoto needs to focus on the important things, and having friends will stunt that. He needs to keep his drive and his focus if he plans on beating the Sports Festival without using his ice.

Mr. Aizawa comes back with bandages all over his body—even his face. But assures them that he’s ok and they should prepare for the Sports Festival UA hosts annually, instead of spending their time worrying about him, and thus, they continue on.

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Endeavour’s training isn’t all bad, he tries to reason one night, lying in his futon staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. It’s helping him improve, helping him get stronger, and it pisses Endeavour off every time a shard of ice is used instead of raging flames. So really, it’s fine, just another thing he needs to overcome.

Still, his days have become so hectic and stress-filled that he couldn’t find any time to focus on his little hobby.

(Putting a real name to it feels dangerous; distancing it to a hobby feels safer, less menacing, and much less real.)

Yet, now that he’s alone, lying down, doing nothing but thinking, the desire to do it is almost unbearable.

He’s weak, so he gets up and begins walking downstairs, silently and avoiding the little creeks the floorboards make. Like a moth to flame, like a bee to honey, he finds himself in front of the pantry yet again. The rest becomes history.

When he finished the last of the granola bar he was chewing, Shoto looked down at his surroundings. Litters of wrappers from previous snacks surround him, and he needs to hide them.

He stuffs the empty wrappers in a trash bag he found, even if he feels enormously full and ready to puke. He can’t get caught like this. It'd be too humiliating to try to explain the mess to his siblings or Endeavour. He fills the bag up, and the wrappers barely take up any space. He sort of feels guilty about wasting so much food, but in the end, he’ll do it again and again. Making a plan to hide the evidence in his school bag, where he’ll then go to school and discreetly throw the trash out when no one is looking. He shoves the bag in the back of his bag, under his subject-coded notebooks, trying to squeeze it to be as small as possible. Once that’s done and over with, he makes his way to the bathroom.

Wetting his fingers in the sink. Standing in front of the toilet and pushing his fingers back into his throat while prodding at the bulge in his stomach, he starts to gag and eventually vomits into the toilet bowl. His vision blurs with unshed tears, and he has to stop more often now, feeling too tired to continue shoving his fingers into his mouth.

Looking at his hand, he finds tiny chunks of undigested carrot and goo he’s sure is the cereal he had eaten, covered in coats of acid and saliva. Stil,l as he makes his way to do round two, he pushes the dirty hand back into his mouth and continues to vomit.

He knows it’s late when he finishes. He has school tomorrow as well as another day of training with Endeavour, but he finds that as long as he can continue doing this, he’ll be fine.

Lying back down in his futon, he sleeps soundly tonight.

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Class goes on regularly enough, even with the Sports Festival looming over their shoulders, though he can feel his classmates buzzing with excitement and nerves.

He does the work assigned to him vigorously and studiously trains when given the chance to, even when he feels like he might fall over, he does what he’s supposed to. Nobody talks to him in class, nobody even tries anymore, already used to his aloof behaviour from the previous weeks.

Shoto uses that opportunity to diligently make his way to the top of his class, focusing on his individual training. He tries to create his ice faster, decrease his reaction time, and learn to be quicker and stealthier in battle.

Despite this, Endeavour is more frustrated than ever with him not using any fire during training, rather subjecting himself to longer periods on the treadmill and a more severe beating. Yet, Shoto continues not to comply.

In two weeks' time, the Sports Festival will come. He knows Endeavour has made time in his schedule to watch him, continuing to pressure him to use his fire. Shoto won’t, though; he’ll win this thing without using any part of Endeavour, proving his quirk isn’t necessary to win.

Walking into the stadium, Shoto feels distant, like his body is doing the commands on autopilot, even as Present Mic announces their arrival, and his fellow classmates emit worry, Shoto can’t help but feel nothing at all.

The rest goes by in a blur until he’s standing in front of a traffic light waiting to start. Shoto readies himself, running as soon as the light turns green and a buzzer erupts. At the chaos in the entrance, he lets out enough ice to freeze everyone I their tracks, making it easier for him to run to the finish line

“Apologies,” Shoto says, his tone devoid of emotion. He has to win this, to show Endeavour.

He hears the others murmuring their opinions of injustice from behind him, but he pays it no mind, continuing to rush forward.

He has to win this.

A feminine voice suddenly yells out, “Nice trick, Todoroki!” One he quickly identifies as Yaorozou, and looking behind him, he sees Bakugou, Kirishima, and Aoyama have also managed to break free from the ice.

Hearing others have also started to break free, Shoto unleashed another round of ice onto the ground, hoping to trap them once again, but a lot had dodged the attack. He didn’t expect them to, especially those who weren’t in class 1-a. There’s no point worrying, he’s still in first place.

Then suddenly, his classmate, Mineta, flies into the air, and just as he was about to attack Shoto, a large metal claw came out of nowhere, striking the shorter male and putting an end to his ‘special attack.’

Noticing the multitude of metal robots in front of him, large as they come, he stops moving, devising a plan inside his head. Quickly, Shoto realizes this is what the other students had to face to join UA High School. It still doesn't matter to him. Placing a hand in front of him, ice overtakes the robot's bodies, keeping them in place as he continues to sprint forward. He has to put up a show for Endeavour anyway; might as well be now.

Looking back, he sees the robots beginning to tip forward, and he calls out, “Careful, now. I froze them while they were off their balance.” He continues to run as he hears the robots crash onto the ground. “On purpose.”

He continues running forward, paying no mind to Present Mic and Mr. Aizawa’s commentary on his skill. He isn’t doing this for them anyway.

He passes through the obstacles, finishing them with ease, when suddenly a hand from Bakugo latches onto his forearm. He tries to blow an explosion into Shoto’s face, but Shoto is quicker and dodges with ease. They continue trading blows against each other, with Bakugo trying to use his explosions and Todoroki his ice. If this keeps up, Shoto won’t win; he needs to put a stop to Bakugo—

Kabloom.

A loud explosion causes both him and Bakugo to look back, seeing Midoriya ride what seems to be a piece of those robots. Flying over both of them in a spray of pink dust, Midoriya takes first place. This causes Shoto to quit squabbling with Bakugo and pick up his pace, using his ice to accelerate forward. All this would be for nothing if he cannot win right now. Win with just his ice.

Another burst of pink fumes makes its way up into the air as Midoriya hits the ground in front of Shoto, causing him to lose his balance momentarily, but that single second was enough for Midoriya to race ahead, claiming himself as the first-place victor.

Once inside the arena, he stops to catch his breath, letting out a wave of heat to melt the ice and help him warm up. He lost. Inexcusably, he lost to someone who didn’t even use their quirk for this race.

He’d gotten second place, just like Endeavour always has. It’s unfair to be stuck in his father’s legacy continuously. Always second place. Second best. At this point, he’ll never surpass All Might, not if he can’t even surpass Midoriya.

The thought weighs heavily on his mind.

In the second round, gathering bands from his opponents, his team made it to first place, but Shoto didn’t feel satisfied. The match was a close call, and he knew he lost a hand band, the one he started with.

Shoto clenched his fist. He has to win this. For his own sake, he can’t let Endeavour take control of him; he can’t become a mindless puppet, a vessel to Endeavour to use to achieve his dream. He just couldn’t. Shoto won’t end up a shell to carry his father’s dreams. He’s got to win now.

At lunch break, he corners Midoriya, one of the stadium's entrances, not caring if he loses food for this. He’s got to ask Midoriya his question. Leaning against the walls, he looks straight at Midoriya’s trembling yet resolute frame.

Midoriya speaks first. “You brought me here. Now what?”

The truth is, Shoto doesn't understand why he tells Midoriya any of this. The quirk marriage that had been set by Endeavour to create a masterpiece, to create him. He tells Midoriya of his goals to beat All Might and his father, wanting to become the number one hero on his own terms, using only his ice. He recalls his mother, with her gentle hands and warm smiles, but those memories blur together, and suddenly, he only remembers tears from her eyes, those quiet sobs emitting from her mouth. Sobs he’s caused.

The disgust eats at him. He touches his left side, the blue of his unsightly eye, covered in marred skin, left to scar. “I remember she called my left side unbearable,” he says softly at the admission, “before she poured boiling water on my face.” The words came out before he could stop himself, unable to control them tumbling out of his mouth.

His left side is unbearable, resembling his father's own face. That man’s face.

Midoriya listens as he continues to talk, though he looks pale and shocked. “You see, I’m going to show him that I reject his power, and I can take first place without using it.”

After his talk with Midoriya, the next round nears, and Shoto makes his way back to the stadium. He looks at his first match-up, a classmate. Hanta Sero, the one who uses tape that comes from his elbows. He pays no mind to anything else, waiting for his match-up to start.

After Midoriya’s round, he makes his way to the arena for his match-up, only to feel a familiar presence on his way.

Endeavour speaks up. “You’re acting disgracefully, Shoto.” He keeps walking forward, trying to ignore the words and all their meanings.

“If you had just simply used the power in your left side, you would’ve had an overwhelming victory in both of the first rounds. It’s time to stop this childish rebellion of yours. You have a duty to surpass that imbecile, All Might.”

Shoto grits his teeth, tasting copper, but Endeavour continues speaking. “Do you realize what I’m saying? You’re different from your siblings. You're my greatest masterpiece.”

Shoto keeps walking forward, trying not to let the words sink in, not to let them take control. He feels the calluses on his hands as he curls his fists tighter.

Masterpiece.

He despises that word so much. The way his whole existence can be chalked up to it. A puppet, a toy, a doll, numerous things that all carry the same value in the end.

To be used then discarded.

He walks steadily to his match-up, waits for the round to start, and when Sero binds him with his tape, Shoto releases a wall of ice, encapsulating his opponent and rendering him helpless.

All he’d felt in that moment was anger and annoyance. Endeavours words replaying in his head, a sick mantra fueling his anger.

He apologizes to Sero for going overboard and begins unfreezing him with his left palm, the one that emits fire, the one Endeavour wants him to use.

In all honesty, Shoto’s mind is still reeling from those words.

Masterpiece.

He remembers puking on the floor. Covered in sweat and sick, his mother tried to get his father to stop the mistreatments, only to be the one to end up on the floor next to Shoto.

You’re different from your siblings.

Looking through the spaces between the stairs railing, seeing his siblings play ball, wanting desperately to join them but not knowing how to ask.

Unbearable.

A desperate phone call and a high-pitched whistle, screams of agony and apology all combine.

Unbearable.

He thinks of the wrappers stuffed in his closet, of vomit-coated fingers, and a toilet full of his self-made puke.

He’s so unbearably disgusting.

-----------------------------------

Shoto sits alone, awaiting his next round.

He stares at his hands. On his left knuckles, he can see a blemish of teeth marks on his skin, indented and bleeding.

He ignores it, looks up at the ceiling instead.

He sits in the room alone, just like how he prefers it, waiting for his next round.