The Todoroki traditional estate was quieter than it used to be, but it was no longer the tomb it had been in Shoto's childhood.
Now, it was a place of healing, though the scars were everywhere-both in the wood of the walls and the bodies of the people inside.
In the living room, Endeavor-Enji Todoroki-sat by the engawa. The transition from the "Number One Hero" to a retired man was visible in the heavy, mechanical whir of his prosthetic arm as he reached for a cup of tea.
His leg, also a sleek, high-end prosthetic, rested stiffly before him. He looked like a statue of a god that had been broken and glued back together with cold steel.
Fuyumi was in the kitchen, the familiar sound of her humming providing a thin veil of normalcy.
Nearby, Natsuo was looking over some medical texts. His life had taken an unexpected turn; after his wedding, he had intended to move far away and never look back.
But the post-war chaos and the collapse of the family's finances had forced a change of plans.
He and his new wife had moved back into the estate to help Fuyumi manage their father's care and the mounting bills they didn't realize were drowning them.
The front door opened, and Shoto stepped in. The air in the hallway immediately chilled, a tell tale sign of his emotional state.
"Shoto? You're back early," Fuyumi called out, wiping her hands on her apron as she walked into the hall. "How did the meeting with Hakamada Corp go? Did they agree to the extension?"
Shoto paused, his hand lingering on the doorframe. He looked at his father-the man who had once been a monster, but was now just a crippled old man trying to atone.
He looked at Natsuo, who had finally found a scrap of happiness, and Fuyumi, who had spent her whole life keeping this family from splintering.
If he told them the truth-that he had sold his future and his bloodline to a corporate shark-Natsuo would lose his mind, and Enji would likely try to tear the Hakamada Tower down with his one good hand, ruining whatever was left of their reputation.
"It's handled," Shoto said, his voice as flat as a frozen lake.
"Handled?" Natsuo looked up, skeptical. "Those guys are vultures, Shoto. They don't just 'handle' things out of the goodness of their hearts. What did you have to give up?"
Shoto met his brother's gaze. He felt the weight of the contract in his mind. "A partnership. A personal merger. I'll be moving out soon."
"Moving out?" Fuyumi's face fell. "But we just got everyone back under one roof."
"It's part of the deal," Shoto said, turning away so they wouldn't see the flicker of pain in his eyes. "I'm getting married. To (Y/N) Hakamada."
The room went dead silent. The only sound was the faint, rhythmic mechanical click of Enji's prosthetic hand tightening against his tea cup.
"Married?" Fuyumi whispered. "Shoto, you don't even know her. Is this... is this for us?"
"I'm doing it because I want to," Shoto lied. The lie tasted like ash. He thought of (Y/N)'s face in the lobby-the girl who was as beautiful as a dream and as dangerous as a cage. "It's a good match. For the agency and for me."
He walked toward his room before they could ask anything else, leaving his family in a state of stunned disbelief.
He had saved them, but as he closed his door, he realized he had just become the one thing he promised he'd never be: a piece of property traded for a name.
^ • ^
On the wedding day:
The wedding was a masterpiece of staged perfection, but beneath the surface, the tension was thick enough to choke.
For the first time in years, the entire Todoroki family was in one place. Rei had been discharged from the facility for the event, looking fragile but regal in a pale kimono.
She stood beside Fuyumi, whose eyes were red-rimmed from crying.
Natsuo refused to even look in the direction of the Hakamada family, his jaw set in a permanent snarl, while Enji sat in the front row, the low whir of his mechanical limbs a constant, haunting hum.
They weren't happy. They knew Shoto was the one paying the price for the roof over their heads, and as they watched him stand at the altar-beautiful, stoic, and dead behind the eyes-they felt the weight of their own survival like a leaden cloak.
(Y/N) saw none of it. To her, the day was a blur of white lace and the scent of the lilies.
She was sheltered her entire life in her father's shadow, and she had spent years projecting all her dreams onto the quiet hero with the dual-colored hair.
She walked down the aisle, she felt like the luckiest girl in the world. She didn't see the pity in Rei's eyes or the fury in Natsuo's. She only saw Shoto.
^ • ^
The reception ended, and they were whisked away to a new villa-a wedding gift from Masamune.
It was a sprawling, glass-walled structure perched on a cliffside, overlooking the ocean. It was modern, expensive, and utterly lonely.
When they arrived, the silence between them was deafening.
"It's... it's so big," (Y/N) whispered, her fingers tracing the cold marble of the kitchen island. She looked at Shoto, her heart fluttering. "I can't believe we're finally home."
Shoto didn't answer. He didn't even look at her. He walked straight to the mahogany bar in the corner of the lounge. He didn't take off his formal coat; he just poured a glass of amber liquid and downed it in one go.
"Shoto? Are you alright?" she asked, taking a hesitant step toward him.
"Go to bed, (Y/N)," he said, his voice rough. He poured another glass.
(Y/N) bit her lip, her chest tightening. She told herself he was just nervous. It was their wedding night, after all.
She nodded softly and retreated to the master bedroom, spending an hour in the bathroom carefully preparing.
She brushed her hair until it shone, put on the delicate silk nightgown she'd picked out herself, and climbed into the massive bed.
She waited. She listened to the distant sound of the waves and the faint clink of glass against glass from the other room.
But as the hours bled into the late night, her eyelids grew heavy. Exhausted by the emotions of the day, she eventually drifted into a restless sleep.
She didn't hear the door open at 2:00 AM.
Shoto stumbled slightly as he entered the room, the scent of expensive whiskey clinging to him like a second skin.
He was drunk-not enough to lose his coordination, but enough to numb the screaming voice in his head that told him this was wrong.
He looked at her in the moonlight. She looked like a painting-soft, innocent, and completely at his mercy.
He felt a surge of that traitorous attraction again, her beauty cutting through the alcohol, and it made him seethe. He hated that he wanted her.
He hated that her father had used her face to make this trap look like a gift.
He didn't wake her gently. He didn't whisper sweet nothings. He climbed into the bed, his movements heavy and clinical.
His hands started there work in cold precision, his lips were on her skin but never her lips.
When (Y/N) jolted awake, her heart racing, she found herself pinned beneath the weight of her new husband.
The room smelled of alcohol and peppermint.
"Shoto?" she gasped, her eyes wide as she tried to find his gaze in the dark. "You're... you... You're drunk?"
"Does it matter?" he rasped, his hands gripping her wrists with a strength that wasn't cruel, but was entirely devoid of tenderness.
He didn't stop his advance. He didn't even look her in the eye. He just began to fulfill the only part of the contract that mattered to him.
Kissing and sucking getting her ready for the only thing that mattered in this contract.
(Y/N) lay there, her fairytale shattering in real time. This was the moment she had saved herself for, the man she had dreamed of, but there was no love in his touch-only a cold, desperate urgency.
He moved as if he were trying to finish a race, his breathing heavy and his skin hot, while her own tears began to soak into the silk pillowcase.
He was making love to her at least she wanted to call it that, like she was a deadline to be met.
When he was finished, he rolled off her immediately. He didn't hold her. He didn't check if she was okay.
Within minutes, the alcohol dragged him back into a heavy, snoring sleep, leaving (Y/N) staring at the ceiling in the dark, silent tears sliding down her temples, feeling the cold ache of her first night as a wife-and the terrifying realization that she had married a man who couldn't even stand to be sober while he touched her.