Recap: "I'll see myself out," Hakamada said. "Make sure she stays in the dark. It's for her own protection."
^ • ^
Shoto stood frozen, his eyes locked onto the words "Succession Clause." The text seemed to vibrate on the page, the cold, legal font stripping away the warmth of the last three months. 'Five years.' The term sounded like a prison sentence.
Every time he had held (Y/N) lately, he had felt a spark of something real, something that belonged only to them. Now, looking at the contract, he felt like a thief stealing moments that had already been bought and paid for.
He reached out, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the paper.
He thought of her laughter in the kitchen, the way she had carefully picked out the curtains to "let the morning light in just right." She was building a life, while he was managing a merger.
Suddenly, the muffled sound of footsteps approached the study door.
"(Y/N)?" he muttered, his heart leaping into his throat.
"Shoto? Is everything okay in there?" Her muffled voice was light, but carried a hint of concern. "Father left so abruptly, he didn't even say goodbye to the guests."
The handle of the door rattled.
Panic, cold and sharp, surged through him. He couldn't let her see this. Not tonight. Not when she was wearing that dress and looking at him like he was her hero.
With a blurred speed, he snatched the portfolio. He didn't have time to find a proper hiding spot.
He shoved the leather folder into the deep, bottom drawer of his mahogany desk, piling a stack of hero agency reports over it just as the door creaked open.
(Y/N) stepped in, the soft light from the hallway framing her. She looked around the dim room, her eyes landing on Shoto, who was leaning against the desk, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she said softly, walking toward him. She reached out, her hand resting on his arm. "What did he want? Was it about the agency? Or the house?"
Shoto took a slow, steadying breath, forcing his facial muscles to relax into the mask he had practiced since childhood. He reached out and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering.
"Just business," he lied, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "He's just... preoccupied with the quarterly reports. You know how he is."
(Y/N) sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder. "I wish he'd relax. Tonight was supposed to be about us, not reports." She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Are you sure you're okay? You're freezing, Shoto."
"I'm fine," he whispered, pulling her into a tight embrace-partly to comfort her, and partly so she couldn't see the guilt swimming in his eyes. Over her shoulder, his gaze drifted to the closed drawer.
The secret was safe for now, but the weight of it felt like it was crushing the very ribs that protected his heart.
^ • ^
The morning air felt lighter than usual as (Y/N) hummed a soft melody, her room a whirlwind of discarded dresses and open jewelry boxes.
Today wasn't just another formal event; it was the day she would finally sit at the table with the Todorokis as a true member of the family.
She knew the history-she knew how hard Endeavor had worked to atone, how Rei had finally come home to a house that was trying to heal, and how Natsuo, despite his lingering bitterness, had moved with his own wife into the estate to help keep the family together.
It was a house of second chances, and (Y/N) was desperate to prove she belonged there.
"Shoto! Can you help with the clasp?" she called out, her voice slightly high with a mix of nerves and pure, unadulterated joy.
Shoto stepped into the room, dressed in a sharp suit. He looked at her, and for a moment, the weight of the "Succession Clause" hidden in his desk flickered across his face.
He had spent the last week in a cold fury, confronting the lawyers and her father, demanding they stay away from her. But looking at her now-so vibrant and hopeful, he felt like a fraud.
"You're shaking," Shoto noted softly, his fingers brushing the nape of her neck as he fastened the silver necklace.
"I am!" she laughed, turning around to face him, her eyes sparkling. "I just... I want your mother to like me. I know she's been through so much, and I want her to know that you're happy. And Natsuo- I heard his wife is a wonderful cook, I hope she likes the recipe book I bought her. Do you think Natsuo will think I'm too 'corporate'? I tried to pick a dress that was more... me, and less 'Hakamada heir.'"
She was rambling, her hands smoothing the fabric of her skirt over and over. "I just want this to be real, Shoto. No business talk, no talk of the merger. I just want to be your wife sitting at a table with your siblings."
Shoto reached out, taking her hands in his to still their trembling. His heart ached. She was so enthusiastic about joining a family that, on paper, had bought her for her Quirk. She saw a healing home; the contract saw a genetic laboratory.
"They'll love you," Shoto said, and for the first time that week, his voice was firm. He wasn't saying it because it was his duty.
He was saying it because it was impossible not to. "Natsuo might be grumpy, and my father might be... quiet, but they'll see you for who you are. Just stay close to me."
"Always," she promised, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I'm so proud of the progress your father has made. To see him and your mom under the same roof again... it gives me so much hope for us, too. Let's go? I don't want to be even a minute late!"
She grabbed her gift bag for Rei-a selection of rare teas, and practically floated toward the door.
Shoto followed her, his hand resting on the small of her back, feeling like a man leading a lamb into a room full of people who knew the price tag on her head.
Although he had told them not to mention the contract in front of her, he was still uneasy about this family dinner.
As they pulled up to the traditional Todoroki estate, the architecture alone spoke of history and a long, painful road to recovery.
(Y/N) took a deep breath, clutching the gift bag for Rei like a lifeline. She saw the light glowing through the paper screens and felt a surge of warmth.
This wasn't just a house; it was the place where Shoto had grown up, and tonight, it was opening its doors to her.
^ • ^
The atmosphere inside the Todoroki estate was a sharp contrast to the warmth (Y/N) had imagined. As the heavy doors slid shut behind them, the air felt thick with a formality that bordered on clinical.
This wasn't a cozy family reunion; it was an inspection.
Fuyumi greeted them first. Her smile was polite, but it didn't reach her eyes, which were darting between Shoto and (Y/N) with a cautious, analytical flick.
"Welcome, (Y/N). Please, come in. We've prepared the dining room." Her voice was soft, but there was a guarded edge to it, as if she were waiting for (Y/N) to make a mistake.
Natsuo was leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't move to hug them or offer a handshake.
He looked at (Y/N) with a blatant, grumpy skepticism. To him, she was a Hakamada-a name synonymous with the corporate greed that had tried to buy his brother.
"You're on time," Natsuo grunted, his voice flat. "I guess punctuality is one of the 'merits' they teach you in that estate of yours."
"Natsuo," Shoto warned, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register.
"What? Just making conversation," Natsuo shrugged, though his eyes remained cold.
(Y/N)'s hands tightened on the gift bag. The enthusiasm she had felt while getting ready began to wither under their silent judgment.
She turned to find Enji and Rei standing at the end of the hall.
Enji looked humbled, his presence quieted by years of atonement, but he remained a man of few words. He was the patriarch of a family that felt besieged.
He nodded stiffly at (Y/N). "The tea is a kind gesture. Thank you."
Rei stood beside him, her expression serene but distant. She watched (Y/N) with the quiet intensity of a mother who had seen her children hurt too many times to trust a stranger easily.
^ • ^
The clinking of chopsticks against porcelain was the only sound for several minutes. (Y/N) sat perfectly upright, her heart hammering against her ribs.
She had prepared stories, jokes, and questions, but every time she opened her mouth, the heavy, formal silence of the Todorokis pushed the words back down her throat.
"So," Natsuo said, dropping his chopsticks with a sharp *clack*. He stared directly at (Y/N). "How's the 'domestic bliss' going? Is the villa everything your father promised it would be? Or is it just another gold-plated cage?"
"Natsuo, that's enough," Fuyumi whispered, her voice tight with caution. She looked at (Y/N) with a flicker of pity. "We just want to make sure Shoto is... comfortable. Our family has had enough 'arrangements' to last a lifetime. You understand, don't you?"
(Y/N) felt a lump form in her throat. They didn't see her as a person; they saw her as a Hakamada representative. They were protecting Shoto from her.
"I... I understand," (Y/N) said, her voice trembling slightly. She looked at Shoto, pleading for help. "I just wanted to get to know you all. I know things haven't been easy, but I truly care about Shoto. This isn't just an 'arrangement' to me."
Natsuo let out a harsh, dry laugh. "Right. And I'm sure your father says the same thing during his board meetings."
Shoto's hand gripped the table so hard the wood groaned. He looked at his family-his siblings who were trying to protect him, and his wife who was being shredded by their suspicion.
He knew the truth was hidden in his desk, but seeing her sit there, so vulnerable and desperate for their love, made the formality of the evening feel like a slow-motion car crash.