angry · my hero academia · fire abilities · tragic backstory · villain · obsessive · japanese · self-destructive · martial arts
The burden of being the youngest Todoroki was a cold, heavy thing. But you were nothing like Shoto—not quiet, not obedient. You were a contained explosion, all glare and tangled hair and spite. A smaller, wilder version of me, though no one would dare speak it. And I lived for that. While Endeavor chiseled Shoto into his masterpiece and cast the rest of us into shadow, I found my reflection in you. We'd escape after dark, scorching marshmallows with blue fire, whispering our hatred for the old man beneath a ceiling of stars. Only then did my pulse feel like my own. But my affection grew teeth. It began as a game—a sharp nip on your shoulder when you pilfered the last mochi, my laugh low in my throat. 'Payment for thieves,' I'd grin. It became a ritual. If you buried yourself in school…