Chapter Text
Shouto watched silently as the Tokyo skyline emerged from the clouds, the city sprawling beneath him in neat grids of glowing streets and muted neon. From above, it seemed impossibly small, contained, like a model of the world he had left behind. He exhaled slowly, but it wasn’t relief—just a hollow sort of detachment. Three years. Three years since he had last walked these streets, breathed this air. He should have been excited, elated even, to return. Yet all he felt was emptiness, a cold distance from the country that had once shaped him.
If his father’s health had not faltered, he would never have come back. He pressed his forehead against the smooth, cool glass of the airplane window, the faint hum of the engines vibrating through him. Endeavor was still regarded as a hero, even after the war with All-for-One.
"I need to help rebuild. I owe it to the country," Endeavor had declared years ago, his voice steady but worn.
Skepticism had followed him like a shadow, but he had kept his word. The country had changed, and more importantly, so had the hero ecosystem. Under Hawks’ guidance, the Hero Commission had abolished rankings, instituted a Villain Rehabilitation Program, and worked toward equality for all quirks. Even UA had been transformed over Shouto’s last two years of high school.
Now, five years after the war, Endeavor’s health had deteriorated. His heart had weakened, doctors urging him to retire. Two months prior, Shouto had received the call that changed everything.
"I would like you to take over the agency," his father had requested.
Shouto remembered the subtle shock of hearing a request, rather than an order. He had wanted to refuse, to stay in Germany, where he had finally forged his own life and reputation. And at first, he had—he had rejected it outright. Yet the days following that decision had gnawed at him. A part of him had quietly hoped that after three years of absence, someone might have missed him. That flicker of hope, fragile as it was, had become the reason he left behind the life he had built.
Now, he was back.
Shouto closed his eyes briefly, letting the hum of the airport soothe him before disembarking. Burnin was waiting, her bright hair and even brighter smile cutting through his fog of detachment. Around him, families reunited, laughter and warm greetings filling the arrivals hall. He tried to imagine being part of such a scene, but even his imagination faltered.
“Kamiji-san, thank you for coming to receive me,” he murmured, voice low and clipped.
Before the war, she would have cracked a loud joke, teasing him mercilessly. Now, her smile was gentler, more controlled, yet no less warm. Relief surged through him—it would have been too much for him if her energy had been too much to bear. She chattered as they moved toward the car, her words a soft current of familiarity. Shouto let her take the lead, closing his eyes against the chatter.
The drive through Musutafu revealed subtle and not-so-subtle changes. The city felt quieter, the hero-worship less ostentatious. Gone were the gargantuan banners and blaring commercials, replaced by calm streets where heroes could eat at outdoor cafes without a crowd chasing them. It was almost normal. Almost.
“It has changed a lot,” Shouto said softly, his gaze tracing rooftops, playgrounds, and the new overhead bridge slicing through the skyline. Children still played with hero action figures, their laughter echoing in the sunlight. Small changes—the absence of familiar shops, slightly altered buildings—reminded him that the city had moved on.
Kamiji-san dropped him off at the modest apartment he had rented. “You could stay at your place,” she suggested quietly. “But Endeavor-san has his own place too.”
Shouto shook his head. Once she left, the apartment felt cold. Bare walls, minimal furniture, an empty sofa that swallowed him whole when he fell back onto it. He stared at the ceiling, the faint hum of the city filtering through the thin windows.
What am I doing here?
Sleep came unbidden, a temporary escape from the gnawing uncertainty.
The following days passed in a blur. Work at the agency was steady but unremarkable—quietly unreported, as Kamiji-san had explained.
“They don’t report everything a hero does, unless it involves a fight or is otherwise important,” she said, sipping her tea.
For Shouto, this anonymity was a fragile gift. A chance to gather his thoughts before stepping fully into a role he had reluctantly accepted.
But the respite ended sooner than expected. A message blinked on his phone from his sister: "Will you come for dinner this Friday?"
He hesitated before replying. “Who will be there?”
"All of us. We should have a family dinner."
Family dinner.
The words hovered in his mind, fragile and tentative.
Could it be? Perhaps Touya is ready to see me. Shouto’s heart stirred at the thought.
During the war, the League members had joined the heroes to fight All-for-One, acting to save Shigaraki. All of them had become the first participants in the Villain Rehabilitation Program once the war was over.
Touya even met with Fuyumi, Natsuo, and their mother, though he steadfastly refused to see their father or Shouto. Attempts by Shouto to bridge the chasm between them during the last two years of high school were met with violent outbursts, sharp and uncontrolled. In the end, Shouto withdrew entirely to the dorms, even during holidays.
Now, years later, a fragile second chance glimmered.
Shouto stood outside the house, debating with himself whether to step in. His chest felt constricted, as if his ribs were folding inward, tying his insides into a knot. Every breath was jagged and uneven, each inhale a struggle. His legs felt like lead, heavy and unwilling. Yet, slowly, with a shuddering resolve, he crossed the threshold.
The house had changed. Not drastically, but enough for the difference to strike him.
The rooms felt warmer, filled with sunlight that streamed through larger windows. Earthy tones replaced stark whites and cold grays. The subtle scent of baked bread and simmering broth hinted at domestic care. His mother had poured herself into making this house a home after Endeavor had moved out, leaving her as its sole owner.
Fuyumi greeted him immediately. “I am so glad you are back, Shouto.” Her voice was bright, but gentle, carrying a warmth that made the knots in his stomach writhe uncomfortably. He could only nod. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth, words failing him entirely.
“Come in. Mother is waiting for you,” Fuyumi said, steering him toward the kitchen.
Rei’s presence hit him before he saw her—warmth radiating like a hearth. She looked healthier, softer. Her eyes sparkled with life, and the deep lines of worry and exhaustion had vanished, replaced with gentle confidence.
“Shouto,” she called softly.
Her arms wrapped around him before he could respond. Shouto melted into them, tension seeping from his shoulders, anxiety dissolving in the sheer normalcy of her embrace. The scent of lavender and vanilla filled his senses.
“Mother,” he murmured, voice rough with emotion.
“Look at you. You’ve grown into a full man,” she said, holding him at arm’s length to peer into his face.
Her eyes were bright, and her smile radiated pride and love. His heartbeat sped unnervingly, yet a strange sense of completeness filled him, like a vessel finally topped to the brim.
Questions and chatter flowed freely from his mother and sister: Germany, food, experiences abroad. Shouto answered with measured patience, feeling the anxiety of the past months slowly erode. But the fragile calm fractured when another voice echoed from the foyer.
“Fuyumi, I brought the vegetable stock you wanted.”
The footsteps were deliberate, careful. Natsuo appeared, frozen for a heartbeat, eyes widening at the sight of Shouto. Fuyumi hadn’t mentioned his arrival.
Then, almost cautiously, Natsuo’s lips curved into a soft, genuine smile. “Shouto, welcome back.”
Shouto returned the smile, and for a brief moment, peace seemed attainable. As the night wore on, laughter and the comforting smell of home-cooked food enveloped him. The weight he had carried unknowingly for years seemed to lift, leaving him almost light.
When the kitchen emptied, with his mother shooing everyone away to finish cooking, Shouto headed to the restroom. But a murmur of voices stopped him before he could step into the living room.
“Do you have any idea how Touya would react?” Natsuo hissed, sharp with fear.
“Natsu, it’s been three years,” Fuyumi’s voice wavered with unease.
Shouto’s stomach twisted. The words that followed felt like water flooding his lungs, suffocating and distant.
“Fuyumi, Touya doesn’t even say his name. Please tell me you at least told Touya that Shouto would be here,” Natsuo begged.
Shouto understood the implications instantly. His lungs burned with how difficult it was for him to breathe. He needed to leave. He had to leave. But his legs refused to obey. They were nailed to the floor, frozen by a mixture of fear and disbelief. His body felt heavy, sluggish, as if gravity itself had doubled. His mind raced, clawing for excuses, for rationalizations—anything to delay the inevitable.
Then, it was too late.
The door to the house swung open with a sudden creak, and the air shifted, mingling with the sharp tang of tension. Footsteps echoed on the floorboards. Shouto’s ears picked out two distinct rhythms: quick, deliberate, and then measured, careful. Touya and Hawks. They were here.
A moment of silence hung like fog. Then, like a lightning strike splitting the calm, Touya’s voice cut through: “What the fuck is he doing here?”
Shouto turned slowly, as if moving faster might break him. Blue fire flickered along Touya’s arm, its light dancing across his sharp features, illuminating anger carved deep into his skin. Hawks gripped Touya firmly, pulling him back, muscles straining, his voice taut but calm.
Shouto’s mind raced, desperately clinging to useless fragments of thought. They must have gotten together. Hawks had always championed the Villain Rehabilitation Program with such passion, Shouto remembered. He recalled debates, speeches, interviews. Anything to occupy his mind.
If Touya’s quirk suppressing bracelets hadn’t been there, Shouto would be reduced to ash where he stood. The fire didn’t just sparkle. It roared in Shouto’s vision, a blazing reminder of the danger he’d brought into this home.
“Touya, please,” Hawks pleaded, voice trembling despite his composed grip.
Touya’s flames flared higher, and Shouto flinched at the heat. A screech tore through the room—Fuyumi’s voice, jagged with terror. Natsuo moved quickly to help Hawks restrain Touya, their combined strength a buffer between fury and potential disaster.
“Everyone stop,” their mother’s voice cut through the chaos, broken, fragile, trembling. Touya’s fire flickered and died as he turned toward her, his anger suspended for a heartbeat.
Shouto stood there, frozen, dumbstruck, feeling each flicker of betrayal and heartbreak radiate from Touya. The pain in his eldest brother’s face was almost tangible, carved like lightning across his features. He realized then: Touya hadn’t just been angry at him—he thought they had betrayed him.
His mother’s eyes, wide and wet, found him.
“Shouto, please…” The words broke off, leaving a chasm of desperation between them.
Fuyumi muttered softly, almost inaudibly, “I shouldn’t have invited you.”
A lance pierced Shouto’s chest. Pain radiated outward, sharp and unrelenting, leaving a ringing emptiness behind. He could barely breathe. Touya straightened, every inch of him radiating resolve.
“We are leaving,” he declared. His tone left no room for argument.
“No!!!” Their mother’s scream split the tension, raw and shattering. “Touya, please. Don’t go,” she cried, her voice cracking like fragile glass.
“I will not come here if he is here,” Touya’s words cut through Shouto, precise and merciless.
Everything inside him shattered like glass under a hammer. Each shard carved through him, each one a reminder of the distance he could never bridge. The sting of rejection and the guilt of being the cause—he felt it in his bones.
And then, his mother’s eyes found him again, glistening with tears. “I cannot lose him again.”
Natsuo gasped, a sound Shouto didn’t register. He was adrift, untethered from his own body, watching the scene unfold as though it belonged to someone else entirely.
“Shouto, he is just recovering. He cannot bear this,” Fuyumi said softly, urgency and fear lacing every word.
Shouto hung his head, a weight crushing his heart. It had always been him. He had always caused pain. Always.
He could not let himself be the reason his mother lost her son again. He could not undo the home she had fought so hard to rebuild.
So, he bowed to Touya, head low, voice barely above a whisper.
“I am sorry I disturbed you and your family.”
He straightened, the words leaving a hollow echo in the room, and walked out. The path ahead was unknown, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.