Chapter Text
As a professional hero of his calibre, Endeavor had attended many conference meetings during his career: countless and mind-numbing conferences that he saw as a fool's race. No one knew where the starting line was or the finishing one. At times, it felt like all they did was talk and walk around in circles, make no progress whatsoever, only to go home and still be where they all started in the first place.
So, when his presence had been officially required not only by the Hero Commission but also by government officials, he knew right then and there the entire situation would be a circus. One that he would attend for his entertainment alone.
He had no real hope that this one would be any different, but from time to time, even life smiles down on men like him. Like going on a treasure hunt of the many Tupperware of leftovers in your fridge with no real expectation and striking gold by finding the last piece of tiramisu that everyone forgot existed until then.
Small graces and miracles.
The sheer number of people was nothing as close as he could ever imagine, with representatives of all the heroes' agencies of the metropolitan district in one building. Just… How big is this place? What are the standards when it comes to soccer stadiums? There are secretaries and members of Parliament, judges, people from the military and many, many ministers. Representing committees of Heroes Schools as well as different parties from the Hero Commission, all of which are high in the chain of command. Some were close to the newly appointed president, practically in her inner circle, while the others kept their plans to themselves.
Politicians are not a discrete breed. It is a common trail among endangered species.
Takami was there, and for once, it seemed like he was about to take things seriously – something about how he was standing and how he was scanning the room. He is not tense, but… Honestly, Endeavor can’t quite tell. That is the first time he has ever seen his coworker like that. It is not unsettling… Just unusual. Only time can tell if the change is good or not.
There was a stage placed in the centre of it all. He walks through the crowd and towards this makeshift stage with dozens of microphones and tangled nightmare of connected electric devices. Some things can’t be done by Bluetooth; better be old-fashioned. Why do you think people still use fax machines? Try hacking into that!
Someone guides Endeavor to his designated seat. A little to the far left, right after the top 3 school directors of the district – Yuuei High, Shiketsu High School and Ketsubutsu Academy – soon he is joined by other high-ranking heroes.
The Todoroki elder turned his attention to the principals, who are doing the bare minimum of hiding how resentful they are for the fact that once again, Yuuei has bested them and done the impossible once more; how Yuuei will be the one to write and shape history and forever be remembered for it.
Principal Nedzu is playing the part of being blissfully unaware and occupies himself with the arduous and dangerous task of tea-drinking. The Horror.
And next to Nedzu?
Her. His right-hand woman.
She had made quite a name for herself, and they all ranged and changed from people that barely acknowledged her intelligence, giving her compliments that could be heard as insults, to actual rants delivered out of wounded pride.
That is a brazen one, I'll tell you! The nerve, the audacity! Golden, bright and alluring eyes! That is no woman! That is a siren!
Most of those complaints came from old men. Men that would go to a meeting completely blind, expecting a meek and sweet woman who would smile and nod, giggling at their ill-tasted jokes, only to be met with the glass-shattering reality and face unparalleled levels of bluntness, deadpan honesty and dangerous, life-threatening amounts of dry wit and sarcasm. Speaking of names. Helen, Miura, Meng?
He is not even going to question it. What does it matter if people are calling her at least five different names six ways to Sunday? Enji will just call her the one that used his stubble as a match and leave it at that. It's hard to misplace her with anyone else, really. She was still perfectly cordial whenever they met, and her professionalism was a refreshing change of pace in his routine, being the most cutthroat person he had ever seen in the field. She still can kill a Nomu and keep herself calm under pressure and has no trouble commanding a room with respect, telling others what to do and making it sound like instructions instead of someone barking orders.
And still, he doesn’t quite know what to make of her. There is no clear way to assert her in his mind. She is full of facets and personas, but then again, who isn’t? The woman just seemed to have mastered the art of masking herself. A perfect Roman deity in the modern world.
One moment she would sound firm, sure of herself, and you’d find yourself talking to a brilliant, strategic and cunning woman, someone who would look you up and down as if assessing you only to make a joke at your expense, saying how your reputation precedes you but doesn’t do you any favours, and the next you’d be looking at a child scared of the dark. Someone that sounded so small and scared of her own memories that all she knew was how to pray for better days.
It is so strange. And for the life of him, he can’t find it on himself to hold it against her. In the past? Oh, he would in a heartbeat. He would think her weak and pathetic, whinnying. Now?
Now he wants to at least try to understand.
… All thanks to small graces and miracles he supposes.
Even now when she is looking like the blueprint of every overworked professional hero Endeavor ever met – sunken bag eyes, tired disposition, but still ready for war and desperate for a cigarette break or maybe just looking forward to getting drunk. Almost like she has some joy in her life to cling to or severe depression to succumb to. He can't tell, but it is either one or the other. There is no in-between. Maybe she just hasn’t slept and is running on hopes, dreams and caffeine. The size of her mug alone is concerning, and whatever is inside of it clearly is not doing its job.
She takes a sip from it, gags on it and spits it out, says something foul, and complains in the heaviest English accent Enji had ever heard in his life – not the one you would hear on the radio or the official networks, but something from the local pub, but saying something about the drink tasting like sugary hell and piss and now questioning who is responsible for the biggest insult to tea since that stunt the Americans pulled in Boston and that they earned their place in hell, right next to the fucking bastard responsible for inventing instant tea.
…What the fuck is in that mug?
And why does he want to taste it so he can have an opinion of it? It can’t be good. Maybe her tastebuds are just destroyed. She breathes fire. It must do some damage to her taste palette and sensibility.
Why would he put himself through that?!
Whatever. He will avoid the beverages all together. Water will do just fine.
More people start coming and begin to fill in the plastic chairs carefully placed across the field. Whoever planned the sitting arrangements? Bravo. They knew what they were doing – everyone is in a place where they can still feel important but still far away from anyone that they have any disagreement with: the illusion of equality and the absence of a supposed hierarchy. For a moment, they are equal and have the same goal.
Enji glances to where Yamikumo-Sama is sitting. Maybe people are wondering how come there is some mismatch of unassuming strangers and a civilian, making questions about this merry little crew and how they got to have such a privileged position. Who are these people, they think, and what have they done that is so remarkable that they get to have the privilege to sit right next to the retired Number One? And next to his sidekick, next to Grand Torino and Tsukauchi-san, and such a prestigious inventor as David Shield?
If those questions exist, no one said it out loud. Maybe they were too busy trying to figure out why that white-haired guy was doing crochet and why he was so angry with the poor piece of yarn. It genuinely seems like he was stabbing the piece instead of making it, even muttering something about stabbing and guttering. Scoop off their guts?
Should he be worried about that? No, it is not his business. Right? Right.
Todoroki also doesn’t know how to catalogue 'Them' inside his head, how to reference them. It is not like he can just call them by ‘those weird grown-ass adults that keep following this one boy in my son’s class that Shouto is very interested in, but hey; we will have that talk when he’s ready, I guess?’ He is not outing Shouto like that.
To be totally honest, he doesn’t know if he is wrong or even a bigot for even assuming the nature of his son’s feelings. Is that wrong of him? Maybe there really is nothing going on, and he is making a mountain out of an anthill. Or maybe there is something there, and he is being an even bigger idiot for hoping that there isn’t.
Teenagers and their crushes.
Enji thinks of the day they had dinner at his house and how the truth was revealed to him. How this people trusted him with something so both dangerous and frail as a family secret and made the truth become an olive branch between the two, an offer and an opportunity.
(I really hope you’ve learned how to work with other people by now.)
Well. He is willing to try. That is why he is here.
Since that dinner he kept remembering small parts of it, the things that still intrigue him.
(We were on the run. It was all my fault – we all had to leave because of me. I caught its attention.)
That must be terrifying – Kamino is still a fresh wound, and he can’t imagine the nightmare of having that thing's entire attention focused solely on you. Ever since he was told the truth, Enji keeps re-evaluating everything he thought he knew. He saw every interaction and every fight differently, because while Endeavor was fighting for a higher place in the rank, Yagi was fighting a walking nightmare, some breathing eldritch thing that antagonised him just because a quirk turned him into a target. No wonder Yagi became Number One. Compared to that demon, any villain is a child’s play.
And now that Enji knows what he wants and what his plans are. It was disgusting to hear how it talked about its own family.
It doesn’t sit right with him, and even he sees the irony of his discomfort. Am I like that, he thinks? When he hears others talk about the villain, when they describe him to Enji, he hears small, broken echoes of versions of himself, the parts of the hero that simply choose to go so far as to buy a wife and turn her into an incubator. Someone who just shoved his ambitions onto Shouto and didn’t care what he had to say about it.
And what to say of Natsuo? Of Fuyumi? Of...
He clenches his hands, closes his eyes and tries to centre himself. But he still remembers. How excited Touya was to show him his quirk when the little boy got it.
(My sister said that I would burn, hot, bright and powerful.)
He remembers all too well. How proud his son was. Of him. Of his own fire. How big his smile was when the flames shone and flickered on top of his skin. When he burnt.
(That I lit up the room with my presence and warmed your very soul.)
But it burnt all the same – you see, fire doesn’t care; it just knows how to burn. So that was what happened to his son’s body: from inside out, it was slowly turning to ashes.
(I also had a raging fury, untamed fire and passion beyond anyone’s comprehension. And maybe, just maybe, one day I will destroy myself because of it. I possess the ability to burn the world to ash. I burnt from within. Always holding a constant flame just beneath my skin. A blessing of madness.)
Touya burnt himself out of existence until there was nothing left. Nothing but pieces of jawbones and teeth for him to kneel and pray for forgiveness inside an empty room.
Are you that desperate? Not only did you lose to some quirkless broken man doing tricks with a stolen quirk, but you are also now measuring yourself against a villain. Why? Just to try to make yourself feel better and prove you are better than a criminal? Congratulations on doing the bare freaking minimum.
Sometimes he hates this voice inside his head. He hates how natural and easy it still sounds for his ears, how sometimes he almost agrees with it.
The meeting starts. And it went off the rails. Still, later than expected, considering the number of people trying to speak louder than others but still having the nerve to pretend to be polite when others pointed their behaviour out. Still, he keeps his mouth shut.
Everyone is equal here, remember? Don’t screw this up. Don’t screw this up. Don’t screw this up – remember about self-control. You are in therapy for a reason.
“We are already lowering ourselves by letting the army and the police force interfere past their jurisdictions! What sort of message does that send to the public, then, declaring ourselves incompetent?”
That poor therapist deserves both a raise and sainthood.
Well. There goes his quota of self-control for the week, flying it right the fuck out of that window. Nice while it lasted. Fine. Is he doing this? Go all out.
Let’s crack on.
"Civilians".
The boiling conversation came to a halt. How could it not? A single word, dropped like a rock, like a bomb. Endeavor always had experience with projecting his voice louder than it needed to be. The first obvious show of authority, where there shouldn’t be one.
“The word you meant to say was 'civilians'. A ‘public’ is something to be entertained, not saved, which is all you should be concerned about as a professional hero, shouldn't it? Saving people. Not the statistics. Not the sales. Not about your place in some ranking.” Endeavor stares down at the crowd. “If you are worried about looking incompetent, maybe, just maybe, it is because deep down, you already know about your own incompetence.”
There are some gasps and outraged comments and whispers about hypocrisy. Enji doesn’t bother to acknowledge it; he knows it is true. If anything, he is a master of the subject; he gets to speak of it as much as he wants, for he understands it better than anyone in the room.
“If your priority is your own image instead of other people’s safety, then you shouldn’t be doing this job to begin with. You are telling me none of you asked for this? Guess what, genius? No one did. But it is our problem, so now we are going to deal with it. If we don’t, who will?”
Some of them in the crowd try to speak up – he doesn’t let them. We already wasted our shot at acting like our age.
“None of you seem to care when All Might was the one working himself to death. None of us even had the notion of what was happening under our noses. And now that it is our time to keep up with the pace and deal with it, suddenly it is too much?”
“Now that is just not fair!”
“You’re right, it wasn't fair to Yagi. And what are you even planning to do? Leave? Oh, that will be hilarious. Go for it and don’t let the door hit you on the way out, because I will. I will be talking shit about you. Not behind your back but to your face. If you have the nerve to leave now when this country needs you, then there is no reason for us to be polite about it. And if you really do leave, do it knowing that all you will be doing is shoving this problem onto someone else’s shoulders. " The man crosses his arms and cannot help how his flames are becoming hotter with every word he says.
"And since you already walked away, what is stopping more from following your example? If we don’t fix this, if we don’t deal with it now, who will? Because we will run out of trained professionals sooner or later. What then?”
What then? They all know the answer, but no one here wants to be the one to say it out loud. There is the buzzing, chaotic talking over each other, the same phenomenon that always happens when things are starting to get out of control.
He hears a chair hitting the floor. It came from where Yamikumo-sama is sitting. The man is staring, angry and downright furious. He looks seconds away from opening his mouth. So why are the rest of Them looking so close to panicking?
Nedzu comes closer to the microphone and politely asks what exactly the crowd is afraid of. It does the job. It shuts them up; it grabs their attention.
“I must agree with our Flame Hero. We all had been leeching from All Might’s labour and effort for years, and I have yet to see an official statement thanking him for it from anyone, even Yuuei High. And for that, I apologise. And it is for this reason that we are together here. Because we need to be together. Now more than ever.”
The principal stares down at the rest of them and seems to find them lacking. Enji agrees.
“This is not an assembly or a committee. We are not asking for your opinion, so don't think this is some inquiry or an attempt to come up with an answer. We already have one. This is us telling all of you how things are going to be from now on. We've been preparing the terrain and making the necessary arrangements. We've been working on this for months – we established a channel of communication and collaboration within the heroes' schools, the Ministry of Education and the Hero Public Safety Committee. And maybe for the first time in a long, long time, we are all in agreement: we need each other. We need help. And we will do the work. " The principal stares at the rest of them one last time. "We chose the job. So we will do the job."
Nedzu gestures to the group of employers of the Hero Commission and lets them have the floor along with his right hand. The woman stands up and seems to be glowing with satisfaction with something akin to pride, which really doesn’t make sense. She starts by saying how every region of the country has its own challenges and how even a powerful dragon cannot win against the local snakes. Where did she get that, a fortune cookie? Still, it was a good point. Metropolitan areas wouldn’t necessarily have the same problems as rural towns. Crime is a very adaptable thing.
She goes on, saying that unless you have been under a rock for the last month or so, then you should be up-to-date with the scandal involving Detnerat and how it has affected the civilians' trust in the heroes and whether they are fit to do their job.
“These past weeks alone show us an increase of patients having to check into the ER for physical injuries. After our forensic team examined it, it became clear that most of the chemical burns and blunt trauma were evidence of people trying to assemble homemade support items because they no longer trust whatever it is being sold on the market, legally or not. With that in mind, the Japanese government asks for and seeks foreign help. We will not only work with each other but also internationally. Such a decision hasn’t been made with the intention to disvalue any of you as pro heroes. It merely acknowledges that we are not indestructible. It is important for us to remember that. We are living beings. There is no shame in accepting a helping hand.”
For a moment he expects for someone to shout and say that they are more than capable of solving their own problems. No one does, and it pleases Todoroki to know some people are still capable of critical thinking: if they could handle it by themselves, then there wouldn’t be a need for this meeting in the first place. So let the foreigners in. Let the police force and the military do their job and more, just so they can help.
He will accept anything that stops him from digging his own grave. He’d rather work alongside people who share a common goal than refuse it because his head was so far up his ass for me to see reason for something so useless as pride.
What would his pride help in a battle? He has been wondering, asking himself. So far, the man hasn’t found a single answer that sounded good enough to not change his ways. Yagi was right – just shoving criminals into prison did nothing. A change of perspective was desperately needed, not just so they could deal with All For One but for the future.
So that way, they can at least have a future to pass on.
The Flame Hero looks back to the crowd and dares them to speak. No one does, so they can continue.
The meeting goes on. They say that each district would have their own selected list of candidates of people of interest, all personally tailored to suit their needs: a candidate's history and performance would be considered, as well as other qualifications, personality and reviews from past coworkers and employers. Each district had at least a document containing 56,900.00 pages worth of information and options from people around the globe.
“The work you see before you is made by humans, for humans. Don’t worry; they were healthily paid for their effort and time. Know that such measures were necessary. No machine can be held accountable for its mistakes, not in a court of law. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, but it's better to be prepared than worried. Read it with care.”
Someone has the nerve to whisper something. Something about them was that they were expecting something more from the famous right-hand woman of Yuuei High, at least given her reputation.
The white-haired menace finally speaks.
“Reputation is something people have because of their skills and accomplishments. Easy to see why some of you have neither. And hey, I know you think you’re being cute with all this passive-aggressive talking, but you’re NOT. You are only making us waste time – so quit it. If you have something to say, say it to our faces.”
This is going to be a very long meeting.
⊱⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⋯⊰
He barely has time to situate himself after said meeting has ended before Yagi calls him over, inviting him to join him and his little crew. The two of them had kept in touch, and both did their best to talk about something other than work. Turns out they both like baseball, but Yagi is a die-hard New York Knicks fan. Had a million signed jerseys and everything. He lost his mind the last time they won the finals – cheered so loud that it pulled a toll on his voice for more than a week.
Nice to know that for once, the man can be a fan instead of an idol.
“Todoroki! I’m so glad you came! Please, come; come.”
He does. And immediately hears the white-haired one ranting his angry little heart out.
“Those idiots were worried about messages? What will people think of them when they look back at this moment? What would they remember by? By being afraid? Tired?! All I heard were excuses! Shitty, poor, half-arsed attempts at excuses trying to justify their incompetence!”
...He is very lively today, huh?
“Miu-chan!! What’s that thingy? The French one! You know that thing you use to say in French.”
Oh look, a seventh name. It might be a record. Or maybe it is a nickname. Does it still count?
“Bàba, I say loads of things in French, despite the best efforts of Matthew’s crew to dumb me down by proximity. But some things are meant to happen. Sure, I lived in an English household, but I spent most of my winter holidays in Scotland. I had my studies in Northern Ireland. The head governess of our house, Miss Beauchamp, had her own relatives from France and was married to Mister Fraiser, and the man was more Scottish than William Wallace. They had loads of children, but their firstborn daughter married a preacher from Wales. Safe to say, I learned to hate the British just as much as anyone.”
Enji has no idea of anything she is saying and how any of these things are related. Who the hell is Matthew, and what did his crew do? What does any of these countries have anything to do with hating the British?
“Little dumpling."
“Is it about war?”
“YES!!”
She says that such information doesn’t narrow things down, but she will do her best.
“Is it about setting things on fire? Riots? No one can riot like the French bàba; it is amazing. We went there like, what? Five times. Not to Paris, mind you. Just France. And our trip would always be held back because of some strike or another. Cars on fire; animals escaping the zoo. And somehow, there would be tourists. I don’t get it. Are you sure it is about war?”
The white-haired menace is not amused by the joke.
“Ughh, fine. Nous envoyons nos enfants à la guerre après que nos hommes sont enterrés – 'We send our children to war after our men are buried. ’. Read it somewhere, but I just can’t remember what the context was. I think it was something about ethics?”
Impeccable accent. Just two little things. One. What sorts of mind-boggling books did she use to read back then, and how does it have anything to do with ethics? Two. Enji doesn’t really see how any amount of context could change anything about that little message, but sure. Sure, let's go down that road.
“Imagine society collapses. The world as we knew it is now gone, and we are now desperate. Keep that in mind."
She picks up her fountain pen and starts flipping along her fingers, the same way you would do with a coin.
"The authors ask us a great number of questions. Why did society fall in the first place? Could it have been prevented? Are we to blame that things have become this dire? What will be the point of no return? How far would you go?"
Even more pretty little tricks with her fountain pen. Spinning, spinning round and round.
"There is a group: some adults, a few children and two or three old men and women. In one scenario, one of the adults is a pregnant woman. In other cases, the children hold you back. The old are sick and hurt. There isn’t enough food or water.” The pen stops in her hand, and she studies it. “In all the scenarios, you are in charge. In all of them, you have the final say. Sooner or later, you will be facing the good old question – how far is too far? What is the one thing you cannot excuse, the one line you will never cross? And why that? Why was everything else justifiable, but not this one thing? Who are you in the dark? Are we in control? And if we are, is it justifiable to impose it on others? If we become comfortable with the unthinkable, what will happen next? Can we be held accountable for it? Should we? Must we?”
She is spinning her pen again, shining and gleaming, glowing the same way when light hits a specially well-polished mirror. Her eyes seem old, ancient and wise, with answers and riddles to questions no one dares to say out loud. It is like she had seen and done more than any of them combine, and for that alone, they should listen.
Again, what sort of a book did she stumble upon?!
She turns to him and smiles.
“Oh Todoroki. Thank you, by the way.”
He raises his eyebrow. For what?
“For speaking up.”
“I barely held it together really.”
“You seemed calm enough to me. But I am glad you jumped in. Bàba was seconds away from speaking his mind.”
The man in question is baffled and says something about being in his God-given right to speak his mind, and no one interrupts him, but they all do seem to simultaneously agree it was better that he didn’t get the chance to do so.
He is going to regret asking; he really is, isn’t he?
“How bad would it be?”
They tell him. And damn, it would be very bad.
“Look! I just…” He sighs. “I hate being quiet. It makes me feel so hopeless, like I already gave up. Feeling helpless, I don’t mind! I felt that all my life! Just… Just let me have hope. I don’t care, not if I still have hope.”
Todoroki can't help but frown. What happened to him? Where is the man who would make fun of Endeavor, who would throw tangerines at him and make jokes about fire hazards? Someone gently pushes over a slice of velvet cake as a peace offering – it seems to do the job.
“It won’t come to that, love."
Wait, what… Oh, it’s that kind of relationship. No wonder they were so comfortable around each other.
There is a smile on the man’s face. Empty, cold and full of threats. “If it ever comes to that, then they have failed. And if any one even dared to walk out of that room, I would just drag them back. If anyone dies because of their cowardice, I will personally carry every single one by their skin and make them beg for forgiveness – they would need to look into a parent’s eyes and tell them their children are dead because they didn't feel like putting in the effort. I won’t let it come to that, my love."
...Huh. That's... almost endearing? If it helps, the white-haired menace is smiling again. That can either be a very good thing or not.
“You’re right. But that’s fine, right? It’s not an overkill… Because there are screwing it over. There is fucking it up and overdoing it, and then there is whatever the fuck my brother decided to do after I died. AND STILL DOES! The jerk – yes, a jerk! He started multiple fires, just to blow up every fire hydrant in a 100-mile radius, to prevent anyone from pulling it out. A very practical, efficient little fucker; gotta give him that! OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP! Burn and flood the city. Dramatic little bitch ass. Yeah, I said it! As if that were enough, he brought down power lines so that way the water would electrify anyone who stepped outside!! Goes on to blow up several gas stations and manages to punch the ground so hard it creates a tsunami. That was how hard of a tantrum he was throwing. SHUT IT, HIRO, IT WAS A FUCKING TAMTRUM –"
And since no one seems alarmed by whatever that was, Enji won’t question it now; just later. He simply put a pin on it to go back to it and deal with it in a more discreet and private location than the one that they are in now. With that in mind, he invites everyone to his agency, where they can have a decent conversation without worrying about prying ears.
They take the car and go, and, on the way, the other Holders fill in on what it was like to fight All For One. Brutal. Deadly. Suicidal. The cherry on top was hearing what the Second one had to say about how the villain reacted after his brother’s death.
“It was like watching both a biblical event and a natural disaster at the same time. And that was all before he decided to hunt my bloodline and the overall killing spree that followed.”
…
“Why did no one shoot him?!”
“We did. Several times. The fucker just kept healing himself.”
The fucker just kept healing himself.
Right. That’s the thing he is supposed to fight. Very encouraging.
(He is just a man.)
Is he? Is he even human now? 200 years old. God knows how many quirks. Is he anything but inhuman? Endeavor closes his eyes and forces himself to remember what else he heard on that dinner night.
(Sometimes it is easy to forget. He is nothing but a man.)
He holds onto that. A man. Yes. That thing, that thing locked away in Tartarus, is only a man. A man he can deal with. A man he can kill if necessary. He’ll be a butcher if he keeps his children safe. He is just doing his job as a father.
(You are still the eldest daughter. You do what is asked of you. You're still a caregiver. Responsible, reliable one. And you keep doing it. Because they are never asking for a lot. Just one thing. And it is everything.)
Is that what he did with Fuyumi? Had he just... Let her carry too much? Ever since Rei's hospitalisation, his daughter had all but become the head of their household. She took care of her brothers, of the food, of making sure everything was running smoothly. A small part of him wonders why she never asked for help, but then he remembers what happens when you do.
He ought to be ashamed of himself and would even apologise if it would make a difference, but it wouldn’t, not really. So, he acts instead. He hires people to help around the house, makes his lawyers draft an airtight contract of NDA, and pays both parties a hefty price for it.
Fuyumi is his daughter, not his caretaker. Let her be that. Let her worry about her job, about her students and about a love life. Let her have silly little hobbies, let her treat herself to small gifts and nights out. Let her enjoy life. She already makes him proud.
They arrive at his agency and quietly walk to his office. Burnin is still there, like any good sidekick, and just like any sidekick, she is curious why there are so many people there so late at night. He tells Kamiji to go home earlier and pay no mind to it.
He walks over to Nedzu’s right-hand woman.
“I was hoping to ask you about something. If you don’t mind.”
She shrugs.
“As long as you don’t pry into my life too much. We need to be coworkers, not friends.”
Fair enough. Considering he doesn’t need friends, only coworkers, it seems fair. It is because of this newfound mentality that Enji decides to speak clearly and without riddles: since they are bound to work together for the unforeseeable future, knowing at least the bare minimum about each other seems a reasonable request to have. And the man would also like to know why she seems capable of petrifying every single employer of the Hero Commission just by standing in the room, if that is not too much to ask.
She pauses to think it over before asking if he has any theories of his own. He says he tries not to indulge in conspiracy theories, and that only makes the woman laugh, saying that this is just another of his and his son’s many differences.
Yes, he is aware of that. He even says so, and that makes her laugh.
“It’s just… It’s funny, you know? I had this friend… She would have a blast today. With all this work we are doing. She always told me I had enough passports to be a citizen of every country I set foot on. ‘Forget about the British Empire! The sun will never set on you!’”
“Did you?”
“Heavens no! Only my Japanese citizenship and the countries of the Commonwealth. There was an issue with dual citizenship as a Chinese citizen… I never set foot in the place, but Mother just wanted to have options. We also had permission to visit the USSR, but that is not the same.”
He heard about the Commonwealth. Didn’t it have 56 nations during its peak? And the USSR? Didn’t that fall apart in the 2000s?
“Why go through the trouble of making fake passports?
“Force of habit.”
That seems a concerning habit. Also, British Empire? Isn’t that like… Ancient?
“A relic. A living fossil, even back then! I would look at them and wonder how they weren’t being displayed in a museum. The monarchy upheld an institution rooted in colonialism that actively worked to stall the dissolution of an empire and failed to acknowledge its involvement in the pain and suffering of countless populations, countless nations and generations around the world. They had the gall to say it was their God-given right to rule. Well. God gave me free will to protest and rage against it, so I think we’re okay.”
“I’m sorry, but how does that have to do with you?”
“I’m getting there; I’m getting there. Did… Did Nedzu tell you anything? Did Toshinori?”
No, he says to her.
She nods before saying that fair is fair. That if her bàba trusted him with the truth, then that's more than enough. The woman says she feels like going for a walk. Todoroki will at least appreciate the attempt at her subtlety. When they are far enough from the group, she begins.
“I founded the Commission. Very few people know this, and those who do know that I just happened to be dead until three months or so ago. Anyone would stop on the tracks after seeing a ghost, don’t you think? I am old Todoroki. Older than you, older than Torino. But I’m also Izuku’s cousin, just like I am my parents’ daughter. I’ve died, but now I’m alive.”
He asks if it involves a quirk.
“What part of our daily lives doesn’t involve a quirk nowadays?”
Touché.
“Should I continue?”
He nods. So she does.
“About my names. I know it can get confusing, so pay attention. I have my courtesy name and milk name, both of which I personally requested, because I believed they would help me get along better with the folks from the mainland. Not that it mattered. To them, I would always be a riben guizi, too Japanese for their taste, all while the Westerners told me I didn’t even look Japanese. I have one that was granted to me after my christening, and that came with a title, a present from my stepfather — by God, I still remember all the fuss parliament made about it. Matthew was forced to present his case to the Queen more than once. I had the name my parents gave me after saving me from the street. And, perhaps, the one my blood parents gave me. I don’t remember much from back then besides the hunger.”
Hm.
"I had six parents on total. My mother and father from birth, the only ones who I don't have any memory of. I have Bàba and Fùqin; both saved me from the street and from the cold. They gave me a home. And I had Meimei. She was both my aunt and mother; she somehow became both and a third thing at the same time. More than a parent and friend; more than a confidante. Meimei was... Meimei was always there. I loved her for it. And then there was Matthew, our lovely stepfather."
Well, at least he knows who is who. Might need a diagram, but at least it is out in the open.
He asks what she had been up to.
“I had to spend the last few weeks catching up on the geopolitics of the past decades, and I’m sad to see how little things have changed.”
Oh?
“Well, Chinese and Japanese still hate each other. Indians and Pakistanis can’t stand each other, and both are probably just looking for an excuse to use their nuclear weapons. How are they still a thing? No, how? The government has access to humans’ weapons. Why are they still relying on ballistics?”
He says that heroes aren’t meant to be used as weapons.
“Sure. And cereal isn't soup. Anyway. Vietnamese and Cambodians still don’t want to be in the same room together, let alone a building. And the Turks? Good God, they are always at the centre of something! The Greeks hate them, the Armenians and the Kurds. If more than one nation has hated you throughout history, you are probably the problem; just saying. The same can be said about Russia. And for some reason, Hungary still has it out for the Roma people?”
“Romans?”
“Educate yourself before embarrassing yourself. Please.”
“You’d think things would be fine after the fall of the royal family in the United Kingdom, but honestly? That entire island is a mess. Shut up; I lived there. I have the right to say it. Then there’s the… This thing with Iran and Saudi Arabia? And Yemen. And Qatar. At least Palestine is fine? And whole, thank the Almighty for dealing with that Netanyahu fellow.”
She does the sign of the cross and knocks on wood for good measure.
“Moving on… Sudan and South Sudan. North Korea and South Korea — that’s still going on?! Oh, for crying out loud—! New rule: If there are two countries with the same name, they tend to dislike each other. Period, end of sentence, full stop.”
Todoroki decides to trust her judgement. Speaking of governments, he decides to ask what her bàba's opinion about it is.
“Oh, he doesn’t trust them.”
That is reassuring. He asks what her other parents’ thoughts were on the matter.
“Depends on each one you are talking about. Fùqin seems to think like Theodore Roosevelt – speak softly but carry a big stick. That. Granny… Well. Let’s not unpack that for now. And Mei Mei only trusted in herself really. Trusted in any form of government as far as she could throw it. Matthew had a non-royal peerage of all things, but he surprisingly favoured the Labour Party.”
"What about you?"
“I am an abolitionist. I know, it is strange! Made dinners all more embarrassing when your stepfather happens to be a duke and even more awkward whenever I go to a protest over a cause I find worth the trouble. And all the times I was arrested? Hah! It was golden! The guys at the station were on a first-name basis with me; it was hilarious.”
“I’m sorry, you are proud that you were arrested?”
“Hell yeah! It is practically a rite of passage in the family! Little Yam is already honouring the mantle and everything!”
Excuse you?
"Yeah, he has been inside a police station like, what? Five times? Yeah, five times."
…If Shouto must catch feelings for anyone, why can’t it be a respectable young boy or whatever damn pronoun they want to use?! Prison? Are you serious?! God, Iida Tenya is right there!
It doesn't matter. Not right now. There is work that needs to be done.