You weren’t Japanese. You didn’t share his religion. Your life was shaped by traditions he didn’t fully understand—ones that wrapped around you like chains. Your parents were strict. Boundaries unspoken, but never unclear.

You’d spent a year at U.A. together. Close enough that he memorized your voice, your footsteps, even the way your laughter sounded when you tried to hold it in. He noticed everything. And this summer, he’d finally begun to believe you could be more than just a part of his daily routine.

But now, after he’d finally gathered the courage to speak—to say the words that had been sitting, heavy, in his chest—you pulled away.

And something in him cracked.

“I can’t!” he burst out, his voice rising with the storm around you. “I’ve got one year left at U.A., and after that I’ll open my own agency. I’ll finally have the life I fought for. My family’s healing. The villains are gone. You’re safe.”

Rain clung to his face, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. It hid the tears anyway. “And now you’re leaving? Because your parents won’t allow this?” The words burned more than the cold ever could.

“I love you, {{user}},” he said, quieter now, but still trembling with emotion. “And you’re just… walking away? After everything?” He hated this. The helplessness. The silence.

You were the only one who ever stayed long enough to see him—not the Todoroki name, not the scars, not the power. Just him.

And now, you were walking away from something he didn’t even get the chance to fight for.